Wife With Amnesia (3 page)

 

He was walking a thin line, Matt conceded as he turned the wheel of the Mercedes and headed down the street toward home. And that fine line he'd been treading since he'd made the decision not to tell Claire that they were separated seemed to be growing even finer now that he was bringing her home. He'd managed to move back into
their home the majority of her clothing and essentials out of the apartment she'd lived in during the past six months. For all intents and purposes, it looked as though she'd never been gone.

And he felt as guilty as sin for the deception.

His intentions weren't all self-serving, he reasoned in an effort to lessen the foul taste that deceit left in his mouth. If Claire knew the truth, she never would have agreed to come home with him today. Memory or no memory, she was still the same maddeningly independent person she had always been. She would rather walk through fire than ever admit she actually needed anyone's help. Matt sighed as he recalled what a problem that had proven to be for him in their marriage. Growing up in a close-knit and loving family, he'd always known he could turn to his family for help—be it financial, physical or emotional. After all, that's what family was all about, sharing good times and bad. It had taken him a long time to understand that Claire's refusal to share her burdens with him had been born out of her fear of being rejected and not out of distrust.

Claire needed him now, he told himself. Someone had to take care of her, and the fact remained that she had no one else. Who better to fill the job than her husband? Because despite their separation, he was still her husband—at least for the time being. Taking care of her was his responsibility. But more than that, it was what he wanted to do, what he needed to do. He wanted to be there for Claire. To show her that he wasn't like everyone else she'd cared about in her life—ready to abandon her and forget her. Most of all he wanted to prove to her that she could count on him, that they could make their marriage work because they belonged together.

And when her memory comes back? What then, Gal
lagher? Suppose this little plan of yours blows up in your face and she walks out on you for good?

There was the distinct possibility she would do just that—walk out on him—because she would be furious when she found out what he had done. No question about it. But it was a risk he had to take, Matt decided as he drove the car to a stop in front of their house. Because unless he could win Claire's love and trust again, he didn't have a prayer of winning her forgiveness and a second chance.

“
This
is where I live?”

Matt snapped his attention back to Claire. Wide-eyed, she stared at the house as though she were seeing it for the first time. Giving himself a swift mental kick, he reminded himself that in a sense she
was
seeing it for the first time. If she didn't remember him, she probably didn't remember the house, either. “This is where
we
live,” Matt told her, and felt the prick to his conscience at the half-truth.

“It's so beautiful.”

“That's what you said the first time I brought you here,” he told her. And it was true. Nestled between ancient oaks, the old Southern charmer of stuccoed brick had been painted to look like sandstone block, and the front porch had been done in a shade of soft white. The lush green lawn sprawled from the front door to the sidewalk. And the carefully tended gardens were bursting with the yellow day lilies and white roses Claire had insisted on planting when she'd moved in after their marriage. He'd fallen in love with the old house when he'd first seen it five years ago and had taken great care to restore it. But it had been Claire who had made the place a home. He decided against parking in the garage for
now, so that Claire had the benefit of entering the house through the front entrance. Exiting the car, he came around to the passenger side and opened her door. “Trust me, it didn't look nearly this good when I bought it.”

“The gardens are lovely.”

“Thanks to your green thumb,” he told her.

“I did the gardens?”

“Sure did. And you oversaw restoration of the courtyard.”

“There's a courtyard?”

“Right over there,” he said, pointing to what looked at first like a second entryway.

“Oh, I can't wait to see it.”

“Why don't we get you settled first, and then I'll give you the grand tour?”

“I'd like that,” she said with the first real enthusiasm he'd seen her exhibit since he'd arrived at the hospital to take her home. Carefully swinging her legs around to the side, Claire started to get out of the car when Matt scooped her up into his arms. “What are you doing?” she demanded, her body stiff even as her arms circled his neck.

“Making sure you stay off that ankle,” he informed her as he strode toward the house.

“Don't be ridiculous. I can walk.”

“Humor me,” he teased as he climbed the stairs of the porch. “It makes me feel useful.”

“But it's foolish. I don't need—”

Matt cut off her protests with his mouth. The kiss had simply been a reflex, a means of preventing her from telling him what he already knew—that she didn't need him. Claire had never needed him, not the way he had needed her.

But he hadn't counted on that kiss being so sweet or on lingering a moment longer to sip, to taste, to explore. He certainly hadn't counted on Claire's lips softening beneath his own and tempting him until all he could think about was losing himself in her, with her. Nor had he counted on lifting his head and seeing cinnamon-brown eyes filled with desire or on her lips parting invitingly until he couldn't resist one more taste. And Matt positively hadn't counted on having the door he was leaning against suddenly opening and nearly sending him sprawling on the floor with Claire in his arms.

“Sweet heavens, Mr. Matthew,” Emma Dubois chided even as she provided him with a steadying hand. “What on earth is it you think you're doing, mauling poor Miss Claire on the doorstep for all the world to see? And the poor dear just home from that wretched hospital?”

“I wasn't mauling her, Emma. I was kissing her,” Matt said to his housekeeper, not even bothering to point out that the so-called wretched hospital was one of the best medical facilities in the South.

Emma huffed as she shut the door behind them. Folding her arms, she arched her brow imperiously. “And what would your sainted mother have to say if she was to hear you'd been putting on such a show for the neighbors, I wonder?”

Matt sighed and wondered whether he should try explaining to Emma again that she worked for him now—not his mother. Of course since the half-Irish, half-French Emma was practically a fixture in his family, he would probably be wasting his breath. Still, he tried. “Since my mother is no saint—at least not judging by the earful she gave the staff at the hospital when they refused to let her
see Claire in the emergency room—my guess is she'd say that she hoped I enjoyed myself.”

“As if Mrs. G. would spout such nonsense,” Emma replied. She looked down her nose at him like he was still a boy—one who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

It amazed him how she still managed to pull off that particular trick, since the woman was a full foot shorter than his own six feet. No doubt the fact that she'd changed his diapers and paddled his bottom on more than one occasion had something to do with it, Matt conceded. “Tell you what, Emma. Why don't I kiss Claire again and you can call my mother and ask her?”

“Matt, please.”

“Behave yourself,” Emma told him. “You're embarrassing the poor girl.”

Evidently Emma was right, Matt decided at the sight of the color flooding Claire's cheeks. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Sorry.”

“You can put me down now,” Claire told him.

“He'll do no such thing. You've a sprained ankle according to what Mrs. G. and Mr. Matthew told me and you shouldn't be putting any weight on it, lamb.”

“But I—”

“Besides, Mr. Matthew, here, is as strong as an ox,” Emma replied, her expression going from stern to loving as she addressed Claire. “He can carry you into the den. I've set up a tray of coffee and some of those little chocolate cakes that you like so much.”

“You heard her, Red. It's best not to argue with Emma.”

“But I don't want either of you to go to all this trouble,” Claire protested.

“As if it's any trouble. Why, if you'd known how worried I was when I heard you'd been hurt…” Emma snatched a tissue from her apron and sniffed, then straightened her shoulders. “I'd better go see to the coffee.”

“Who exactly is she?” Claire whispered as Matt followed Emma down the hall.

“Believe it or not, she's the housekeeper.”

“The housekeeper?”

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “Hard to believe, considering she's the one giving the orders around here.”

“I heard that, Matthew Gallagher.”

“I swear the woman's got eyes and ears in the back of her head,” Matt complained.

“A body certainly needed them with you around as a boy,” Emma informed him as she waited while he positioned Claire on the big overstuffed chair and propped her ankle up on the ottoman. “Don't you pay him any mind, Miss Claire,” Emma told her as she shooed Matt out of the way so she could fit the breakfast tray table over Claire's lap.

When Matt reached for one of the chocolate cheesecake squares on the tray, Emma swatted his hand. “Those are for Miss Claire.”

“What about me?”

“There's more in the kitchen if you want some.”

“See what I mean?” Matt countered and was rewarded by a grin from Claire.

He was treated to several more of Claire's smiles during the next thirty minutes as Emma regaled her with stories of his youth. And while Emma fussed over her like a mother hen over her baby chick, he fielded call after call from his family, checking on Claire.

By the time he had repeated Emma's instructions on heating the casserole she'd prepared for their dinner and closed the door behind the housekeeper, the troubled look he'd noticed sneaking into Claire's eyes several times during the afternoon was back. For the life of him, Matt couldn't quite figure out what was behind it.

Claiming a corner of the oversize chair beside her, he asked, “So how's the head feeling?”

“Tender,” she replied, and ran a finger along the edge of the bandage affixed to her temple. “I was hoping that coming here would help me to remember.”

“Has it?”

She shook her head and lifted her gaze to his. “I can't believe I don't remember Emma.”

Matt grinned. “She is a hard one to forget.”

“She really loves you and your family a great deal.”

“And you,” Matt amended. Giving in to the need, he reached for her hand. “She loves you, too, Red. All of my family does—and me most of all.”

“I don't know what to say,” she told him, averting her eyes.

Sighing, Matt released her hand. “There I go pushing again. Sorry.”

“Don't be,” she said, touching his arm when he started to rise. “I'm the one who's sorry. You've been wonderful, Matt. You, your family, everyone. I just…I just wish I could remember.”

The disappointment etched across her face ripped at him. “Don't be so tough on yourself. You heard what the doctor said. You just need to give yourself time.”

The smile she gave him was soft. Slow. Warm. “You're a nice man, Matthew Gallagher.”

Matt winced. “Nice? Whatever you do, please don't
say that I'm sweet. If you do, you're liable to find out that I'm not nice at all.”

“But you are sweet…and kind…and patient…”

“Stop!”

She chuckled at his protest. “It wasn't meant to be an insult. Those are all good qualities.”

“Trust me, Red,” he said, his voice gruff. “No man wants to hear a woman describe him as though he were some kind of saint.”

Her lips twitched. “Somehow I doubt that anyone would mistake you for a saint.”

“Thank heaven for that.”

“So, what descriptive terms does a man want to hear a woman use to describe him?”

“Oh, the usual ones,” he told her, his mouth kicking up at the corners. “Sexy…virile…stud…”

“I get the picture,” she said dryly, a flush climbing her cheeks.

“Sorry. I just couldn't resist teasing—not when you blush so prettily.”

He watched her struggle to regain her composure. When she did, the lighthearted moment had passed. “It all seems so strange. Not knowing anything about myself, about you, about us.”

Matt hesitated. “The doctor said to let your memories come back on their own.”

“I know, but it's frustrating not remembering even simple things. Things like…like how long we've been married.”

“We were married two years last month.” And their wedding anniversary had been one of the most miserable days of his life, because they hadn't celebrated it together or even been living under the same roof.

“Two years,” she repeated as though trying to grasp the concept.

“I'd better get that,” he said at the sound of the phone, grateful for the excuse to drop the topic of their marriage. He couldn't help feeling guilty for deceiving her about their relationship. Yet, he saw no alternative—not if he hoped to win Claire back.

And win her back he would, Matt told himself a few minutes later when he returned to the den. “That was my sister Maggie. She was checking to see if you needed anything.”

“You have a big family,” she said, and the troubled look was back in her eyes.

“
We
have a big family,” he corrected.

“But they all seem to be
your
family, Matt. It was
your
sisters and
your
parents that came to the hospital to see me, and they're the ones who've called. What about my family? Why haven't my parents or my siblings come to see me?”