Prim, Proper... Pregnant

“Almost certainly,” the doctor said brightly. “Give him a day or two.” With another meaningful look directed at all three of them, she added, “And don’t swamp him with details of the accident, not now.”

In other words, thought Amelia, don’t tell him he was driving drunk and his brother is dead because of it.

Nina blinked a couple of tears from her eyes. “So you’re saying that in a couple of days he’ll know who we all are? He’ll be himself again?”

The doctor answered with a brisk nod. “Meanwhile, I’ll send Doctor Bass in to see you.” She patted Ryder’s knee and added, “He’s the staff psychologist. You’ll like him.”

Ryder nodded. He looked at Amelia and she realized with a jolt that to him she was a familiar face, even though that familiarity was only hours old. It left her in an odd position. Did she give him the support he was obviously looking for, or did she protect herself from the man he would be in a few days when his memory returned, when he no longer wanted anything to do with her or their baby?

Unsure, she smiled back.

Chapter Three

Still a little shaky on his feet, he crossed the room and peered into the small mirror above the sink, searching his eyes for some spark of recognition.

Nothing.

He ran a hand through his hair as he studied each of his features. Straight nose, brown eyes, chin. He opened his mouth and found the proper number of teeth, apparently without a single filling. He needed a shave.

He took a step back and stared at his whole face. The odd thing was that other than the bandage on his left cheek and a general disheveled appearance, he looked exactly as he knew he should look. He just couldn’t put a name or, more importantly, a past with himself.

He said, “Ryder. Ryder Todd Hogan. Ryder Hogan.”

The brown eyes still looked blank, but he’d heard his name said so many times over the past few hours by doctors, nurses, his parents and especially by the beautiful woman he’d found sitting by his bed, that it was beginning to sound familiar.

“My name is Ryder,” he said. But who was he? He didn’t know which foods he liked, what music he listened to, if he had a dog or a parakeet or a goldfish. He wasn’t sure where exactly he was, only that it was overcast outside and everyone spoke English. So how come he could place himself in the United States in late summer, judging by the tree foliage outside his window, near the coast if the seagulls weren’t lost, but not identify himself or his loved ones?

Obviously, it was time to ask questions and demand answers.

Reviewing what he knew of the people he’d so far met, he decided Amelia was the one to tackle. His parents—and the thought still left him stunned that he could forget the very people who had given him life and raised him—well, they just looked too fragile to quiz. Amelia, on the other hand, seemed strong. Defiant, maybe. Hesitant about him, definitely. But strong.

He found himself curious about her. Who exactly was she to him? Were they lovers? The thought brought a smile to his lips. He fervently hoped they were and would be again. He was finding it hard to take his eyes off her and more often than not, he caught her sliding gazes his way as well. There was something between them, all right, something he was anxious to explore.

He turned as the door opened and a large man with very short gray hair entered the room. “Ah, I see you’re awake,” he said.

Ryder, who suddenly felt less than half dressed in the hospital garb that opened down the back, pulled the gown close around his body and said, “Do I know you?”

“No, actually, you don’t,” the man said. He flipped aside his jacket and Ryder found himself staring at a police shield. “I’m Detective Hill. I have a few questions to ask you.”

Ryder shook his head and slowly made his way back to the bed. “I have to warn you,” he said. “I’m currently in the dark about damn near everything.”

“Yes,” Hill said. “I hear you’re claiming to have amnesia.”

Ryder frowned at the man as he pulled the blankets up over his legs. His head still pounded, but generally speaking, he felt pretty good. He said, “Why do you sound so sure I’m faking it?”

The detective smiled. Maybe smiled wasn’t the right word. Smirked might have been closer to it. He said, “It just comes at a rather opportunistic time, that’s all. I hear you can’t remember a thing about the accident.”

“That’s right,” Ryder said, his gut suddenly clenching like an angry fist. He said, “What should I be remembering, Detective Hill?”

“Well, for starters, your brother.”

“I’ve been told I have a brother named Philip. I understand he was off on his honeymoon when the accident occurred. He’s away again for a few weeks so I haven’t met him yet, but I can’t imagine what he has to do with anything.”

“I’m talking about your other brother,” Hill said. “Your twin. The one who died when the car you were both riding in hit the bottom of the ravine.”

As Ryder stared at Hill, his heart seemed to stop beating. A twin? He shook his head, convinced the man was lying. No one had said a word about a twin brother killed in the accident.

But Hill returned his stare with a defiant tilt to his chin. He wasn’t lying.

Ryder’s heart began beating again, erratically at first as though it was only half a heart pumping for half a man. A twin. He’d lost a brother and he didn’t remember. He raged against the injustice of it. He was repelled and saddened and furious. He felt vulnerable—why hadn’t someone warned him?

Hill’s gaze was steady and belligerent. For a second, it seemed the detective was looking right into the depths of Ryder’s soul. Let him. Let him see what he wanted to see. Ryder had nothing to hide, only himself to discover.

And then Ryder rebelled against the scrutiny and glanced away. He decided he would not show his tumultuous emotions to the controlled, suspicious man in front of him. The ache this newfound loss produced in his heart seemed too private, too raw, too foreign.

“Where are you going with this?” he choked out at last.

He was answered with narrowed eyes and a sentence delivered staccato. “You’re either a very good actor or you’re telling the truth. You really don’t remember.”

“Maybe I’m a very good actor who also can’t remember a thing,” Ryder said. “Your guess is as good as mine when it comes to knowing who or what I am.”

The door swung open and Dr. Solomon came into the room, clipboard in hand. She took one look at Hill over the top of her bifocals and said, “I distinctly recall asking you to wait a few days until this boy’s memory returns. Do I have to put a guard in front of his door?”

The detective held up both hands. “I was here anyway so I decided to check—”

“I told you he is currently suffering from acute memory loss.”

“I wanted to see for myself,” Hill said, leveling a stare at Ryder. “Sometimes doctors are taken in by things the police can see right through.”

“Sweet talking will get you nowhere,” she said dryly. “Now leave.”

Hill started to protest, but the doctor was a tough cookie who refused to budge an inch. She took his arm and gently but firmly expelled him from the room. The man’s parting words, delivered with an icy calm, were, “I’ll be back, Mr. Hogan. You can count on it.”

Amelia had apparently been right out in the hall, for she came in immediately.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Her position made her shirt cling to her body, and once he got past the tantalizing curves of her breasts, he was suddenly aware of the bulge in her abdomen. Was she pregnant? If she was, it put a whole new spin on their relationship.

“What did that man say to you?” she demanded.

Ryder looked from Amelia to the doctor and back again. “He told me I lost a twin brother in the accident that landed me in this hospital.” The two women exchanged a long look. Ryder said, “It’s true, then.”

Dr. Solomon nodded.

“And neither one of you thought to tell me. An over-sight?”

The doctor said, “Ah, sarcasm.”

“I need to know exactly what happened.”