Her Forgotten Husband

Many thanks to Monica Caltabiano for her fabulous

critiquing, to Rachel Jones for strategically timed

brainstorming and to Donna Jean for those lifesaving

ice-cream breaks.

ANNE HA

is the pen name of Anne and Joe Thoron, a husbandand-wife writing team. College sweethearts, they live in Oregon with two naughty cats and a vegetable garden. They love to travel and meet all different kinds of people. Their first book, Husband Next Door, was a finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award.

Chapter One (#ulink_f9798bcc-3cdd-5575-9850-1ce21525f7e3)

He seemed quite sane.

The handsome man seated by her bed—the man cradling her hand in his and murmuring endearments—did not appear demented, deranged or otherwise unbalanced.

But she’d never seen him before in her life.

He was a total stranger.

A moment ago she’d awakened, blinking in the bright hospital lights, to his inexplicable presence. She hated to spoil his pleasure, his obvious relief, but she couldn’t go on acting as if she knew him.

Gently she pulled her hand from his grasp and edged a few inches away.

“Sweetheart?” The man’s voice was deep and husky. A few days’ beard growth shadowed his jaw, giving him a sensual, tousled look which grew more pronounced as he raked his fingers through his dark brown hair. “You’re not still angry?”

Angry? Now there was a question that didn’t make sense! She had no reason to be angry. The only thing bothering her was the pounding ache in her head. It grew worse with every passing second.

Raising a hand to massage her temple, she drew back when her fingers encountered soft gauze. A bandage! Amazed, she gingerly traced the gauze, wincing at a shaft of pain.

“You all right?” the stranger asked.

“My head hurts,” she said, and shut her eyes. The darkness brought relief, wrapping her in its safe cocoon.

“I’m sure it does, after the wallop you gave it. You’ve had a concussion, you know.”

She frowned, eyes still closed. “I have?”

“Two days ago. Your car went off that nasty curve on Humphrey Boulevard. It hit a tree, but you were lucky—just suffered the concussion and a few cuts and bruises.”

She couldn’t bring herself to reply. It was easier to lie still between the starched white hospital sheets, to let the blankness ease the pain.

Briefly the stranger touched her shoulder, his fingers warming her skin. It felt nice, she thought, a bit guiltily. She heard him move, knew he stood over the bed. Heat emanated from his body, and she breathed in the spicy male scent of him. It wasn’t at all familiar, but it was oddly compelling.

“I’ll tell the doctor you’re awake,” he said.

But he didn’t leave, and she had the feeling he watched her intently.

After a moment he kissed her forehead, the contact light and fleeting. “I’m glad you’re all right, Sam. If I’d lost you…”

She opened her eyes, caught by one word. “Sam?”

He straightened, giving her a tired smile. “Sorry. I meant to say Samantha. I’ll get used to it someday.”

“Samantha,” she echoed. Confusion and anxiety rose inside her. Who in the world was Samantha?

Not her, surely. She didn’t feel like a Samantha. She felt like a…like a…

Nothing came to mind. No name seemed to fit.

Meeting the stranger’s expectant gaze, she struggled not to show her distress. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak. She felt lost, adrift.

Closing her eyes again, she tried to make sense of her situation. She knew she lay in a hospital room, could recognize its antiseptic smells. She knew the prickling discomfort in her left arm was caused by an IV needle, that the humming sound came from fluorescent lights.

But that was where it stopped. She didn’t know who she was. Or where she lived or how old she was or what kind of car she drove.

Oh, good Lord, she thought. She didn’t even know if she had any family or what she did for a living…

The man cleared his throat, interrupting her panic attack. “By the way,” he said, his voice soft. “The baby is fine.”

At first she thought she hadn’t heard him correctly. She swallowed and stared up at him, unable to keep the bewilderment from her face. “The, uh, baby?”

Could she be a mother? It didn’t seem possible. She had absolutely no recollection of changing diapers or of getting up for nighttime feedings. No recollection of childbirth.

“Yes,” the stranger answered. “The doctor said the accident had no ill effects.”

She grimaced, still not sure she had a baby. But maybe she would remember him—or was it her?— and would feel overjoyed it hadn’t been hurt. In the meantime all she could do was smile and try to think of something to say.

“Thank goodness for car seats!” she managed.

The man didn’t smile back. In fact, he looked decidedly concerned. His brows lowered and his slate gray eyes narrowed.

Darn it. Obviously she hadn’t been maternal enough. She tried again. “Thanks for the reassurance. I feel so much better knowing my baby is okay. I’m really looking forward to holding…it…in my arms again.”

His frown deepened. “Samantha…”

What did he want from her? So what if she couldn’t remember the gender of her child? A few seconds ago she hadn’t even known she had a baby, and now he was trying to hold her to some unreachable maternal ideal.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

He sat back down on the chair, holding her hand while he studied her face. She felt as if he were trying to gaze into her soul. And he didn’t seem pleased by what he saw.

“Samantha,” he said, “there’s something you should know.” He paused, appearing to choose his words with care. “The baby wasn’t in a car seat.”

“What?” she blurted. He was lying. He had to be. She couldn’t have been so irresponsible! “Look, mister, I don’t know what bee flew into your bonnet today, but I do not appreciate your accusations of neglect. Of course I put my child in a car seat!”