Her Forgotten Husband

He shook his head slowly, those watchful gray eyes still on her.

“And before you make any more snide comments on my parenting,” she added, “go out and try it yourself. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

In response to her bravado, an annoying grin tugged at the corners of his mouth—his very attractive, sensuous mouth.

She scowled, unable to see what he found so amusing.

“Samantha,” he said, “the baby wasn’t in a car seat because it hasn’t been born yet.”

She was so relieved she hadn’t been a neglectful mother that the full import of his words didn’t immediately sink in.

When it did, she glanced down at her stomach, then slowly reached out to feel it. Through the sheet, she cupped her hand around the slight curve of her abdomen. Was that a baby? Or just her body’s normal shape? She had no way of knowing.

“I’m pregnant?” she asked. She didn’t feel particularly pregnant.

He nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

Her gaze returned to her belly. He sounded adamant. Too adamant not to be right.

She felt a sudden wave of tenderness, thinking a new life grew within her. She was fiercely glad her baby hadn’t been harmed in the crash. “I haven’t been this way for long, have I?”

“No, not that long.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off her stomach. A baby! How wonderful and strange.

Then an awkward thought occurred to her. She didn’t know how to ask at first, but then realized she didn’t need to ask at all. Instead, she looked down at the fingers of her left hand. Yes, she wore a wedding ring.

The stranger followed her gaze. “I slipped it back on this morning,” he said, as if it was a confession.

She peered at the simple gold band. “I’m married.” Her voice was full of wonder.

Still holding her other hand, he gave it a squeeze. “It certainly appears that way.”

The band was delicate and nicely proportioned, she noted, but it wasn’t in any way familiar. It didn’t spark any memories. “I’m married,” she said again.

“Yes.”

She sighed. “That’s a relief. I don’t think I’d like to be a single mother…. You wouldn’t, er, happen to know who my husband is, would you?”

“As a matter of fact, I would.”

“Who is it?”

His expression turned wry. He raised her fingers to his mouth, kissed them with warm, gentle lips and said, “Me.”

She snatched her hand from his grasp. “You?”

The man nodded. “Yes, me.”

She stared at him, not wanting to believe she could be married to a man she didn’t even recognize. “That’s—that’s crazy. I didn’t marry you. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

He shook his head. “It’s definitely time to get the doctor.”

“But—”

“I’ll be right back,” he told her, and left.

She blew out a stream of air. “I would never,” she said to the empty room, “marry such an impossible man.”

True, he was attractive. Extremely attractive. His body was long and lean, and his sculpted features made him look like a Greek god. Maybe she’d been carried away on a tide of desire.

No, no, she couldn’t be married to him. She couldn’t have kissed a man like him, have lain in his arms, and not remembered it. Somehow she knew the power of his lovemaking would sear into her soul. She’d have remembered it.

The power of his lovemaking…

Good grief! She’d only known the man ten minutes, and already she was mentally having her way with him. It wasn’t like her to fantasize about strangers. She’d always reserved her fantasies for…for…

The wisp of memory, if that was what it was, slipped from her grasp like a ribbon of smoke. She closed her eyes as her headache intensified.

What was the name? She’d been about to think of a man’s name.

But it didn’t come, and the more she struggled to retrieve it, the more her head pounded.

Anyway, she told herself, what was the point of remembering some guy’s name, when she didn’t even know her own?

The stranger, of course, had called her Samantha. Could that really be right? She said it out loud a few times, trying to accustom herself. It sounded foreign to her own ears, as did her voice.

She started when the door to her room swung open. The stranger walked back in, accompanied by two women. She wasn’t ready for them yet, she thought. She wanted more time to orient herself, to get control of the situation.

One of the women, dressed in a doctor’s coat, approached her. She studied the machines above the bed, then held up a light and briefly shone it into each of her eyes. “I’m Dr. Hernandez,” she said in a friendly, soothing tone. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Except for this awful headache.”

Dr. Hernandez nodded. The other woman, who appeared to be a nurse, handed her a chart on a clipboard. The doctor made a few notations. “That’s normal in a case such as this. Can you tell me your name?”

She debated for a moment. Technically the answer was no. But if she gave them the name the man had called her, maybe they’d leave her alone. “Samantha,” she said brightly.

The others exchanged glances.

“Samantha what?” Dr. Hernandez asked.

She stared meditatively up at the ceiling. “Samantha… er…Bergman?”

Silence.