A Husband To Remember

She turned on her heel and with as much pride as her injuries would allow, marched rigidly into the bathroom.

“Don’t forget the antiseptic cream,” he ordered as she slammed the door shut. Wrinkling her nose, she mimicked him in the mirror, trying to look beyond her skinned face and scabs. Some of the smaller scrapes were beginning to heal and her eye wasn’t as discolored as it had been. “And stay inside,” he ordered from the other side of the door. “The doctor warned you about getting too much sun.”

“Yes, master,” she muttered under her breath. Her teeth ground together as she thought of him barking orders at her. It seemed as if all her life someone was continually ordering her around. Her parents, her older sisters, her teachers, her editor at the paper, and now Trent.... She froze, her heart hammering wildly. She remembered! Nothing solid, but teasing bits of memory that were jagged and rough had pierced the clouds in her mind. Little pieces of her personality seemed to be shaping. Suddenly she was certain that she’d always been stubborn, resented being the smallest sister, the youngest woman on the staff of the Observer!

She’d also resented the fact that her work had been looked upon with a wary eye, just because she was young and sometimes because she was a woman. She’d had pride in her work, a great passion for journalism and an incredible frustration at not being taken seriously.

She wanted to share the news with Trent, to tell him that it was truly happening, her memory was coming back, but she held her tongue. She still didn’t remember anything about him, about her trip to Salvaje, about the reasons she married him.

And what if she suddenly remembered that it had been he who had been chasing her, he who had pushed her over the cliff? She couldn’t really believe that he’d want to hurt her, as he’d had plenty of opportunity to do so since the accident, but there was something deep in her unconscious mind, something dark and demonlike and frightening, that warned her to tread softly with this man. If he were dangerous and her memory was the key to uncovering his deception, he might turn violent.

A shudder of fear ripped through her. Take it slow, Nikki, she told herself. You can’t trust him. Not yet. Until she had something more concrete, she’d keep her small discovery—that her memory was beginning to surface—to herself.

By the time she’d dressed, dried her hair and applied some salve to her face, he was gone, and she was grateful to be alone.

With the aid of her dictionary, she dialed room service and managed to order a pitcher of iced tea. She found some bills in her wallet and gave the waiter a healthy tip before locking the door behind him.

On the terrace, she poured herself some tea and looked through the pictures in her wallet again. There was one she’d missed earlier—a snapshot taken in the wilderness. A rushing river and steep mountains were the backdrop and two people were embracing before the camera. She recognized the woman as herself, but the man—blond and strapping with even features—wasn’t Trent. Dave, she mouthed, though she felt no trace of emotion as she touched his photograph with the tip of her finger. No love. No hate. No anger. As if he’d been erased from her mind and heart forever.

“What a mess,” she said, but decided not to dwell on her misfortune. She’d been feeling sorry for herself for nearly a week, but it was time to take charge of her life. She wasn’t laid up any longer. She could walk, though admittedly she wouldn’t win any races just yet, but she didn’t have to depend upon Trent or a bevy of doctors to take care of her. She was a grown woman, and, if everyone were to be believed, a strong-willed and independent person who could handle her own life. An investigative journalist, for crying out loud.

She should be able to figure out if Trent was who he claimed to be. She watched the lemon dance between the ice cubes in her glass and decided that it was time to find out if Trent was her husband or an impostor.