Suddenly Reunited

Gabrielle stirred in his arms as a sigh rustled from her, reminding Drew of the musical murmurings she’d hummed into his ears hours earlier. “’Oh, let me hear thy voice, for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is lovely,’” he quoted from Song of Songs. “‘Thou art fair, my love, thou art fair…. My beloved is mine, and I am hers….’”

But was she his?

And if she was, for how long?

He’d known from the instant her car disappeared from view that fateful night that he would miss everything about her, from her generous nature to her drive toward perfection.

Was the heat of their marital love a result of her determination to be the best? Or was it exactly what she’d called it at the conclusion of every interlude: physical proof of the love in her heart?

They’d been apart a long time, but not so long that he’d forgotten she liked having the window open, even on cold nights, so she could feel the breath of the cool wind on her face. She liked the sheets folded neatly over the comforter, too, and hated for the covers to be tucked too tightly over her feet.

Drew glanced at the window, where a crisp autumn breeze had set the sheer white curtains to billowing gently, like a sail that’s been filled by an obliging sea breeze. But the blankets, unencumbered by hospital corners, had gotten twisted, and he tidied them now, straightening the top sheet until it lay smooth.

His efforts roused her briefly, causing her to cuddle closer still. “I love you, Drew,” she murmured, kissing his neck before drifting off again.

He didn’t know its cause or source, but a sob swelled in his throat. Blinking back stinging tears, he managed to croak out a quiet “Ah, Gabby, I love you, too.”

He’d told her he loved her before, hundreds of times, and had meant it each time. But never more than now.

He’d have hugged her tighter, but she needed her rest, and he couldn’t chance waking her. He’d be nudging her in a few minutes, anyway, as Doc Parker had instructed. Every hour on the hour, he’d given her a gentle shake, just enough so he could pry open one eye at a time and study her pupils under the flashlight beam. Once he’d returned the light to the nightstand, he reset the alarm. But he hadn’t needed to: he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

He’d lain awake to do what the doctor had ordered—that much was true. But it was only part of the truth. The main reason for his sleeplessness was terror—cold and grim and hard as steel. Because what if, as he slumbered peacefully, Gabrielle woke up and got her memory back? She’d hate him, that’s what, and she’d leave again.

He never would have admitted it—not even to Gabrielle—but being abandoned by his mother twenty years earlier had left its mark. There hadn’t been one visit, one phone call or one note in all that time, so Drew and his only brother had had no choice but to take his father’s word that her leaving was proof she’d never cared a whit about any of them.

He’d been twelve at the time, young enough to hope and dream that she’d come back someday, old enough that it cut like a knife when “someday” never came.

When Gabrielle stormed out, all those feelings he’d repressed—fear and hurt, anger and confusion, and a powerful mistrust of women—came rushing back with the force of a mile-wide tornado. The biggest difference was that his mother had left without so much as a “See you later.” At least Gabrielle had shouted out a list of explanations for her decision to end their life together. Even with those reasons echoing in his mind, Drew still didn’t understand why she’d gone away any more than he’d understood his mother’s sudden departure.

What Gabrielle had said as she quietly closed the front door behind her confused him most of all. “I love you, Drew Cunningham, and I probably always will, but I can’t live with a man who thinks so little of me.”

That made no sense to him at all, because he thought the world of her. Didn’t she know that? Why, he loved her with everything in him, and would gladly have done anything to protect her, to give her the feelings of security and stability she’d never known as a girl.

What’s a man to do, he wondered, when the things he’s done to provide his wife with what he believes she needs are the very reasons she walks out on him?

Exhaling a ragged sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, as Gabrielle mumbled something in her sleep. He hoped it wouldn’t be just a matter of time before who he was drove her away again. God, he prayed, let me change. Don’t let me botch it this time. His concern was forgotten the moment she nestled against him, tangling her limbs with his. For the moment, at least, it didn’t matter that her absence had sent him into a black despair for three-quarters of a year, because it felt so good holding her close, so good that the only thing he really gave a hoot about right now was making her happy, any way he could.

She’d lived a hard life, and he had no right making it harder still by being thick-headed and narrow-minded. With a little luck and a whole lot of prayer, maybe he’d have the puzzle figured out by the time she got her memory back, and those things that drove her away would become the reasons she’d want to stay. Heart throbbing with hope, he touched his lips to her temple, as if sealing the prayer with a kiss.

The first rays of daylight now spilled over the windowsill, flooding the room with a deep purple hue. By the time he woke her for the next examination of her eyes, the sun would have crested the horizon. And because she’d always been an early riser, there’d be no more shushing her, no kissing her closed eyes to convince her to go back to sleep once she saw the bright light of day, as he’d done after every other time he’d checked her out.

Drew hoped his heart, thumping hard against his spine and onto the mattress, wouldn’t wake her before the daylight had a chance to. He willed it to stop pounding, but it was no use. Much as he wanted to see her open those big beautiful eyes of hers, he wished she would stay this way forever—peaceful and quiet and wrapped in the arms of his love.

Because when she woke up, would she have her memory back? Would she realize he’d taken advantage of her vulnerability?

“Good morning, handsome.” Gabrielle ran her fingers through his hair. “Did you sleep well?”

Relief coursed through him; for the time being, it seemed, she hadn’t remembered.

Drew gave a shaky nod. “I slept fine.”

Grinning, she gave his chest a playful slap. “Fibber. You didn’t sleep a wink, I’ll bet, what with your insistence on subjecting me to hourly torture sessions.” She snickered. “Now I know why detectives in all the movies use that bare lightbulb when they’re interrogating bad guys.”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “It was for your own good.”

She combed her fingernails through his chest hair. “So what’s the diagnosis, Doc? Did I pass muster?”

He tried to ignore the hunger her delicate touch aroused. “You’re mixing your variables, but yes, you seem okay to me.”

“Metaphors,” she said, kissing his throat, “not variables.”

His brow crinkled. How did she expect him to think, let alone talk sense, when her fingertips continued drawing little circles on his chest? “Meta—”

She kissed him full on the lips, then said, “If I have to choose between a guy who knows the difference between variables and metaphors…” Gabrielle pressed as close as her satiny nightgown would allow and, with her lips lightly touching his, said on the heels of a raspy sigh, “Let’s just say I choose you, hands down.”

If she didn’t quit it, she’d get another dose of last night, right now.

No, he couldn’t let that happen. It wasn’t fair to Gabrielle—not in her condition, not under these tenuous circumstances.

“Do you have any baby names in mind?”

He swallowed. “Baby names?” Drew took a deep breath, because if anyone had asked him to describe what a woman’s voice might sound like when she asked a question like that, he’d have said it would come off as cheery, lighthearted—a little giggly, even. But seductive? Sultry? He’d never have guessed that in a million years, and yet passionate was precisely the way his wife’s voice sounded now.

What’s a man to do with a li’l gal like this? he asked himself. Dear God, tell me, what’s a man to do?

The answer came sandwiched between her lingering, breathy sigh and the kiss she placed—of all places—on the tip of his nose. Love her, said a voice from deep inside his heart. Just love her.

And so he did exactly that.

“Drew, do we have company?”

He finished buttoning his shirt as he walked toward the window. Standing beside her, he followed her gaze to the driveway below. “No. Why?”

Gabrielle pointed. “Whose little red sports car is that?”

Both brows drew together as he studied her profile. And then it dawned on him: he hadn’t bought her the car until a week before she’d left, and if she didn’t remember leaving, then she didn’t remember how all-fired mad she’d been about that car.

Should he tell her the truth? No, Doc Parker had made it perfectly clear: “Keep her as quiet and calm as possible. Don’t let her do anything that might cause another blow to the temple. Don’t even let her rattle her brain by jostling her head.”

Drew didn’t want to talk about that car. Fact was, he’d come to hate the sight of it, crunching up the gravel drive every Saturday morning as she headed in for her weekly ride with Triumph. In his mind, the vehicle was the beginning of the end of them. If he told her it was her car down there, the knowledge might jog her memory, start a whole domino series of memories toppling—if remembering now made her half as upset as she’d been on the night she’d left.

“Lie, steal and cheat if you have to,” the old doctor had insisted. “Do whatever it takes to keep that girl calm.”

The possibility of causing further damage to his delicate, defenseless wife made Drew’s heart ache. She looked so beautiful, standing there with the morning light gleaming in her hair, her narrow shoulders wrapped in a pink robe that matched her satiny nightgown. He was about to tell her so, when she faced him and smiled the way she had as they stood at the altar, hand in hand, ready to exchange wedding vows.

“Well?”

Without thinking, he reached out and wrapped a lock of her hair around his forefinger. “Well…what?”

Giggling, Gabrielle gave him a good-natured poke in the ribs. “The car, silly. Whose is it?”

Drew’s cheeks felt hot, because he took pride in the fact that he could count on one hand the number of times he’d deliberately lied in his lifetime. But what choice did he have? If a lie would keep her calm…

“It’s, uh, it belongs to a guy.”

“A guy? What guy?”

“Somebody, uh, someone in town. He, um, he asked if I’d take a look under the hood and—”

She threw herself into his arms, gave him a good long squeeze. “It’s your own fault, you know.”

With his chin resting atop her head, he prayed, Don’t let her remember, Lord. Because if she remembered, she’d leave him. And this time, it might be for good. It hadn’t been easy, going on after she slammed out of his life. But he’d plodded along, hoping that God would answer his only prayer: Bring her home. Just bring her home.

After last night, after this morning, he didn’t think he could pretend the past hadn’t happened. Didn’t know if he had the strength to try.

Reminded again of the selfishness of his prayer, Drew closed his eyes in shame and revised his heavenly plea. Don’t let her remember…at least not yet.

He was as afraid of the answer as he was of the question, but Drew asked it anyway. “What’s my fault?”

With a tilt of her head and a saucy grin, she said, “If you hadn’t developed this—this reputation for being so good with motors, people wouldn’t always be asking you to fix their tractors and their cars and their lawn mowers.” She squeezed him again. “But your helpful nature is just one of the reasons I love you.”

She’d likely said “I love you” a hundred times since he found her standing at the stove yesterday afternoon. How many more times would she say it before everything came back to her?

“Has he been here before?”

“No. Why?”

She shrugged. “Because that car looks…familiar.”

Drew swallowed, hard.

“When will he be picking it up?”

Lost in the depths of crystal-gray, long-lashed eyes, Drew’s mind swam with memories of his own. Gabrielle had told him all about her gypsy-like past, how painful it had been, trying to fit in every time her father plunked her down in a new town; how, just when she’d started feeling like a place could be home, he’d up and move the little family again.

Drew’s childhood was anything but nomadic. “Stability” might as well have been his middle name. His great-grandfather had bought the parcel of land that eventually became the Walking C, and Cunninghams had worked that land ever since. Drew remembered the accusations she’d hurled at him that night. If only she had let him explain, she’d have seen that—

A light tapping on his chest roused him from his thoughts. He looked down to find her pinching the bridge of her nose. “Earth to Drew, Earth to Drew…”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “Sorry. I was—”

“Thinking about last night?” She sighed dreamily and nestled closer. “Another one for the memory book, wasn’t it.”

Memory book? he repeated silently. The mere mention of the words jarred Drew as if she’d broadsided him with a two-by-four.

He chose to concentrate on what she’d implied, rather than the fear her question evoked. “That’s putting it mildly,” he said, forcing a grin. Fact was, he hadn’t realized how precious a gift they’d shared, all those nights before she’d left. If he’d known then what a treasure she was, how priceless and irreplaceable her love would be—

“So when…is…the…man…coming…for…his…car?” She enunciated each word individually.

Another blast of heat warmed his cheeks, his ears, his neck. “He—I, ah, I told him I’d drive it to town today.”

She wrinkled her nose. “But Drew, how will you get home?”

He had to think about that for a minute. Lying wasn’t something he’d gotten much practice at over the years, and he’d told her two in as many minutes.

Grinning, Gabrielle ran her thumbs over his whiskered cheeks. “I’ll just bet you’re about to ask me to follow you into town in the pickup and wait while you make your Little Red Car delivery.”

Too many chances she’d have a memory jog. “No.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so, that’s why.”

He saw the flash of hurt in her eyes and was immediately reminded what she’d said that night, about how he thought he knew the answer to every question. No wonder she left, he admitted silently, regretfully.

Drew shook his head, knowing how ridiculous, how bullheaded he’d sounded. “It’s just, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” That, at least, was the truth. “I’ll get Troy to follow me.”

She wiggled her eyebrows and snuggled closer still. “But if I drive you, we could have lunch at the diner. I haven’t had one of those soft ice-cream treats they serve in days.”

Dread pounded in his heart. Those first days after leaving him—before she’d hired on as a loan officer at the bank— Gabrielle had taken a job as a waitress at the diner. What if going in there, being surrounded by all that black-and-white tile and chrome, brought everything racing back?

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Absolutely not. You suffered a concussion, don’t forget, and I don’t want you driving the truck yet.” Another truth to add to the good side of his lies-v.-honesty ledger.

But there was something dark in her eyes. Anger? Resentment? Was it any wonder, when seconds ago he’d admitted how bullheaded he’d sounded, and here he was doing it again?

He quickly added, “That old jalopy doesn’t have power steering or power brakes. I want you to rest today.” Almost as an afterthought, he tacked on, “Okay?”

She frowned. “Honestly, Drew. Why do you always treat me like I’m made of spun glass?” Doubling a fist, she shook it under his nose. “I’m tougher than I look, mister. So I got a little bump on the head.”

“Gabrielle,” he began, one brow high on his forehead and a finger to the tip of her nose, “Doc said you weren’t to exert yourself in any way.” He drew her nearer to add, “I’ve already broken that rule by allowing you to talk me into, um, exerting yourself, twice in twelve hours. You want him to take a poke at me?”

Hiding a grin behind one hand, she shook her head. “And he’d do it, too, wouldn’t he.”

She must have remembered the story he’d told her, about the time when he was six or seven, and Doc Parker whacked his behind for climbing to the top of his TV antenna. “You do anything like that again,” the man had warned, “and I’ll paddle your bottom.”

“Yep,” Drew agreed, “he would.”

Her laughter was like cooling salve on a raw burn. She seemed to be enjoying his company, the way she had back in the early days of their marriage, before she started thinking of him as—what had she called him that night?—a control freak, a bossy know-it-all, a rigid and uncompromising jerk.

Drew placed both hands on her shoulders, grateful as all get-out for the love-light radiating from her eyes. He decided, standing there in the warm glow of it, that he’d be a fool to mess this up. How many chances did he think the Good Lord was going to give him? It was in His capable hands now, whether she got her memory back, started hating him again, left for good.

If she left again, Drew thought grimly.

On the other hand, maybe by the grace of God, he’d be able to use this time wisely, show her that he knew how to be the kind of husband she’d said she wanted, the kind of husband she deserved.

“So tell me, Mrs. Cunningham, what can I fix you for breakfast?”

She frowned again, but a smile gentled it considerably. “I’ll have you know that I spent the better part of yesterday afternoon putting my pantry and cupboards back in order. Seems you must have offered to empty the dishwasher, and in a weak moment, I foolishly said yes.” Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed his Adam’s apple. “After the mess you made, you don’t honestly think I ever intend to let you into my kitchen again, do you?”

He remembered how she’d always lined up the cups and glasses in the cabinets, how every spoon and fork in the silverware drawer ended up in a neat stack, how she kept the canned goods in straight rows in the pantry, how she organized their closets with military precision. For a while after she left, he’d tried to keep things that way, but before long her “way” of doing things only served to remind him how very much he missed everything about her.

“I’ll get Troy to follow me into town,” he said suddenly. “Soon as we get some eggs and ham into your—”

She grabbed his hand, lay it flat against her stomach. “By Jove,” she said, imitating a thick British accent, “oy think we did it.”

“Did it? Did what?”

Pressing his hand more tightly to her, she rolled her eyes. “Made a baby, of course!”

It took every ounce of self-control for him to keep his mouth shut. Because, as he had watched her sleep last night, he’d more or less hoped the same thing. On the one hand, God couldn’t grace them with a better gift. On the other, if a baby was a result of their loving night, and she got her memory back.

Drew preferred not to think about that right now. Right now, she needed his strength, his stability, his protection—not his self-centered doubts and fears.

“Are you as happy as I am, Drew?”

Looking into those wide, sparkling eyes, staring at that angelic, naive face, how could he say anything but “I’ve never been happier, Gabby.” Three lies, three truths. At least there’s some balance to this miserable mess, he told himself.

His answer seemed to satisfy her, and she walked into the closet, lifted a pair of jeans from a shelf and took a T-shirt from its hanger. “Drew?”

He followed her into the closet, wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Hmm?”

Pointer finger aimed at the wall, she said, “Where did all these shelves come from?”

He’d built them in the weeks after she left, hoping that when she came to her senses, when she came home, she’d see this small alteration in his otherwise well-regulated life as proof that he was willing to compromise, for her.

But admitting that would only upset her, and Doc Parker had made it clear what could happen if she got riled.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he began his next lie, “so while you were—while you were out riding Triumph, I, ah, I built them.”

Gabrielle turned partway around. “But Drew, you said once that you didn’t want to change anything in this house, in case your mother ever came home.”

If he hadn’t had his arms wrapped around her, he’d have slapped himself in the forehead. She’d called him a jerk that night. And she’d been right, he admitted. Because who else but a jerk—a mama’s boy—would say a thing like that to his new bride, to the woman he’s supposed to love?

Drew gave her a gentle squeeze. “I guess after twenty years, it’s fair to say she won’t be coming back. You’re the most important woman in my life, Gabby. Have been from the minute I laid eyes on you, will be ’til I draw my last breath.”

Facing him, she dropped the clothes onto the floor and threw her arms around his neck. “What a wonderful, thoughtful thing to do.” Standing on tiptoe, she pressed a kiss to his chin. “I love you so much!”

He shrugged as a blush darkened his weathered cheeks, because as usual she was overreacting. He’d built a few lousy, lopsided shelves in a hundred-year-old ranch house, when she deserved a mansion on a hill. “It’s a few boards and a couple of nails. Let’s not get all mushy about it, okay?”

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