Texas Showdown

“She’s going to be all right, though, isn’t she?” Austin asked, not wanting to let his fears get the best of him.

“We have the best trauma doctors in the country, Mr. O’Brien. Your wife is in good hands,” Maureen said, indicating a third place for his signature.

When he’d signed, he searched her face for any indication that she was placating him. She seemed sincere.

“I’ll take you to a waiting area where you can find a decent cup of coffee,” she said. “Someone will be out to talk to you the minute your wife is out of surgery.”

“What happened?”

“She was alone, believed to be walking to her car when she took a blow to the head from behind,” she supplied.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“The doctor is with her now and he’ll be able to give you a full report.” She shot him an apologetic look.

“Where was she when this happened?”

“Outside of a place called Midnight Cowboy, on Sixth Street,” she supplied. “An employee came out the back door and the guy supposedly took off before she could get a good look at him.”

Austin thanked her and followed her down the long white hallway.

She opened a door to a lounge, closed the door behind him, and it didn’t take but another minute for him to get started on that first cup.

There were a few people in the waiting area, scattered around, some in pairs. The thought that he might be in the same room with the man who planned to marry his wife was a bitter pill to swallow. Austin scanned each male face to see if he recognized any of the men or if any one of them seemed like someone Maria would date.

There was one contender, a man in his midthirties, fairly stocky for what had to be about a five-foot-ten-inch frame. The guy was sitting off to the side by himself. He wore camo pants and a dark green T-shirt, fairly typical FBI field clothing. His elbows rested on his knees, and his right foot hadn’t stopped fidgeting since Austin had stepped into the room. The man could be worried about Maria or tense about meeting her husband, Austin thought wryly. He leaned against the wall, needing to stand for a few minutes while he sipped his coffee. Besides, the dark blue chairs lining the walls looked about as hard and itchy as sitting on a bale of hay.

The haze in his brain started lifting and he convinced himself that he’d stick around long enough to make sure Maria was in the clear and out of surgery. She may not even want him there. Camo Pants might be the one getting the nod to see her when she woke.

Anger filled his chest as he thought about how easy it seemed for her to be able to replace their relationship. For him, what they’d had was special. Apparently, not so much for her.

News that she was in recovery came two cups of coffee and little more than one hour later. Austin took it as a good sign. Camo Pants didn’t make a move when the doctor stepped into the doorway and asked to speak to Austin O’Brien. Austin double-checked Camo Pants for a reaction when the doctor said Maria’s name, too. He didn’t get one. Good. Austin wasn’t sure how he’d react if his replacement was sitting in the same room.

It struck him as odd that her fiancé wouldn’t be notified. But then, that was just paperwork.

Austin followed the doctor into the hall so they could speak one-on-one. After hearing medical-lingo for Maria was doing better than expected due to her strong physical condition, Austin asked how long she could expect to be in the hospital.

“Not long. Cognitively, she’s doing far better than expected,” the middle-aged doctor, who looked committed to a workout routine himself, said. He’d introduced himself as Dr. Burt and had a tired but competent look to his graying features. “A blow to the head like the one she took can scramble things up. Her mind seems clear. She knew her name and the day of the week. She also knew the current president and vice president.”

Austin didn’t know how to put this delicately, so he came straight out with it. “We’re going through a divorce, so I’m not sure if it’s appropriate for me to stick around much longer. I’d like to know that she’ll recover fully before I leave, though.”

“Leave?” The doctor’s brow shot up. “You were the first person she asked to see when she woke. She asked for her husband.”

Again, the delicate way to approach this seemed to take leave so Austin asked point-blank, “Are you sure she’s talking about me?”

“You’re Austin O’Brien, correct?” Dr. Burt asked.

“I am.”

“Then I’m absolutely talking about you,” he said.

“And she didn’t mention anything about sending me divorce papers or planning to marry someone else?”

“No.” A concerned crease dented the doctor’s forehead. “In fact, she seemed excited about heading back to the ranch with you.”

“The ranch?” Austin’s reaction seemed to catch the doctor off guard.

“She doesn’t live with you on your family ranch?” he asked.

Austin shook his head and worry lines bracketed Dr. Burt’s mouth.

“You said she took a blow to the head,” Austin said, fearing that she might’ve taken a bigger hit than they realized.

Dr. Burt nodded. “Short-term memory loss can be an issue with a head injury. I’ll set up a meeting with you and the nurse to check the accuracy of the information she provided. If she doesn’t live with you, where does she live?”

“She moved to an apartment in Austin more than a year ago,” Austin said honestly. He didn’t really want to get into the shortcomings of his relationship with his wife but it sounded like information they needed to treat her properly. He could get through a few uncomfortable minutes if it would help.

The doctor’s frown deepened. “Interesting. She didn’t mention anything about it.” He paused. “I’ll contact our trauma specialist for a consult and, if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to be available for an interview, as well.”

“I’ll do what I can to help,” he said, unsure if he was the right person for the task.

Dr. Burt deposited Austin in a small office and then left, saying he’d return soon. The doctor’s words sent all of Austin’s warning flags flying at high altitude.

A few minutes passed before the door opened again and a white-haired doctor stepped inside.

“I’m Dr. Wade.” This doctor was a little shorter than Dr. Burt with a few more wrinkles.

The interview didn’t last as long as Austin’s cup of coffee.

“I’d like to confer with my colleague before making a recommendation,” he said, pausing at the door.

Austin thanked him and waited.

Three hours later, Dr. Burt stepped inside the room. “My shift is almost over but I wanted to speak to you personally before I left.”

“I appreciate it,” Austin said.

“Your wife is in recovery and doing well. After speaking to her, it’s safe to say that she’s suffering memory loss from the trauma her head received,” the doctor began, taking a seat across from Austin. “The blow was severe enough to cause some swelling to the brain.”

“Sounds serious,” Austin said, tamping down his fear that the doctor was about to deliver life-changing news.

“We’ll have to monitor her for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours but I’m hopeful for a positive outcome given her otherwise strong physical condition,” Dr. Burt said.

“And what about her memory?” Austin asked.

“That’s where it gets complicated. There are two basic types of amnesia, retrograde and anterograde,” Dr. Burt started. He leaned forward and touched the tips of his fingers together. “Amnesia is simple. We all know what that means. We had a memory once and now it’s gone.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “The memory is lost.”

Straightforward enough. Austin nodded his understanding.

“Anterograde amnesia erases short-term memories following an accident or trauma and a good part of that is due to injury to the brain itself. Chemicals shift and the balance is disturbed. Once that brain chemistry normalizes, systems work again.” He folded his fingers together. “Had a guy released last week who’d spent four months here but can’t recall anything before the last week of his stay.”

“Will those memories come back for him?” Austin asked after taking a sip of coffee that he’d refilled prior to the doctor entering the room.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Dr. Burt made a seesaw effect with outstretched arms. “I’ve seen it go both ways.

“With retrograde amnesia, like in your wife’s case—” he paused “—a patient loses memories of events before the injury. For some, the loss will cover a few minutes. Others can lose weeks, months or even years of their lives. I’ve personally witnessed both ends of the spectrum.”

“What about Maria?” Austin asked, absorbing the news. His first thought was that the only reason she’d asked for him was because she didn’t remember that she’d been the one to walk away in the first place. And what did any of that mean for their relationship? Was he supposed to forget the fact that she’d served him with divorce papers and pretend like nothing was wrong?

“It’s difficult to say at this point. Memories have a tendency to return like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. They’ll get bits here and there with no rhyme or reason,” Dr. Burt said.

“Is it a permanent condition? Can it come and go?” Austin asked. What he knew about amnesia could fill his coffee cup and nothing more. And most of that knowledge came from him or one of his brothers suffering from a concussion in childhood.

“Many people regain much of what they’ve lost, if not all. For some, they never retrieve that information. The brain is complicated and there’s not a one-size-fits-all approach.” Dr. Burt’s shoulders relaxed. He maintained soft eye contact, blinking and looking away as he recalled information. Everything about the man’s posture communicated compassion. “If it’s any consolation, we’ve observed a direct correlation between recovery of the head injury and return of memories. The better the healing, the more long-term memories tend to come back.”

“I’m guessing you can’t tell me when that will happen,” Austin said.

“Not with any degree of confidence,” the doctor admitted. “Generally speaking, the less severe the head injury, the smaller the degree of associated retrograde amnesia. From evaluating her memory versus the trauma to her head, I’d guess that her memories could return fairly soon. She’s in excellent physical condition and that always aids recovery. Her head sustained a fair amount of trauma both from the blunt force instrument and then when she fell after the initial blow. Indications are that she collided hard with the concrete. That being said, she’s young and strong. Both of those factors weigh in. The better she takes care of herself in recovery, the more hopeful I am.”

“Will this affect her ability to do her job?” Austin asked.

“She won’t be able to go back to work without medical clearance,” Dr. Burt said. “We’ll recommend follow-up treatment as part of her rehabilitation plan.”

“What about forcing reality? Can I tell her the truth about our life?” he asked.

“That’s up to you.” He clasped his hands.

“She might not want to see me when she remembers the past,” Austin admitted.

“This has to be a difficult situation for you. If you care about her, my advice is to take it easy. Making memories flood back before the brain can handle them can cause even more distress and delay her progress,” Dr. Burt stated. “I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s not news you wanted to hear.”

Austin needed to ask another question. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer except that experience had taught him that dodging a problem usually made it worse. That was especially true with his marriage. He would have to face the music that she was involved with another man at some point. “She didn’t mention wanting to see anyone else, did she?”

“No.” Dr. Burt looked Austin square in the eye. “It seems like your situation is—” the doctor searched the white floor tile like the answer might be found there “—complicated. No one would blame you for walking away. You signed the paperwork consenting treatment, so you’ve done your part. She’ll likely recover her memory in a few days, possibly weeks, and if there’s someone else in her life, then you might not want to be around for the moment she remembers him and wants him to be the one to help her.”

The man had a point.

“Thanks for the honesty and for everything you’ve done for her,” Austin said, knowing full well that he couldn’t walk away until he knew that Maria would be okay. He hadn’t expected the call to come in the first place. He hadn’t expected to spend the next two nights at a bedside vigil, pretending to be something they were not, a happy couple. And least of all, he hadn’t expected to be the one taking her to her apartment to settle in, a place he’d never set foot in—the place where she’d moved to get away from him.

But there he was, doing it all the same.

Maria was smart, athletic and strong. Seeing her in a hospital bed, helpless, with tubes sticking out of her had been a blow that had knocked Austin back a few steps. Divorce or not, he needed to see her get back on her feet.

There was another kink. Even though she’d been cleared of her head injury, she made no progress on regaining her memories. She didn’t remember the fact that they were separated let alone on the verge of divorce. Austin had expected her fiancé to drop by at some point during the hospital stay. He’d been told on the second day that Dr. Burt had convinced him, whoever he was, to stay away for now.

Maria was quiet on the ride to her loft.

Stepping inside, she seemed as lost as he felt.

“Funny, I don’t remember this place as much as I do our house on the ranch,” Maria said, those big brown eyes of hers staring up at him as he stood in the unfamiliar surroundings of the open-concept loft. “And why do I have an apartment here in Austin away from you anyway?”

The doctor had said that her memories could come back one at a time or as an avalanche. One at a time was the best scenario, he’d said.

“To be closer to work,” Austin said, not feeling a connection to the city where she lived even though he shared its name. Lies were racking up. The doctor had said that Maria was most likely suppressing negative memories and that it was best to let her mind work everything out.

Give her time, he’d said. She’ll come around.

“Why don’t I see any of your things? Don’t you live here, too?” she asked, glancing around as she took a step toward the kitchen island.

“I’m needed on the ranch,” he said, shaking his head.

Talking to Maria like nothing was wrong, like those damn papers weren’t sitting on his desk waiting to be signed, seemed like an even worse betrayal than the day she’d walked out.

Chapter Three

“Can I sit here? I’m not really tired enough to go to bed.” Maria motioned toward the couch. “Besides, I’ve already been lying down for what feels like an eternity.”

Austin put his arm around her waist, ignoring the electricity pinging between them as he helped her to the sofa. She leaned into him and, for a second, he remembered how good her body was at molding to his. How soft her skin was...

Those thoughts were as productive as shoveling mulch with a pitchfork.

She eased down with a groan. Austin didn’t need to think it was sexy. But her voice had always had that effect on him.

Her long brown hair parted on the side now and fell way past her shoulders. She’d grown it out since he’d last seen her. And he was certain a lot of other things had changed about her since then, too.

“I never knew this many places in my body could hurt at the same time,” she said with a quick smile.

Austin forced his gaze away from her rosy lips.

“If you’d take stronger pain medicine like the doctor prescribed, you wouldn’t have to suffer.” Austin didn’t want to notice how toned that body of hers was. Her work as a special agent would ensure she stayed in tip-top physical condition. And the truth was that she loved to exercise.

“Then how will I know when I’m doing damage to something?” she asked with those big brown eyes staring at him. After she made herself comfortable, she beamed up at him and then grabbed his hand and tugged him toward her. “Besides, all those pills do is make me nauseous anyway.”

Austin straightened his back and pulled out of her grip, stuffing his hand inside his jeans pocket instead. His muscles corded with tension. He didn’t need to go there with the being-her-comfort thing. “You want anything to drink? Water?”

“Coffee sounds good.” She looked at him blankly and a little hurt. He’d spent the past two days at her side in the hospital, pretending that everything was fine. No doubt she had questions as he started to pull back. There was a mix of confusion and hurt in her eyes that he wished wasn’t his fault. Austin didn’t like putting it there but he couldn’t risk getting too close this time. He had to protect himself, too. Soon enough she’d remember that she’d gotten tired of their marriage, had classified it as a youthful mistake, and then had walked out.

Were it not for being Texan and a gentleman, he wouldn’t be here in the first place. Call it Cowboy Code or whatever but Austin couldn’t refuse someone who truly needed his help, especially not someone he’d cared about. And that’s as far as he could allow feelings for Maria Belasco to go.

His ringtone sounded, belting Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” and her face lit up. She no doubt remembered it was the song that had been playing the first time they’d met at the Cash Fest, one of the many charity events his mother had organized that had been centered around the man’s music and benefited rising talent.

Austin fished out his cell, grunted, and then turned to walk away. It was his brother Dallas on the line. Austin would call him back.

“Want to put on some music?” Maria asked, and her voice was loaded with unasked questions.

The two of them had connected on a lot of levels but the first thing that really got him was her love of the blues, rockabilly and country music. He’d play some obscure bluegrass song, and she’d know what it was. And then there was their shared love of the same books. In the back of Austin’s pickup was a dog-eared copy of The Old Man and the Sea, his all-time favorite story. Turns out that it was Maria’s, too. On top of having music and literature in common, she was determined, brilliant...and beautiful.

“I finished reading that book you gave me. Happens to Be Real.” She motioned toward the rectangular coffee table in front of her.

Austin tensed. He didn’t know what to make of the fact that she kept the last book he’d lent her on the coffee table of the apartment she shared with another man. Although, a cursory glance didn’t reveal any men’s items at the loft. He shouldn’t feel relieved but no man wanted his nose rubbed in the fact that his ex was involved in a new relationship.

“Are we not on good terms?” she asked, and there was an innocent quality to her voice that threatened to put a chink in his armor.

Not so fast. She’d always been perceptive and he’d have to be less transparent if this was going to work.

“We’re okay,” he said with a shrug, wondering how much he should tell her. For a second, he thought about throwing out the adage that all married couples go through ups and downs and the two of them had been on a downswing. He reconsidered, not wanting to jar her memory too fast. “Nothing major.”

“Good. I was beginning to worry there for a second,” she said, and he could tell that she was going along with him while she studied the situation. Being astute had helped her rise up the ranks quickly at the Bureau.

Austin needed that coffee. Now.

“Sorry if I’m sending mixed signals. We have sick calves at the ranch and we’re trying to figure out what’s going on and just how many are affected. I haven’t been sleeping much in the last few weeks, longer than that if I’m honest.” It seemed enough information to satisfy her arched brow without causing an avalanche of questions he wasn’t supposed to answer.

Austin moved into the adjacent kitchen. The space was small but had all the essentials, including a microwave and coffee machine. Other than that, the loft was fairly bare.

There was a couch and matching chair in the living area nestled around a wooden coffee table that looked handmade. Barstools pushed up to the island in the kitchen must be where she ate all her meals since there wasn’t a dining table and chairs. A long, narrow table was pushed against the wall near the door with a bowl on it for miscellaneous items like car keys. There was a pair of running shoes at the door, so she still must wake before the cows to get in her morning run before work. Relief he had no right to own washed over Austin that there weren’t a pair of men’s shoes tucked next to hers. For a second, he wondered if Dr. Burt had instructed the new guy to erase his presence from her loft so as not to confuse her.

Adding to his theory was the fact that there were no other signs of a male presence in the place so far. No picture frames. No visible clothing, although he hadn’t been in the bathroom yet because they’d just left the hospital. Other than a lamp and a bowl, there was nothing on the table by the door to indicate she’d settled into the place. A few unpacked boxes had been pushed against one corner. The place was open concept so he could see the bed positioned in the middle of the bedroom space. Thankfully, the only clothes he could see so far were Maria’s.

“Did we move in here recently?” she asked, and she must’ve been watching him take in the space.

“This is your place in the city for those long nights at work,” he said without making eye contact.

She seemed satisfied with the answer or at least she didn’t press for more information.

“Did the doctor say when I can get back to work?” she asked as he made coffee.

Figures her first real worry would be about the job. He’d blame all their problems on her dedication to the FBI if he thought that would make him feel better. It wouldn’t. What rubbed him was the fact that she’d allowed the miscarriage to break up their marriage. No trying again. No talking about it. She’d grown distant, said it would never work between them, and then stopped coming home.

Austin stared at the bottom of an empty coffee cup. He filled it and then a second one with the warm brown liquid.

“You still take two sugars?” he asked, instantly realizing his mistake. He muttered a curse. He was no good at deception. Ranchers had the benefit of living an honest life. Not really a skill that would benefit him in this situation, he thought wryly.

Her brow arched as she nodded.

Austin could’ve kicked himself. This was going to be more difficult than he originally suspected. If playing house could help her avoid serious trauma, he’d do his level best no matter how dishonest he felt. He reminded himself of the tough childhood she’d had. Losing her mother in the way that she had, blaming herself in the way that she did. She carried a tough burden on her shoulders and he could do this if he really put his mind to it.

“Yeah,” she said with a concerned look on her face as she took the mug being offered.

He needed to give her a better explanation about their circumstances or risk stressing her out further.

“You’ve been working a lot,” he said, and that was partially true. “We haven’t spent much time together in the past year.”

“Oh. Okay. I sensed that something was going on,” she said, taking a sip of fresh brew and making a mewling noise. “This is amazing.”

Austin tried not to think about a similar sound that drew from her throat in the moments before she exploded around him when they made love.

“Yeah, it’s good,” was all he managed to say.

“It’s strange that I live here and yet I don’t remember this place,” she said. “I wish we could go home to the ranch.”

“It’s too far from the hospital and your doctors, remember?” he said, not wanting to read too much into the fact that the only place she remembered as home was his ranch. The doctor had said that head trauma could do strange things to a person.