“Where have you been, Marissa?”

She didn’t open her eyes, but her voice was a whisper. “Please leave me alone.”

Didn’t she care enough to explain? Had five months changed everything between them?

“I was worried, Marissa. I hired a private investigator when I couldn’t find you myself. I was sure you’d phone or write, but I never heard a word. Where did you go? Why didn’t you contact me?”

She turned her head to the wall, stared at the blinds that someone had opened to the morning sun.

“Aren’t you going to answer me?” Gray asked his wife.

“Certainly. But I have a question, too.”

“What is your question?”

“Would you mind telling me exactly who you are?”

LOIS RICHER

Sneaking a flashlight under the blankets, hiding in a thicket of Caragana bushes where no one could see, pushing books into socks to take to camp—those are just some of the things Lois Richer freely admits to in her pursuit of the written word. “I’m a bookaholic. I can’t do without stories,” she confesses. “It’s always been that way.”

Her love of language evolved into writing her own stories. Today her passion is to create tales of personal struggle that lead to triumph over life’s rocky road. For Lois, a happy ending is essential.

“In my stories, as in my own life, God has a way of making all things beautiful. Writing a love story is my way of reinforcing my faith in His ultimate goodness toward us—His precious children.”

A Time to Remember
Lois Richer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

We are saved by trusting.

And trusting means looking forward to getting something we don’t yet have—for a man who already has something doesn’t need to hope and trust that he will get it. But if we must keep trusting God for something that hasn’t happened yet, it teaches us to wait patiently and confidently.

—Romans 8:24-25.

This book is offered, with love, to the Father.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

Gaunt, eerie shadows quivered through the forest. Overhead the pines swayed in the night wind, the long needles of their swooping boughs brushing like feathers against her skin as she clawed her way through them, searching desperately for a way out.

She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know if danger was behind or if it lurked ahead, waiting to trap her, to keep her from Cody. She only knew she had to keep going, had to press on, had to find her son. She knew she hadn’t eased his fears when she’d told him she’d be back. There had been no time. She’d had to make him understand that they would get only one chance to escape. He must obey when she told him to run.

And run he had! He’d pressed through the forest, legs churning like windmills as he bounced along beside her without saying a word.

Their captor slept. But who knew for how long? They had to make a run for it now, while they could. She had to get Cody out, get him back to Gray. Only then would her son be safe. Gray would protect Cody with his life.

Marissa had long since lost track of the days. But she knew the seasons were changing. The shorter days meant the warmth of the sun in the mornings had diminished. The river water felt chilly now, when such a short time ago it had seemed refreshing. If they didn’t get away before winter set in, she didn’t want to calculate their chances of reaching freedom. He had become too protective, too fixated. Her promises no longer satisfied him.

Now, as she ran through the bush, she prayed Cody was safe. She’d had to leave him, to detour around and disguise their tracks. Their abductor knew the bush, knew how to track. She knew very little, only that she had to make it as difficult for him to find them as she could.

Lord, she was tired.

Marissa leaned against a tree and fought to regain her breath. If only she could ask Gray what to do, if only she could borrow some of his strength. Gray. What must he think of her now? No calls, no letter, nothing. At least, she assumed there’d been no message to him. Maybe he thought she’d run away.

That last argument—no! He hadn’t meant it. She knew he hadn’t. It had been anger speaking, an out-pouring of frustration.

Had he searched for her? And if he had, why hadn’t he found them? Was it so easy for people to hide, even in this civilized world?

An owl hooted. She glimpsed its profile in the clearing just beyond.

Clearing? What had she done? Was she back where she’d begun?

“Oh, Father, I need help. Please show me the way. Get me to safety.”

She glanced around, saw a figure slip stealthily across the clearing below. The full moon caught the silent glimmer of steel.

That knife! He was so good with it. She smothered a gasp of fear.

She’d tried to escape once before. The warning still rang in her ears. Try again and the boy would stay—without his mother. That’s what scared her most. Cody growing up alone, without her or Gray. She had to get away.

Fear sent waves of panic rippling through her tired muscles. She’d run so far, tried so hard to cover their tracks. Would she stop now?

No.

The figure passed within inches of her, but Marissa shrank into the cover of overhanging boughs and remained hidden, scarcely breathing when he passed in front of her, sniffing the wind as if he knew she was nearby. At last it seemed safe. She eased out of her hiding place and tried to remember the direction she’d come before. But every path looked familiar. There was nothing to do but choose one and keep going.

And pray.

An hour later she admitted she was lost. Two hours later she’d passed her prison for the second time. Why hadn’t she marked the way? What if Cody was discovered? Defeat dragged at her, but she refused to give up.

“Help me now, God. Lead me to safety, to Cody and home to Gray.”

She opened her eyes, spied the moonbeams that lit up a small passage through the most dense area of the forest. If she went in there, she might never get out. But what other choice was there?

“‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,’” she recited silently. “He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.’” She kept walking, kept reciting with no idea of time except for the path of the moon, which led her onward.

A sound caused her to pause. She whirled, saw the figure behind her and ran as hard as she could down through the ravine, then scrambled up the other side. She dug her fingers into the earth, uncaring that the rough branches and stones tore at her hands, that the sharp needles of pine and spruce stung her face.

“You took him. You took Brett away from me. You shouldn’t have done that. Brett belongs to me. To me!”

Marissa tried to ignore the shrill screech. Was she closer now? She fought to gain a foothold in the mossy bank, forced her weary body to keep going.

“You have to be punished.” The voice came from right behind her.

Her feet were sliding and she couldn’t stop them. She reached out, grabbed something, heard an ominous crack above her.

He’d found her.

“Help me, God.”

Pain exploded inside her head and she knew no more.

Five months, two days, eighteen hours. That’s how long he’d been mired in this pit of suffering.

Gray McGonigle glanced around the cheerful kitchen his wife had taken such pleasure in decorating and felt his heart shrivel a little more. Would she ever come back, ever pull one of her pineapple upside-down cakes from the oven and tease him about his appetite?

And Cody—where was his son? Gray had promised God long before Cody was even born that he’d be the best father he could be as long as God kept Cody from the homeless life Gray had known as a child. So what had happened? Had he messed up? Was this God’s revenge—to take both his wife and child?

Something inside him screamed, “No,” but after five long months with few clues to their disappearance, Gray was so confused he didn’t know what else to think. He knew Marissa. She wouldn’t just take their son and disappear, not without telling him. Would she?

Maybe he didn’t know her as well as he thought.

Disgusted with himself and the ever-present clouds of doubt, he surged to his feet. His body ached for repose, but his mind wouldn’t stop asking questions to which there were no answers.

No one knew why Marissa had left, so how could Gray know if she would ever come back?

The phone pealed its summons into the silent room. He debated answering it, certain it would be Adam again, asking for money. His half brother had made no bones about his dislike of Gray or his disgust of their father’s will, which had cut him out of the ownership of the ranch. Gray had no desire to go over it all again. But the phone wouldn’t quiet, and finally he grabbed the receiver just to shut off the noise.

“Yeah?”

“Gray? Is that you?”

Not the baker woman! Dear Lord, he didn’t want to listen to another of her little pep talks tonight.

“Gray?”

He was about to snap a response, then hesitated. Something in her voice told him she was upset. And Winifred Blessing seldom got upset about anything life threw at her.

“What’s wrong, Miss Blessing?” Maybe focusing on someone else’s problems would help him forget his own.

“Gray, we—we found Cody. Bless the Lord, we found Cody.”

The words sucker punched him. His knees gave out and he collapsed onto a chair.

“Cody?” he squeaked, afraid to believe.

“He’s all right, dear. A little scratched and bruised, but he seems fine. Luc’s checking him out, just to be sure.”

Gray had to ask.

“Marissa?”

“We’re organizing a search party as we speak. Too bad it gets dark so early now, but we won’t let a little September dusk stop us. She wouldn’t have let Cody out of her sight, Gray. You know that.”

Miss Winifred was solid bedrock. But just now he thought he’d heard a wobble in her voice. A second later it was gone, replaced by the firm conviction that had stood her through more than six decades of life.

“She’s out there, I know it. We’ll find her. You just hang on to your faith, Grayson. Can you do that?”

Gray figured his faith had died about four months ago when he’d heard nothing from his wife and son in a month, had gained no information from the man he’d hired to find them. But he wouldn’t look back. Cody was home.

“Where are you, Miss Winifred?”

“In town, in the parking lot by the church. Can you come?”

“Try and stop me.” He was out of the house and barreling down the road thirty seconds later, his heart pumping like a jackhammer. “Come on, Marissa,” he muttered, peering into the gloom of an autumn evening. “Come home to me. Please come home.”

He couldn’t pray. God had betrayed him with the two things entrusted to him. How could he trust again? Now it was time for him to take control. It was his job to take care of his wife and son, and he’d do it, no matter what.

At the far side of the church parking lot a small crowd had gathered. Gray raced across the pavement, pushed his way through, his mind screaming his son’s name. He jerked to a halt at the heart-stopping sight of his boy seated in Miss Winifred’s lap, munching on a cookie he held in one hand. The fingers of the other were closed around the small glass figurine that had disappeared with him, a gift from the grandfather he’d barely known.

“Cody?”

At his whisper, the boy glanced up, grinned and jumped to his feet. Gray scooped the beloved wriggling body into his arms and held on as hard as he could. Tears obscured the landscape, blurred his vision, but it didn’t matter that the whole town would see him bawling. Cody was home. Cody was safe. For now he’d let himself revel in that.

“Gray?” Luc Lawrence stood at his elbow, his eyes dark with concern. “Can you give him to Dani? Just for a moment? We need to talk.”

Gray’s fingers tightened. He pressed Cody away just enough to stare into his tear-filled eyes, glimpsed the receding terror. Scrapes, bruises—yes, he had lots of those. But he looked fine. He looked wonderful.

“There’ll be time to talk later,” he told Luc, speaking past the lump lodged in his throat. “For now just let me hold my son.” He hugged the little boy close, wallowing in the feel of those precious pudgy fingers against his face. “Are you okay, Cody? Are you all right?” He tilted back, searched the eyes Marissa claimed were mirror copies of his own.

“Where’s Mommy, Cody? What happened to Mommy?”

Big fat tears coursed down Cody’s dirty cheeks as he stared at his dad.

“You can tell me, son. I just want to help. I won’t be mad. Honest. Tell Daddy where Mommy is.”

“Gray, please, will you just listen to me?” Luc dragged at his arm, but Gray jerked away.

“Leave us alone, Luc,” he snarled. “This is my son, my only son. If he has any idea where Marissa is, he’s got to tell us.” He smoothed a hand over Cody’s head. “Where’s Mommy, son?”

“Gray, he can’t tell you that.”

“What?” Gray stared at the town’s newest doctor, then glanced over at Joshua and Nicole Darling, seeking answers to questions he didn’t want to ask. His fingers tightened around the precious body pressed to his chest. “What are you talking about? Why can’t he tell me? Has something—”

“We don’t know where Marissa is yet. We’re still looking. Once the sheriff came, did his thing, the whole town showed up. They’re searching the ravine right now.” Dr. Nicole Darling’s eyes warned him to follow her lead. She stepped forward, placed her hand on Cody’s arm. “Cody, can you stay with Miss Winifred while I talk to your daddy for a minute? I promise it won’t take long. You can stand right here beside her and watch us, if you like. Okay?”

Misty silver eyes, too serious for a child his age, studied Gray for interminable minutes. Finally Cody nodded, pressed himself away from his father, struggled to get down, fingers white as he squeezed the horse he held. Gray let him go, barely stemming his need to grab him and hang on for all he was worth. Cody walked over beside Miss Winifred and thrust his hand into hers, but he kept his eyes on his father.

“Okay, something’s going on. What is it?” He glanced at the three doctors in turn and knew the news wouldn’t be good. “Spill it. Did something happen to Cody? Is he sick?”

“He won’t speak, Gray. We don’t know what happened to him, but we think something traumatized him badly enough to stop his speech.” Joshua Darling, the senior partner in Blessing’s medical practice, put a hand on his shoulder and kept it there, his voice low but firm. “There’s a technical name for this, which I know you don’t care about. The gist of the diagnosis is that Cody’s problem doesn’t seem to be medical—there’s no sign of injury. Though we don’t know why, we think he’s unconsciously decided that he’s not going to speak. Not yet, anyway.”

“Can you accept that?” Luc demanded.

“I—I don’t know.” Not speak? For how long? Cody, the boy who had always brimmed with giggles just begging to be free—that beloved voice silent?

What could have happened to do this to my child?

Gray wanted to hit something. Images he’d seen on the street when he was not much older than Cody rifled through his mind. What horror had his child observed? If he didn’t talk about them, didn’t let Gray help, how would they ever be able to erase those pictures? Then Gray remembered—he hadn’t yet forgotten the images from his own childhood, and he was a lot older than Cody.

Fear loomed large in Gray’s mind.

“How long will this not speaking last?”

“We don’t know. Tomorrow morning I’ll phone a specialist and Cody can see him. We’ll find out exactly what’s going on. But tonight I’ve told the police I think it’s best if you just let him get used to being back home. Don’t ask questions, don’t push him, don’t press for more than he’s ready to give. Most of all, don’t ask him about Marissa. Apparently it scares him.” Joshua frowned. “Can you do it? Because if you can’t let go of all the questions and just let him relax, I’m going to check him in to the hospital.”

“What’s wrong—”

Joshua shook his head.

“I checked him over. So did Luc. We can’t find anything wrong. The damage seems to be psychological, and even that may only be temporary.”

“The thing is, Gray,” Luc murmured, laying one hand on his arm, “he’s obviously gone through some sort of ordeal. But right now the details aren’t important.”

Gray snorted. “Of course they’re important. Marissa could be holed up somewhere against her will. We’ve got to find her.”

“Listen to me.” Luc lowered his voice, his look intent as he focused on Gray. “We don’t know about Marissa. You have to face it. We don’t know if she’s alive or dead. Not yet. But we know Cody is here. He needs you. You must focus on his needs right now. The police will find your wife and the perpetrator, but at this moment your place is with your son.”

“Marissa would never have let him go without a fight.” Gray’s confidence would not be shaken. “If it was possible, she would have followed him.”

“I know. We all believe she’s out there somewhere.” Nicole tried to soften the pain with her sympathetic words. “But maybe she’s hurt. A thousand things could have happened to her. There’s no point in conjecturing. Right now you’ve got to focus on Cody.”

She was right. Though his heart ached with loss for Marissa, though he wanted to tear up the countryside, find her and never let her go—right now one thing took precedence. Cody. Marissa would want him to concentrate on their son, to do what she couldn’t. Maybe never would.

No! He wouldn’t think like that. She was all right. She had to be.

All Gray knew right now was that he couldn’t lose this second chance to be the kind of father he knew he could be.

God wouldn’t fault him a second time.

He stood in the shade of the pine tree and stared down at her, scared by the trail of blood that trickled from her head. Blood was bad.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered, angry that she hadn’t obeyed. “I told you not to run. That was very bad. Now you’re hurt and there’s no one to make you better.” He put his knife back in the leather holder strapped to his belt and waited for her to tell him what she’d done with Brett.

But she didn’t wake up. Not for a long time.

And then there were voices, people calling.

They were looking for her. If she woke up now, she’d run away again. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up, maybe they wouldn’t find her and he would learn where she’d taken Brett. He glanced down, saw the dirty shoes. If she couldn’t run, she couldn’t get away. He slipped them off her feet, tucked them into his belt.

The voices were coming closer.

He shimmied up the nearest tree, hid himself among the thick branches and waited. After a while some people saw her and rushed over to help her. Still she didn’t wake up.

“Look at this! Someone hit her with it.” A man in a police uniform held up a branch with blood on it. “Don’t move her. I’ll radio for a stretcher. Maybe one of the doctors will want to look at her first.”

He was scared now. He hadn’t hit her. He wasn’t bad. He wanted to tell them that. But they wouldn’t understand. Nobody understood about Brett. That’s why he’d run away.

So he sat in his tree and waited some more.

After a while he grew tired of sitting above them, watching in the tree. But there was no way to get down without being seen. Besides, maybe these people knew where she’d taken Brett. He’d have to stay still and listen.

So he waited some more.

“At least she got the boy to safety. Now he’s with his father, he’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know about that. I heard he won’t talk.”

Brett wouldn’t talk? He leaned down, trying to hear more.

“You mean he couldn’t tell them what happened?”

“Nope. Didn’t say a word.”

He smiled, nodded. That was his friend, his very best friend, Brett.

Brett wouldn’t tell them. Brett loved him. And he loved Brett. He’d just have to find him and bring him back. This time she couldn’t come. She didn’t belong.

He waited. More people came. Finally they carried her away. He waited and listened and watched, and when there wasn’t a sound in the forest, he slipped out of his hiding place and hurried back to the special place. It was pitch-black, but he needed no flashlight. He knew the way like the back of his hand. As he walked, he thought about what to do next.

Brett was with his daddy.

He remembered their talks, remembered about the horses and the long road and the big house.

He’d go back into town, listen to what the people said.

And then he’d find Brett and bring him back.

They belonged together.

Chapter Two

In the soft butter sun of midmorning Gray picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“It’s good news, Gray. We found her. In the ravine. Her clothes are tattered and torn, her body is a mass of cuts and bruises, but she’s alive.”

“What aren’t you saying?” Gray knew there was more. He could feel the tingles of apprehension winging over the airwaves.

“Right now she’s unconscious. Marissa has a head injury, Gray, and a pretty good-sized cut. I put in seventeen stitches.” Luc’s voice relayed his concern. “I think you’d better pray, buddy.”

Pray? Ask God again, when He hadn’t answered last time?

He pushed the frustration aside, concentrated on the words. Gray frowned.

“You’re saying she fell and hit her head?”

“Or was struck—from behind. The police found a bloody branch.”

“He followed her?” It was a nightmare from which he couldn’t seem to waken. “Why? He never took her money from the car. That was left inside, with her purse. At least, that’s what the sheriff said.”

“I don’t know why someone would have hit her. Maybe this guy’s a wacko. Maybe he wanted something else. We’ve given her a full examination, ordered scans, the whole bit. The main thing for you to remember is that she’s back.”

“I’ll come right away.”

“No, let Cody sleep. I promise I’ll phone as soon as she wakes.”

“You do that. Get her anything she needs, Luc. Anything. It doesn’t matter how much it costs.” He couldn’t say any more for the blockage in his throat.

“You know I’ll take care of her, man. Depend on it.” Luc’s voice was filled with promise. “How’s your son?”

“Cody hasn’t slept all night. His eyes close and he almost lets go, but then something jerks him awake. I’ve been watching him. Maybe he needs a shot or something?” Never in his life had Gray felt so helpless, so out of control.

“No, I’d rather not sedate him. Let him get through this on his own first. Later, if he needs something, we’ll administer it, but until we know more, I think he’s better to get reacquainted with his dad in his own way.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Luc.”

“My pleasure, man. My pleasure. I’m just glad they’re home.”

“Yeah.” Gray hung up, caught sight of Cody standing in the doorway and beckoned.

Cody raced over, then stopped. He glanced at the phone, frowned his question.

“That was Dr. Luc. Remember him?”

Cody nodded, one eyebrow quirked upward.

“He phoned to tell us that they found your mom. She hurt her head and they’ve taken her to the hospital for tests, so we can’t see her right now. But once the doctors fix her up, she’ll be fine.” I hope.

Cody stared at him, his confusion evident.

“Mommy’s going to get all better, Cody. Do you understand?”

Tears dripped from the little boy’s tanned cheeks, but his gray eyes shone like hammered silver when Cody finally nodded his comprehension.

“Right now I think you’d better get some sleep. Okay, son?”

Cody shook his head, adamantly refusing.

“You’re not tired? Well, do you want some breakfast?”

Cody shook his head again.

Well, what then? There must be something a father could do for his kid. Gray studied the beloved face for several moments before understanding dawned.

“You want to go see Mommy?”

Cody grinned.

“Okay, sport, we’ll go. But I don’t know what you’re going to wear. You’ve grown about three inches. I don’t think any of your old stuff will fit.”

Cody grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the stairs up to his room.

“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll find something. After all, what do clothes matter when your mom’s back? Let’s go see Mommy.”

Half an hour later as he drove back into town, Gray felt exactly the way Cody looked—hopeful, excited, a bit worried, unsure of himself. What would Marissa say? Would she be awake and able to tell him where she’d been? Could she identify her abductor? Would he finally have the answers he craved?

Most of all, would she accept his apology or throw it back in his face?

The hospital parking lot was almost empty. Gray pulled in as near to the entrance as he legally could. Cody hopped out before he could be helped, his eyes dancing with excitement, impatient to get inside.

“Come on, son. Let’s go find her.”

There was no one at the admissions desk, which wasn’t surprising in their small-town hospital. Noises from a treatment room in the adjoining emergency ward helped Gray assume the nurse was busy there. It wasn’t a large building. It wouldn’t take long to find Marissa.

He spotted a sleeping Miss Winifred sitting on a lounge in one ward, head jerking forward in spasmodic nods. She awoke as soon as he approached.

“Hi, Gray. A friend of mine came in with chest pains last night. I was here when they brought Marissa back, so I thought I’d stay, catch forty winks and speak to her when she woke up. Hello, Cody. How are you today?”

Cody grinned at Miss Winifred, accepting her hug.

Back? Brought her back from where? Gray pushed that aside to mull over later. He didn’t have time to puzzle it out right now. There were other things to consider. He glanced around, thinking about Luc’s words. Maybe it would be better if he saw Marissa alone for the first time. If her injuries involved her face, Cody would need to be prepared. Personally, Gray didn’t care what she looked like—he only wanted her in his arms. For the rest of his life.

“Cody, I’m going to find your mom. I want you to stay with Miss Winifred until I come and get you. We have to be very quiet so we don’t wake up the sick people. Okay?”

Cody frowned, obviously wanting to argue, but Gray shook his head as he hunkered down in front of the boy.

“Don’t worry, son. I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back. I promise. I just need to see Mommy. I haven’t seen her for such a long time and I missed her a lot. Just like I missed you. After I’ve talked to her a little while, I’ll come back and get you. Okay?”

Cody was obviously debating, but Gray figured the boy was finding it hard to argue without speaking.

“Come on, Cody. I’ll read you this story I found about a king.” Miss Winifred winked at Gray, then continued speaking to the boy. “Your daddy just wants a minute to hug and kiss your mommy without you watching. It’s mushy adult stuff. I don’t think you want to watch that, do you?”

Cody looked at Gray as if he couldn’t remember such a thing ever happening. But after a moment he nodded and reached inside his grubby jacket. Gray stared at the picture he’d scribbled on a wrinkled sheet of paper, his name carefully inscribed below.

When had he learned to write his name?

Gray bit his lip as the impact of the many things he’d missed these past five months hit home.

Cody held his gaze, his stare never wavering as he waited for his father to take the picture. There were trees, lots of them. And two figures. One small. One large. Behind the trees was a shadowy shape that Gray understood to identify their abductor. He stared at it for some clue that would unlock his son’s silence. He found nothing.

He hunkered down, peered into his son’s clear gaze.

“It’s a very nice picture, Cody,” he murmured. “Do you want me to give it to Mommy?”

Cody nodded.

“Okay.” He accepted the picture, held it carefully while Cody settled himself in Winifred’s lap. “I’ll go find her and give her your picture.”

Satisfied that the boy was occupied and safe, Gray started down the hall. Outside the third door he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in five long months. Gray shoved the door open and stepped inside.

“Is anyone there? Oh. Hello. Can you please get me some aspirin?”

“Hello, Marissa.” He couldn’t help staring, his eyes absorbing the damaged but still fragile beauty of her sculpted face, the deep rich sapphire of her eyes, the fair skin that never quite tanned so much as her freckles joined forces to give the illusion of sun-kissed skin.

The golden tumble of her beautiful hair lay matted against her scalp, her nape hidden beneath a thick bandage.

“Hello.” She inspected him from head to toe. “You don’t look the medical type. Would you mind finding a nurse? I’ve tried to get out of this bed and do it myself, but every time I push on these bed rails, my head starts whirling. If I could just get some aspirin, I’m sure this headache would ease.”

“I don’t know if they’ll allow you to have medication until they’ve done all the tests. You have a head injury, remember? But I can go look for someone.” He surveyed her bruised face, broken nails and the scratches that covered her arms. “You look like you fought a cougar,” he muttered, his stomach clenching at the thought of what she must have been through.

“I feel like it, too.” She eased her head back on the pillows and closed her eyes. “Do you mind if we continue this discussion later? My head is about to shatter.”

“Yeah, sure. I guess.” It stung that she brushed his concern off as if five months ago she’d simply driven to Denver for a day of shopping and he was nothing more than the parking attendant. “Where have you been, Marissa?”

She didn’t even open her eyes, but her voice was a whisper. “Please leave me alone.”

Impotent rage burned deep inside. Didn’t she care enough to even explain? Had five months changed everything between them? Was she remembering those last awful words he’d thrown at her?

“I was worried, Marissa. Scared stiff. I hired a private investigator when I couldn’t find you myself. I was sure that you’d phone or write. Something. But I never heard a word from you or Cody. What happened?”

Her eyes were open now. She was staring at him as if he were a specimen she was trying to define. Her blue eyes had darkened until they were almost navy. With fear? Of him?

“What do you want from me?” she asked huskily.

“What do I want? I want answers.” She was frail, she was hurt. But the need to know could not be stifled. “Where did you go, Marissa? What have you been doing? Why didn’t you contact me?”

“Good questions.”

“Well?”

She turned her head to the wall, stared at the blinds that someone had turned open to the morning sun. Gray waited, anger building inside. What was going on with her? Why was she acting like this?

“Aren’t you even going to answer me?” he sputtered, clenching his hands at his sides.

“Certainly. In due time. But I have a question, too.” She pleated the sheet with her left hand. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind answering that first?”

“I guess.” He shrugged, pretending nonchalance when he knew she was going to ask about that day. “What is your question?”

“Would you mind telling me exactly who you are?”

Chapter Three

His eyes flashed like lightning, changing from a soft dove-gray to hardened steel.

“I’m your husband.”

She stared at him while her mind desperately tried to process the information. Husband? She had a husband? Wouldn’t a woman remember if she had a husband?

“Gray,” he prompted, frowning at her. “Gray McGonigle.”

“And I’m Marissa McGonigle. I see.” She couldn’t blame him for his belligerent tone. It seemed perfectly understandable now. “I was your wife. I was married to you.”

“Are married to me,” he corrected, his tone belligerent. “Unless something’s happened that I don’t know about. Do you remember?”

She hated to destroy that sad-eyed look of puppy-dog hope in his eyes, but she couldn’t pretend. Not about this.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything.” Marissa. She turned the name over in her mind. She liked it. It sounded different, special. As if someone had taken the time to choose a name specifically for her. “My parents?” she asked, suddenly wondering why only he was here.

“Both dead. Your father died when you were little. Your mother died two years ago. Breast cancer.”

“Oh.” She felt flat, deflated, as if she’d unconsciously expected—what? Someone to be there? She chided herself for her silliness. Who else did she want? Wasn’t an unknown husband enough?

“What do you remember, Marissa?” He squinted at her as if he thought she was playing some childish game.

She attributed the angry frustration in his voice to worry. He must be worried. A husband would be worried if his own wife didn’t recognize him. Wouldn’t he?

But this man didn’t look frazzled or afraid. Or worried. He looked…defeated, she decided after a moment’s contemplation. As if he’d tried very hard and just couldn’t manage to make sense of his world.

She scoured her brain for something, some ray of hope she could offer. To her shock, nothing emerged. She looked at the gold band on his ring finger, then at the matching circlet guarded by a blazing diamond on her own left hand, and suddenly realized that she didn’t know how it got there.

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I remember nothing.” She stared at him. Blank. Her heart picked up speed as she peered around the room, stared out the window, squinted at the picture he’d laid on top of her blanket. “What’s this?”

“A picture. Cody made.”

“That’s nice.” Whoever Cody was. “Will you thank him for me?” She stared at the childish scribbles, smiled at the ghostly figure fluttering among the trees. “Is it almost Halloween?”

“No. That’s about seven weeks away.” His dark brows joined to hood his eyes. “Why?”

She shrugged. “It looks like a Halloween picture, that’s all. I’ll bet he’s a cute kid.”

“Yes.” The man named Gray nodded. “Our son is a wonderful boy. But he’s got some problems, I’m afraid.”

Whatever else he said slid past in a whirl of confusion. She got stuck on those words our son.

“Cody is my child?” she gasped.

“Well, he’s both of ours,” he agreed, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a half smile. “You used to say he got all my genes, but I’m pretty sure his stubbornness came from you.”

“A child.” She laid a hand against her abdomen as if that might somehow reawaken slumbering memories of pregnancy, labor, delivery. “How old is he?”

“Five. Almost six.” He sighed, slumped against the wall and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m guessing you don’t remember him, either.”

Marissa shook her head, then stopped the action immediately as pain threatened to swamp her tired aching body.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears welling for all the precious memories she couldn’t share with him. And she wanted to. Something about this man drew her soul, called to her. Surely somewhere in her brain she knew him?

Yet her brain drew a blank.

“It’s not your fault.”

But he sounded as if he thought it was.

“I suppose I should be grateful that my existence isn’t the only thing you’ve managed to wipe from your mind.”

Oh, the pain underlying those words. She could feel the despair gripping him, dragging him down. He’d obviously been up all night. A five-o’clock shadow gave him an edgy flair that only enhanced his harsh features. His cheekbones were definitely a legacy from his distant Cherokee heritage, but those lean, taut muscles and that burnished tan came from hard physical labor.

Marissa froze, tried to figure out how she’d come to that conclusion. But the mist that carried the insight had dissipated and she couldn’t bring it back.

“Good morning, Marissa.” A doctor who clearly knew her strode into the room, saw Gray and grinned. “You didn’t waste any time getting here.”

“No.”

She sensed there was something else the man—her husband—wanted to say. But he clamped his lips together and thrust his hands into the pockets of his worn blue jeans.

The doctor was puzzled. He glanced from her to him, then shrugged.

“How are you feeling, Marissa?”

“She’s got a headache. And she doesn’t remember anything.”

Marissa glared at Gray. Did he have to say it like that, tacked on at the end as if she’d deliberately done it to spite him? Why did he always…what? The memory eluded her.

“I can speak for myself,” she muttered, fighting to retain her composure.

Again that careless shrug, the slumping pose, the thrust of that granite chin. “So do it.”

“Thank you. I will. If you’ll let me.” She wanted it clear up front that she wasn’t going to turn into some kind of shrinking violet, no matter what she’d been like before.

The doctor ignored their verbal battle, eyes concerned as he swung his flashlight across her pupils, took her pulse, checked her reactions.

“What specifically don’t you remember?” he asked gently, frowning at her tear-filled eyes. “Do you remember me? Luc Lawrence? I moved here just after Dr. Darling had his accident. Joshua Darling.”

He could have been speaking Hindi for all she understood. Marissa frowned, waited for something. Nothing. No flash of comprehension, no lightning stroke of memory. Nothing.

“I’m married to Dani. You and Gray live next door to her ranch. Gray’s renting the land.”

“Oh.” She leaned back against the pillow and wished it would all go away. It hurt too much to think. “How did I get here?” she asked a moment later.

“We were hoping you could tell us.” Gray pushed away from the wall, his attention riveted on her, his eyes searching for—what? “You and Cody disappeared over five months ago. No one’s been able to find out where you went or what you’ve been doing. Then last night Cody showed up in the church parking lot. He was bruised, a little roughed up. But he’s fine.” He stopped, watched her. “Except that he won’t talk.”

“Why?” She felt sorry for the little boy, then realized she was thinking about her own son. “I mean, what do you think happened?”

“We were hoping you could explain.” Gray looked at the doctor. Something unspoken passed between them.

“Marissa, you were found about a mile down a very steep ravine, about half a mile away from where police think Cody crawled up. Do you recall that?” The doctor’s eyes were gentle, caring. They didn’t demand answers, not like Gray’s.

She frowned, closed her eyes, tried to imagine what she would have been doing in a ravine. Like a quilt, fear settled on her shoulders in a shroud she couldn’t shake. Swirls of nebulous memories that couldn’t be defined wavered behind her eyes. Only one word came to mind.

Run!

“Marissa! Marissa, it’s okay. You’re safe. Nothing will hurt you here.” Dr. Luc’s fingers squeezed her arms and at once the memories faded, the fear lifted. “What just happened?” Gray looked from the doctor to her, confusion evident.

“I think you had a flashback, didn’t you?” Luc murmured, holding her wrist as he measured her pulse. “Can you tell us what you saw?”

“Not—not really.” She shrank against the pillows at the sparks that lit Gray’s eyes. “I can’t! It was just shadows and whispers, nothing I could explain. And fear. I felt fear. I had to run.” She shivered, and her voice died away at the cold black terror of it.

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Gray’s fingers, warm and strong, closed around hers. “Anything else you can remember? Anything at all? A house, flowers? Did you follow a road? Anything?”

Because he looked so sad, she closed her eyes and waited for the black shroud to drown her. When it didn’t, she sighed, felt his thumb rubbing against her wrist in a soothing caress that allowed her to relax and stop fighting the hammer in her head. A picture wavered before her mind.

“There’s a river,” she whispered. “I’m swimming in a river.” Then the picture was gone and she couldn’t remember when or why or how she came to be in that river.

“That might not be a recent memory, Gray,” she heard the doctor whisper. “There’s no way of knowing just where her mind selected that from. She might have been a child.”

“I wasn’t a child,” she insisted, eyes wide open, slightly insulted that they thought they could speak in front of her, as if she were deaf. “I was like I am now.” She frowned. “No, wait a minute.” Something wasn’t right.

“It wasn’t exactly swimming,” she murmured, confused by the impressions she was feeling. “But I was in the water up to my neck. It was cold, but it felt good.”

“Was Cody there? Can you picture Cody?”

She cast about, trying to home in on a picture of a little boy, but nothing came.

“I don’t think so.” Marissa opened her eyes, shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

Gray sighed, the light in his eyes fading. She saw Luc reach out, touch his shoulder.

“Maybe it’s a nightmare, Luc,” her husband offered. “Marissa never swims. She’s afraid of the water. You wouldn’t believe the lectures she’s given me about water safety. When I took Cody fishing last year—”

She felt his hands tighten against hers before he drew them away, the sentence dying on his lips just as the hope flickered out of his eyes.

“Bubbles.” The word popped out of her without any conscious thought.

“What?”

Both men stared at her as if she were insane. Then Gray looked to Luc for direction. But the doctor was intent on his own thoughts.

“Bubbles,” she repeated, trying to understand what had prompted her to say it.

“You were washing.” Luc looked from Gray to Marissa, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Don’t you see? Soap. Bubbles. You were washing in the water.”

“Washing clothes?” she asked doubtfully, searching for the thread of a memory that eluded her.

Luc shook his head.

“Yourself. You said you were up to your neck. You wouldn’t go that deep to wash clothes, but you would if you were taking a bath.”

Gray stared at him, nodded. “So wherever you were staying, it was beside water. And you were confined.” He pointed to the marks on her wrists.

Marissa hadn’t noticed them before, but now the blue-tinged rings held her in a grip of fear. Get away. Get away from here.

The pain was suddenly excruciating and she whimpered as it flooded over her. Just from the corner of her eye she saw Gray glare at Luc, his eyes asking a question. Luc shook his head.

She closed her eyes, almost passing out as a new wave sucked her strength.

“Oh, please help me.” The hand with the IV in it felt too heavy to lift, but she did it anyway, rubbing one finger against her forehead to ease the stabbing pressure.

“What’s wrong, Marissa?”

“My head,” she whispered. “Please give me something to stop my head from hurting.”

“I’ll help you, I promise,” Luc murmured, checking her pupils again. “You can go to sleep soon. But I want you to think for just one minute more.”

The pinpricks of light from his flashlight sent waves of nausea over her body, but Marissa fought back, sucked in deep breaths of air and forced herself to relax.

“Think about what?”

“Your head hurts because it has a cut on it. Do you remember how you got that cut?”

The black curtain was hanging there again, just waiting to drop down and shut out all the questions. In a way, that’s what she wanted—oblivion. But the doctor’s tone was so gentle, so soothing, she tried to answer him.

“I was running,” she whispered. “Running away.”

“From what?”

But the answer wasn’t there. Instead, the black curtain whooshed down and Marissa couldn’t answer.

“Did she faint? What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing. Her brain had enough poking and probing and it shut down. She seems fine. Her vital signs are all excellent. Her scans were clear. She responded to all the stimuli tests we performed. The specialist’s report was faxed in this morning. Everything is normal.”

“What specialist?” Gray growled the words, knowing he should be thanking Luc, not badgering him. But every time he thought of her tied up, trying to get away, his stomach knotted. He slammed his fist against his thigh in frustration.

“I had her airlifted to the city as soon as we found her.” Luc’s cheeks turned red, but he held Gray’s stare. “I had to. I didn’t know how long she’d been out or what we’d find and I wanted to know immediately if there was brain damage.”

Gray winced, but kept his focus on Luc, pinning him.

“And you didn’t phone me until after they’d brought her back, did you?”

“No.”

“What if she’d died?”

Luc shook his head.

“Would God do that? Bring her home to let her die? I don’t think so, buddy. Where’s your faith?” He stepped backward when Gray surged forward, held up one hand. “Okay, okay. But just think about it. You had to concentrate on Cody. There was nothing you could do for Marissa. But I could, and I did.”

“You decided this all on your own?” Fury and indignation fought for supremacy. “Who consented to her care?”

“You did, through me.” Luc winced at his growl. “The three of us, Joshua, Nicole and I, consulted and decided it was for the best. We couldn’t let anything happen to Marissa, Gray. We just couldn’t.”

Gray sighed. What was wrong with him?

“I know. I should be thanking you instead of acting like an outraged—”

“Husband?” Luc grinned. “But that’s what you are. And I don’t blame you.” He picked up Marissa’s slim, scratched hand, grazing the tip of his finger over her injuries. “She put up quite a fight.”

Gray gulped, thrust away the images his brain conjured up. He could hardly bring himself to ask the next question, but he needed to know.

“You’re sure she wasn’t attacked?”

“Physically I believe she might have been,” Luc told him quietly. “But sexually?” He shook his head. “I did a full rape kit. There’s no evidence of that.”

“Thank God.” Gray sagged with relief.

“Indeed. You should be thanking Him for a lot of things, not the least of which is that your family has been restored to you. A little the worse for wear, perhaps, but they are back.”

“For now. But what’s to stop this from happening again? Who abducted them? We still don’t know that, Luc. And someone must have if her hands were tied.” He reached out, fury raging inside as he traced the unmistakable marks of rope burns.

Luc clapped him on the shoulder.

“I know you’ll probably tell me to mind my own business, but I have to say it anyway. This is something you have to take to God. There’s no other person who has the answers you want. You’re going to have to ask Him to explain it to you.” He turned, pulled open the door.

Gray stepped forward, grabbing his arm.

“Where are you going? Don’t you have to watch her for complications?”

“Someone will be monitoring her, Gray. They’ll keep me up to speed. Right now I’ve got rounds to do.” Luc paused a moment, spared a glance for Marissa, then smiled. “Besides, I’m sure you’re the best company for your wife right now. Why don’t you pull up a chair and just sit here for a while? I’m sure Marissa will have a thousand and one questions when she wakens.”

“Then you think she’s going to regain her memory? All of it?” Relief flooded him. One by one he loosened his fisted fingers. “When?”

“That’s not up to me, I’m afraid.” Luc’s rueful face gave away his feelings. “But God has a plan, buddy. A good one. And He knows what He’s doing. Leave it up to Him. Rest in His care.”

Gray didn’t want to wait for anything. He was sick of the uncertainty, sick of waiting for the next disaster, afraid to learn what waited around the next corner. If he could, he’d gather Marissa up in his arms, find Cody and take both of them back to the safety he could provide at the ranch. Unfortunately, hiding wouldn’t help either of them right now. Marissa needed medical care and Cody needed both of them.

“Did you hear me?” Luc asked.

“Yeah, I heard,” was all he could manage to say.

He stared at Marissa’s still form and wondered if they’d ever regain the life they’d shared, if she’d ever look at him the way she once had. He didn’t deserve it, not after what he’d said. But deep inside, away from the cynicism and anger, hope floated in a little round bubble.

Maybe, just maybe he hadn’t lost everything he loved.

“And Gray?”

“Yeah?” It hurt to look at her and know she felt nothing for him. Gray wheeled around, faced the doctor. “What is it?”

“Cody needs to see her. He needs to touch her and know she’s fine. Then I want him to see a psychologist.”

“Where?” How in the world could he nurse an amnesiac wife, protect his little boy and run a ranch?

“Right here, today. Dr. Scallion is here for his weekly appointments. God evidently knew we’d need the guy, so He had him change his scheduled day in town from yesterday to today. And he’s got lots of time to see Cody.”

“You’re the doctor.”

“Yes, I am. Don’t forget it.” Luc’s voice toughened to the gruff but tender tones Gray had heard him use on obstreperous patients. “Don’t tell me God hasn’t protected those two, Gray McGonigle. I doubt if you’ll ever know just how tenderly He cared for them when you couldn’t.”

The door creaked shut behind him.

Gray walked back to the bed, stared at Marissa’s bruised, battered face, and blood-covered hair, scratched arms. He recalled Cody’s tortured look each time he tried to fall asleep. He remembered his own long days, and even longer nights when he’d stuffed his face in his pillow to stop from sobbing his heart out at their loss.

What kind of tender care was that? What kind of God did that?

Ten thousand times he’d asked the question, ten thousand times he’d come up blank. God, or at least what he knew of God, was supposed to be love. He was supposed to tenderly care for those who followed Him. Marissa wasn’t perfect, but she sure didn’t deserve to be kidnapped by some crazy person. He, on the other hand, probably deserved everything God had sent him, and then some. But why not punish him directly?

He directed his arguments heavenward, but there was no response and his frustration and impotence at the situation burgeoned.

Some time later the door creaked open and Cody peeked around the corner. Gray held out a hand, drew him into the room, smiling at the cookie crumbs on Cody’s lips.

“I was just coming to get you. What have you been eating?”

Cody brought the little white box out from behind his back. He pointed to the delicate red script flowing across one corner. “Blessing Bakery—made with love.”

A creation from Miss Winifred. Gray might have guessed. He smiled at the older woman, motioned her to come inside.

“We had breakfast quite a while ago, then Cody saw a nice doctor. After that we went for lunch. I had Furley bring him over a little treat.” Miss Winifred glanced at the bed, smiled, then looked at him. “I don’t think you realize how long you’ve been in here, Gray. It’s almost two o’clock.”

He glanced at his watch, saw that she was right.

“I apologize, Miss Win. I’ve held you up from work. You’ve been wonderful to look after Cody like this, but he can stay with me now. Marissa woke up once when I first came in, but she’s been asleep ever since. They tell me that’s perfectly normal. That her body needs rest.”

“Yes, Luc told me, as well.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, dear?”

“I’m fine.” That was a lie. He was anything but fine. Still, no sense in upsetting Miss Winifred. It wasn’t as if she could do anything about their situation.

He glanced up, caught her brushing away a tear.

“Did Luc tell you she has amnesia? That she can’t remember anything?”

Miss Blessing nodded.

“Yes, he told me. But she’s alive, Gray. And she’s going to get better. You can thank the Lord for that.”

“Can I?” Bitterness ate at his insides. Cody pressed against his knee and Gray lifted him up, held on to the little boy and tried to tamp down his anger. “Can I also thank Him for allowing my wife to get her skull bashed in? Can I thank Him for taking my son’s voice, for giving me months of unending misery when I didn’t know if they were dead or alive? Can I really thank Him for all that, Miss Winifred?”

As soon as it was said, Gray wished he’d kept his mouth shut. But Winifred Blessing wasn’t abashed by his anger. She didn’t even flinch. Instead her quiet voice rolled over him like salve on a burn, soothing, easing away some of the sting as it cooled and refreshed.

“Yes, you can do all of that, son. You can rant and rave about the injustice of life till your cows come home.” Her eyes sparkling, she lifted her head and dared him to debate her on this. “Or you can get down on your knees and give thanks that God in His wonderful plan decided to give you and your family more time together, that He entrusted them to you for a little longer.”

“You don’t understand,” he muttered, lowering his voice as he became aware that Cody had homed in on the tension between them and didn’t understand. “I made God a promise that if He gave me a son and never let him go through the pain I experienced in my childhood, that I’d be the best possible father I could be.”

“And?”

She was staring at him as if he’d lost his marbles. Gray bristled, all his fears and worries massing together into one swell of raw irritation.

“What do you mean, and? I did the very best I could. I tried to be the kind of father I never had so that my son wouldn’t go through what I did.”

“Yes?” She looked like an inquisitive sparrow, head tilted to one side.

Gray stared at Marissa, the anger deflating like a pricked balloon. “He didn’t keep His side of the deal,” he muttered.

“I see. So you made a deal with God.”

“Yes.”

“You set the terms, you decided how it would be fulfilled and now you’ve judged that God reneged. Is that about the gist of it?”

Put her way, it sounded a bit silly. But the meaning was there.

“Yes,” he said, unable to stem his defiance.

“Uh-huh.” Miss Blessing stared at him for a long time. Then she shook her head, lifted the white box from Cody’s hands and held it out in front of his nose.

“You’ve got the wrong end of the stick in this relationship, Gray. And the sad thing is, you don’t even know it. I’d like to stay here and hammer out who’s who in your master of the universe game, but I’ve got to get to work. Furley is not as young as she used to be. In the meantime, chew on this.”

She stuffed the box into his free hand, then turned and whirled through the door, charging off to cure the world. No doubt she’d unload the whole story on her assistant, Furley Bowes, and the two would confirm Miss Blessing’s opinion that Gray McGonigle was an idiot.

Which was probably no less than he deserved.

Gray glanced down at Cody. “You okay?”

Cody’s trusting eyes met his solemnly. He nodded. He glanced toward the door.

“I know. She was pretty ticked at me. But she doesn’t understand.”

Cody frowned, glanced at his mother, then at his father. Finally he took the box from Gray, lifted the lid and held it up so his father could look inside.

A giant heart-shaped cookie rested against a square of paper. Familiar red script across the cookie held his gaze.

Cody poked him, as if to say, “Well?”

Gray brushed his lips over his son’s now-shiny hair, and sighed.

“Miss Winifred Blessing always has to have the last word, doesn’t she?”

Cody grinned, reached out and pinched the V off the bottom of the heart. He popped it into his mouth, then lifted the cookie and held it toward his father. Gray nodded, read the message again.

“She sure knows where to hit a guy.”

Cody giggled. The sound was like music to Gray’s ears. Maybe Miss Win really did have a direct line to heaven for these messages. This one sure needed no explanation.

There is a God. You are not Him.

Chapter Four

“Okay, all your test results are in and everything seems fine. But just because I release you, it doesn’t mean you’re one hundred percent yet.” Dr. Lucas Lawrence pretended to glare at Marissa. “I want you to take it easy, relax and enjoy being at home with Gray and Cody for a while. No lifting, no straining. No housework!”

She’d been here a week—long enough to heal most of her cuts and bruises. She was ready to leave the hospital with its bland food and weird hours. She was especially delighted by the thought that no one would wake her up to take a pill that put her to sleep.

But to go home? With two people she didn’t know?

Marissa gulped, pretended to smile, watching as the doctor moved toward the door.

“No housework. Wow. That sounds pretty good.”

“Consider it a reprieve. Knowing you and your penchant for organization, and remembering that Gray has been baching for almost six months, you should be grateful.” He waved as he went out the door. “See you in a few days, Marissa.”

A reprieve? More like throwing her to the wolves. The doubts multiplied a thousandfold. Marissa suddenly realized she had no idea what her home looked like, let alone how much cleaning it normally required.

And she had no wish to be there alone with Gray.

She knew no one would understand what she meant. They’d assume she was afraid of him. And she was. But it wasn’t the ordinary kind of fear. Not the kind she felt when she woke from those awful dreams about the river. This was a different kind of fear, as if she might say or do the wrong thing and hurt him, erase that silvery glow in his eyes. Something drew her to him. It was as if she must somehow protect him, but she didn’t understand that. Protect Gray from what, or whom—herself?

The past week had proven that the man who called himself her husband loved his son. The boy looked completely different. He had new clothes, for one thing. His hair had been cut, too. Not just hacked off, which was how it had looked the first time she’d seen him, but trimmed by an expert hand. But the most important thing was the way he giggled and laughed, ran and jumped, just like every other kid.

The only thing he didn’t do was speak.

He’d often hug Gray’s side, or lean his head against his leg when he was tired of waiting. Then his dad would scoop him up in his arms and the boy would snuggle down as if he belonged there.

Which he did.

It was Marissa who didn’t seem to belong.

Oh, it was easy enough to bond with Cody. The boy was adorable, and every time he brushed his chubby lips against her cheek, or hugged her, or snuggled beside her in the hospital bed, some inner spring wound a little tighter inside Marissa. She knew she was his mother, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’d do anything to keep him from danger.

But when the nightmares came and ripped her fantasy world to shreds, when she had to face the fact that she might never remember his first steps, his first words, the first time he fell asleep in her arms—at those times she desperately wanted Gray McGonigle to be there for her, wanted his big strong arms around her, wanted to hear him say everything would be all right, just as he did with Cody.

Yet she pushed him away.

She had to.

To allow him to believe she felt something for him was to court disaster. Something had happened before her accident. Marissa knew it. She’d asked him, but Gray wouldn’t tell her about that last day, wouldn’t say much more than that they’d been happy. He was hiding something from her, and she longed to know what it was. Maybe then she’d be able to explain her turbulent emotions whenever he was near.

The truth was, she didn’t know what she felt for Grayson McGonigle.

Gratitude? Indebtedness? Obligation? Curiosity?

All of the above.

His world must have been turned upside down when his family disappeared. But in the days since she’d awoken here, he hadn’t once complained about his twice-daily trips into town to visit her, nor about her memory’s lack of progress. He’d mentioned nothing about the extra help she understood he’d had to hire to help out with the chores while he took Cody to the city for tests. Even now, he didn’t miss a beat about Luc’s suggestion that they’d need home help because she was useless to him.

“I spoke to Miss Blessing about what Luc said. She knows a woman who moved back to town a while ago, after her daughter and grandson died. She has one other son, but he doesn’t live with her. Anyway, apparently this Mrs. Biddle used to work for my father a long time ago, so she’s used to the ranch, and she loves kids.” Gray turned toward Marissa. “Does she sound all right to you?” he asked politely.

That he’d even bothered to ask was a mark of his consideration.

“She sounds fine.” She edged toward the side of the bed, pushing back the pain that pinched her body. “Whatever you decide is fine.”

She could see he didn’t like her saying that. His eyes narrowed, his brows lowered. He looked frustrated.

“I’m sorry, Gray. It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that you should decide these things. After all, they have the most effect on you.” She’d been trying to rectify whatever she’d said wrong, but was clearly only making matters worse. His jutting jaw was proof of that. She bit her lip, decided to stay silent.

“This affects you, too, Marissa. We can do whatever you want, but for now, I agree with Luc. You need rest and lots of it. A puff of air could whisk you away without even trying.”

“I’m fine.”

She glanced down, noticed his eyes staring at her knobby knees poking out from the hem of her hospital gown and readjusted the thin cotton robe.

“Why didn’t you put on your own robe and gown? I brought them days ago, but you still wear the hospital’s. Did I bring the wrong things?” Gray stared down at the threadbare gown as if he couldn’t understand her preference for such an ugly thing.

Well, why would he? He’d brought her an azure-blue velvet housecoat that begged to be worn, and a delicate white cotton nightie, with ribbon ties that matched the housecoat. They were beautiful and she’d have loved to snuggle into them. But they weren’t hers. At least, they didn’t feel like hers.

“I seem to have a lot of scrapes and cuts,” she improvised. “I didn’t want to stain anything, so I thought I’d save them until I was a bit more healed.” She glanced behind him. “Where’s Cody?”

“He’s at school. I thought it was time to get him used to the routine. I’ve been taking him for an hour every morning. Today he’s staying the full time.”

“Oh.” Which meant they’d be going to the ranch alone.

“You don’t think it was a good idea?” He fiddled with his hat. “Maybe it is too much at once, but the doctors thought we should get his life as normal as possible, and…”

Now she had him second-guessing himself, something she doubted he’d ever done. Till now. On an impulse, Marissa laid a hand on his arm.

“Please, whatever you’ve decided is fine. I know you only want what’s best for him.”

“And you.” He put his hand over hers where it rested against his muscled forearm. “I just want to make things better, Rissa. Inside, I know I can’t. I know nothing will be the same again, but I have to do something. Otherwise I’ll blow up.” His fingers tightened, the lines around his eyes deepened. “Every time I think of someone holding you against your will, of hitting you—”

She heard the torment in his voice, saw him strive for control. Then his arms were around her and he was holding her so tightly, she could barely breathe.

“Rissa, if you only knew how scared I’ve been.”

The words seemed dragged from him. It was the first time he’d really held her, though she’d expected it before now. There was no doubt in her mind that he cared about Cody but her, too? This much? Somehow that surprised her.

Something inside urged her to hold him, to brush that lock of recalcitrant hair off his forehead and kiss him there. But something else—some warning bell—reminded her that wanting to comfort him wouldn’t be what he wanted from her. He was her husband, he’d expect—no! She pulled away.

“You don’t have to be afraid. I’m all right. So is Cody. He’ll talk to us when he’s ready.” She leaned back, putting a bigger distance between them. “I guess I’d better get dressed.”

“I didn’t know you’d be released today. I didn’t bring you any clothes.” He frowned at her, trying, she knew, to understand what made her so apprehensive she couldn’t respond to him.

“I’ll wear what I arrived in.” She was pleased she’d thought of it so easily, until she saw him shake his head. “Why not?”

“The police have your things. Evidence. They’ve sent them away for analysis. Maybe they can find some clue about where you were held.” His gaze moved down her body, focused on her feet. “Seems funny you weren’t wearing shoes. Your feet weren’t cut or blistered, as they should have been if you were running barefoot.”

“Just another little mystery for you to unravel,” she joked, drawing her toes under the hem of her gown.

He was discomfited for a moment, then his gaze landed on the rejected housecoat. “I could go and buy something.”

“No, there’s no need.” She didn’t want to be indebted to him further. Neither did she want to put off going to the ranch. It terrified her, but she had to do it or explain why not. It was better to arrive in the daytime, and it was already after lunch. If they waited any longer, it would be time to pick up Cody, and when she finally arrived home, Marissa didn’t want the child watching her with those studious silver eyes that saw everything.

Home. How strange to think of it like that.

“I guess this is the only option, then.” He held out the housecoat and gown.

“I guess you’re right.” She clambered awkwardly off the bed, took the items from him and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He nodded, but that curious lambent glow was back.

It wasn’t the first time Marissa had been out of bed, nor the first time she’d seen a reflection of herself. But she still didn’t feel she knew the stranger who stared back at her, so she tried to avoid looking that way.

Earlier her bandages had been removed. The nurse had helped Marissa wash her hair and now it hung loose and fluffy around her shoulders. Her scalp was tender, so she’d left the golden strands free.

The nightie had a soft fuzzy feel on the inside. Some kind of cotton sateen, she decided, sliding her hand over her midriff. The housecoat felt every bit as wonderful as it looked. Out of the shabby hospital gear, sheathed in this elegant finery, Marissa felt pretty. Graceful. Like someone else. Had she worn these things before?

“Rissa?”

A soft knock on the door alerted her to her husband’s presence outside.

“Yes?” She froze, then told herself he had every right to walk inside if he wanted.

“Are you all right?”

She drew in a breath for courage, then pulled open the door.

“I’m fine. I was just trying to decide what to do about my feet.”

“Good thing I happened along, then.”

They both turned at the laughing voice. A man stood in the doorway. A tall man, sandy haired, with dancing brown eyes, looking for all the world as if he’d just stepped out of an ad for healthy outdoor living. He waited in the doorway, a gaily wrapped package in his hands. He wore jeans and a plaid shirt, but they were nothing like Gray’s. There was no sign he’d ever done a day’s work in either article. His snakeskin boots shone with a luster that proclaimed them new.

“Hi, sis.”

Sis? This was her brother? Marissa scrutinized each feature, but found nothing familiar. Gradually she became aware of the tension sizzling across the room between the men. She glanced at Gray for an explanation.

“Marissa, this is my brother. Adam.” The words were devoid of any emotion.

“Oh, come now, Grayson. Let’s tell all the truth, shall we?” The debonair smile turned on her full force. “Everyone thinks I’m his half brother. The ne’er-do-well son who got gypped out of the ranch my father built with his bare hands.” Malice glittered in Adam’s eyes.

“I didn’t gyp anyone.” Gray grated the words out in a way that told her they’d gone over the same argument a hundred times before. “Harris left me the ranch, true. But you were well provided for, Adam. You could have bought your own place. If you’d wanted to.” An implicit warning lay behind those quiet words.

“The point is, dear Marissa, that Grayson McGonigle, or whatever his real name is, shouldn’t have received any portion of my father’s inheritance because he is not my father’s son. He’s a liar and a cheat.”

His real name? Marissa winced at the pure hate that seemed to thread through the angry accusations. She saw Gray’s hands fist, saw his jaw clench and knew it was up to her to stop this from escalating, damaged memory notwithstanding.

“Look, I don’t pretend to understand what you’re talking about, Adam. I don’t understand anything about my life. My head hurts, my body is stiff and sore and I feel like I’m in the middle of a tug-of-war. So if you don’t mind, you two can carry on your feud, or whatever it is, later. Preferably when neither Cody nor I are present.”

“Aw, Marissa, I’m sorry.” Adam’s mobile face drooped with shame. “I truly didn’t mean to dredge that up again. I came to say I’m so sorry about the accident. How are you?”

“I’ll be fine,” she told him, praying she was telling the truth.

“I know that. You always had a knack for making things turn out good.” He walked over, leaned down and brushed a kiss against her forehead. “This is for you.”

She accepted the gift, surprised and pleased by his tender smile.

“Thank you, Adam. Though you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“By the look of those toes, I did,” he teased, peering down at her ankles and bare feet. “Wherever you’ve been, you managed to get a bit of sun. At least on your feet.”

In unison she and Gray stared at her feet. Compared to the rest of her fair skin, her ankles and feet were tanned a light golden brown. Why was that?

She felt Gray’s scrutiny. A wave of embarrassment washed over her at the intimate look. She busied herself opening the gift. A pair of slippers, fuzzy white ones with delicate little heels, lay against blue tissue paper.

She giggled at the silliness of them. Adam chuckled.

“I knew you’d like them.”

“Surely you didn’t find these in Blessing?” She laughed.

The silence unnerved her.

“What did I say?” she whispered. Both men stared at her with an intensity that made her fidget. “What’s wrong?”

“You know where you live?” Gray asked carefully. “You remember the town?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Then how did you know that no place in town would carry these?”

Then she understood. Blessing. The town where they lived. She tried to figure out how she knew that, but nothing made sense.

“I don’t know where it came from,” she whispered, frustrated by the elusiveness of her mind. “It just came out.”

“It’s okay, honey.” Gray squeezed her shoulder. “It’s great, really. It means things are starting to come back. The doctors all said not to force it, so let’s not worry about that anymore. Why don’t you try these on?” He lifted a slipper from the box, carefully cradled her left foot and slipped the ridiculous footwear on it, then repeated the procedure with her other foot.

Marissa thrust out her legs and stared.

“I feel like Fifi La Ronge.”

“Who?” Adam and Gray stared at her.

Marissa blushed. “Never mind.” She stood and practiced walking. Then she glanced around the room. “Are we ready to go?”

Adam glanced at Gray. “Cody at school?”

“Yes.” Gray’s stormy eyes met his brother’s without flinching. “He’ll come home on the bus.”

“I could pick him up.”

“Don’t bother. A neighbor’s child will make sure he gets off at the right stop. I’ll be there waiting.”

Adam shrugged, but Marissa thought she saw a glimmer of hurt in his dark brown eyes.

“Suit yourself. I was just trying to help.”

“Really? You really want to help, Adam? Then why don’t you pitch in at the ranch? I could use a lot of help there. Especially now.” Gray’s steady gaze remained pinned on his brother.

Adam’s laugh held no amusement. Marissa saw his eyes harden, watched the snide tilt of his mouth transform her brother-in-law’s charming face into a mask of petulance.

“My own father didn’t think I had it in me to ranch, Gray. Why would you think any differently?”

“Maybe I see a side of you that Harris didn’t.” Gray glanced down at Marissa, but apparently decided to voice the rest of his opinion in spite of her presence.

“Harris loved you, Adam, and you know it. But he was afraid you’d gamble the ranch away just as you’ve done with the inheritance he left you.” His voice dropped to a tone of quiet steel. “Anytime you want to come on board, you just let me know. I’m not trying to steal anything from you, but neither am I prepared to let you blow our father’s lifework in some crap-shoot. And until you can prove your allegations about my ancestry, I suggest you keep them to yourself. Marissa doesn’t need the extra aggravation.”

He drew her forward, toward the door. Adam stood in their path, but he silently stepped aside as they approached. Marissa paused, looked into his eyes and wondered at the hurt she saw there. Her heart ached for these two brothers so at war with each other.

“Thank you for my slippers, Adam,” she murmured, reaching out to touch his arm. “I like them very much.”

He caught her hand, squeezed it. His eyes opened wide when her sleeve fell back and he caught sight of the fading marks. His gaze flew to meet Gray’s, asking a silent question.

“No, we don’t know who did it yet,” Gray murmured. He slipped an arm around Marissa’s waist. “At first I thought you might be to blame.”

Adam straightened, his anger visible, but Gray merely smiled that sad, painful twist of lips that mocked Adam’s indignation.

“Don’t worry. I soon realized that my own brother couldn’t possibly want to hurt a woman who never did him any harm. Besides, Cody loves you, Adam. That’s good enough for me.”

Marissa wanted to say something, anything to ease the anguish on the other man’s face, but she couldn’t think of a word. After several tense moments Gray heaved a sigh and solved the problem for her.

“Go ahead and pick up Cody, Adam. Only make sure you come straight home. Whoever did this is still at large. We’ll see you there.” Then Gray whisked her out of the room and down the hall before she could respond.

“What’s the rush?” she puffed, surprised at how quickly she became winded.

“No rush. Sorry.” He adjusted his pace. “They said they wanted to take you out in a wheelchair, but I’d like to avoid that, if we can. I’ve taken care of the paperwork.” He helped her through a side door. Just beyond the curb sat a shiny black truck. “Just in case someone is watching you, I’m not prepared to give them another opportunity to hone their abduction skills.”

He half lifted her inside, tucked her robe in around her and fastened her seat belt, then climbed into his own seat.

“Okay?” he asked, his hand on the ignition.

“I guess.”

Truthfully, Marissa didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay in this strange new world. But it wouldn’t help to keep complaining about things. Somehow God would make sense out of the distortions in her world. She didn’t know exactly how she knew that, but the solid comfort of the thought nestled down inside her heart and warmed her like a close friend. For the first time since she’d discovered her name, Marissa didn’t feel alone. God was there. Watching. He would help her.

She sat back, prepared to take in every sight and sound that might give a clue about her home.

“Home” took shape as a white rambling rancher-style house with a veranda just made to sit on and sip lemonade. It wrapped around the house as far as she could see, offering a fantastic view in every direction. The foothills had begun their autumnal color change, vibrant oranges and reds glowing in the late afternoon sun.

Marissa could only gaze in rapt admiration at the horses grazing in the pasture, at the herds of cattle dotting the golden hills and wonder at the beauty and serenity of this place that had been her home.

Why had she been afraid to come here? It was gorgeous. Yet even as she thought it, her eyes picked out a densely forested area far beyond the white fences. Prickles of fear made her skin crawl as she stared into the emerald-green of a coniferous forest. There were no bright tinges of red to lighten the ominous darkness, no yellow or orange streaks to break the shadowed duskiness she knew lay beyond that boundary.

“Marissa? Are you all right?” Gray stood beside her opened door, one hand upraised as if to touch her face. “I thought you’d gone into a trance. What’s wrong?” He turned, surveyed the landscape, tried to find what held her attention.

“What’s over there?” she asked, pointing.

He tilted his head back, peering across the land.

“Pastures. Grazing land. Hills. The creek. Why?”

“Does anyone ever go there?” she whispered. Her skin crawled with some nameless fear she couldn’t quite repress.

“Sometimes I ride in to get a stray. It’s pretty dense back there and very easy to get lost, but I leave it untouched because Harris, my father, wanted one piece of his property to remain wild. So did Dani’s dad, on the ranch next door.” He frowned at her. “Why are you asking?”

“I don’t know.” She shivered.

“Come on, it’s cold out here. I should have brought your coat.” He lifted her into his arms and carried her across the yard and up the stairs.

The door opened before he arrived. A tiny woman stood in the doorway, her silver hair wound into a complicated twist on top of her head.

“Come in, come in. It’s getting cooler every day. I suspect winter will come early this year.” She waited until Gray had set Marissa down, then held out one soft white hand. “I’m Evelyn Biddle. Your husband and I talked earlier this morning. He said you’d want to interview me.”

“Interview?” She looked to Gray for help. He didn’t get a chance to respond.

“As housekeeper, dearie. Now come along, you just sit down in this big old chair in front of the fire. I saw the dust from the truck and knew you’d be along soon, so I made some tea. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.” Almost before she could blink, Marissa found herself tucked into the chair, an afghan covering her knees and a cup of sweetly scented tea in her hand.

“There we are. Now you just relax a bit. Winifred told me some of your story. It’s a terrible thing. Just terrible.”

“Thank you.” Winifred, that would be Winifred Blessing. If the kindly baker lady had sent this woman, Marissa was certain Mrs. Biddle would make a perfect housekeeper. There was something about Miss Blessing that inspired confidence no matter how long you’d known her.

“Whoever would do such a thing should be horse-whipped.”

“Um—”

Probably sensing her discomfort in talking about the past, Gray launched into a series of questions, which the older woman answered quite ably. Marissa sat and let them talk, content to listen.

“You must feel free to invite your own family to visit, Mrs. Biddle. Or take some time off. We can’t keep you isolated out here all the time.”

The parchment skin drooped, the blue eyes faded, glossed over with tears.

“I don’t have any family around here, dearie. My daughter was a widow. Army wife, you know. I was living with her and my grandson until they both died. Now I’m at a loose end. I have a son, but he won’t be visiting me, I’m afraid. In fact, I don’t see him often. He gets too upset. He’s in a home now.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I’d be glad to stay as long as you need my help. The fact is, you’d be doing me a favor. I just don’t know what to do with myself anymore.”

And she was probably short of money, if she’d been living with her daughter.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Biddle. I didn’t know about your loss.” Marissa was ashamed of herself. She’d been whining about her terrible life, which included a darling son and a husband who clearly cared for her. It was a life that would soon be filled with so many things. This poor woman had lost everything most dear to her.

“Don’t you fret about it, honey. How could you know?” Mrs. Biddle shrugged. “A few months ago, after I’d spent a long time recovering from hip surgery, God seemed to tell me to come back to Blessing. I still have my little house, you see, even if it is rented. And at least one friend, Winifred Blessing. She suggested I stay with her, just until I got back on my feet. That didn’t take long. I’m perfectly well now.”

“I’m glad,” Marissa said, and meant it.

“Winifred won’t hear of me leaving. Says she likes the company. But when they found you, well, she was certain I could help. In a way, arriving out here today was a little like coming home.”

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