Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Copyright

“Garrick, exactly how long have I been pregnant?”

“About twelve weeks,” he admitted.

Samantha shook her head slowly. “You married me because I was pregnant, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then why?”

“I married you,” he said, “because I thought we had a good chance of being happy together.” They did. Ten years of friendship was the strongest basis for marriage he could imagine.

“And because you got me pregnant,” Samantha said.

“Your pregnancy did have something to do with it,” he admitted.

She looked disappointed. “You don’t love me?”

If only she knew what she was saying! But he couldn’t tell her the truth. Even amnesia wasn’t enough to erase the last ten years.

Dear Reader,

The month of June makes me think of June brides, Father’s Day and the first bloom of summer love. And Silhouette Romance is celebrating the start of summer with six wonderful books about love and romance.

Our BUNDLE OF JOY this month is delivered by Stella Bagwell’s The Tycoon’s Tots—her thirtieth Silhouette book. As her TWINS ON THE DOORSTEP miniseries continues, we finally discover who gets to keep those adorable babies…and find romance in the bargain.

Elizabeth August is back with her much-loved SMYTHESHIRE, MASSACHUSETTS series. In The Determined Virgin you’ll meet a woman whose marriage of convenience is proving to be very inconvenient, thanks to her intense attraction to her “in-name-only” husband.

BACHELOR GULCH is a little town that needs women, and the name of Sandra Steffen’s brand-new miniseries. The fun begins in Luke’s Would-Be Bride as a local bachelor falls for his feisty receptionist—the one woman in town not looking for a husband!

And there are plenty more compelling romances for you this month: A lovely lady rancher can’t wait to hightail it out of Texas—till she meets her handsome new foreman in Leanna Wilson’s Lone Star Rancher. A new husband can’t bear to tell his amnesiac bride that the baby she’s carrying isn’t his, in Her Forgotten Husband by Anne Ha. And one lucky cowboy discovers a night of passion has just made him a daddy in Teresa Southwick’s The Bachelor’s Baby.

I hope you enjoy all of June’s books!

Melissa Senate,

Senior Editor

Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Her Forgotten Husband
Anne Ha

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Ben and Patti, with lots of groovy love.

Many thanks to Monica Caltabiano for her fabulous

critiquing, to Rachel Jones for strategically timed

brainstorming and to Donna Jean for those lifesaving

ice-cream breaks.

ANNE HA

is the pen name of Anne and Joe Thoron, a husbandand-wife writing team. College sweethearts, they live in Oregon with two naughty cats and a vegetable garden. They love to travel and meet all different kinds of people. Their first book, Husband Next Door, was a finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award.

Chapter One

He seemed quite sane.

The handsome man seated by her bed—the man cradling her hand in his and murmuring endearments—did not appear demented, deranged or otherwise unbalanced.

But she’d never seen him before in her life.

He was a total stranger.

A moment ago she’d awakened, blinking in the bright hospital lights, to his inexplicable presence. She hated to spoil his pleasure, his obvious relief, but she couldn’t go on acting as if she knew him.

Gently she pulled her hand from his grasp and edged a few inches away.

“Sweetheart?” The man’s voice was deep and husky. A few days’ beard growth shadowed his jaw, giving him a sensual, tousled look which grew more pronounced as he raked his fingers through his dark brown hair. “You’re not still angry?”

Angry? Now there was a question that didn’t make sense! She had no reason to be angry. The only thing bothering her was the pounding ache in her head. It grew worse with every passing second.

Raising a hand to massage her temple, she drew back when her fingers encountered soft gauze. A bandage! Amazed, she gingerly traced the gauze, wincing at a shaft of pain.

“You all right?” the stranger asked.

“My head hurts,” she said, and shut her eyes. The darkness brought relief, wrapping her in its safe cocoon.

“I’m sure it does, after the wallop you gave it. You’ve had a concussion, you know.”

She frowned, eyes still closed. “I have?”

“Two days ago. Your car went off that nasty curve on Humphrey Boulevard. It hit a tree, but you were lucky—just suffered the concussion and a few cuts and bruises.”

She couldn’t bring herself to reply. It was easier to lie still between the starched white hospital sheets, to let the blankness ease the pain.

Briefly the stranger touched her shoulder, his fingers warming her skin. It felt nice, she thought, a bit guiltily. She heard him move, knew he stood over the bed. Heat emanated from his body, and she breathed in the spicy male scent of him. It wasn’t at all familiar, but it was oddly compelling.

“I’ll tell the doctor you’re awake,” he said.

But he didn’t leave, and she had the feeling he watched her intently.

After a moment he kissed her forehead, the contact light and fleeting. “I’m glad you’re all right, Sam. If I’d lost you…”

She opened her eyes, caught by one word. “Sam?”

He straightened, giving her a tired smile. “Sorry. I meant to say Samantha. I’ll get used to it someday.”

“Samantha,” she echoed. Confusion and anxiety rose inside her. Who in the world was Samantha?

Not her, surely. She didn’t feel like a Samantha. She felt like a…like a…

Nothing came to mind. No name seemed to fit.

Meeting the stranger’s expectant gaze, she struggled not to show her distress. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak. She felt lost, adrift.

Closing her eyes again, she tried to make sense of her situation. She knew she lay in a hospital room, could recognize its antiseptic smells. She knew the prickling discomfort in her left arm was caused by an IV needle, that the humming sound came from fluorescent lights.

But that was where it stopped. She didn’t know who she was. Or where she lived or how old she was or what kind of car she drove.

Oh, good Lord, she thought. She didn’t even know if she had any family or what she did for a living…

The man cleared his throat, interrupting her panic attack. “By the way,” he said, his voice soft. “The baby is fine.”

At first she thought she hadn’t heard him correctly. She swallowed and stared up at him, unable to keep the bewilderment from her face. “The, uh, baby?”

Could she be a mother? It didn’t seem possible. She had absolutely no recollection of changing diapers or of getting up for nighttime feedings. No recollection of childbirth.

“Yes,” the stranger answered. “The doctor said the accident had no ill effects.”

She grimaced, still not sure she had a baby. But maybe she would remember him—or was it her?— and would feel overjoyed it hadn’t been hurt. In the meantime all she could do was smile and try to think of something to say.

“Thank goodness for car seats!” she managed.

The man didn’t smile back. In fact, he looked decidedly concerned. His brows lowered and his slate gray eyes narrowed.

Darn it. Obviously she hadn’t been maternal enough. She tried again. “Thanks for the reassurance. I feel so much better knowing my baby is okay. I’m really looking forward to holding…it…in my arms again.”

His frown deepened. “Samantha…”

What did he want from her? So what if she couldn’t remember the gender of her child? A few seconds ago she hadn’t even known she had a baby, and now he was trying to hold her to some unreachable maternal ideal.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

He sat back down on the chair, holding her hand while he studied her face. She felt as if he were trying to gaze into her soul. And he didn’t seem pleased by what he saw.

“Samantha,” he said, “there’s something you should know.” He paused, appearing to choose his words with care. “The baby wasn’t in a car seat.”

“What?” she blurted. He was lying. He had to be. She couldn’t have been so irresponsible! “Look, mister, I don’t know what bee flew into your bonnet today, but I do not appreciate your accusations of neglect. Of course I put my child in a car seat!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

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

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

“No, not that long.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“As a matter of fact, I would.”

“Who is it?”

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

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

The man nodded. “Yes, me.”

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

The power of his lovemaking…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine. Except for this awful headache.”

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

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

The others exchanged glances.

“Samantha what?” Dr. Hernandez asked.

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

Silence.

“Samantha Bogart?”

Silence.

“Hepburn? Tracy?” She wasn’t getting anywhere. And the man looked amused again. She glared at him. “All right, so I don’t know my last name. So what does that prove?”

The doctor patted her arm and continued the examination. “It appears you’ve suffered some memory loss. Do you know what city you’re in?”

She searched her mind for the name of a city. “Um, New York?”

Dr. Hernandez shook her head. “Sorry. You’re in Portland, Oregon. According to your husband, you’ve lived here all your life.” She glanced at the man beside her. “Garrick tells me you don’t believe you’re married to him.”

“I’m not.” It sounded petulant, but she didn’t care. She felt exposed and vulnerable, as if she were the butt of a joke that everyone got but her. She narrowed her eyes on her so-called husband. “Garrick?” she said. “Is that your name?”

He nodded.

“But I’ve never heard it before in my life. First name or last?”

“First. It’s Garrick Randall.”

The doctor patted her arm again. “I know this must be a confusing time for you, but he is your husband. The hospital verified it. Now, I expect to release you into his care tomorrow, after we run a few more tests. As long as you’re recovering well from the blow to your head, and it hasn’t hurt your pregnancy, there’s no reason to keep you here.”

“But what about my memory? Shouldn’t I stay until I get it back?” She felt intense trepidation at the idea of leaving the hospital, leaving the only world she’d known so far. Especially if she had to leave with a man she couldn’t remember.

Dr. Hernandez pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, Samantha, there’s nothing we can do about your memory. It may return in a few hours or a few days, or it may drift slowly back over a period of months.” She smiled gently. “I’ll have a counselor speak with you about it first thing tomorrow.”

A few minutes later the doctor left with Garrick. The nurse removed the IV, smoothed the covers and turned off the overhead lights before following them.

Then she was alone. It wasn’t as much of a relief as she’d thought it would be. In the light from the single fixture by the bed, the room seemed unbearably stark. There was one small window, but it revealed only darkness and a few distant street lamps. She wondered how many hours she would have to endure before morning.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she’d been fast asleep for two whole days, so she knew it was futile.

Garrick kept slipping into her mind, with his tousled dark hair and appealing male scent. She almost missed him.

Well, she supposed that made sense. It really did seem as if she’d married him. And she’d probably done it for a good reason. She probably loved him!

Too bad she couldn’t remember.

She still didn’t feel like a Samantha, she thought. Maybe she never would. Maybe she’d always hated the name.

The door swung open with a quiet swish, and Garrick entered. He met her eyes and smiled a tender, disturbingly sexy smile.

“I thought you’d gone home,” she said.

“Eager to be rid of me?”

Mutely she shook her head. On the contrary, his presence gave her pleasure—but she wasn’t quite willing to admit it.

He crossed to the chair and picked up an overnight bag that had been stashed beneath it. His back to her, he rummaged through the contents.

Samantha watched him while he did so. He wore faded jeans and a wrinkled white oxford shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. She could see his muscles shift underneath it as he moved.

This man was her husband, she thought. The father of the small life growing inside her. How…odd.

Even though she couldn’t remember it, she’d actually made love with him. She’d run her fingers over his warm skin, kissed his full, sensuous lips.

And other places as well.

Despite the pounding in her head, a spark of excitement ran through her. There must be worse fates than being married to such an attractive man, she decided. Even if he was a little maddening.

He turned to face her. His features had a rugged beauty that drew her gaze to his beard-darkened cheeks and the line of his jaw. His gray eyes were like sun-warmed granite—hard but not cold.

Samantha’s attention drifted downward. Garrick wore his sleeves rolled back, revealing muscled forearms lightly sprinkled with hair. His legs were strong and well shaped, his hips lean. He had the body of a man who enjoyed physical activity, who skied, played tennis, jogged, made love….

She felt a sudden urge to touch him, to learn with her fingertips whether his body was as strong and firm as it looked.

Garrick’s hands came up and unfastened the top button of his shirt. She watched, mesmerized, as deft fingers slid the second button free. And the third. She saw dark hair curling on the sharply defined planes of his chest.

Her mouth went dry.

Three more buttons. He tugged the shirt free of his waistband, revealing a washboard stomach.

“What are you doing?” she croaked.

His hands stilled, but he didn’t answer. The shirt hung loose around his torso. Dark hair arrowed down his stomach and disappeared under his waistband.

She swallowed painfully.

With blessedly quick movements, Garrick shed the wrinkled oxford and replaced it with a black T-shirt.

Samantha cursed herself for a fool. She’d acted as if he were putting on some sort of striptease, as if he could read her mind and the unseemly thoughts that went on in it, when he’d only been changing.

They were married, she reminded herself. There was no reason for him not to change his shirt in front of her—especially when it looked as if he’d slept in it for a week.

He handed her a square leather purse. “I thought you might want this.”

Happy for a distraction, Samantha took the purse. She sorted through its contents, hoping something would look familiar.

Nothing did. The pocket calendar, face powder, lipstick and address book might all have belonged to someone else. Even her driver’s license, which showed a five-foot-five, twenty-five-year-old woman with brown eyes and long blond hair, didn’t elicit a flicker of recognition. She flipped through the address book without knowing a single one of the names that were written in a slanted, flowing script. Sighing, she put everything back in the purse.

“Nothing?” he asked.

“Not a thing. It’s like digging into someone else’s purse. I feel like a trespasser.” She held out the driver’s license. “Do I really look like this?”

He glanced at the license, then at her. “Close enough, though it’s not the most flattering picture—makes your hair look limp and your eyes look small and beady.”

“Thanks.”

He grinned back at her. “You asked.”

Samantha fingered a lock of her hair, which was loosely tied at the nape of her neck. The strands felt thick and soft. She pulled it over her shoulder to inspect it, but the unfamiliarity of the pale gold color disturbed her.

“There’s a mirror in the bathroom, in case you’d like to see your face.”

Something made her shake her head, despite her curiosity. The throbbing headache grew sharper with her movement.

She told herself it would be too much trouble to get out of bed, but in the back of her mind she knew her response was more complicated. If she looked in the mirror, she would have to confront a stranger’s face—even though she’d had it for twenty-five years. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for such a highly charged encounter.

The magnitude of her situation finally struck her full force. She knew nothing at all about herself or her life. She had only what she could learn from the foreign-looking items in her purse, and from Garrick. Without them she’d be completely at a loss.

It made her feel vulnerable, helpless.

It made her feel like a nonentity.

Garrick watched the expressions play across Samantha’s face. She’d never been good at hiding her thoughts and emotions. He could tell her panic had returned.

Taking her hand, he held it once more between his. “It’ll be okay, Sam. Your memory will return.”

She stared back at him, her brown eyes dazed. “When?”

Garrick paused. He still had trouble comprehending the fact that she’d lost her memory. How could her whole life disappear just like that? How could she not remember the past ten years? It must be utterly overwhelming. “I don’t know, Sam,” he said. “But I’ll stay with you and support you till it does.”

She lay back. “I’m scared.”

“I know you are. Everything will be all right, though. You and the baby are alive, and that’s what matters.” He stroked her hand until she slowly relaxed. Amazing, he thought, that his touch could have such an effect on her, as if she drew strength from him, from his nearness.

Garrick had had the same feeling when she’d been unconscious, as if he was speeding her recovery merely by touching her and remaining by her side. She’d become skittish and uncertain once she’d woken, but now the connection was back, and thank goodness. It gave him hope for the future.

Garrick found himself wishing her memory would take a while to return. He knew it was a foolish, selfish thought, but he couldn’t stop it. He wanted the chance to build a new intimacy between them, to make their marriage a strong and fulfilling one—and not just a passionless arrangement.

Samantha squeezed his hand. “Who am I, Garrick? Where do I live? What do I do?” She smiled ruefully. “Why am I such a bad driver?”

He laughed softly. She had a lot of courage, he thought, to make a joke—even a feeble one—when her life was in chaos. “You’re not a bad driver,” he assured her.

“I hit a tree. You told me so yourself. How much worse could I be?”

Garrick looked down at her, wishing he knew how to reply. He could have told her she’d been distraught, that her mental state had destroyed her concentration. But he didn’t. If he told her everything about her accident, about the convoluted events that had led up to it, they’d be right back where they’d been two days ago.

“Well?” she said. “Aren’t you going to tell me anything?”

He studied her for a long moment. “You’re definitely not a bad driver. What else would you like to know?”

“How long ago did we meet?”

“Ten years.”

She considered this. “So it wasn’t a whirlwind courtship.”

“No.” It wasn’t a courtship at all, really, but she didn’t need to know that right now.

“How long have we been married?”

Garrick groaned inwardly. These probably seemed like simple questions to her, but they were headed in a difficult direction. “Two months,” he admitted.

She was clearly shocked. “That’s all? We certainly took our own sweet time, didn’t we? Why the delay?”

“You were only fifteen when I met you,” he pointed out, unable to keep from smiling. She had no way of knowing how attracted he’d been, even back then.

“And how old were you?”

“Twenty.”

“Ah…” she said, a look of dawning comprehension on her face. “Let me see. I must have fallen in love with you on the spot. I can just picture it—the shy girl and the handsome older man. How sweet.” She paused, her brown eyes wistful. “Was I shy?”

“Yes, you were shy.” He remembered their first meeting as clearly as if it were yesterday. He and Warren had both come home from college for the winter holidays. Their younger sister Jenny had rushed down the stairs to greet them, eager to introduce her new friend. Samantha had followed with tentative steps.

Garrick had heard all about Samantha in Jenny’s letters and been prepared to like her. He had not been prepared, however, for the jolt of desire that swept through him at the sight of her blossoming figure and ethereal brown eyes. She was fifteen, he’d reminded himself sharply. A child.

Someday, he’d thought as he’d pushed back his desire, she would be grown up, a woman far more beautiful than the child in front of him. He would wait, and the waiting would make it all the more pleasurable in the end.

But looking into her eyes and seeing the barely concealed hero worship in them had been difficult indeed.

“You must have been amused by my crush,” she said.

“Not at all,” he responded truthfully.

“Of course not.” She smiled. “You probably didn’t notice I was madly in love with you. I was fifteen, you said? You probably didn’t even know I was alive.”

Of course he’d known. But Garrick didn’t relish reliving that part of the past any more than necessary. “Anything else you’d like me to tell you?” he asked, hoping to shift the conversation to safer topics.

She thought for a moment, tapping her chin in that adorable way she had. “Where’d we go on our honeymoon? Maybe it will help me remember.”

He hesitated. “We stayed here in town.”

“Really? No trip to Hawaii or Mexico? Was that my choice or yours?”

“Both of ours.”

Samantha frowned. “Isn’t this strange? I can remember about Hawaii and Mexico, but I don’t know if I’ve been to either one or if I learned about them from TV.”

“You’ve been to Mexico, not Hawaii,” Garrick said.

“With you?”

“With Jenny.”

“Who’s Jenny?”

“Your best friend. My sister.”

“Oh.” She looked a little depressed. “I can’t believe I don’t remember my own best friend.”

“It’s okay, Sam. I’m sure she’ll understand. She’d be here right now, by the way, but she’s taking an exam.”

Samantha gave him a questioning look.

“Law school,” he explained. “She’s finishing her second year.” He decided he’d given Samantha enough information to absorb for one night. “How’s your headache?”

She closed her eyes briefly. “Better, but the medication they gave me isn’t very strong. I guess they didn’t want to hurt the baby.” As if suddenly reminded of the new life growing inside her, she cupped a hand to her abdomen. She grinned at him, her eyes alight. “We sure got started on our family fast, didn’t we?”

Garrick grimaced. Now what the hell was he supposed to say to that?

Chapter Two

He racked his brains for the right response.

It didn’t come.

If he told Samantha the truth about the baby’s conception… Well, he didn’t know how she’d react. But after her romanticized version of their relationship, she was sure to be upset.

Samantha continued, unaware of his inner turmoil. “After ten years of being madly in love with you, I couldn’t wait to start a family, right? Or was it just because you’re, er, extremely virile…? No point going to Hawaii if you’re gonna spend the whole week inside the hotel room, anyway, eh?”

“I guess not,” he said, feeling trapped. He was pretty damn close to lying by omission at this point.

He should just tell her everything. That was the honorable thing to do. But when he opened his mouth, no words came out. He just stared at her beautiful features, which were so much more happy and relaxed than they’d been twenty minutes ago, and couldn’t bring himself to burst her bubble.

“Two months,” Samantha continued in wonderment. “I bet I never thought I’d get pregnant that quickly. Did you?”

“Uh, not exactly.”

She paused, tapping her chin. “Is that why we fought?”

“Why we fought?” he repeated.

“Yes. When I woke up, you asked if I was still angry. So we must have had a fight, right? Was it about the baby?”

Garrick nodded reluctantly. She might have lost her memory, but her instincts were right on. They had been fighting about the baby right before she drove off. But it wasn’t what she thought.

Samantha’s brows drew together. “You don’t want the baby, do you?” She shut her eyes. “Oh, gosh, no wonder I got amnesia. I don’t want to remember that you don’t want our baby!”

“Sam,” he said, leaning forward, “I want this baby, and I have since the moment you told me you were pregnant. Nothing could make me give it up.” And it was the truth. Despite everything, he already loved the child she carried.

“Then why were we fighting?”

He sighed. “I can’t explain that right now. I don’t even understand it myself. It was all a big mistake, which you’ll realize when you’re better.”

“You want the baby?”

“Yes, I want the baby.”

Samantha sank back against the cushions, an expression of relief on her face. She folded her hands over her belly. “The doctor said it’s May,” she mused. “So am I going to give birth in December?”

Oh, good Lord. She’d always been too mathematical. “November, actually.”

Her eyes widened. “November?”

“Early November,” he said, feeling as if he’d just stepped off the edge of a precipice.

She stared at him. “Garrick, exactly how long have I been pregnant?”

“About twelve weeks,” he admitted.

“Oh…Oh, no.” She shook her head slowly. “You married me because I got pregnant, didn’t you?”

How could something be true and yet so completely false? He remembered how quickly his shock at her pregnancy had shifted to elation—and how he’d hated himself for that weakness. He’d had to force himself not to blurt his proposal on the spot, but to pull back behind a screen of disinterest, treating the situation as he might treat a sensitive business deal. “Not exactly.”

“Then why?”

“I married you,” he said, “because I thought we had a good chance of being happy together.”

They did. Ten years of friendship was the strongest basis for marriage he could imagine.

“And because you got me pregnant,” Samantha said.

“Your pregnancy did have something to do with it,” he admitted.

She looked disappointed. “You don’t love me?”

If she only knew what she was saying! But he couldn’t tell her the truth. Even amnesia wasn’t enough to erase the past ten years.

Garrick kept the emotion from his voice, just as he’d done when he’d proposed. “Love isn’t always the most important thing, Sam…Sometimes friendship can be enough.”

He didn’t love her.

Sure, he’d married her and wanted their baby, but he didn’t love her. He’d spent the whole night by her side, but he didn’t love her.

It wasn’t right, Samantha thought the next morning as Garrick checked her out of the hospital. Something felt wrong. She might not remember who she was, but she knew, just knew, she wouldn’t have wanted a loveless marriage.

So why had she married him? Only because she was pregnant? That didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t have slept with him unless…

She loved him. She loved him. Obviously the adolescent love she’d imagined last night had been all too real.

But he hadn’t loved her back.

Had she known? Had she willingly settled for a one-way marriage in order to be with her childhood crush? Or had she thought their feelings were mutual? Maybe she’d found out he didn’t love her, and that was what they’d fought about, what had made her such a terrible driver the night of her accident.

Maybe he’d let her think he loved her to get her to have a fling, but then it had backfired when she’d gotten pregnant.

She considered Garrick as he helped her into his dark green sedan, his touch warm and reassuring on her arm. He radiated confidence, strength and purpose. He didn’t seem like the devious type, she thought, the type to take advantage of a young girl’s crush.

Which left a distressing alternative. Maybe she’d taken advantage of him.

Samantha watched Garrick circle to the driver’s side, his dark hair lifting in the wind. Today he wore a blue chambray shirt and casual khaki chinos. He looked every bit as sexy as he had last night, and again she felt the pull of attraction and desire. He was an incredibly handsome man.

Could she have done it?

She didn’t want to face the possibility, but she couldn’t ignore it: she was pregnant, and he’d admitted that had something to do with their marriage. So had she set out to seduce him? Had she planned to get pregnant to entrap him?

If she had, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to regain her memory.

Garrick pulled out of the hospital complex and joined the flow of traffic down the hill. “Feeling okay?” he asked her. “Does it upset you to be in a car?”

Samantha shook her head, unable to voice her troubled thoughts. Deliberately she smiled and relaxed her grip on her purse. “I’m fine,” she said. “The car doesn’t bother me at all.”

It was true, too. Garrick’s car felt comfortable, solid and sturdy, and he drove with competent ease. She wondered how many times she’d ridden in it with him.

Reaching the bottom of the hill, they drove along a few city streets and then uphill again on a steep, curvy road. The trees arching over the roadway were thick with spring leaves, and warm air swept in through the open window. They passed large houses set back from the road.

Nothing was familiar.

“Have I been on this road before?”

He glanced over at her. “It’s the quickest route from your old apartment to the house. You probably drove it when you came to visit Jenny.”

“Oh. Where was my apartment?”

“Across the river, about fifteen minutes from here.”

“Did I live there until we got married?”

He nodded. “We can go see it sometime, if you’d like. Maybe it will spark a memory.”

And maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe her previous life would always remain a total blank, the good memories gone along with the bad.

She wondered suddenly where they’d made love that first time, when she’d seduced him. Had she lured him back to her apartment under false pretenses, or had she brazenly invited herself into his bed? Maybe she’d attacked him at his office, or in a dumpy motel room. She wondered whether she had good memories of that hour in his arms, or bad.

Looking at Garrick’s virile male form on the leather seat beside her, at his capable hands on the steering wheel, Samantha was pretty sure the memories were good. At least the ones of their lovemaking.

“Samantha?”

She flushed. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking. We can go by the apartment tomorrow if you think it would help.”

“Why don’t we see how you’re feeling? You may need a few days’ rest.”

Rest wasn’t high on Samantha’s list of priorities, even though she knew her body needed it. She didn’t want to spend long hours alone in a house she didn’t remember, surrounded by possessions that didn’t rekindle any of her lost memories. She couldn’t imagine anything more lonely.

It would be better to get a good night’s sleep and go to work in the morning, even though Dr. Hernandez had said she shouldn’t.

She caught herself. How could she go to work? She didn’t know where she worked, much less what she did. And how would she remember what to do? For that matter, she couldn’t even be sure she was employed!

“Do I have a job?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What do I do?”

“You’re the assistant marketing director of an office supply firm.”

“Oh.” Samantha took a moment to digest this. What did such a position entail? It sounded strange and intimidating, as if she were hearing about someone else’s job rather than her own.

She took stock of her clothes—a pair of wheatcolored jeans and a plain white T-shirt, which Garrick had brought her that morning. It didn’t look like the sort of outfit an assistant marketing director would wear.

“Are you sure I don’t deliver pizzas or rent out movies at the video store?”

He smiled. “No, you’re definitely in marketing, and you’re very good at your job.”

“I don’t remember anything about it.”

“You will,” he replied. “In any case, they’ve got you covered. You’d planned an extended maternity leave, and they’d already started to prepare for your absence. This is a little sooner than expected, of course, but there’s no rush to get back before your memory returns.”

“If it ever does,” she muttered.

Garrick took a hand from the steering wheel and placed it on her knee. The gesture was meant to comfort, she knew, but its effect was less than soothing. The warmth of him burned through the fabric of her jeans, shooting sparks of awareness up her body.

Disturbed she could be so affected by a man she knew didn’t love her, Samantha wanted to pull away.

Garrick spared her the effort. He lifted his hand quickly, frowning as if he, too, was bothered by the casual contact.

“Don’t worry,” he said after a moment. “Whatever happens, you’ll be able to deal with it. You’ve always been levelheaded, Samantha.”

For some reason this disappointed her. The way he said it made her sound almost boring. “Always?”

He studied her for a long moment. “No, not always… I wouldn’t have married you if you didn’t have an adventurous streak.”

Garrick’s meaning was clear enough. He might as well have said straight out that he’d only married her because she’d gotten pregnant. The only surprising thing was that his voice wasn’t bitter. It was almost as if he didn’t mind being trapped into marrying her.

She must have misinterpreted his tone, she decided. Perhaps her concussion had affected her perception. Or perhaps it was the effects of carrying the baby.

The baby. Samantha gazed down at her abdomen.

Garrick had said he wanted the baby, and she believed him. But would he love her or him, even though he didn’t love Samantha? A child needed a lot of attention and nurturing, and if Garrick acted simply out of a sense of duty, surely the child would know. And worse, if he treated his offspring as some sort of unwelcome houseguest, a burden that had been thrust on him by a conniving mother, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

“So,” she said, eager to distract herself from her unpleasant thoughts, “I’m in marketing. What do you do?”

“I’m the president of an office supply firm.”

She looked over at him. “The same firm?”

Garrick nodded. “The same firm.” He turned the car off the road and drove through a wrought iron gate that stood between two stone pillars flanked by a tall, dense hedge. “We’re here,” he announced.

They swept down a long drive, rounded a curve, and then the house came into sight.

Samantha swallowed. The house was huge—far larger than any of the ones they’d passed on the way up. Its style looked Georgian, she thought—not knowing how she could remember architecture when she didn’t even know her own name—with alternating dark and light red bricks and a massive portico entrance framed by imposing columns. The lawn in front of the house was landscaped with clipped hedges and lush beds of flowers, and a low balustrade bordered the walk.

Samantha clutched her purse full of items she didn’t recognize. Even without her memory she knew the house in front of her belonged to a very wealthy family.

And she knew, with the same awful certainty, that she hadn’t trapped Garrick Randall into marriage because she’d loved him.

She’d done it for the money.

Hearing the low purr of her brother’s car in the driveway, Jenny Randall surveyed her handiwork before leaving Samantha’s bedroom.

Everything was ready.

The photo of Samantha and Garrick looked right at home on the nightstand. Samantha was a pretty sixteen, Garrick a debonair twenty-one. His arm lay draped across her shoulder and his expression was playful. Samantha was smiling for the photographer. To someone who didn’t know better, it was a sweet picture that hinted at deeper feelings on the part of both people.

And Samantha didn’t know better—not anymore.

There was a similar photo on Garrick’s nightstand, taken a few years later. Jenny had dug both pictures out of her album the night before, after Garrick had called and told her about Samantha’s amnesia.

Amnesia—what a stroke of luck!

Jenny glanced at the drawer, which now held a half-empty bottle of scented massage oil. She’d poured out the other half to make it look well used, to give an impression of ongoing eroticism.

She grinned to herself.

Best of all was the lingerie. Samantha’s dresser now overflowed with silk and lace creations—washed once to take away the new look—instead of the sturdy cotton undies Samantha had favored before her accident. Jenny had also packed a wickedly tempting bra and panty set with the clothes she’d sent to the hospital with Garrick that morning, so the conversion would be complete.

Many of the items would have to be put aside as the baby grew, but Jenny had bought several filmy, flowing chemises and nightgowns that would continue to fit. Samantha would look sexy and desirable all the way through her pregnancy, if Jenny had any say in the matter.

She glanced around the room one more time to see if she’d missed anything. Yes, the connecting door. She crossed the room and unlatched the door leading to Garrick’s room, propping it open with a heavy doorstop.

It wasn’t fair of her to do this, of course. But the doctor had said Samantha’s memory might not return for weeks or months—plenty of time for a whole new set of memories to be formed.

And they would. Garrick and Samantha were married now, and Jenny intended them to stay that way. The baby and their wedding were the only good things to come out of the past few months, which had been so difficult for everyone. It was time for some healing, for some much-deserved happiness.

Satisfied with her efforts, Jenny headed downstairs to greet her best friend.

Samantha sat in Garrick’s car, frozen, staring up at the huge house. Her stomach felt knotted and tense. “I live here?”

“We both do,” Garrick said. “Along with Jenny and Beth—that’s our mother—and Hugh.” He got out of the car and opened her door.

“Who’s Hugh? Your father?”

Shaking his head, Garrick helped her up the walkway to the front steps. “Dad died several years ago. Hugh is the, er, housekeeper—for lack of a better word. He hates to be called the butler.”

“I see…. So we all live here together? Like on Dynasty or something?”

Garrick smiled. “We don’t get in each other’s way much. It’s a good-size house.”

Which was exactly what bothered her. “I noticed,” she murmured, grimacing.

“Here’s Hugh at the door.”

Samantha looked up to see the strangest housekeeper imaginable. At least seven feet tall and two hundred and fifty pounds, the man at the top of the steps wore a T-shirt, black jeans and square-toed motorcycle boots. His salt-and-pepper hair was tied back with a leather thong, and he looked as if he ate small children for breakfast.

Her hands strayed protectively to her abdomen.

Hugh’s eyes caught the movement. “Morning sickness? Should I make a pot of tea?” His gruff, Hell’s Angels voice was all concerned solicitude.

Samantha glanced at Garrick.

He chuckled, as if amused by her trepidation. “He won’t bite, Sam.”

She felt embarrassed. “Thank you, Hugh, but I’m fine. I haven’t had any morning sickness at all.” Even last night’s headache had subsided.

“Sorry, Hugh.” Garrick turned to Samantha. “He wants to try a ginger tea recipe he found in one of our baby books, but you haven’t been ill yet—much to his disappointment.”

The big, mean-looking housekeeper clucked his tongue as he ushered them inside. “Don’t you believe him, Samantha. I’m much happier to have you in perfect health. Welcome home, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “Pregnancy does seem to agree with me. I guess it runs in the family, because my mother didn’t get sick when she had me, either—” She stopped, surprised.

Hugh’s craggy features softened. “Your memory’s already returning, I see.”

Garrick looked oddly uncomfortable, but said in a calm enough voice, “How much do you remember?”

“I’m not sure. I think I saw her face for a moment. Her skin was soft and…and she used to wear combs in her hair….” Samantha closed her eyes, grasping at the images, but they’d scattered like dust motes blown from a windowsill. “That’s all. Except—she’s passed away, hasn’t she?”

Gently Garrick nodded. “Both of your parents.”

Samantha felt a strange sadness knowing she’d never see them again, knowing they’d never meet their grandchild—strange because, though she felt the emotions, she still couldn’t remember them.

Hugh gave her a look of sympathy.

At that moment footsteps sounded from above, and they all turned their heads toward the sweeping staircase.

“Samantha? Is that you?” A tall, attractive brunette descended the steps, her blue eyes sparkling. “You’re home!”

Samantha blinked. Something about the moment seemed familiar, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. It certainly wasn’t the sight of the young woman’s face, which she recognized no more than Garrick’s or Hugh’s. “Are you Jenny?” she asked.

“Of course I’m Jenny!” The woman rushed across the entrance hall, her leather flats clacking on the polished white marble. She enveloped Samantha in a warm hug. “But you probably can’t remember, can you? Amnesia—how exciting! Oh, Samantha, I’m so glad you’re all right. We were terribly worried, you know. And Garrick’s practically lived at the hospital since your accident….”

She continued in this vein for several minutes, taking Samantha by the arm and leading her back through the elegant house to an airy breakfast room filled with potted ferns. The men trailed behind.

Jenny, Samantha and Garrick all sat at the table, while Hugh disappeared briefly and returned with tall glasses of iced tea and a cup of milk for Samantha. He picked up a spray bottle and misted the ferns, frond by frond, looking incongruous as he handled the delicate plants.

“Tell me,” Jenny said. “When you woke up in the hospital, what was your first thought?”

Samantha glanced at Garrick. “Well, I guess I wanted to know who the strange man by my bed was.”

Jenny clapped her hands together, looking tickled. “You must have been pretty shocked when he told you he was your husband.”

She nodded.

“I bet you were also thrilled, though—I mean, not every girl’s lucky enough to have such a hunk for a husband. Oh, this is so romantic! Now you can fall in love with each other all over again!”

“Jenny.” Garrick’s voice had a tense edge to it “Let’s not overwhelm her.”

“I’m not overwhelming her, Garrick. “I’m just welcoming her home.” She grinned impishly at her brother. “Can I help it if I’m excited for the two of you?”

Garrick shot her a quelling look, but didn’t say anything.

Samantha felt she was missing an important part of the conversation, but was too busy trying to interpret Jenny’s words to worry about it. Did Jenny really think she and Garrick had been in love? Well, she seemed to have a generally positive outlook on life, so maybe she’d only seen what she’d wanted to see. And hadn’t realized love wasn’t a factor in the marriage.

Jenny waved a hand around the breakfast room. “Do you really not remember any of this?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“She has amnesia,” Garrick reminded her.

“I know that,” Jenny said. “I know she doesn’t remember who we are, or even how much she loves you. And goodness knows she won’t remember that if you keep being so grouchy. But I’ve never met an amnesiac before and I want to know what it’s like. Do you remember the first day you met Garrick?”

Samantha shook her head.

Jenny leaned forward, her blue eyes alight. “How about the first time he kissed you?”

“Enough, Jenny,” Garrick interrupted. “I think we should give Samantha a chance to get her bearings and adjust herself to the fact that she has a family.”

Jenny stood up, scowling good-naturedly at him. “Oh, all right.” She put a hand on Samantha’s shoulder. “Come on, Sam, I’ll give you a tour and show you to your room.”

Garrick stood, too, looking every inch the no-nonsense business tycoon. “May I see you in the hallway for a moment, Jenny?”

While brother and sister left, Samantha remained at the table and finished her milk.

Hugh stood across the room, pruning fern leaves with a small pair of scissors.

“They’re beautiful,” she said. “The ferns, I mean.”

He smiled at her. “Thanks, Samantha.”

“The plants are important to you, aren’t they?”

Hugh nodded. “If I weren’t the Randalls’ housekeeper, I’d work in a greenhouse. If I weren’t lying in a ditch somewhere, that is.”

Samantha made a questioning sound, curious but hesitant to pry.

“I was a practicing alcoholic when Beth found me fifteen years ago,” he explained. “She helped me get sober, then offered me a job….”

Jenny popped back into the breakfast room. “Ready?”

Samantha rose, automatically gathering the empty glasses in her hand. She realized she had no idea where to put them.

Hugh appeared by her side. “I’d be happy to take those from you, Samantha.”

She relinquished her burden, but noticed she felt odd being waited on—which only confirmed her suspicion that this wealthy life-style wasn’t what she’d known as a child. She must have taken a giant step up the financial ladder by marrying into the Randall family.

At the door Jenny linked her arm through Samantha’s. “Garrick made me promise to be good,” she said, obviously amused. “I’m allowed to give you a brief tour of the house, just enough so you won’t get lost, and leave you alone to rest. And he says I’m supposed to let you remember things on your own.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He said the doctor agreed, but he didn’t explain the reasons. It doesn’t make sense to me, though. I mean, if you know things, but just don’t remember you know them, then why shouldn’t we tell you what you already know? It couldn’t do any harm, could it?”

“I guess not.”

Jenny gave a theatrical sigh. “But we have to follow the master’s orders—not a word about the past. The kitchen is down that hallway, by the way. Hugh won’t mind if you raid the refrigerator. You and he are good friends.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay, Jenny. I’d figured that out, anyway. I was scared of him at first, but I’m not anymore.”

Jenny blinked at her, then shook her head. “Gosh, that’s so weird.”

“Why?” she asked. What was strange about being scared of a man who looked like Frankenstein’s monster?

“You said those exact same words ten years ago. The first time you met Hugh, you practically ran screaming from the house. But pretty soon you guys were buddies. And now you repeated the same thing you told me then. Amnesia’s pretty wild, isn’t it, Sam?”

She nodded. “Garrick said I wanted to be called Samantha.”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Well, if that isn’t just like Garrick, saying whatever he wants about your past while forbidding me to do the same! So what if you did ask to be called Samantha? You like Sam better. Samantha was just an attempt to sound sophisticated because—Well, never mind why. You like to be called Sam, so that’s what I’m going to call you.”

Samantha didn’t see any sense in arguing, since she had no idea which name she normally liked better. Sam sounded fine for the time being.

True to her word, Jenny led her on a brief but thorough tour of the important parts of the house, ignoring the east wing and the third floor entirely. By the time she deposited her at her bedroom door, Samantha felt reasonably confident she could find her way downstairs again, and utterly frustrated that she couldn’t remember a thing about a house she’d apparently known quite well.

Aside from that fleeting memory of her mother and the strange moment of familiarity in the entrance hall when Jenny had run down to greet her, she was still no closer to regaining her past.

Jenny gave her another hug. “You should rest now, just as his lordship ordered. I’ll be reading up for my next exam if you need me. Garrick’s probably closeted in his study, though I’m sure he’ll come check on you before long, and Mom will be home for lunch in a couple hours.” She kissed her on the cheek. “It’s great to have you home, Sam. We really missed you.”

Samantha closed the heavy wood door to the bedroom as Jenny started down the hallway. She looked around herself, taking in the high ceiling with its stucco designs, the ornately carved four-poster bed, the elegant dressing table and the lush Chinese carpet under her feet. It all exuded wealth.

And Samantha hated it.

Chapter Three

She swept her gaze through the bedroom again. Admittedly, it was beautiful. Most people would be thrilled to have such a room.

Samantha wasn’t.

Perhaps foolishly, she’d hoped she and Garrick would share a room—but this luxurious haven was clearly hers and hers alone. Samantha couldn’t find a single indication of masculine occupancy. The feminine items were obvious, though: potpourri and scented candles; a flacon of perfume on the dressing table, along with a vase of blue irises; something long and silky hanging from a hook on the door to the private bath.

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