“Drew? Honey? You love me, don’t you?” Gabrielle asked.

“’Course I do,” he said, a little rougher than he’d intended.

“When you proposed to me, you said you wanted us to have a family. A big one. You meant it, didn’t you?” she persisted.

Drew had nothing to go on now but blind faith, because she’d already left him, and if not for the concussion, Gabrielle wouldn’t be here now, in his arms, asking him to help her make a baby.

Blind faith.

Lord, he prayed silently, You’ve got to help me out here, ’cause I’m skatin’ on thin ice.

LOREE LOUGH

In thirteen years as a writer, Loree Lough has published over thirty inspirational novels for adults and kids, nonfiction books for juveniles, more than two thousand articles and dozens of short stories. She teaches writing and, even off duty, rarely stops talking about it. Loree lives in Maryland with her husband, Larry (who wears earplugs), and a twelve-year-old cat named Mouser (who can’t tell a mouse from a kibble).

Suddenly Reunited
Loree Lough

www.millsandboon.co.uk

And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted,

forgiving one another even as God, for Christ’s

sake, hath forgiven you.

—Ephesians 4:32

To Elice and Valerie:

beloved daughters, dear friends.

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

Gabrielle leaned in close to the horse’s neck, her hair rippling behind her like a cinnamony cape. “C’mon, Triumph,” she said, snapping the reins, “give me all you’ve got.” The animal’s response told her he’d missed their morning runs every bit as much as she had.

Since leaving Drew just over nine months ago, her visits to the Walking C had been rare. If not for love of Triumph—and riding—Gabrielle didn’t think she’d have come back to the ranch.

Ever.

Pounding hooves drummed in harmony to her fast-beating heart. It reminded her of the perfectly syncopated rhythm of parade drums, and she relished each rib-thumping pulsation. The more rigorous and rapid the ride, the more free she felt. If only she could find this kind of freedom on her own two feet.

True to his nature, Drew had not used Triumph to punish her for filing the separation papers. “You’re welcome to come back and ride him any time,” he’d said in his quiet, controlled way. “I promise to make myself scarce when you do.”

Thankfully, he’d usually kept his word. Whether the dust cloud raised when her compact car chugged up the drive was his signal to disappear, or whether one of the hired hands had warned him of her arrival, Gabrielle didn’t know.

But he’d received no such notice of her approach today; if he had, they both would have been spared that awkward, cheek-reddening scene in the barn.

Gabrielle tightened her hold on the reins. “You’d think he would’ve adjusted to the separation by now,” she said into the wind. Triumph’s caramel-colored ears swiveled back at the sound of her voice, but she barely noticed. Gabrielle was far too busy remembering the expressions that flitted across her soon-to-be ex-husband’s face when he looked up from his work and saw her standing in the doorway, bit in one hand, bridle in the other. His whole face lit up with a smile, exactly the way it used to when she carried a glass of lemonade or a sandwich into the barn and insisted he take a much-deserved break. “You’d work straight through from dawn ’til dark if I didn’t insist you stop now and then.” If she had a dollar for every time she’d said that…

That bewildered, little-boy-lost expression had replaced his happy-to-see-her smile. Who’s seeing to it he gets enough rest now that you’re gone? she wondered.

Guilt coursed through her. Without her, it was a sure bet no one was making sure that Drew ate well, that his shirts were pressed, that he rested enough. And even if someone tried, Gabrielle acknowledged, it wasn’t likely that mule-headed man would listen. If he worked himself into an early grave, it was none of her concern. But…who was going to stop him from doing just that, now that she was gone? She’d felt partly to blame for that, just as she felt responsible for the dark stare that replaced his bright smile once his memory kicked in and he realized she was there to ride his horse—not to see him.

Sensing his mistress’s tension, Triumph snorted.

“Sorry, boy. It’s okay.” As though he understood her soft, soothing words, the horse ran a bit faster over the tattered trail, ran at a pace that reminded Gabrielle of the way things had started up between her and Drew….

A year ago May—three short months after meeting him—she’d agreed to become his wife. He’d seemed so sure of himself, saying he’d prayed on it, saying he felt the Lord wanted the two of them together, forever. Gabrielle hadn’t even thought to ask God’s opinion on the subject of marriage; she’d never asked His counsel before.

Gabrielle exhaled a sigh of agitation, and the horse’s ears rotated toward her again. “Don’t pay any attention to me, sweetie.”

“Attention,” she repeated, frowning. She’d studied dozens of women’s magazine articles that listed ways wives could encourage more attention from their husbands. Not one of those articles contained the advice Gabrielle sought: how to dissuade attention. Like when she’d make lasagna, and he’d sweeten the sauce with a teaspoon of sugar.

Life as Drew’s wife hadn’t been perfect, even before that dreadful night, but Gabrielle had never been a quitter. And though she’d never been a dyed-in-the-wool Christian, like Drew, she believed wholeheartedly in the “’til death us do part” vow they’d made at the altar. But since that awful night, whenever sleep eluded her, she’d gone to the window and stared up at the stars, wishing for a way to turn back the clock. Maybe if she could do everything over again, she’d anticipate that he’d go off half-cocked. Maybe then she could act faster…do something to keep Drew from—

Biting back bitter tears of regret, Gabrielle shook her head. There was no point in dwelling on it now. What’s done is done, and there’s no undoing it.

Triumph, reading her turbulent mood, increased his speed. She’d ridden the horse hundreds of times during her marriage to Drew, and had learned to read the animal’s moods well. Riding him was exhilarating, exciting, but he definitely was not a horse for beginners.

Mere days before she left the Walking C Ranch for good, Drew had said, “He’s as stubborn and single-minded as they come. I reckon that’s why you get on so well with him—you’re two of a kind.”

He’d been grinning when he said it, but the smile never quite made it to his eyes. He saw her as stubborn and single-minded, because she didn’t always agree with him. Jaws clamped with determination, she felt her heartbeat accelerate—in response to the wild ride, or because of the testy Wish I’d said this or that retorts pinging in her mind?

The wind whistled past her ears and the rocky trail whizzed by beneath Triumph’s galloping feet. Stubborn? Single-minded? You’re a fine one to talk, Drew Cunningham.

Her father used to call her stubborn, too, every time she disagreed with him. Which happened whenever he got it into his head to move to a new place.

“Can’t we stay here, at least long enough for me to finish the school year?” By the time Gabrielle graduated high school, she’d asked the question a dozen times. Without fail, her words fell on deaf ears, and no matter how sincere—or pathetic—her plea, her dad went ahead and loaded their suitcases into his cramped station wagon with a promise that one day they’d settle down. Then he would pull out his battered road atlas and, eyes shut, he’d choose a page, his forefinger pinpointing their next “home.”

Sulking alone in the back seat, she’d wondered why her mother never complained about the frequent moves. If she ever got married, Gabrielle had told herself—all twelve times—it would be to a man who’d stay in one place, forever.

Triumph’s head bobbed just as an age-old adage came to mind: Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it. Well, Gabrielle thought, laughing bitterly to herself, she had to admit, she got what she asked for. Drew was as rooted as a man could get. Rooted, and rigid, and controlling. A sob replaced the laughter. You promised me things, Drew. If only you’d kept your word—

She blamed the sharp scent of pine in the air for the tears stinging her eyes. She swiped them away with the back of a leather-gloved hand, then jammed her wide-brimmed black hat lower on her forehead. Few things riled Gabrielle more than her own tears. She saw them as a sign of weakness, proof that she was every bit the needy female her husband seemed so determined to protect and shelter. But shelter from what? In a few weeks, she’d be twenty-eight years old. Twenty-eight, married barely more than a year, and already about to be divorced.

Anger—at herself, for giving in to the tears; at Drew for not being the man she’d thought he was—prodded her to give the stallion yet another command: “Run, Triumph!”

He seemed only too happy to oblige, and raced over ditches carved by creeks feeding from the Great Fishtail River, around boulders that had rolled down from Granite Peak, through stands of spruce, to a barren plateau at the river’s edge.

Immediately, Gabrielle recognized the place, and her heart did a little flip.

It had been a glorious fall day, much like this one, when the crisp scent of pine filled the air. Now, however, dozens of trees lay flat, their broken stumps reaching like jagged fingertips toward the blue Montana sky. The thunderstorm that had blown through the county last week was responsible for this devastation, but in time, Gabrielle knew, nature would repair the storm’s destruction.

If only time could fix what Drew did to their marriage that terrible night.

Suddenly she realized that exasperation over her marital situation had made her careless, irresponsible, reckless. At this speed, one misstep could cause Triumph to break a leg, or worse.

“Easy, boy,” she called, yanking hard on the reins, “you’re not a racehorse, y’know.” She strained to slow him down, but as Drew had so astutely pointed out, Triumph had a mind of his own.

Miraculously, he thundered through the woods unscathed, and as they rounded the river’s bend, sunlight bleached the grassy knoll ahead, making the willowy weeds appear to have been dusted with snow. Anxiously, she guided the steed around gnarled trees that sprouted from the stony soil, providing patches of shade for livestock, and over clumps of wildflowers that brightened the land with surprising splashes of color. Finally, the beast slowed, came to a halt, and Gabrielle breathed a ragged gasp of relief—

Until she spotted the sidewinder, lazily sunning itself on a flat rock a few yards ahead. In an eyeblink, the snake reacted to the vibration of hammering hooves, and drew itself into a tight coil. Head raised and tongue flicking menacingly, it prepared to strike.

Gabrielle jerked at the reins—too late, for Triumph had seen the rattler at almost the same moment.

He reared up, front hooves alternately pawing the air and stomping the ground, back legs thrashing left, right, left. He threw his head back far enough for Gabrielle to see his flattened ears, curled lips, and panicky, wild-rolling eyes. He cut loose with a high-pitched trumpet, gave one mighty buck…and sent Gabrielle soaring.

Shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight, Gabrielle sat up and groaned softly. Every part of her, it seemed, had an ache of its own. Instinctively, she touched her throbbing temple. “Yee-ouch!” she whispered, wincing in response to the stinging pain. The lump was the size of a hen’s egg. “What in the world…?” The sight of blood on the fingertips of her leather glove silenced her, and Gabrielle’s frown deepened.

Dazed, she tried to get a fix what had happened, on where she was.

She recognized the river and the rocky terrain surrounding it, but couldn’t remember heading for the plateau. And how had she gotten all twisted up in the underbrush? she wondered, carefully peeling herself from the thorny shrubbery alongside the trail.

The last thing Gabrielle recalled was saddling Triumph for their morning run, and Drew waving goodbye. “I love you,” he’d called after her, raising his steaming mug of coffee in the air in a farewell salute, “so mind your Ps and Qs out there, y’hear?” She smiled now, and her heartbeat quickened as she pictured the handsome face of her brand-new husband.

But where was Triumph? Through narrowed eyes, she scanned the skyline, expecting to catch a glimpse of him grazing nearby. Instead, she spied the trampled remains of a rattlesnake. Wrinkling her nose, she gasped. “There’s one sidewinder that learned what happens when a snake spooks a horse,” she muttered, putting two and two together.

She’d fallen off a horse enough times to know that occasionally the landings could be rough. Real rough. On her sixteenth birthday, for example, afraid that she might hurt her father’s boss’s beautiful new mare, she hadn’t cinched the saddle tightly enough. Gabrielle’s “kindness” had cost her, and she’d zigzagged around the corral at a forty-five-degree tilt—until she hit the ground. That time, it was hours before the buzzing in her brain went away.

Now, brushing dirt and grit from the seat of her jeans and the elbows of her suede jacket, she told herself this had been one of those falls, nothing more. Unfortunately, she thought, grimacing as she peeked through one squinting eye at the horizon, without Triumph, it would be a long hike back to the Walking C.

A wave of dizziness nearly knocked her down again. Easing up to the riverbank, she belly-crawled toward the water, mindful to keep a careful distance from the dead rattler. She stripped off her gloves. It felt good, pressing a cold palm against the bump on her head. Filling cupped hands with icy, mountain-fed water, she drank her fill.

Gradually, as the jitters subsided, she perched on the boulder, arms hugging her jeans-clad legs, and surveyed the territory. It had been a while since she’d taken the time to enjoy the view this way, what with keeping the ranch house clean and the ranch hands fed. The vista was like no other place on earth—and Gabrielle had seen her share of places, thanks to her dad’s nomadic spirit. Here was an explosion of color and scent, from the sunlit mountain peaks to the twisting river below, from the pale azure sky to the pillowy green of faraway treetops.

An eagle screeched overhead as a fuzzy white mountain goat skittered down a rocky slope, a kid close on its heels. Cottony clouds sailed silently by, so close, it seemed to Gabrielle that she could reach up and touch them. She stared with pride at the pink snow that dappled the mountaintop, knowing Montana was just one of a handful of places in the world where it existed.

Sapphires, garnets and smoky quartz hid deep beneath the rich soil. And down the road, abandoned mining towns. No matter which way she looked, Gabrielle felt life pulsing in this land.

Moose and bear, bison and pronghorn shared this place with geese and ptarmigan and saw-whet owls. In the springtime, nodding yellowbells and shooting stars made way for summer’s daisies. Now, fall’s wild mums were in full bloom.

Gabrielle remembered the first time she’d been here—when Drew had led the way. There had been snow in the foothills of Beartooth Plateau that day—not so remarkable for a Montana autumn. But he’d packed a picnic lunch, and that had been memorable. After spreading a red-checkered tablecloth on this very rock, he’d set out the food and utensils, then pulled her onto his lap. “There’s something in my shirt pocket for you,” he’d told her, brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

It turned out “something” was a half-carat solitaire set in a plain gold band. She’d always been mesmerized by his deep, grating baritone, but never more than on that afternoon, when he cradled her chin in a work-calloused hand and said, “Will you marry me, Gabby, and change your last name from Lafayette to Cunningham?”

Had it been the love blazing in his dark eyes, or the whispery growl in his voice that prevented her from telling him how much she’d always hated that nickname? “Yes,” she’d said instead, kissing him so soundly that she knocked the Stetson from his head. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The sweet memory induced a deep sigh and a fond smile, and gave her the final resolve to get to her feet and head home.

Home, where her husband waited.

There wasn’t a minute to waste when she fell, she’d broken her wristwatch. Behind the cracked crystal, the unmoving hands said 11:35. She’d been a rancher’s wife long enough to know a thing or two about life on the range; the position of the sun, high in the sky, told her it was past noon. She tried not to think about the fact that she’d been unconscious for nearly thirty minutes, or the fact that she wasn’t exactly sure how far Triumph had carried her from the highway.

Better get a move-on, girl, ’cause you have a lot of ground to cover before sundown, and you promised to make Drew lasagna, to celebrate your two-month anniversary.

As she headed toward the highway, Gabrielle recited her favorite Robert Frost poems, memorized as an English assignment in junior high. She sang “The Star Spangled Banner” and hummed a few bars of “Swanee.” She picked a handful of the wildflowers growing along the trail, made a lei of them by linking stems. But nothing, not even recounting those wonderful moments at the altar when she’d become Mrs. Drew Cunningham, could distract her from the throbbing in her head.

A battered blue pickup truck rolled to a stop beside her, tires crunching on the gravel, brakes squealing in protest.

“Hey, Troy,” she said, sending him a halfhearted grin.

“What you doin’ all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

She opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut. Strange, she thought, heart pounding as she struggled to remember, but she didn’t know what she was doing out here.

“You okay, Gabby?” Troy pressed. “You’re lookin’ a mite peaked.”

Shaking her head, Gabrielle frowned. “Pee-kid?”

He got out of the truck and walked around to her side. “Lemme have a look at you, girl.” Hands on her shoulders, he tilted his head up and peered down his long narrow nose to study her face. Bushy gray brows drew together in the center of his tanned forehead. “Got yourself a nice li’l goose egg there on your temple,” he observed. His blue-eyed gaze took in her attire, focused for a moment on the rip in the knee of her jeans. “How’d that happen?” he asked.

Blinking and frowning, Gabrielle could only muster the energy to shake her head.

Troy grabbed her elbow, steered her toward his pickup. “Nice boots,” he said.

She looked at her feet. Funny, she didn’t remember having purchased new riding boots. Wrinkling her nose in puzzlement, she removed her hat and ran a hand through her hair. “Um, thanks.”

“Been ridin’ that ornery beast of Drew’s again, ain’t ya?”

“Triumph?” She smiled. “Why, he isn’t the least bit—”

“Don’t give me that,” he interrupted. “Been ’round horses long enough to know a mean’un when I see it. And that’s a mean’un. Belongs in a rodeo, not on a ranch, if you ask me.”

Gabrielle nodded and took a deep breath, hoping the extra oxygen would nudge her memory.

“Looks to me like that critter threw you, li’l lady.” The passenger door groaned when he jerked it open. “Get on in there, missy. Drew would have my hide if I was to leave you out here all by your lonesome. Besides, the buzzards are likely to mistake you for a—”

Gabrielle stumbled. Had it not been for the grizzled cowboy’s quick response, she would have ended up a puddle of denim and leather, right there on the highway.

“Good grief, Gabby,” he sputtered, steadying her, “you’re white as a bedsheet.”

Troy helped her into the truck, stuffing her hat in after her. Peering down his long nose again, he gently tucked her hair behind her ear and inspected the bump on her head. “That bag o’ bones really did throw you a good one, didn’t he?”

Grimacing, Gabrielle swallowed. “Troy,” she whimpered, holding her stomach, “I think I’m going to be—”

In an instant, he helped her to the roadside, then held her steady until the spasms subsided. When the gut-wrenching spell ended, he casually blotted the corners of her mouth with a faded blue bandanna.

“Happens sometimes when you crack your crown,” Troy said matter-of-factly. “Why I remember once when…”

She couldn’t hear him above the ringing in her ears, couldn’t see much past the white fog that dimmed her vision. But somehow, thankfully, Troy managed to get her into the truck. Gabrielle sat stock-still, nodding and smiling politely, pretending to take in his every word as the beat-up old truck rattled down the road.

Leaning limply against the headrest, she took a peek at her wristwatch and groaned in frustration. Still 11:35…exactly what it had said the last hundred times she’d checked the time. The broken crystal could probably be repaired, but she wasn’t so sure about the buttery leather band.

Her mother had given this watch to her father. Aside from her own wedding band, it was Gabrielle’s single most treasured possession.

Closing her eyes, Gabrielle sighed, conjuring the image of the photograph of her mother, Leah. No matter where they’d lived, it had been on Gabrielle’s bedside table—full color, eight inches by ten.

When she was a little girl, Gabrielle had often made her father tell the story of the day he’d taken that picture. Her parents had been on their honeymoon, traveling the west coast highways, when Leah spotted a rainbow.

“She nearly gave me a black eye, pointing at the thing,” Jared had said, laughing softly at the memory. “So I parked our car there on that country road, and stood her beside the fence.”

It was waist high and made of gray rocks and stones. Jared told his daughter how he’d picked Leah up and perched her on that wall and said, “Smile pretty for me now….”

Gabrielle could almost touch the photo, the memory was so clear: her mother, knees bent and legs hugged to her chest, head tilted ever so slightly, love for her new husband radiating from her smile, from her pale gray eyes, her image haloed by a wide-arched, six-color rainbow that touched the ground at both ends.

The pounding in Gabrielle’s head made her forget the picture and the watch. She’d fallen before, but she’d never experienced pain like this, and it was beginning to frighten her.

“…and that’s how I got this scar alongside my jaw,” Troy was saying. “Horse with a temperament just like that Triumph’s. Belongs in a rodeo, not on a ranch,” he said again.

Gabrielle smiled weakly, grateful that Troy had happened along. She’d never minded being alone in the wilderness during the daytime, because Drew had drummed into her head how to survive, should she ever be stranded out here. She’d been a good student and had learned how to build a roaring fire even from damp wood, how to tell edible berries from the poisonous kind, how to construct a lean-to of sorts from the branches of blue spruce as protection from the elements. In the bright light of day, she was as brave as any man.

But when the sun slid behind Granite Peak like a giant gold coin disappearing into a slot, Gabrielle’s bravado faded, and she quaked with terror of the unseen…and the unknown.

“There’s nothing in the dark that isn’t in the light,” Drew had said time and again. He’d intended his words to comfort and console her, to eradicate her fears—and she loved him for that. But as the old folks liked to say, her daddy didn’t raise a fool. She knew full well what lurked deep in the brush: creatures of every sort and size, some predators, others prey—each with its own instinctive need to survive. And Gabrielle had no desire to be the meal that quenched a hungry appetite.

As if in answer to a prayer she hadn’t even said, her mother’s sweet face appeared in her mind’s eye, and Gabrielle couldn’t help but smile.

She was now the proud owner of the few pieces of jewelry that had belonged to her mother. Costume stuff, mostly, that Leah had collected in the cities and towns the little family visited. But the watch…the watch had been special.

According to her father, her mother had cut out coupons and saved every extra penny from her grocery money to buy it. She’d wrapped it in blue tissue, tied it up with a white satin bow, and given it to Jared on the night Gabrielle was born. To count every precious minute with our first-born, said the inscription on the back. Her father’s stories described character traits, habits, even minor flaws that defined Leah Lafayette, the woman he’d chosen as his wife. But the watch told Gabrielle something about the woman who had been her mother, the woman who’d suffered silently to satisfy the whims of the man she loved. A man with wanderlust.

How many times had Leah said that the braided leather watchband was every bit as sturdy and strong as her marriage to Jared? Too many to count, Gabrielle thought. Glancing at that band, now wrapped loosely around her own slender wrist, she understood better than ever how lucky she’d been to find a man like Drew, a man who wrested strength from the land, who loved having roots in one place for all time.

A sob ached in her throat as she looked again at the shattered glass that had protected the watch face, at the torn plaits of the braided brown band. First thing tomorrow, she’d take it to town and have it repaired.

She tried her best to remember the fall that had broken her treasure, straining her aching brain for a scrap of memory…anything that would help her understand why she hadn’t recognized the danger ahead. She had ridden the river’s edge before, had encountered rattlesnakes plenty of times. But she’d always managed to keep control of Molly, or Triumph, or whatever horse she’d been riding.

Why not this time?

She was achy and tired, and more than a little afraid. All Gabrielle wanted right now was to get home and fall into Drew’s arms, where she’d always found such comfort.

“Well, missy, here you are,” Troy announced, interrupting her thoughts. “Drew’s in the barn. Want me to fetch him?”

The truck ground to a halt as she struggled to remember what Drew had told her earlier that morning. “No, no,” she began haltingly, “I think he said something about fixing the back fences today.”

The cowboy frowned. “Back fences? What about the rest of the hands?”

“Drew gave them the day off, so they could go into Livingston for Oktoberfest.”

“Oktoberfest? But that was two weeks ago—”

She didn’t understand why the usually talkative cowboy suddenly clamped his jaws together, seemingly feigning interest in his pocket watch.

“You reckon it’s such a good idea, you bein’ here alone in the shape you’re in? Maybe I oughta sit with you, just ’til Drew gets in from—” his frown deepened as he looked toward the barn “—from, ah, mendin’ fences?”

Forcing a smile, Gabrielle said, “That isn’t necessary, but I appreciate the offer, just the same.” She opened the passenger door. “I’m fine. Really.” She patted his hand as if that were proof of some kind, then climbed out of the truck.

“Don’t forget your hat,” he said, one gray eyebrow high on his lined forehead.

She seemed to be making a habit of forgetting things. “Oh. Right,” she said, taking it from him. “Thanks again for the ride, Troy.” Aiming another smile in his direction, Gabrielle slammed the heavy, creaking door. Waving with the hat, she stepped back. “You’re an angel,” she added, “and I’m gonna bake you a cherry pie to show my appreciation.”

His face wrinkled in confusion. “No thanks necessary,” he called through the open passenger window. “Now, git on inside and sit down before you fall down. I’ll call you later, make sure you’re all right.”

She snapped off a smart salute, then headed up the walk.

The kitchen clock said one-twenty. A glance around the room only added to her bewilderment. She’d never gone off and left the breakfast dishes, at least not without putting them in a wash pan to soak. Whatever was wrong—and there was plenty wrong—it had started before she took that fall from Triumph’s back.

She rummaged in the cupboard for an aspirin. Where tidy rows of tumblers and coffee mugs had once stood, Gabrielle found a mismatched mess of glasses and cups. What had possessed her to put the dishes away like that?

After downing the pills, she slumped onto a ladder-back chair and held her head in her hands. This wasn’t like the other times she’d fallen. She yearned for the solace of Drew’s embrace.

Hurry home, honey, she thought, biting her lower lip as the tears welled in her eyes, because I need you.

Chapter Two

The moment he reached the end of the winding drive, he noticed Triumph, still saddled and grazing beside the barn. The beast seemed content enough, as though the dirt on his forelegs and withers didn’t bother him at all. But Drew knew better. This was a persnickety horse that appreciated a thorough grooming after a hard ride.

What was Gabrielle thinking? he demanded silently. Frowning, he followed up with an equally regretful thought: she hadn’t been thinking of anything or anyone but herself lately.

Dismounting, Drew strode over to where Triumph stood, ran an ungloved hand over the horse’s behind. The horse had been sweating hard—that much was evident by the thin crust of grit stuck to his coat—but he’d been home long enough to cool down.

Doesn’t make a lick of sense, Drew thought, shaking his head. Gabrielle did have a tendency to get sidetracked, especially in conversations and menial tasks, but he knew better than most how she felt about animals. For her to have left Triumph in this condition could only mean one thing.

Something had happened to her.

The image of her, unconscious, cold and alone, unprotected in the wilderness, flashed through his mind. It was autumn, a dangerous time of year. Cougars were on the prowl, as were grizzlies and black bears looking to fatten themselves up for winter’s long hibernation. And contrary to city-folk myth, the hairy beasts much preferred fresh meat to wild berries and tree roots.

Heart pounding, he raced toward the house, making plans as he went: call the sheriff, and while the man rounded up a search party, Drew would get down on his knees and pray like he’d never prayed before. Because he loved her. Loved her like crazy. Had from the moment he first set eyes on her, would ’til he drew his last breath. Legal separation papers couldn’t change that fact.

He exploded into the kitchen, not noticing or caring that he’d slammed the door against the wall.

“Drew Cunningham,” she said in a loving, wifely voice, “how many times have I told you that isn’t the way a gentleman enters a room?”

His relief was so great, he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He wanted to throw his arms around her. But they were legally separated, and she might resent an action like that.

He stood there for what seemed like a full minute, one hand on the brass knob, blinking, swallowing, thanking God.

And then he started noticing little things.

Things like the fact that her hair was still damp from a recent shower, and Gabrielle hated wet hair, especially when it was cool outside—and the temperature hadn’t gotten above forty so far today.

And she was wearing the outfit he liked so well, the one he’d bought her in Bozeman last July, when they’d gone into town for dinner. She hadn’t taken it with her when she left. Hadn’t taken anything he’d given her when she left. Tiny as she was, Gabrielle caught a chill quicker than anyone he could name. So why would she be wearing a sleeveless summer dress and strappy little sandals on a day like this?

She turned back to the stove, lifted the lid of the saucepan in one hand, picked up a giant stirring spoon with the other. She looked so good, so right standing there, as if she’d never left. A sob ached in his throat.

Drew bit his lower lip to still its trembling, took off his hat and scrubbed a leather-gloved hand over his face. “Thank You, Jesus,” he whispered. “Praise God.”

“What’s that, honey?” she asked distractedly.

His head snapped up in response to the endearment. Honey? She hadn’t called him that in…

In more than nine months.

Was this some sort of trick? Some stunt her big-city lawyer had dreamed up to get her a bigger piece of Walking C pie? He felt the heat rising in him, and clamped his teeth together. His own attorney had advised him not to say anything he might be sorry for later. It should have enraged him, that she’d waltzed in here as though nothing had happened, expecting him to like it. But all he could feel was gratitude. If she was toying with him, he didn’t care.

She’d almost gotten the better of him.

Almost, he thought, but not quite.

“What’re you doing here?”

She shot him an Are you kidding? grin. “I’m polishing my toenails,” she teased. After enjoying a girlish giggle at her own joke, Gabrielle added, “So, did you get the back fences repaired?”

The back fences? He tucked in his chin. He’d fixed those last fall.

She faced him then, and when she did, her long, luxurious auburn hair swung around her shoulders, wide gray eyes sparkling with…with love, just the way they had before she’d called it quits.

But wait just a minute here…what’s she up to, anyway? “Triumph is out behind the barn,” he began, taking care to keep a civil tone in his voice, “still saddled. Looks like he had himself one wild ride this morning.”

Her pale eyes darkened, reminding him of the storm clouds he’d seen over Beartooth earlier that morning.

“What! Someone rode him, then just left him standing there, saddle and all?” Gabrielle narrowed her eyes. “What kind of cretin would mistreat an animal that way?”

She rested both fists on her hips—on her shapely, womanly hips. Get hold of yourself, Cunningham, Drew warned himself.

Gabrielle was still frowning when she said, “If I get hold of the guy who—”

She seemed genuinely angry, which made no sense. No sense at all. “Gabby,” he interrupted, frowning, “you’re the guy, er, gal who had Triumph out this morning.”

She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Oh, Drew,” she said lightly, “you’re such a big tease! You know I’d never leave him saddled and ungroomed. I love that big bully!”

Tilting her head, she blinked flirtatiously. “Do you know what day this is?” she asked on a soft sigh.

“’Course I do.” He switched the hat from his left hand to his right. “It’s Saturday.”

“No, silly,” she said, sauntering nearer. “The date.”

Something warned him to take a step back, to keep his distance from this beautiful, sexy woman who, until nine months ago, had been his lawfully wedded wife. Instead, Drew planted his boots on the wide-planked kitchen floor, determined to stand his ground. This was his house, after all.

Until she left him, he’d considered everything that had been his just as much hers. But all that changed the morning she had the sheriff deliver the documents that said otherwise. This whole divorce thing was as ridiculous as it was unnecessary, because if she’d listened to his explanation about that night—

Smiling happily, she gave him a playful shove. “It’s our two-month anniversary, you insensitive boob. Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to ply me with greeting cards and gifts for every month we’re together.” She took another step toward him, grabbed the lapels of his jacket. “But I do expect you to enjoy the supper I’ve made to celebrate this one.”

Two months? Drew had never considered himself the sensitive type who wrote poems and counted the weeks since their marriage, but they’d been married only slightly over nine months when she left, and she’d been gone a little longer than that. Drew knew, because he’d been counting those days.

If she hadn’t run off like a spoiled brat, they’d be celebrating a year of marriage soon instead of a couple of months! What is she trying to pull, pretending that she thinks—

It took him completely by surprise, the way she stepped right up and slipped her arms around him the way she would have before that awful night. It felt so good, having her this close, that Drew ignored the warning voice in his head, and buried his face in her mass of damp, chestnut curls. Eyes closed, he inhaled deeply. She even smelled wonderful.

“So, did you miss me while you were off riding the range?”

He heard the smile in her voice, felt the heat of her breath against his shirt. Did he miss her! Does Santa Claus have a weight problem? “Yeah,” he heard himself saying, “I missed you.” I’ve missed you like crazy, he added silently. For the time being, it didn’t matter what game she was playing—if, indeed, she was playing a game.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d changed her mind. True, she’d always been impulsive, but could she really be coming back to take up right where she left off, as if nothing had ever happened? One of her greatest assets was also her biggest flaw: she was a proud woman, intent on saving face at any cost, especially if she believed she was in the wrong.

Dear God in heaven, Drew prayed, closing his eyes, let that be what’s going on here, let her have come back home to stay. If that’s the case, I promise to make it up to her for what I did.

Gabrielle took a half step back, but without releasing him from her hug. “Are you hungry?”

He couldn’t tear his gaze from her face. The Lord had outdone Himself when He made this one. Drew thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He swallowed, licked his lips. “Guess I could pack away a helping or two,” he said instead.

“It’s lasagna.” She kissed his chin. “Just the way you like it. Easy on the mozzarella, extra ricotta cheese.” She stood on tiptoes to press a longer kiss to his cheek before settling back onto her heels. “I’m afraid I didn’t get you a present, though,” she said, running a hand through her thick curls. “Which is strange, because I could have sworn I had bought you a shirt—”

She had given him a shirt to celebrate their two-month anniversary. He’d worn it so often since she’d left that it was getting threadbare at the elbows and cuffs.

He grabbed her wrist and, frowning at her forehead, said, “Grandma’s gravy, Gabrielle! What have you gone and done to yourself?”

Shrugging, she put her fingertips to the bump on her temple. “Oh, that.” A slight flush colored her cheeks. “It’s nothing. Really. I clunked my head when I fell.”

She stopped talking so suddenly, Drew wondered if maybe something had stuck in her throat. “When you fell?”

Her smile faded and she stepped out of the embrace, leaving a cold, empty space where her warmth had been. “Wait a minute,” she began pensively, a forefinger in the air, “I think you’re right, Drew.” Brow furrowed, she began to pace. “I think…I think it was me who took Triumph out. I seem to remember—”

She slumped, trembling, onto a kitchen chair. Her lower lip began to quiver, the way it always did when she fought tears.

Drew got down onto one knee, turned her to face him. “Shh,” he soothed, “it’s okay.” He pulled her close. “You’re okay, and Triumph is a big strong critter. He’s no worse for the wear. I’ll go out in a bit and give him a good brushing.”

Tears were swimming in her eyes when she looked into his. “But…but it’s my responsibility. How could I have forgotten something as important as that?” She bit her bottom lip, then glanced toward the window, shaking her head. “I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Drew.”

She grabbed his shoulders. “How long do you think he’s been out there like that?”

He shrugged, torn between comforting her and protecting himself from whatever her lawyer had put her up to. “Couple of hours, from the looks of things.”

She sighed heavily. “Poor thing, standing around in that heavy saddle all this time, all dirty and sweaty. He must think I don’t give a hoot about him!”

Drew tugged off his gloves, tossed them onto the table and moved her hair aside to get a better look at the injury. “Shoo-ee. That’s some goose egg you’ve got there.”

“That’s what Troy said.”

“Troy?”

She nodded. “He picked me up on Highway 2-12, although I honestly don’t remember how I got there.”

Drew decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She deserved that much. It had hurt like crazy when she’d given him that tongue-lashing the night she walked out. It wasn’t the angry words; nothing she said could ever be as painful as the plain fact that she’d left.

Comforting Gabrielle won out in the battle between protecting her or protecting himself. “Shh,” he said again. “You had a bad fall. That’s the beginning and the end of it.”

As though she hadn’t heard him, Gabrielle said, “Never stopped me from doing my job before.”

“Why are you always so hard on yourself? It wasn’t your fault Triumph threw you.” Lovingly, he tucked her hair behind her ears. “What made him buck?”

She rolled her eyes in frustration. “I’ve tried and tried to remember. Near as I can tell, a snake spooked him. When I came to, there was a dead—”

“Gabby!” Drew interrupted, giving her a gentle shake. “A rattlesnake?” He made a move as if to begin inspecting her, starting with her fingers.

“Relax, Drew,” she said, smiling sweetly. “From the looks of things, Triumph pounded that snake into the dust long before he had a chance to do either of us any harm.” A little giggle popped from her lips. Cuddling both of his hands beside her cheeks, she tilted her head to add, “My hero!”

“Joke all you want,” Drew said, standing. “I’m just relieved you’re all right.”

Sighing, Gabrielle got to her feet, too.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, as she headed for the stove.

“Turning down the oven so I’ll have time to take care of Triumph before supper,” she said. As if to punctuate the statement, Gabrielle staggered, and reached out for something to steady herself.

Drew let himself be that “something.” And once she’d regained her balance, he took her hand in his. “Come over here where the light is better,” he said, leading her to the window.

“Yes, Doctor,” she said lightly.

But Gabrielle followed, he noted, and stood quietly as he examined the lump, peered into her eyes. “Your pupils are so dilated I can barely tell what color your eyes are.” He headed for the door. “Get your coat. We’re going to the emergency room.”

She emitted a little gasp that made him want to wrap her in a reassuring hug.

“Don’t be silly,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I’m fine.”

You’re good, honey, he thought, real good. And if he didn’t know her better, he might just swallow that bowl of bravado she’d just dished out. But her usually rosy cheeks were pale, and there was a blue cast to her otherwise pink lips. He didn’t like the way she was weaving and bobbing around the kitchen like a boxer who’d given his all in the ring, either.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“How ’bout we let a doctor be the judge of that?”

“But Drew,” she protested, hanging back as he opened the door, “our romantic anniversary supper is almost ready. All I have to do is light the candles.” She glanced out the window. “And Triumph, he’s—”

He took a quick look around. Why hadn’t he noticed before that she’d set the dining room table with the good dishes and flatware? Why hadn’t he seen that she’d put the silver candlesticks in the middle of his grandma’s linen tablecloth? His heart swelled, knowing she’d gone to so much trouble for him—for them—in her condition.

But how had she accomplished it, swooning like a drunken sailor as she must have been? Stubbornness, he decided, doing his best to hide a grin.

“Besides,” she persisted, “the nearest hospital is an hour away, in Bozeman, and you gave the hands the day off, remember? So they could go to Oktoberfest? We can’t leave the Walking C unattended that long.”

Oktoberfest? But that was—

“We can,” he said, turning off the oven, “and we will.” He jammed the Stetson onto his head. “And I don’t want to hear another word about it.” He grabbed her fringed jacket from the peg behind the door and shook it a time or two, like a matador tempting a bull.

“How about a compromise?” she asked, as he helped her into it.

Drew held the door open, as she stepped onto the porch. The night she’d left, his inflexibility was just one of the things she’d claimed was driving her away. He remembered his prayer: if the Almighty would see to it that Gabrielle was home to stay, he’d do whatever it took to make everything up to her.

“What sort of compromise?”

“Take me to Livingston, instead, to see Doc Parker.”

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding. “That makes sense.” He touched a scolding finger to her nose. “But if he sees anything suspicious, anything at all, we’re heading straight to Bozeman.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “Got it?”

She sent him a flirty half grin and kissed the tip of that finger. “Got it.”

Habit made him head for the pickup. And then he saw the car he’d bought the week before Gabrielle left him. He’d seen it on the lot weeks before the breakup and had thought how cute she’d look behind the wheel, how much easier it would be for her to get into and out of, especially when she got all gussied up in one of her short skirts and high heels….

Much to his surprise—and dismay—she’d taken one look at the vehicle and stomped into the house without saying a word. One week later, to the day, she left him…in that car.

More than likely, the doc would confirm Drew’s suspicion that Gabrielle had suffered a concussion. How mild or severe was yet to be seen, but getting into and out of his high-riding pickup wouldn’t be easy for her.

Sighing, Drew helped her into the passenger seat of the car. As he revved the motor, he tried to ignore the fact that both Triumph and Chum still stood outside the barn, saddled and bridled and ungroomed. First things first, he told himself, and Gabby would always be the most important earthly being in his life.

He tried even harder not to react when she slid across the front seat and rested her head on his shoulder. Without giving it a second thought, his right arm went around her. What had made her snuggle up the way she used to? Instinct? A need for protection? Love?

But another question rang even louder in his mind. And if curiosity had killed the cat, Drew figured, he was as good as gone. As much as he wanted to know what had brought Gabby home, he was even more curious to know if she planned to stay.

Kent Parker was an old-fashioned country doctor who didn’t believe in sugarcoating things—for patients or their families. So it worried Drew more than a little when the doctor said, “Step into my office. I want to have a word with you in private while Gabrielle gets herself dressed.”

Parker peeled off his latex gloves and tossed them unceremoniously into the nearest trash can. “Your wife will be fine, just fine. She’s suffered a pretty serious concussion, but after a few days of R and R, Gabby will be her ornery old self again.”

“That’s a relief—”

“Bu-u-ut,” the doctor added.

Drew ran a hand through his hair. For all its wide open spaces, Montana may as well have been Mayberry, U.S.A. Because there weren’t a whole passel of folks around, those that were around knew just about everything there was to know about one another. Except for Doc Parker: he knew more than most. And right now, he knew there was a lot on Drew’s mind.

“But,” Drew began, “it only solves one of my problems.” Absently, he stroked his chin. “Frankly, I’m not sure I know what ‘her old self’ is anymore.” Besides, he’d been given a second chance here, and didn’t want to blow it.

The older man dropped a fatherly hand on Drew’s shoulder. “When I heard you two had split up, it nearly broke my heart.” He gave the shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “But she’s back now, and that’s all that matters.”

Drew met the doctor’s clear blue eyes. “Not if she doesn’t remember leaving me.”

Drew had filled the doctor in on the conversation he’d had with Gabrielle in the kitchen earlier. Parker nodded understandingly and sat behind his battered wood desk. “Take a load off, son,” he instructed, gesturing toward a well-worn maroon leather wingback. Once Drew was settled, the doctor leaned back in his own big black chair and clasped his hands behind his gray-haired head. “Living in horse country, I’ve seen this kind of head injury before, too many times to count—and so have you. We both know it isn’t out of the ordinary for someone to temporarily lose a slice of memory when they’ve taken a good hard bump on the bean.”

Placing his Stetson on the seat of the empty chair beside him, Drew leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. “That doesn’t answer my question,” he said to the floor. He met the doctor’s eyes and waited for an answer.

Shrugging one shoulder, Parker said, “Couple of hours, a few days, never…” He shook his head. “Wish I had a straight answer for you, Drew, but these things are iffy at best.” He lifted his white-bearded chin to ask, “Why is it so important to know when she’ll come around?”

Because, Drew answered silently, when she gets her memory back, she’s likely to leave again.

And he didn’t want that. Not now that he’d had another taste of what it felt like, being close to her, having her arms around him and her lips pressed to his.

“I brought you into this world thirty-two years ago, Drew Cunningham, so I know you better’n just about anybody in these parts. Now, out with it! What’s eating you?”

Gritting his teeth, Drew closed his eyes. “I don’t want to lose her again.” He felt like a man who’d been on death row for nearly a year, and had just gotten a call from the governor’s office.

Parker sat forward, linked his fingers on the green felt desk blotter. “What makes you think that’ll happen?”

He looked around the room and focused on Parker’s medical degrees, framed in black, hanging on the wall behind the desk. “Just—things…”

“The subconscious mind is a strange and miraculous thing, Drew, m’boy. Gabby didn’t go back to her apartment in Livingston after that knock on the noodle. She came straight back to the Walking C. What does that tell you?”

He grunted and scowled. “That she’s lost her ever-lovin’ mind?”

Chuckling, Parker aimed a stubby forefinger at Drew. “No need to act all brave and bad for the likes of me. I’m the man who stitched up your knobby knees when you were knee-high to a gopher, set your broken arm before you were ten. Gabrielle went to the Walking C ’cause, in her heart, that ranch is her home.”

A man can hope, Drew thought. Gabrielle had considered it home, until—

What had happened that night snaked through his mind, making him grimace. Right now, he’d give anything to undo what he’d done, or, at the very least, find a way to do it differently.

Gabrielle breezed into the room before Drew had a chance to verbalize his fears to Parker. “Why the long faces?” she asked. Grinning and wiggling her eyebrows, she added, “I’m not dying or anything, am I?”

Dying! The very thought made Drew’s heart beat double-time. He got to his feet. “Honestly, Gabby,” he complained, scowling, “sometimes your sense of humor leaves a lot to be desired.”

Her gray eyes widened and her smile dimmed. “Sawree,” she said emphatically. One hand beside her mouth, she aimed a loud whisper at Parker. “I take it you just gave him the bill?”

“No, he didn’t,” Drew answered in the doctor’s stead. Then added, “Why do you always tie everything to money?”

Lips narrowed, she raised her left eyebrow. “Maybe,” she began, hands on her hips, “because money is always on your mind!”

Now there’s the Gabrielle who left months ago, Drew said to himself.

“Now, now,” the doctor interrupted, hands raised in mock surrender. “Bickering isn’t going to do any of us any good, me in particular, since I’m such a sensitive soul and all.”

Drew shot him a Who do you think you’re kidding? look and said, “If there’s nothing else, I guess we’ll be on our way.” He thought of the fully saddled horses and groaned inwardly. “I have things to tend to when I get home.”

Gabrielle hung all eight fingertips from her bottom teeth. “Oh my goodness,” she gasped, “Triumph and Chum!”

Her anguish immediately diminished Drew’s ire. “Like I said before, they’re big ‘n’ strong—spoiled rotten, for the most part. It won’t kill them to wear their saddles a while longer, just this once.”

It did his heart good to see that his words eased her distress some. Maybe, if she were home to stay, he’d get a chance to find out what in blue blazes made her so all-fired hard on herself all the time.

Drew pressed a palm against the small of Gabrielle’s back to lead her out of Doc Parker’s office. The action reminded him of their wedding night, when he’d guided her in the very same way into their penthouse suite at that fancy hotel in Helena. Gritting his teeth, he touched a forefinger to the brim of his Stetson and snapped off a cowboy salute.

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Glad to be of service,” the older gent said as he walked them to the door. “Now, remember what I told you in the examining room, Gabby—take it easy for the next few days. And Drew, don’t forget to—”

“I put fresh batteries in the flashlight just this morning,” he assured. “And I’ll set the alarm for the checkups.”

He wondered how long it would be before she asked him to explain that last part of his conversation with Parker, and counted the seconds as they crossed the parking lot: five, four—as he opened the passenger door—three, two—as he helped her inside—one—

“Checkups?” she asked. “What kind of checkups?”

She was so intent on the question, and its answer, that she didn’t seem to notice that he’d fastened the seat belt for her. “You’re welcome,” he teased, grinning.

A glance at her furrowed brow told him Gabrielle hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. He slid in behind the steering wheel and poked the key into the ignition. “Doc says that for the next day and a half, I have to check your eyes every hour on the hour. If your pupils don’t constrict when the flashlight beam hits them, or if they’re not the same size, it’ll mean trouble, and I’m to get you to the hospital, stat.” He didn’t tell her the part about CAT scans and MRIs. No sense worrying her.

“Hospital? T-trouble?” she repeated, long lashes fluttering. “You mean—you mean as in…brain damage?”

Drew shook his head. The likelihood of that, Doc Parker had assured him, was slim to none. Drew’s main objective was to keep her calm. “I’m a little concerned about something—”

“Concerned?” She turned on the seat to face him. “Concerned about what?”

“Well…” he drawled.

She held her face in her hands. “Arghh, you can be so exasperating sometimes!”

“Doc never said how I’m supposed to tell the difference.”

“Difference? What difference? Drew, honestly, you’re giving me a headache.”

“Sorry,” he said, meaning it. Drew gave her hand a pat, then pulled into traffic.

“The difference?” she encouraged, as he merged into the fast lane.

“Between the crazy way you used to act and the way you’ve been behaving since you thumped your head.”

Her steely eyed glare was softened by a playful smile. “You’d better watch it, Drew Cunningham, or you’re going to be spending your two-month anniversary night on the couch!”

Drew stared straight ahead. Again with the two months, he thought.

If that was the case, the Almighty had answered his prayers. He’d given Drew a second chance, an opportunity to make it up to Gabrielle for the dreadful thing he’d done.

Thank You, Lord, he prayed, and I promise not to blow it this time.

Gabrielle insisted that Drew let her light the candles; he insisted she let him carry the lasagna-filled ironstone pan to the table. He served it up, as she held out the plates. And as the delicious aroma of the steaming pasta wafted into their nostrils, he wrapped her hand in his and uttered a short but heartfelt grace.

“Dear Lord, thank you for all our blessings, for this food, for the beautiful woman who prepared it.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for watching over my—my wife, for bringing her home to me, safe.” He cleared his throat, then said a gravelly “Amen.”

When he opened his eyes, he found Gabrielle staring at him.

“That was short and sweet,” she said, grinning as she flapped a napkin across her lap. “You’d think you were the one who bumped his head.” She leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the lips. “I hope you didn’t forget how to say a proper blessing because you’re worried about me. Because I’m fine. Honest.”

She hadn’t been raised in a church-going household. He’d known that when he married her. It had been just one of the things he figured he could teach her…and one of the things that had caused conflict between them.

He focused on his plate so she wouldn’t read the concern in his eyes. “I’m not worried about you,” he said, knowing even as the words exited his lips that they weren’t true. “I’m starved, is all. Haven’t had a bite all day.”

“What! There wasn’t a scrap of bacon or a streak of egg yoke left on your plate when you left here this morning!”

The last time she’d made him a big country breakfast had been on the morning of the day she’d left him. But Doc Parker had warned Drew not to let Gabrielle get upset, and to remind her of that fact was sure to do just that. “Well,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I haven’t had a bite lately.”

All through the rest of the meal, Gabrielle told him about how she’d heard a wolf howling that morning, even before the cock crowed. The candle glow shimmered on her ivory skin, made her bright gray eyes glitter like polished silver.

Oh, how he loved this vital, animated woman, and oh, how he’d missed her! Her zest for life was contagious. Before he’d met her, thanking the Good Lord for every sunrise was more a habit than anything else. But since meeting Gabrielle… Well, waking to find his beautiful, lively little wife cuddled up beside him had given him a whole new and glorious reason to thank God for each new day.

He looked into her eyes—eyes afire with the love of life. Did Gabrielle realize what she was doing? Did she understand that her sweet smiles, the love-light in her eyes, the way she rested her hand on his arm now and then, was awakening memories? Did she know that this candlelit dinner—prepared and served to celebrate the day they were wed—made him yearn for that blessed day, and that wonderful night?

Being with her again was, for Drew, like feeling the sunshine on his face after a winter of cold, dreary Montana weather. She was his rainbow after a thunderstorm, his home and his hearth and the love of his life. He was grateful to have her back, so grateful that he would make any promise, swear any oath, to ensure Gabrielle would never leave him again.

Was it an accident of fate, some curious coincidence, that her soft voice and gentle touch seemed to him a signal that meant she’d come home to stay? That she expected him always to be part of her life—welcomed, wanted, loved—despite the despicable things she’d accused him of?

She deserved a strong man. A good man.

God had blessed him with a good, strong body, and in gratitude, Drew had used it to its fullest potential. Not that there was any honor in it; lately, hard work seemed to be the only thing that took his mind off missing her. But had he paid so much attention to exercising his body that he’d neglected to exercise his spirit? Was that the reason he’d sobbed like an orphan after she’d left him? Was that why a sob threatened to escape his throat even now?

Drew knew something about how time could sharpen the keen edge of yearning. He’d brooded and sulked for years after his mother left home. And done the same when Gabby ran off—for months.

And now she was back, more beautiful than ever.

“I’m going to take a hike, first thing tomorrow—see if I can’t find that wol—”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He knew only too well her love of wolves. Knew, too, about the one she’d heard nearly a year ago. It would break her heart to know he’d found a scraggly wolf a few months back. Living out here, he’d seen it before. Lone wolves, starving for affection as much as food, usually ended up like that one.

Her smile dimmed in response to the edginess in his voice. “Why not?”

“Doc Parker said you should take it easy for the next few days, remember?” Drew made a concerted effort to lighten his tone. “Hiking through the foothills isn’t exactly following doctor’s orders, now is it?”

She tucked in one corner of her mouth, shoved a wide, ruffle-edged noodle around on her plate. “No,” she sighed, “I suppose not.” Gabrielle sat back in her chair, lay her fork beside her plate. “But the wolf was close, Drew, real close.” Leaning forward, she rested both hands on his forearm. “You’re gonna think I’m nuts, but I want to see it, up close.”

He’d refused to let her track wolves before, citing the danger involved—another piece of evidence in her mind that he didn’t consider her feelings the least bit important. “Tell you what,” he began, “when Doc gives you a clean bill of health, we’ll look for the wolf…together.”

Drew focused on her ringless fingers, which were pressing gently into his skin. Until now, he’d hoped that she’d rented that little apartment in town just to cool off. That she’d pull herself together and realize what had happened between them didn’t have to put an end to their marriage.

But if that were true, would she have taken off her wedding band and her engagement ring? Drew didn’t think so.

He swallowed, hard.

Drew had never known anyone like Gabrielle. When she set her mind on something, she was like a puppy to the root. He didn’t see any point in telling her they’d had a similar conversation, before she left.

He’d try to move Granite Peak, lasso the sun, change the course of the Fishtail River if she asked it of him. Disappointing her was the last thing Drew wanted to do.

It hadn’t been the rage that gave her melodious voice a ragged edge, the memory of which, even as recently as last night, kept him awake for hours. It hadn’t been the heat of the angry words themselves that made him feel more ashamed than he’d ever felt to date. No, it had been the disappointment in her eyes that haunted him, wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace. If the Good Lord would see fit to give him a chance to make it up to her, Drew had vowed night after lonely night, he’d never make the same mistakes again.

“We can go tomorrow, Drew. It’d be safe—if you were with me.”

Gabrielle waited for his response, a sweet smile curving her lovely lips.

She had come back to him. What more proof did he need that God had answered his plea?

“I dunno, Gabby. Doc said—”

“I’m not a baby, Drew,” she snapped, snatching back her hands. “I don’t need to be coddled.”

The truth came spilling out, like the rapids spilling over timeworn rocks in the bend of a river. “Gabby, sweetie,” he said, reaching for her, “I’m sorry if it sounds like that. I don’t mean it to, honest. It’s just that I love you and I’m worried about you. I know how you push yourself. I’ve had a concussion, myself, so I know you can feel terrific one minute, dizzy as a drunkard the next.”

She gave him a halfhearted grin. “Do I smell a compromise in the air?”

Drew hung his head and chuckled softly. Leave it to Gabby to put her own spin on it. “Okay. Okay. I know when I’m licked,” he admitted, grinning. And crouching beside her chair, he wrapped her in a hearty hug. “But honest, Gabby, if anything ever happened to you,” he whispered against her freckled cheek, “I don’t know what I’d do.”

Gabrielle turned to face him, putting her lips no more than an inch from his. And bracketing his face in her warm hands, she gazed lovingly into his eyes. “Nothing is going to happen to me,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You’re forgetting that I’m a Lafayette!”

“You were a Lafayette,” he corrected, praying his words wouldn’t jog her memory.

She kissed him then, not the way friend kisses friend, or parent kisses child, but the way a woman kisses the man she loves. “You’re absolutely right,” she said on a sigh. “I’m a Cunningham now, and mighty proud of it.”

Her mouth was soft and searching, her breath whisper-sweet. Drew’s heart pounded as she leaned back and combed her fingers through his hair, and he was shocked at his eager response to her scrutiny.

“You know what I’ve been thinking?”

He cleared his throat. The more things change, he quoted silently, the more they stay the same. Why did she always pick times like these to get chatty? But God help him, he loved her with everything in him. If talking’s what she wanted, then talking’s what she’d get. Despite himself, he smiled. “What’ve you been thinking?”

Her delicate forefinger traced the contour of his upper lip, the angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose. Raising one well-arched brow and grinning mischievously, she began in a breathy voice, “That it’d be awfully nice to hear the pitter-patter of little feet around this big, old, empty ranch house.”

Drew blinked, stunned into openmouthed silence at her suggestion. Was she kidding? Was this part of some cruel, vengeful joke? Or had he misunderstood her entirely?

“Y-you…you want to—”

Gabrielle tilted her head, her smile broadening slightly as she looked over his left shoulder and focused on some spot near the ceiling. “I’ve been experiencing some very strange sensations the last couple of days…” She snuggled closer, rested her cheek against his chest.

He held his breath for a moment before saying, “It’s the concussion.” Nodding, Drew added, “Normal. Very normal. Dizziness and—” He cleared his throat. “Is your stomach queasy?”

She tilted her head back, sending that gleaming, luxurious hair cascading over one shoulder like a fiery waterfall. “Well, no-o,” she singsonged, “but it co-o-ould be, if you’ll just cooperate a little.”

Much as he wanted to take her upstairs—and he wanted that a lot—Drew couldn’t let himself give in to the temptation. Wouldn’t be fair to Gabby, he told himself. It’d be like using her. And as he stared into her loving eyes, he admitted it wouldn’t be like using her, it would be using her. She was vulnerable right now, weakened physically and psychologically by the concussion, and certainly in no emotional condition to be making decisions as life-altering as having a baby!

He remembered the times she’d asked that question, on their wedding night, and weeks after the honeymoon, and every other day, it seemed. “Not yet,” he’d said each time, citing their small savings account and everything that needed doing around the ranch as reasons to wait.

Besides, if her “strange sensations” managed to produce the results she seemed to want them to, it wouldn’t be fair to the child, wouldn’t be fair to Drew, because if she got her memory back and changed her mind again after they were sure a baby was on the way—

“Drew? Honey?” she crooned, fingers playing in his hair.

He cleared his throat again.

“You love me, don’t you?”

“’Course I do,” he said, a little rougher than he’d intended. “You know I do,” he added more gently.

“When you proposed to me, you said you wanted us to have a family. A big one. You meant it, didn’t you?”

The idea of Gabrielle bearing his children, of having little Gabby and Drew look-alikes running around the house, appealed to him more than he cared to admit. But he wanted to be sure. Sure of a lot of things before they started having kids. For one thing, he wanted to know there’d always be enough money in the bank to keep a tight roof over their heads, plenty of food in the pantry. But more than that, he wanted—needed—proof that Gabrielle wouldn’t up and leave when some good-looking musician came to town, the way his mother had.

He had nothing to go on now but blind faith, because she’d already left him. And if not for the concussion, Gabrielle wouldn’t be here now, in his arms, asking him to help her make a baby.

Blind faith.

Lord, he prayed silently, You’ve got to help me out here, ’cause I’m skatin’ on thin ice.

“Yes, Gabrielle. I want to have a family with you. I want that more than you’ll ever know,” he answered at last.

Gabrielle stood, held out her hand to him and smiled sweetly. Drew didn’t know what possessed him to put his hand into hers, or why he so willingly let her lead him down the long, narrow hall into the foyer, or why he followed her up the curved mahogany staircase.

But he did.

He wanted nothing but good things for her—happiness, fulfillment, robust health. It was only because he believed with everything in him that he was good for her that Drew prayed, Lord, if it means she’ll leave me again, don’t ever let Gabby get her memory back.

Even as the words formed in his mind, he admitted the selfishness of them. But he needed her every bit as much as he loved her; he’d make it up to her in a thousand ways, for the rest of his days.

“I hope I won’t be sorry in the morning,” she whispered, her voice husky and trembly as she back-stepped into their room.

Sorry?

His heart thundered against his ribs. Sorry about what?

“For letting the dishes wait. Mozzarella cheese gets like concrete when it sits.”

His earlier concerns that this might be a mistake—a big one—were blotted out by velvet sighs and fluttering hands that caressed his face, his shoulders, his back. Pulse pounding and heart hammering, he gave in to the moment, but not so completely that he didn’t hear those words ringing in his ears: “I hope I won’t be sorry in the morning.”

Chapter Three

Sleep—what there had been of it—came that night in fits and starts, for Drew didn’t want to take the chance that while he dozed, she might remember the months she’d forgotten.

Almost from the moment she’d fallen asleep, Gabrielle had snuggled close, the way she used to in the early weeks of their marriage. In this position—nose tucked into the crook of his neck, one arm across his chest, a leg flung over his thigh—he couldn’t see her face, despite the bright swath of moonlight slicing into their room.

But he didn’t need to look at her to see her, for he’d watched her sleep countless times before she’d left him. After she was gone, he’d seen her with his mind’s eye, night after lonely night: thick lashes that dusted lightly freckled, sleep-flushed cheeks; lush, velvety curls against porcelain skin; the hint of a smile that turned up the corners of her mouth. Too many nights to count, Drew had listened to the slow, steady breaths that sighed softly past her luscious, slightly parted lips.

Her breathing was so shallow, so faint that he often found it necessary to hold his own breath to hear hers. Some mornings he’d tease her, pointing out how odd it was that a gal who bubbled with energy and chattered like a chipmunk during the daylight could grow so still and silent while she slept. On those mornings, Gabrielle would yawn and shrug daintily and, voice still morning-hoarse, grin and whisper, “Guess that’s just one of my womanly mysteries.”

Smiling now, Drew nodded as he admitted just how right she’d been. Everything about her had been a mystery to him, from the way she seemed to fall boots-over-bonnet in love with him right from the get-go, to the way she made him feel like a smitten schoolboy every time she aimed that innocent-yet-womanly gaze of hers in his direction.

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

But was she his?

And if she was, for how long?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have any baby names in mind?”

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

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

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

And so he did exactly that.

“Drew, do we have company?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?”

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

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

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

“It’s, uh, it belongs to a guy.”

“A guy? What guy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Has he been here before?”

“No. Why?”

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

Drew swallowed, hard.

“When will he be picking it up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But why?”

“Because I said so, that’s why.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yep,” Drew agreed, “he would.”

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

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

If she left again, Drew thought grimly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did it? Did what?”

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

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

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

“Are you as happy as I am, Drew?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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