Kate sighed. “Did he suggest therapy? Hypnosis?”
“No. Only to be patient, give Emma time. And make sure she rests.” He exhaled shakily. “No stress, either.”
“She’ll need help with the baby.” Kate picked up one of Carly’s stuffed bunnies, tugged on a floppy ear, then pressed it to her chest in a way that made her seem oddly young and vulnerable.
“I know she’ll need help.” Grant frowned. “I plan on taking care of her. And Martha comes twice a week. I may have her come every day.”
“What about your business trip to Paris?” Kate asked. “I know you postponed it, but have you rescheduled?”
“I’m not going,” Grant said, his temper flaring. “I’m going to work at home.”
“Well, that’s a surprise.” Kate folded her arms across her chest.
Grant stopped the motion of the rocking chair and glared at Kate. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve been with Emma and Carly every minute I could over the last few days.”
Kate shrugged. “I know. But you usually don’t let anything keep you from work.”
Carly fidgeted, one socked foot slipping out from the blanket. He tucked her foot back in and struggled to control the tone of his voice. “You really think I’d leave the country with Emma in the condition she’s in? What kind of a husband do you think I am?”
A long silence stretched between them, the tension almost palpable. Kate’s refusal to answer piqued him even more.
“Look, Kate, you’re not being fair. I know you haven’t always approved—”
“It’s not that,” Kate said angrily. “It’s just that you’ve been leaving her alone a lot lately and I figured—”
“You figured I’d bring her home from the hospital and run off to Paris to work?” Grant stood and paced the floor with Carly, shocked at Kate’s low opinion of him. “Is it really me, Kate, or do you hate all men?”
Kate winced, ignoring his comment. “Emma has a lot of pride and she’s independent, but I can sense she’s been lonely lately.”
“Emma told you that?”
“No, but I could tell from talking to her.” Kate’s expression softened. “It’s a big adjustment going from working full-time to staying home with a baby.”
Grant bit back a retort. How would Kate know? She spent all her time shopping for her beloved antiques and going to the beauty parlor. “Emma wanted to stay home with Carly.”
“I know,” Kate said on a long sigh. “But that doesn’t mean staying home hasn’t been an adjustment. Emma was used to being with people all day, taking care of customers, running a business. She enjoyed her job.”
“You think she didn’t enjoy being home with Carly?”
“No.” Kate rolled her eyes. “But it’s been a change for her.”
Recent conversations with Emma raced through his mind, especially the one the afternoon before her accident. I wanted us to have a special dinner tonight, she’d said. But what had he done? He’d gone to dinner with a client, then stayed for drinks to discuss business with Priscilla. Two days before that, Emma had asked him to meet her and Carly for lunch. Once again he’d been too busy.
But he’d been in meetings, not just dallying around. Emma knew that. She knew he’d been working his butt off to make a good life for both of them. For Carly, too.
“Grant—” Kate’s voice broke into his disturbing thoughts “—I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
He saw concern written on her usually smug face. “You think it was my fault, don’t you? You think she was unhappy with me and she doesn’t remember me because she doesn’t want to.” The idea shook him to the core.
“No,” Kate said hurriedly, “that’s not what I meant, Grant.” She walked toward him, holding out her arms for the baby. “The accident caused the amnesia. You heard what the doctor said.”
Grant barely registered her protests. “But she remembers you. And her parents. She probably even remembers her high-school boyfriends.” He hated the desperation in his voice. “But she can’t remember me,” he finished, feeling defeated.
“Give her time.” Kate placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’ll put Carly down for a nap while you bring Emma home.” She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “Maybe you’re right, Grant. Emma loves you. Coming home is probably exactly what she needs.”
Grant kissed Carly on the forehead and nodded, his body wound like a tightly coiled spring. Emma loves me. At least, she used to; now she didn’t even know him. “I hope so,” he said. Once he’d gotten over the shock of the amnesia, he’d realized how frightening the ordeal must be for Emma. She’d not only awakened injured, but she’d lost part of her life.
A fresh stab of pain hit him. Of course, if she didn’t remember their marriage, he was going to lose a part of his life. The best part.
Chapter Three
Emma took a deep breath and glanced at Grant, hoping to gain strength from his steady calmness, but tension radiated from every pore of his body. Anxiety crawled along her own nerves. She would soon be home, a place she couldn’t even remember.
He’d combed his hair away from his forehead, accentuating the hard lines of his angular face. Thick dark eyebrows arched over his tormented blue eyes, and the white shirt he wore contrasted sharply with his olive skin. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw and upper lip, and his sideburns had been clipped high above his ears. She wondered if he had to shave twice a day. Something I should know, as his wife.
He glanced over and caught her staring. For a moment their gazes locked. Then the corner of his mouth lifted into a sexy smile and her breath caught as she realized how devastatingly handsome he looked when he lost that tortured grim expression.
He’d been upset when he’d arrived to pick her up, and she’d sensed there was something he wasn’t telling her. Had the police discovered what had caused her wreck? “Grant, did you talk to the police?”
Grant’s expression became guarded and he kept his gaze on the highway. “I talked to Detective Warner, but he said he hasn’t found anything yet.”
“I see.” So that wasn’t the problem.
She turned to gaze out the side window, realizing he must be upset about bringing her home. Her stomach drew itself into a tight knot of anxiety. For the past two days he’d been telling her about herself. She dug her fingernails into her palms, stifling the urge to scream in frustration. She’d lost the past four years of her life and had no idea how to get them back.
According to Grant, she’d married him three years ago and they lived in a small Victorian-style house in the middle of a quaint neighborhood in Raleigh, North Carolina. But she couldn’t remember any of it. Not even her wedding day or giving birth—possibly the two most important events in a woman’s life.
Retrograde amnesia—the words reverberated over and over in her brain, grating on her already frayed nerves like an out-of-tune piano. Only time would tell if her memory would return. And if it didn’t…
“We’re almost home,” Grant said in the husky voice that made warmth rush through her. His blue eyes bore into hers, searching, probing, seeking something she might never give. She held his gaze for a brief moment before reality set in. He knew her intimately, but he could have been a stranger on the street to her. She desperately tried to remember some small detail of their life together, some emotion for the handsome stranger, but her mind remained an empty black hole.
“So you’re an architect?” she finally said