Forgotten Lullaby. Rita Herron
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cry, feeling utterly hopeless.
Something brushed his temple. Grant’s breath caught. Afraid he’d imagined the slight movement, he hesitated before opening his eyes. There it was again. Feathery soft. So gentle.
He slowly raised his head, his heart thumping like a drumroll. Emma’s gorgeous brown eyes were staring directly at him. He muttered a thank-you to the heavens and pushed the call button for the nurse. “Hi,” he said, barely able to speak through his tight throat.
“Hello.” Emma’s strained voice sounded full of pain, as if she could hardly breathe, much less talk. She raised her slender hand to her forehead, then winced in pain.
Grant took her hand in his. “It’s about time you came back to us.” He gently kissed the tips of her fingers and forced himself to bank his emotions. “I’m so glad you’re okay, baby.”
Emma’s eyes were luminous with moisture, and a tear streamed down her battered cheek. When she finally spoke, her words rasped out, low and broken. “Where…am I?”
“You’re in the hospital, sweetheart. You had an accident, but you’re going to be all right.”
Emma pressed her fingers to the bandage on her head. She glanced at the IV, at their joined hands. Then she frowned, her eyes darkening in pain and confusion. Was she remembering the accident? She pulled her hand from his and simply stared at him, her pale cheeks alabaster in the harsh hospital lights. He didn’t understand her withdrawal or the mounting silence.
“Emma…”
Her lip quivered as she finally spoke, and fear laced her soft voice. “Who…who are you?”
Chapter Two
“Amnesia?” A wave of shock rolled through Emma as the doctor’s words penetrated the haze clouding her brain. She stared at the man who’d identified himself as her husband. The man with the deep soothing voice who had whispered to her in the darkness. His olive complexion had turned a pasty white, and his smile had disappeared the minute she’d asked his name.
“That’s right,” Dr. Turner said with a slight nod. “Retrograde amnesia.”
“But she knows her name.” Grant’s words echoed with disbelief.
“I even remember my address,” Emma said, trying to ignore the blinding pain in her temple. “It’s 3551 Summit Trail.”
The doctor adjusted his bifocals and glanced at her chart, his brow furrowed.
Grant shook his head. “No, Emma, that’s your parents’ address. We live on Kingsly.”
Dr. Turner scratched his balding head. “Amnesia’s not uncommon after a severe head injury. You have a pretty bad concussion, Mrs. Wadsworth.” He gave Grant a concerned look. “We can’t forget your wife was in a coma for four days. Recovery takes time.”
“You mean she will remember?” Grant asked, his eyes brightening.
Emma clutched the hospital sheet with one hand while draping the other across her throbbing head. She felt as if she’d just fallen into the twilight zone. Judging from the strained expression on Grant Wadsworth’s face, he wasn’t faring much better.
“I mean she could remember. It’s too early to tell,” the doctor answered quietly. “Her memory loss could be due to physical or emotional trauma.”
“Are you saying I might not ever remember any more than I do now?” She rubbed her temple and winced, her vision blurring as the room spun around her.
The doctor pursed his lips. “It’s possible. We’ll have to wait and see.”
Grant turned to her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get through this. I’m just glad you’re awake.” Emma cringed at the haunted look on his face. Although his voice sounded reassuring, she could still hear his uncertainty.
He raked a hand through his black hair, causing a wavy lock to fall across his forehead. Something about the gesture seemed vaguely familiar, but Emma’s mind remained fuzzy. Dozens of questions crowded her thoughts.
Grant’s jaw tightened. “Do you remember our baby, sweetheart?”
Fear crawled up Emma’s spine, making her voice sound weak. “Our baby?”
“Yes…Carly. Here, I’ll show you.” The lines around Grant’s eyes softened. He reached for her, pausing when she drew back. “Your locket. The one I gave you on our wedding day. It has a picture of the three of us…” His tentative smile faded. “It’s gone.”
Emma pressed her hand to her throat, her fingers curling around the edge of the hospital gown.
“It could have been lost in the accident,” Dr. Turner suggested. “But if your wife was wearing it, the doctors would have removed it when she came in. You can check with the nurses’ station to retrieve personal articles.”
Grant nodded, then frantically jerked his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a picture and handed it to Emma. Her hands shook as she studied the photo of the three of them sitting on a green floral-print sofa. Grant looked totally masculine against the country-style furniture. He’d draped an arm around her, and she cradled an infant in her arms. A bouquet of pink balloons danced in the background. But it was the tender smile on her face that squeezed her heart. She really had a child. And she was married.
But she had amnesia.
Grant folded her trembling hand in his and kissed each of her fingers, but Emma instinctively tensed. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing her hand against his cheek. “We’ll work it out somehow.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “Do you recall anything about the accident, Mrs. Wadsworth?”
Emma shook her head. “No, what kind of accident was it?”
“A car accident. You apparently lost control and went off the road.”
“I don’t remember.” The knot of apprehension in her chest tightened. “Was anyone else involved?”
“No, you were alone.”
“Thank goodness,” Emma whispered in relief. Then she remembered the voice calling to her in her sleep, the voice that told her she should have died. “Was… was there someone else here…in my room besides you?”
“I was here and Kate came to see you,” Grant said softly.
“It was someone else, someone who told me I should have died,” Emma said. Her hand flew to her throat. “I felt like I was choking.”
Grant stroked her hair from her face. “You must have been dreaming.” But he exchanged a worried look with the doctor.
“We gave you some medication, Mrs. Wadsworth, and sometimes it plays tricks on the mind. The best thing for you to do is rest,” the doctor suggested. “Don’t push it. You need time to heal.”
“He’s right.” Grant gave her hand a squeeze. “Why don’t you try to sleep for a while?”
Maybe they were right. Maybe it had been a dream. But the voice had seemed so real, as threatening as Grant’s had been loving.
Weariness settled deep in Emma’s bones. She barely managed a nod before her eyelids closed. But the doctor’s voice penetrated the haze surrounding her, and the bliss of sleep she craved eluded her.
“Um, Mr. Wadsworth, why don’t we step outside and talk,” the doctor suggested in a low voice.
Panic rippled through her as she realized the doctor wanted to speak to this man alone. What was the doctor going to tell her…her husband? She must have muttered some kind of sound or protest, because Grant clasped her hand again and brought it to his chest where he pressed it against his shirt. She felt the steady rhythm of his heart, warm and full of life beneath her palm. Someone had tried to hurt her, or at