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The Husband She'd Never Met
Barbara Hannay


Waking up with amnesia!Waking up from a riding accident, Carrie Kincaid's world is turned upside down when she can't remember the man in front of her – her husband! He sets her heart racing, but every memory with tycoon Max is a blur.For Max, this is a last chance to save their marriage! Until her memory returns, he will recreate the moments that shaped their romance, one magical date at a time! It's a race against time to help her rediscover all the reasons why they fell in love in the first place…









‘I—I wish—’ Carrie began to chew at her thumbnail. After a bit, she said, ‘I wish I could remember meeting you. How did it happen? Did our eyes meet across a crowded room? Or did you chase me?’


She dropped her gaze to the gnawed thumbnail.

‘Did I flirt with you?’

Max recalled the amazing chemistry of that night. The glittering harbourside venue and that first heart-zapping moment of eye contact with Carrie. Her shining dark eyes and dazzling bright smiles … the electric shock of their bodies touching the first time they danced.

He couldn’t suppress a wry grin. ‘I reckon we could safely claim all of the above.’


The Husband

She’d Never Met

Barbara Hannay






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


BARBARA HANNAY has written over forty romance novels and has won the RITA® award, the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice award, as well as Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year.

A city-bred girl, with a yen for country life, Barbara lives with her husband on a misty hillside in beautiful Far North Queensland, where they raise pigs and chickens and enjoy an untidy but productive garden.


Thank you to all the wonderful readers who have helped me to turn a hobby into the happiest of careers.


Contents

Cover (#u2ee967e2-bdee-539f-9ca2-5d0b3053d595)

Introduction (#u25be4ae1-2257-5479-af3e-e8d5539265b5)

Title Page (#u3e93df6b-2ed9-54f9-b7f2-ad1e72dc6798)

About the Author (#u745c9d58-35f5-5f1e-883a-620fc7253204)

Dedication (#u0dd5a059-cf1a-5208-bf1d-3c64c0816356)

CHAPTER ONE (#u953fc4dd-5500-568b-909a-3f0d20b3421b)

CHAPTER TWO (#u162d4844-249e-5d3d-88ce-a1f06797ec99)

CHAPTER THREE (#u8228b76d-03d6-5ee8-b69b-bf6fc9c10a1e)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u39331dde-c99d-56c7-8382-23d63b20da97)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_47030791-0754-5ffc-a798-7e8cc9856ec0)

THE SUITCASE WAS almost full. Carrie stared at it in a horrified daze. It seemed wrong that she could pack up her life so quickly and efficiently.

Three years of marriage, all her hopes and dreams, were folded and neatly layered into one silver hard-shell suitcase. Her hands were shaking as she smoothed a rumpled sweater, and her eyes were blurred with tears.

She had known this was going to be hard, but this final step of closing the suitcase and walking away from Max felt as impossible and terrifying as leaping off a mountain into thin air. And yet she had no choice. She had to leave Riverslea Downs. Today. Before she weakened.

Miserably, Carrie surveyed the depleted contents of her wardrobe. She’d packed haphazardly, knowing she couldn’t take everything now and choosing at random a selection of city clothes, as well as a few pairs of jeans and T-shirts. It wasn’t as if she really cared what she wore.

It was difficult to care about anything in the future. The only way to get through this was to stay emotionally numb.

She checked the drawers again, wondering if she should squeeze in a few more items. And then she saw it, at the back of the bottom drawer: a small parcel wrapped in white tissue paper.

Her heart stumbled, then began to race. She mustn’t leave this behind.

Fighting tears, she held the thin package in her hands. It was almost weightless. For a moment she pressed it against her chest as she battled painful, heartbreaking memories. Then, drawing on the steely inner strength she’d forced herself to find in recent months, she delved into the depths of the suitcase and made a space for the little white parcel at the very bottom.

There. She pressed the clothes back into place and snapped the locks on the case.

She was ready. Nothing to do now but to leave the carefully composed letter for her husband propped against the teapot on the kitchen table.

It was cruel, but it was the only way she could do this. If she tried to offer Max an explanation face to face he would see how hard this was for her and she would never convince him. She’d thought this through countless times, and from every angle, and she knew this was the fairest and cleanest way. The only way.

At the bedroom window, Carrie looked out across paddocks that were glowing and golden in the bright Outback sun. She smelled a hint of eucalyptus on the drifting breeze and heard the warbling notes of a magpie. A hot, hard lump filled her throat. She loved this place.

Go now. Don’t think. Just do it.

Picking up the envelope and the suitcase, she took one last look around the lovely room she’d shared with Max for the past three years. With a deliberate lift of her chin, she squared her shoulders and walked out.

* * *

When the phone rang, Max Kincaid ignored it. He didn’t want to talk, no matter how well-meaning the caller. He was nursing a pain too deep for words.

The phone pealed on, each note drilling into Max. With an angry shrug he turned his back on the piercing summons and strode through the homestead to the front veranda, which had once been a favourite haunt. From here there was a view of paddocks and bush and distant hills that he’d loved all his life.

Today Max paid the view scant attention. He was simply grateful that the phone had finally rung out.

In the silence he heard a soft whimper and looked down to see Carrie’s dog, Clover, gazing up at him with sad, bewildered eyes.

‘I know how exactly you feel, old girl.’ Reaching down, Max gave the Labrador’s head a good rub. ‘I can’t believe she left you, too. But I s’pose you won’t fit in a city apartment.’

This thought brought a sharp slice of the pain that had tortured Max since the previous evening, when he’d arrived from the stockyards to find Carrie gone, leaving nothing but a letter.

In the letter she’d explained her reasons for leaving him, outlining her growing disenchantment with life in the bush and with her role as a cattleman’s wife.

On paper, it wasn’t convincing. Max might not have believed a word of it if he hadn’t also been witness to his wife’s increasingly jaded attitude in recent months.

It still made no sense. He was blowed if he knew how a woman could appear perfectly happy for two and a half years and then change almost overnight. He had a few theories about Carrie’s last trip to Sydney, but—

The phone rang again, interrupting his wretched thoughts.

Damn.

Unfortunately he couldn’t switch off the landline the way he could his cell phone. And now his conscience nagged. He supposed he should at least check to see who was trying to reach him. If the caller was serious, they would leave messages.

He took his time going back through the house to the kitchen, where the phone hung on the wall. There were two messages.

The most recent was from his neighbour, Doug Peterson.

‘Max, pick up the damn phone.’

Then, an earlier message.

‘Max, it’s Doug. I’m ringing from the Jilljinda Hospital. I’m afraid Carrie’s had an accident. Can you give me a call?’


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_a64a07c2-68c4-5ac7-af02-a8417e71dc76)

‘GOOD MORNING, MRS KINCAID.’

Carrie sighed as the nurse sailed into her room. She’d told the hospital staff several times now that her name was Barnes, not Kincaid. More importantly she was Ms, or at a pinch Miss, but she had certainly never been Mrs.

Now this new nurse, fresh on the morning shift, removed Carrie’s breakfast tray and set it aside, then slipped a blood pressure cuff on her arm. ‘How are we this morning?’

‘I’m fine,’ Carrie told her honestly. Already the headache was fading.

‘Wonderful.’ The nurse beamed at her. ‘As soon as I’m finished here you can see your visitor.’

A visitor? Thank heavens. Carrie was so relieved she smiled. It was probably her mum. She would set this hospital straight, sort out the mistake, and tell the staff that her daughter was Carrie Barnes of Chesterfield Crescent, Surry Hills, Sydney. And most definitely not, as everyone here at this hospital mistakenly believed, Mrs Kincaid of the Riverslea Downs station in far western Queensland.

The blood pressure cuff tightened around Carrie’s arm and she resigned herself to being patient, concentrating on the view through the window. It was a view of gum trees and acres of pale grass, flat as football fields, spreading all the way to low purple hills in the distance. There was also a barbed wire fence and she could hear a crow calling...

Carrie experienced an uncomfortable moment of self-doubt.

The scene was so unmistakably rural, so completely different in every way from her home in the busy Sydney suburb of Surry Hills. She was used to trendy cafés, bars and restaurants, small independent bookstores and funky antique shops. She had no idea why she was here. How had she got all the way out here?

‘Hmm, your blood pressure’s up a bit.’ The nurse was frowning as she released the cuff and made notes on the chart at the end of Carrie’s bed.

‘That’s probably because I’m stressed,’ Carrie told her.

‘Yes.’ The nurse sent her a knowing smile. ‘But you’re sure to feel much happier when you see your husband.’

Husband?

Carrie flashed hot and cold.

‘But my visitor...’ she began, and then had to swallow to ease her suddenly dry mouth. ‘It’s my mother, isn’t it?’

‘No, dear. Your husband, Mr Kincaid, is here.’ The nurse, a plump woman of around fifty, arched one eyebrow and almost smirked. ‘I can guarantee you’ll cheer up when you see him.’

Carrie felt as if she’d woken up, but was still inside a nightmare. Fear and confusion rushed back and she wanted to pull the bedclothes over her head and simply disappear.

Last night the doctor had told her a crazy story: She’d fallen from a horse, which was laughable—the closest she’d ever been to a horse was on a merry-go-round. A couple called Doug and Meredith Peterson had brought her to the hospital after this fall, apparently, but she’d never heard of them, either. Then the doctor told her that she’d hit her head and had amnesia.

None of it made sense.

How could she have amnesia when she knew exactly who she was? She had no trouble rattling off her name and her phone number and her address, so how could she possibly have forgotten something as obvious as the doctor’s other preposterous claim—that she had a husband?

‘I’m sure I’m not married,’ she told the nurse now, just as she’d told the other white coats last night. ‘I’ve never been married.’ But even as she’d said this, hot panic swirled through her. She’d seen the pale mark on the ring finger of her left hand.

When had that happened?

How?

Why?

When she’d tried to ask questions the medical staff had merely frowned and made all sorts of notes. Then there’d been phone calls to specialists. Eventually Carrie had been told that she needed CT scans, which were not available here in this tiny Outback hospital. She would have to be transported to a bigger centre.

It had all been so crazy. So frightening. To Carrie’s shame she’d burst into tears and the doctor had prescribed something to calm her.

Obviously the small white pill had also sent her to sleep, for now it was already morning. And the man who claimed to be her husband had apparently driven some distance from his cattle property.

Any minute now he would be walking into her room.

What should she expect?

What would her husband expect?

Carrie wondered what she looked like this morning. She should probably hunt for the comb in the toiletries pack the hospital had provided and tidy her hair. Then again, why should she bother to look presentable for a man she didn’t know? A man who made such discomfiting claims?

Curiosity about her appearance got the better of her. She reached for the bag and found the comb and mirror inside.

The mirror was quite small, so she could only examine her appearance a section at a time. She saw a graze on her forehead and a bluish-black bruise, but otherwise she looked much the same as usual. Except...when she dragged a comb through her hair it was much longer than it should have been. Not a neat bob, but almost reaching her shoulders.

When had that happened? And her hair’s colour was a plain brown. But she’d always gone to Gavin, the trendiest hairdresser in Crown Street, to get blonde and copper streaks, with the occasional touch of aqua or cerise.

Carrie was still puzzling over this lack of colour when footsteps sounded outside in the corridor.

Firm, no nonsense, masculine footsteps.

Her heart picked up pace. She shoved the comb and mirror back in the bag and felt suddenly sweaty. Was this her supposed husband, Max Kincaid?

When she saw him would she remember him?

Remember something?

Anything?

She held her breath as the footsteps came closer. Into her room.

Just inside the doorway, her visitor stopped.

He was tall. Sun-tanned. His hair was thick and dark brown and cut short, and despite his height he had the build of a footballer, with impressively broad shoulders, his torso tapering to slim hips and solid thighs.

His eyes were an astonishing piercing blue. Carrie had never seen eyes quite like them. She wanted to stare and stare.

He was dressed in well-worn jeans and a light blue checked shirt that was open at the neck with the long sleeves rolled back. The whole effect was distinctly rural, but most definitely, eye-catching.

Max Kincaid was, in fact, quite ridiculously handsome.

But Carrie had never, most emphatically, never seen him before.

Which was crazy. So crazy. Surely this man would be impossible to forget.

‘Hello, Carrie.’ His voice was deep and pleasant and he set a brown leather hold-all on the floor beside her bed.

Carrie didn’t return his greeting. She couldn’t. It would be like admitting to something she didn’t believe. Instead, she gave the faintest shake of her head.

He watched her with a fleeting worried smile. ‘I’m Max.’

‘Yes.’ She couldn’t help speaking coolly. ‘So I’ve been told.’

Frowning, he stared frankly at her now, his bright blue eyes searching her face. ‘You really don’t remember me?’

‘No. I’m so—’ Carrie almost apologised, but she stopped herself just in time. Max Kincaid didn’t seem too immediately threatening, but she certainly wasn’t ready to trust him. She couldn’t shake off feeling that he had to be an impostor.

She sat very stiffly against the propped pillows as he moved to the small table beside her.

She watched him, studying his face, searching for even the tiniest clue to trigger her memory—the shape of his eyebrows, the remarkable blue of his eyes, the crease lines at their corners. The strong, lightly stubbled angle of his jaw.

Nothing was familiar.

‘Are your belongings in here?’ he asked politely as he lightly touched the door to a cupboard in the bedside table.

Carrie found herself noticing his hands. They were squarish and strong, and slightly scarred and rough, no doubt from working in the outdoors and cracking whips, or branding unfortunate cows, or whatever it was that cattlemen did. She saw that his forearms were strong, too, tanned, and covered in a light scattering of sun-bleached hair.

He was unsettlingly sexy and she scowled at him. ‘You want to search my belongings?’

‘I thought perhaps...if you saw your driver’s licence it might help.’

Carrie had no idea if her driver’s licence was in that cupboard, but even if it was... ‘How will I know the licence hasn’t been faked?’

This time Max’s frown was reproachful. ‘Carrie, give me a break. All I want is to help you.’

Which was dead easy for him to say. So hard for her to accept.

But she supposed there was nothing to be gained by stopping him. ‘Go on, open it,’ she said ungraciously.

Max did this with a light touch of his fingertips.

If he really is my husband, his fingertips—those very fingertips—must have skimmed beneath my clothing and trailed over my skin.

The thought sent a thrilling shiver zinging through her.

There was something rather fascinating about those rough, workmanlike hands, so different from the pale, smooth hands of Dave the accountant...the last guy she could remember dating.

She quickly squashed such thoughts and concentrated on the contents of the cupboard—a small, rather plain brown leather handbag with a plaited leather strap, more conservative than Carrie’s usual style. She certainly didn’t recognise it.

Max, with a polite smile, handed the bag to her, and she caught a sharp flash of emotion in his bright blue eyes. It might have been sadness or hope. For a split second, she felt another zap.

Quickly she dropped her gaze, took a deep breath and slid the bag’s zip open. Inside were sunglasses—neat and tasteful sunglasses, with tortoiseshell frames—again much more conservative than the funky glasses she usually wore. Also a small pack of tissues, an emery board, a couple of raffle tickets and a phone with a neat silver cover. Sunk to the bottom was a bright pink and yellow spotted money purse.

Oh. Carrie stared at the purse. This she definitely remembered. She’d bought it in that little shop around the corner from her flat. She’d been bored on a rainy Saturday morning and had gone window shopping. She’d been attracted by the cheery colours and had bought it on impulse.

But she had no memory of ever buying the plain brown handbag or the neat silver phone. Then again, if the phone really was hers it could be her lifeline. She could ring her mother and find out for sure if this man standing beside her bed in jeans and riding boots truly was her husband.

Or not.

‘I need to ring my mother,’ she said.

‘Sure—by all means.’ Max Kincaid’s big shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. ‘I’ve already rung her to explain about the accident, so she’ll be pleased to hear from you.’

This did not bode well. He sounded far too relaxed and confident.

Carrie’s stomach was tight as she scrolled to her mum’s number and pressed the button. The phone rang, but went straight through to the voicemail message.

At least her mother’s voice sounded just as Carrie remembered.

‘Mum, it’s me,’ she said, trying to keep her own voice calm. ‘Carrie. I’m in hospital. I’m OK, or at least I feel OK, but can you ring me back, please?’

As she left this message Max waited patiently, with his big hands resting lightly on his hips. He nodded when she was finished. ‘I’m sure Sylvia will ring back.’

Sylvia. Max Kincaid knew that her mother’s name was Sylvia.

Feeling more nervous than ever now, Carrie picked up the familiar purse. While she was waiting for her mother’s call she might as well check the driver’s licence.

Please let it say that I’m Carrie Barnes.

The usual spread of cards were slotted into the purse’s plastic sleeves, and right up front was the driver’s licence. Carrie saw immediately that, while the photo was typically unflattering, the picture was definitely of her face. There could be no doubt about that.

And then her gaze flashed to the details...

Name: Carrie Susannah Kincaid.

Sex: Female.

Height: 165 cm.

Date of birth: July 8th 1985.

Address: Riverslea Downs station,

Jilljinda, Queensland.

Her heart took off like a startled bird.

Thud-thud-thud-thud.

Her headache returned. She sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. This was either a huge hoax or the hospital staff were right. She had amnesia and had forgotten that she was married to Max Kincaid.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said.

‘You’ve had an accident, Carrie.’ He spoke gently. ‘A fall from a horse. A head injury.’

‘But if I can remember my name, and my mother’s name, why can’t I remember anything else... Why can’t I remember you?’

Max Kincaid gave an uncomfortable shrug. ‘The doctor is confident you’ll get your memory back.’

The problem was that right now Carrie wasn’t sure that she wanted her memory to come back. Did she really want to know that it was all true? That she wasn’t a city girl any more? That she lived on a cattle property and was married to this strange man?

It was far too confronting.

She wanted the reassuring comfort of the life she knew and remembered—as a single girl in Sydney, with a reasonably interesting and well-paid job at an advertising agency and a trendy little flat in Surry Hills. Plus her friends. Friday nights at Hillier’s Bar. Saturday afternoons watching football or going to the beach at Bondi or Coogee. Every second Sunday evening at her mother’s.

It was so weird to be able to recall all these details so vividly and yet have no memory of ever meeting Max Kincaid. Even weirder and more daunting was the suggestion that they hadn’t merely met, but were married.

Did she really live with this strange man in the Outback?

Surely that was impossible. She’d never had a hankering for the Outback. She knew how hard that life was, with heat and dust and flies, not to mention drought and famine, or bushfires and floods. She was quite sure she wasn’t tough enough for it.

But perhaps more importantly, if she was married to this man...she must have slept with him. Probably many times.

Involuntarily Carrie flashed her gaze again to his big shoulders and hands. His solid thighs encased in denim. She imagined him touching her intimately. Touching her breasts, her thighs. Heat rushed over her skin, flaring and leaping like a bushfire in a wind gust.

For a second, almost as if he’d guessed her thoughts, his blue eyes blazed. Carrie found herself mesmerised. Max’s eyes were sensational. Movie star sensational. For a giddy moment she thought he was going to try to lean in, to kiss her.

On a knife-edge of expectation, she held her breath.

But Max made no move. Instead, he said, matter-of-factly, ‘I’m told that you can check out of the hospital now. I’m to take you to Townsville. For tests—more X-rays.’

Carrie sighed.

He picked up the holdall he’d brought with him and set it on the chair beside her bed. ‘I brought clean clothes for you.’

‘My clothes?’

His mouth tilted in a crooked smile. ‘Yes, Carrie. Your clothes.’

He must have gone through her wardrobe and her underwear drawer, making a selection. Invading her privacy. Or was he simply being a thoughtful husband?

If only she knew the truth. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Do you need a hand?’

Instinctively her gaze dropped to his hands. Again. Dear heaven, she was hopeless. ‘How do you mean?’

‘With getting out of bed? Or getting dressed?’

She was quite sure she blushed. ‘No, thanks. I’ll be fine.’

‘I’ll be outside, then.’ With the most fleeting of smiles, Max left.

* * *

In the hospital hallway, Max dragged in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he tried to ease the gnawing anxiety that had stayed with him since his initial panic yesterday, when he’d heard about Carrie’s accident. He’d never experienced such gut-wrenching dread.

In that moment he’d known the true agony of loving someone, of knowing his loved one was in trouble and feeling helpless. He’d wanted to jump in his vehicle and race straight to the hospital, but Doug had warned him to hold off. Carrie was sleeping and probably wouldn’t wake before morning.

Now, Max felt only marginally calmer. Carrie was out of danger, but he was left facing the bald facts. Two days ago his wife had walked out on him. Today she had no memory of ever meeting him.

It was a hell of a situation.

One thing was certain: he had no hope of sorting anything out with Carrie if she didn’t even know who he was. But by the same token, there was no question that he wouldn’t look after her until she was well again. He was still her husband, after all. He still loved her. Deeply.

And he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Carrie still loved him, that she hadn’t been totally honest about her reasons for leaving. But perhaps that was just wishful thinking. There was a strong possibility that when Carrie’s memory returned she would also recall all her grievances in vivid detail.

The very thought ate at Max’s innards, but he would worry about that when the time came. Till then, his role was clear.

* * *

Carrie edged carefully out of bed. Her feet reached the floor and as she stood she felt a bit dizzy, but the sensation quickly passed. The bump on her head throbbed faintly, but it wasn’t too bad.

She took out the clothes Max had brought—a pair of jeans and a white T shirt, a white bra and matching panties. There was also a plastic bag holding a pair of shoes—simple navy blue flats. Everything was good quality, and very tasteful, but Carrie found it hard to believe they were hers.

Where were the happy, dizzy colours she’d always worn?

Conscious of the man waiting mere metres away, just outside her door, she slipped off the hospital nightgown and put on the underwear. The bra fitted her perfectly, as did the pants, the jeans and the T-shirt.

She was surprised but rather pleased to realise that she was quite slim now. In the past she’d always had a bit of a struggle with her weight.

She combed her hair again and then checked the bedside cupboard and found a plastic hospital bag with more clothes—presumably the clothes she’d worn when she arrived here. Another pair of denim jeans and a blue and white striped shirt, white undies and brown riding boots. Crikey.

She felt as if her whole life and personality had been transplanted. These clothes should belong to a girl in a country style magazine. Which was weird and unsettling. How had this happened? Why had she changed?

Anxiety returned, re-tightening the knots in her stomach as she stuffed the bag of clothes and the brown handbag into the holdall. She checked her phone again. Still no reply from her mum.

Mum, ring me, please.

She needed the comfort of her mum’s voice. Needed her reassurance, too. At the moment Carrie felt as if she was in a crazy sci-fi movie. Aliens had wiped a section of her memory and Max Kincaid was part of their evil plan to abduct her.

She knew this was silly, but she still felt uneasy as she went to the door and found Max waiting just outside.

His smile was cautious. ‘All set?’

Unwilling to commit herself, she gave a shrug, but when Max held out his hand for the holdall she gave it to him.

They made their way down a long hospital corridor to the office, where all the paperwork was ready and waiting for her.

‘You just have to sign here...and here,’ the girl at the counter said as she spread the forms in front of Carrie.

Carrie wished she could delay this process. Wished she could demand some kind of proof that this man was her husband.

‘Will I see the doctor again before I leave?’ she hedged.

The girl frowned and looked again at the papers. ‘Dr Byrne’s been treating you, but I’m sorry, he’s in Theatre right now. Everything’s here on your sheet, though, and you’re fit to travel.’

‘Carrie has an appointment in Townsville,’ Max said.

The girl smiled at him, batting her eyelashes as if he was a rock star offering his autograph.

Ignoring her, he said to Carrie, ‘The appointment’s for two o’clock, so we’d better get on our way.’

Carrie went to the doorway with him and looked out at the landscape beyond the hospital. There was a scattering of tin-roofed timber buildings that comprised the tiny Outback town. A bitumen road stretched like a dull blue ribbon, rolling out across pale grassland plains dotted with gum trees and grazing cattle. Above this, the sun was ablaze in an endless powder-blue sky.

She looked again at her phone. Still no new message.

‘Carrie,’ Max said. ‘You can trust me, I promise. You’ll be OK.’

To her surprise she believed him. There was something rather honest and open about his face. Perhaps it was country boy charm, or perhaps she just needed to believe him. The sad truth was she had little choice...she was in the Outback and she had to drive off with a total stranger.

Max opened the door of a dusty four-wheel drive.

He was nervous, too, she realised. Above the open neck of his shirt she could see the way the muscles in his throat worked, but his hand was warm and firm as he took her arm. Her skin reacted stupidly, flashing heat where he touched her as he helped her up into the passenger’s seat.

A moment later, having dumped the holdall beside another pack in the back, he climbed into the driver’s seat beside her. Suddenly those wide shoulders and solid thighs and all that Outback guy toughness were mere inches away from her.

‘Just try to relax,’ he said as he started up the engine and backed out of the parking space. ‘Close your eyes. Go to sleep, if you like.’

If only it was that easy.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_4bfb01aa-704c-56d1-9998-1825af4c828f)

THEY WERE ABOUT twenty kilometres down the road, with the small town of Jilljinda well and truly behind them when Carrie’s mother rang back.

‘It was such a relief to find your message and to hear your voice,’ her mum said.

‘It’s great to hear you, too, Mum.’ You. Have. No. Idea.

‘How are you, darling? Have you really lost your memory?’

‘Well, yes. Some of it, at least. The more recent things, apparently. I can remember all about Sydney, and about you and my friends, but I have no memory of meeting M-Max, or coming to Queensland.’

‘How very strange. It must be extremely upsetting, dear.’

Carrie’s stomach took a dive. She’d been hoping her mother would tell her this was all a terrible mistake.

Now, clearly, the impossible was not only possible, it was true. She was married to Max, an Outback cattleman.

‘Yeah, it’s very upsetting,’ she said. ‘It’s weird.’

‘And Max said this happened when you fell from a horse?’

‘Apparently.’ Carrie didn’t add that she had absolutely no memory of ever learning to ride a horse. The situation was bizarre enough, without giving her mum too much to worry about.

Just the same, she heard her mother’s heavy sigh. ‘I always knew something dreadful like this would happen to you out there. I warned you right from the start that you should never marry a cattleman. The lifestyle is just too hard and dangerous, and now this accident proves it.’

A cold wave of disappointment washed over Carrie. She’d been hanging out for maternal reassurance, or at the very least a few motherly words of comfort.

‘I don’t feel too bad,’ she felt compelled to add. ‘My headache’s just about gone. But I have to go to Townsville for more tests.’

‘Oh, dear.’

Carrie sent a sideways glance to Max. Clearly her husband wasn’t in her mother’s good books and she wished she knew why. Was it something he’d done? Or was it merely because he lived in the Outback? She wondered if he’d guessed her parent’s negative response.

‘Are you in an ambulance?’ her mother asked next.

‘No.’ Carrie felt cautious now as she explained, ‘I’m with Max. He’s driving me to Townsville.’

‘Oh.’

Carrie didn’t like the sound of that. Oh. It reinforced all the fears and doubts she’d been battling ever since Max had walked into her hospital room. Now she’d virtually handed herself over to a complete stranger, who was also apparently her life partner, her lover.

In the car park he’d given his word. ‘Carrie, you can trust me, I promise. You’ll be OK.’

She wanted to trust Max. All evidence pointed to the fact that he truly was her husband, so she needed to trust him. And as far as she could judge he had a very direct and honest face, although right now he shot her a sharp, frowning glance, almost as if he’d guessed the tenor of her mother’s message...

‘I suppose Max hasn’t said anything about—?’ Frustratingly, her mum stopped in mid-sentence.

Carrie frowned. ‘Said anything about what?’

‘Oh... I—I—I’m sorry. Don’t worry, dear. I—I spoke without thinking.’

Mum, for heaven’s sake.

Beside Carrie, Max was very still, his eyes focused on the road ahead, his strong tanned hands steady on the steering wheel.

‘Is there’s something I should know, Mum? Just tell me.’

‘No, no, darling. Not now. You shouldn’t be stressed at a time like this. You should be trying to relax. Ring me again after you’re safely in Townsville. After you’ve finished with the tests.’

Carrie hated being fobbed off. Her mum had been on the brink of telling her something important. ‘But what did you mean? What don’t I know?’

Her mother, however, would not be coerced.

‘I’ll say goodbye for now. Take care, Carrie. I’ll be thinking of you and sending my love.’

Then silence. She’d disconnected.

Carrie gave a soft groan, dropped the phone back into her lap, and felt her uneasiness tighten another notch.

* * *

Here we go, thought Max. The Dragon has fired her first flare.

He kept the thought to himself, clenching his teeth to hold back a comment. Carrie had enough to deal with right now.

Beside him, she sighed. ‘Am I right in thinking that I often feel angry or frustrated after a phone conversation with my mother?’

He sent her a sympathetic smile, but she looked so tired and confused he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than smile. His instincts urged him to pull over to the side of the road and take her in his arms. He wanted to ease that furrow between her fine brows, press a gentle kiss to her forehead, then another on the tip of her neat pointy nose, before finally settling on her sweet lush lips.

Yeah, right. Like that would solve anything.

Instead, he gave a shrug. ‘I guess you realise I’m not Sylvia’s dream son-in-law?’

‘Mum claims she warned me about life in the bush.’

Max nodded. ‘That started from the moment we met.’ He’d never meant to think of his mother-in-law as The Dragon, but three years of poorly veiled hostility could stuff with a man’s good intentions.

Carrie’s eyes were wide. ‘So my mum was against it, but I married you anyway?’

He chanced a quick grin. ‘You were stubborn.’

Then he quickly sobered. He’d only told Carrie half the story, of course. Right now she innocently assumed that all was rosy in Max-and-Carrie Land—the nickname they’d given their marriage in happier times. And this morning he’d assured her she could trust him. Which was true, but her accident had left him walking a fine line between the truth and the way he wished things could be. The way they should be.

Now, as he drove on over wide rolling grasslands, he wondered how much he should tell Carrie. It would be weird to try to explain that she’d walked out on their marriage. He didn’t want to confuse her. Given her memory loss, it was hard to gauge how much she could take in.

And yet they had two hours of driving before they reached the coast... Two hours of tiptoeing through a conversational minefield.

‘How did we meet?’ Carrie asked suddenly.

Max swallowed to ease the sudden brick in his throat. This was the last question he’d expected. It was hard to accept that she remembered nothing of an occasion that was enshrined in his mind for ever and lit up with flashing neon lights.

He told her the simple truth. ‘We met at a wedding.’

Carrie’s lovely chocolate-brown eyes widened. ‘Really? Was the wedding in Sydney?’

‘Yes. A work colleague of yours—Cleo Marsh—married one of my mates.’

‘Gosh, I remember Cleo. She was great fun. Quite a party girl. And she married a cattleman?’

Max nodded. ‘Grant grew up on a cattle property, but he studied medicine and now he’s a rural GP based in Longreach. He met Cleo when they were both holidaying on Hayman Island.’

‘How romantic.’

‘Quite,’ he said softly.

‘I—I wish—’ Carrie began to chew at her thumbnail. After a bit, she said, ‘I wish I could remember meeting you.’

The question slugged him like a physical blow. Perhaps he should just tell her the truth and stop this conversation now.

‘How did it happen, Max? Did our eyes meet across a crowded room? Or did you chase me?’ Carrie dropped her gaze to the gnawed thumbnail. ‘Did I flirt with you?’

Against his better judgement Max allowed himself to relive the amazing chemistry of that night, the glittering, harbourside venue and that first, heart-zapping moment of eye contact with Carrie. Her shining dark eyes and dazzling bright smile, the electric shock of their bodies touching the first time they danced...

Quietly, he said, ‘I reckon we could safely claim all of the above.’

‘Wow,’ she said, but she didn’t sound very happy.

She let out a heavy sigh, gave a toss of her long brown hair and flopped back in her seat, with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed, as if even this tiny slice of information was more than she could handle.

* * *

Carrie wished she could go to sleep. She just wanted the next few hours—the tedious journey over endless sweeping plains, the Townsville hospital and the medical tests—to be over and done with. Along with that fantasy she wanted a miraculous mind-clearing drug that would restore her memory and bring her instantly back to normal.

Or did she?

Was she ready for reality?

Did she really want to wake up and find herself reliving every minute detail of her life as an Outback wife?

She slid another glance Max’s way. She had to admit she couldn’t fault her husband’s looks. Yes, he had a distinctly outdoorsy aura, but she was rather partial to well-developed muscles and piercing blue eyes.

She wished she could remember meeting him at Cleo’s wedding. For that matter she wished she could remember their own wedding. She looked again at her left hand and the faint mark on the ring finger and contemplated asking him about her wedding ring and why she wasn’t wearing it, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear his answer.

Of course the reason might be simple—she’d taken the ring off as a practical safety precaution—but the answer also might be complex and awkward, and right now Carrie was quite sure she had as many complications as she could handle. So, although her curiosity about Max was off the scale, she decided it was wisest to choose her questions carefully. Best to stick to the past. The straightforward simplicity of their first meeting.

‘Were you wearing a tux?’ she asked. ‘On the night we met?’

Max looked surprised, and then mildly amused. ‘I suppose I was.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Yes, of course I was. It was an evening wedding. Quite formal.’

‘And what was I wearing?’ She wondered if it was a dress she could remember. ‘What colour?’

He shot her a twinkling sideways glance. ‘The female mind never ceases to amaze me.’

‘Why?’

‘All the questions you could ask and you want to know what colour you were wearing more than three years ago.’

She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling almost playful. ‘You don’t remember, do you?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Tell me, then.’

‘It was a slinky almost backless number in a fetching coppery shade. And you had matching streaks of copper in your hair.’

Carrie smiled. She couldn’t remember the dress, but it sounded like the sort of thing she might have chosen, and she’d loved having her hair streaked to match an outfit.

Suddenly emboldened, she asked, ‘Did we sleep together on that first night?’

To her surprise, she saw the muscles jerk in Max’s neck as he swallowed, and then he took his time answering. ‘What do you think?’ he asked finally.

Carrie blushed, caught out by her own cheeky question. As far as she could remember she wasn’t in the habit of jumping into bed with men on a first date. Then again, she couldn’t remember ever dating anyone quite as disturbingly sexy as Max.

‘Well,’ she said carefully. ‘We did end up getting married, so I guess there might have been sparks.’

Max didn’t shift his gaze from the road in front of them, but his hands tightened around the steering wheel and a dark stain rose like a tide up his neck. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘There were sparks.’

Something in his voice, half rumble, half threat, sent Carrie’s imagination running wild. Without warning she was picturing Max in his tux, shedding his jacket and wrenching off his bow tie, then peeling away her slinky copper dress. She saw him bending to touch his lips to her bared shoulder, to cup her breasts in his strong hands and—

Oh, for heaven’s sake. She knew very well that this wasn’t a memory. It was pure fantasy. But it was a fantasy complete with sparks that lit flashpoints, burning all over her skin, and firing way deep inside.

Silenced and stunned by her body’s reaction, she slunk back in her seat, crossed her legs demurely once more and folded her arms. It was time to stop asking questions. Any kind of conversation with this man was dangerous.

* * *

At last the tests were over and Carrie had seen the Townsville specialist. As far as her head injury was concerned there were no serious complications and she had been told that her memory should return, although the doctor couldn’t tell her exactly when this would happen. For the time being Carrie was to follow the normal precautions.

She shouldn’t be left alone for the next twenty-four hours and she should have plenty of rest and avoid stressful situations. She should not drink alcohol or take non-prescription drugs, and there was to be no more horse riding for at least three weeks, when she was to return for another appointment.

‘I’m sure your memory will be restored by then,’ the doctor told her confidently as they left.

It was good news, or as good as she could expect, and Carrie knew she should be grateful. To a certain extent she was grateful. She could expect a full recovery, and she had a husband who seemed willing to help her in every way possible.

But the problem of her lost memory felt huge, like an invisible force field between her and Max. He was a constant physical and highly visible masculine presence at her side, and yet she didn’t know him. He knew everything about her, but she didn’t know him. At all.

Apparently the memories were there, locked inside her brain, but she couldn’t reach them. It was like living with a blindfold that she couldn’t remove.

She was ignorant of basic things—Max’s favourite food and his most loved movies. She didn’t know what footie team he followed, or whether he shaved with an electric razor. And she knew nothing about his character. His heart. Was he a good man? Was he even-tempered or prone to anger? Was he kind to old ladies and kittens? Did he love being a cattleman?

Did he love her?

And the biggest question that dominated her thoughts right at this moment—where did he plan to sleep tonight?


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_f188a2a3-3dea-500f-8164-e906f86330b9)

‘I’VE BOOKED AN APARTMENT,’ Max said as their vehicle crested a hill and a vista of sparkling blue sea and a distant green island suddenly lay before them. ‘I made the booking for a few days, in case you need time to adjust before we head back to Riverslea Downs.’

‘Thanks,’ said Carrie. ‘That’s thoughtful.’ Already, as they’d travelled from the hospital through the city, she’d noticed large shopping centres, several restaurants and cafés, and a movie theatre or two.

‘If you can’t be in Sydney, a big city like Townsville is at least better than a remote Outback cattle station,’ her mother said when she rang to find out how Carrie was.

‘Yes, I guess so.’ Carrie was actually more interested in finding out what it was that her mother had been going to tell her during their previous phone conversation.

‘I can’t remember,’ her mother said now, quite bluntly. And then, in more soothing tones, ‘Honestly, darling, I’ve forgotten. It can’t have been important.’

Carrie was certain she was lying, but it seemed pointless to push the matter.

Now, having rung off, she asked Max, ‘If we stay here for a few days who will look after your cattle?’

This brought a smile. ‘The cattle can look after themselves for the time being. We’ve had a good wet season, so the dams are full and there’s plenty of pasture. But anyway Barney’s there.’

Carrie frowned. ‘Who’s Barney?’

Max looked momentarily surprised, as if he considered this person entirely unforgettable, but then he said quickly, ‘He’s an old retired ringer. He lives on the property. He worked there for nearly sixty years. Worked for my father before me. And when it was time to retire he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the Outback, so he has his own little cottage and does odd jobs around the place.’

‘A kind of caretaker?’

Max grinned. ‘Better than a guard dog.’

So it seemed Max was kind to old family employees. Carrie approved, and wondered if she should make a list of things she was learning about her husband.

She soon discovered he’d chosen an impressive apartment. It was on the fourth floor of a building built right beside the sea, very modern and gleaming, with white walls and white floor tiles and a neat kitchen with pretty, pale granite bench tops. The living area was furnished with attractive cane furniture with deep blue cushions. A wall of white shutters opened on to a balcony with a view over palm trees to the dazzling tropical sea.

‘How lovely,’ she said. ‘I’m sure this must be the perfect spot for my recovery.’

Max’s blue eyes were warm as he smiled. ‘That’s what I was hoping.’

Tentatively, Carrie returned his smile. ‘We haven’t stayed here before, have we?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘We usually come to Townsville a few times a year for a city break.’

Really? It sounded like a pretty nice lifestyle. But right now Carrie had one rather big and worrying question—how many bedrooms were there?

She looked around nervously, counting the doorways that led from the main living area, somewhat relieved to see there was more than one.

‘This is the main bedroom,’ Max said smoothly as he watched the direction of her gaze. And then he crossed to an open doorway. ‘Come and look—it’s not bad.’

Still clutching the small leather holdall with her few possessions, Carrie followed him. The room was huge, with what seemed like acres of pale cream carpet and an enormous white and aqua bed. And there were floor-to-ceiling windows giving an incredible view to the sea on one side and to a pretty marina filled with sleek, beautiful yachts on the other. Another doorway led to an en-suite bathroom that was equally huge and white and luxurious.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said, and heat spread under her skin as she wondered, again, if Max planned to share this room with her.

He was standing just a few feet away and his wide-shouldered presence seemed to make the bedroom shrink. Her imagination flashed forward—she was lying in that enormous bed, the sheets smooth and silky against her skin. Max was emerging from the bathroom, coming straight from the shower, naked, his powerful body gleaming in the lamplight. And then he was lifting the sheet and sliding in beside her...

To her dismay, she realised he was watching her and she sucked in a shaky breath. The play of emotions on his face suggested that he was remembering something from their past. She wished she knew what it was. Wished she knew how many nights they’d spent in rooms like this. Max was so earthy and masculine... She was sure, deep in her bones, that those nights had been wild.

‘Were—were you planning to sleep in here, too?’ she asked, and her voice was ridiculously breathless.

‘You’re supposed to stay relaxed, so I was assuming you’d want your own bed, but it’s entirely your call.’ His expression was cool now, as if he was deliberately clearing it of emotion. ‘I don’t need to sleep here. There’s another room. Whatever you prefer.’

Carrie gulped. ‘Right.’ Flustered, she looked around at this room which, in reality, was big enough to house a small village. She looked anywhere except at Max, who was waiting for her decision.

‘I’ll take the other room,’ he said quietly.

She must have taken too long. She blinked and exhaled the breath she’d been holding, letting it go with an embarrassingly noisy whoosh. Foolishly, she felt a moment’s disappointment.

Then she caught Max’s stern gaze, still fixed on her, and she couldn’t think what to say so she nodded. Almost immediately she marched back to the living room, curiosity driving her to check out the other bedroom.

It was obviously designed for children, and was much smaller than the main room, without any of the views and with two single beds that looked ridiculously small for such a big man.

She turned to Max, who had followed her. ‘You won’t be comfortable in here. We should swap. I’ll be perfectly fine in one of these beds, and I’m tired, so I don’t need the views and I wouldn’t—’

‘Carrie, calm down.’ Now Max looked almost amused. ‘It’s OK. I’ll be fine in here.’ The skin around his eyes creased as he smiled. ‘You’re convalescing. You’ll be better with a room to yourself, and the main bedroom has an en-suite.’

‘Well, yes,’ she said, still flustered. ‘Of course.’

‘Now, you should go on to the balcony and enjoy the view,’ he said. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

Max looked more like a cowboy than a waiter or a chef, but he made a surprisingly good cuppa and, without asking, knew exactly how Carrie liked her tea—with just a dash of milk and no sugar. The evidence that he really was her husband was growing, and she accepted it with a mix of dismay and bewildering excitement.

Perhaps when she got her memory back her life would be suddenly wonderful. Perfect. Far better than she could possibly imagine...in spite of their marriage’s Outback setting.

For now, at least, it was very pleasant to sit on the balcony with a cool breeze blowing in from the sea. She caught the scent of frangipani in the air, and the sky was tinged with pink from the setting sun. Down by the water cockatoos squabbled in treetops. Out on the still, silvery bay, kayakers paddled.

The setting was idyllic. Carrie’s companion—her husband—was handsome and charming. She wanted to enjoy the moment and not to worry.

If only the situation didn’t feel so unreal—like a pretence, as if she’d slipped through a time warp and was living someone else’s life.

Max organised dinner, ordering takeaway food from a nearby Chinese restaurant, which he collected and then served using the apartment’s pretty aqua blue dinner service.

The night was deliciously balmy, so they lit candles with glass shades and ate on the balcony. Moonlight shone on the water and lights on the black shape of Magnetic Island twinkled in the distance. A yacht left the marina and glided smoothly and silently over the dark bay, heading out to sea.

For Carrie, the combination of the meal and the moonlight was quite magical, and she could feel her body relaxing, the nervous knots in her belly easing, even while her curiosity about Max and their marriage mounted.

‘Do you know what I’ve done with my wedding ring?’ The question, just one out of the hundreds of questions circling in her head, spilled from her before she quite realised what she was saying.

She felt a bit foolish as soon as it was out—especially when she saw surprise and then a flash of pain in Max’s eyes.

He took a moment to answer and she was nervous again, her heart fluttering in her chest like a trapped bird. What’s wrong? she wanted to ask him.

But when he answered he spoke quite calmly. ‘Your rings are at home on the dressing table.’

At home on the dressing table. It sounded so incredibly ordinary and sensible. Why had she been worried? ‘I suppose when you’re living in the Outback it makes sense not to wear them all the time?’

‘Yes, that’s what you decided.’

But there was something in Max’s eyes that still bothered her.

‘What’s my engagement ring like?’

‘It has two diamonds.’

‘Two? Lucky me.’

Max smiled at this. ‘It was my grandmother’s ring. She died not long after we met, but she wanted you to have it.’

‘Oh...’

‘You were happy to wear it. You liked her.’

Carrie felt a bit better, hearing this. It was reassuring to know that she’d got on well with Max’s grandmother. But it hinted at an emotional health that she didn’t feel.

Are we happy? Carrie wanted to ask next, but she wasn’t brave enough. For one thing she was haunted by her mother’s confusing question—the one she’d cut off and left dangling with no further explanation. As well, Carrie had the sense that both Max and her mother were carefully avoiding anything that might upset her.

Perhaps she should stop asking questions for now. But it was so hard to be patient and simply wait for her memory to return.

As they ate in silence, enjoying the delicious food and the pleasant evening, the questions kept circling in Carrie’s head.

It wasn’t long before she had to ask, ‘Did we have a honeymoon? Did we go somewhere exotic and tropical like this?’

Max smiled. ‘We most certainly had a honeymoon. We went to Paris.’

‘Paris?’

Stunned, Carrie let her fork drop to her plate as she stared at him. Paris was the last destination she’d expected. Max was an Outback cattleman, a rugged cowboy who loved the outdoors. He rounded up cattle and battled the elements, and no doubt rode huge rodeo bulls or wrestled crocodiles in his spare time.

She found it hard to match that image with a sophisticated and cultured city like Paris.

‘Did—did I choose Paris?’

He lifted a dark eyebrow. ‘We chose it together. We were tossing up between New York, Paris and Rome, and we couldn’t choose, so we ended up throwing the three names in a hat.’

‘And then, when we drew the winner, we went for best of three?’

‘Yes.’ He frowned, then leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his gaze suddenly serious and searching. ‘How did you know that, Carrie? Can you remember?’

She shook her head. ‘No, sorry. I can’t remember anything about Paris, but I’ve always gone for the best out of three. Ever since I was little, if I was tossing up, trying to make any kind of decision, I’ve always tried three times.’ She gave an embarrassed little shrug. ‘Just to make sure.’

‘Of course.’ His smile was wry, and Carrie felt somehow that she’d disappointed him.

She took a sip of her drink, lemon and lime and bitters, with clinking ice cubes. ‘I know this will probably sound weird, but I’d love to hear about it,’ she said. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Paris and I’d really like to know what you thought of it. Not—not the honeymoon bit,’ she added quickly.

The sudden knowing shimmer in Max’s blue eyes made her blush.

‘I mean the city itself,’ she said. ‘Did you like it?’

At first Max didn’t answer...and there was an unsettling, faraway look in his eyes.

What was he thinking about?

‘Paris was wonderful, of course,’ he said suddenly. ‘Amazing. Or at least I found it amazing once we’d survived the hair-raising taxi ride from the airport to our hotel.’

‘Is the traffic in Paris crazy?’

‘Mad.’

‘Where did we stay?’

‘In a small hotel in St-Germain-des-Prés.’

‘Wow.’

‘It was a brilliant position. We could walk to the Seine, or to the Louvre, or Nôtre Dame. The café Les Deux Magots was just around the corner and we had lunch there several times. It was Ernest Hemingway’s favourite place to hang out, along with Pablo Picasso and a mob of intellectuals.’

Max’s face broke into a warm grin.

‘We drank amazing red wine and French champagne, and we ate enough foie gras to give ourselves heart attacks.’

‘It sounds wonderful.’ Carrie closed her eyes, willing herself to remember. But nothing came. ‘And what about the sights?’

‘The sights?’ Max repeated, then lifted his hands in a helpless gesture as he shrugged. ‘How do you do Paris justice? It was all so beautiful, Carrie—the Seine and the bridges, the parks with their spring flowers and avenues of trees. The skyline. All those rooftops and church spires. The whole place was just dripping with history.’

‘So you really liked it?’ Carrie’s voice was little more than a whisper.

‘Yeah, I loved it,’ Max said simply.

Goose bumps were breaking out all over her skin. Their honeymoon sounded so perfect, so-o-o romantic, so exactly what she’d always dreamed of.

‘And it was Paris in the springtime?’ she said. ‘It wasn’t May, was it?’

‘Yes, you were dead-set to go there in May.’

‘It’s always been my favourite month.’

‘I know.’

They shared a tentative smile.

‘You’re not making this up, are you?’ she asked. ‘About Paris?’

Max frowned. ‘Of course not. Why would I?’

She gave a sad shrug. ‘I don’t know. It’s just so hard, not being able to remember any of it. To be honest I feel cheated that I had a honeymoon in Paris and can’t remember a single thing.’

‘Well, everything must be weird at the moment.’

In the candlelight, she saw his sympathetic smile.

‘Your memory will come back, Carrie.’

‘Yes.’ She knew she shouldn’t give up hope. After all, she’d had amnesia for less than a day. She thought about her memory’s eventual return and wondered how it would happen. Would everything come in a rush, like switching on a light? Or would it dribble into her consciousness in little bits and pieces, slowly coming together like a jigsaw puzzle?

Patience, Carrie.

‘Tell me more,’ she said. ‘Did we have coffee in those little pavement cafés with the striped awnings?’

‘Every day. And you developed a fondness for Parisian hot chocolate.’

She tried to imagine how the hot chocolate had tasted. For a moment the rich flavour was almost there on her tongue, but she was sure the real thing had surpassed her imagination. Giving up, she said, ‘And were we served by handsome waiters with starched white napkins over their arms?’

‘We were, indeed, and they spoke surprisingly good English.’

‘But with charming French accents?’

‘Yes to that, too.’ Max narrowed his eyes at her and his smile was teasing. ‘You were very taken by their accents.’

‘Were you jealous?’

He gave a small huffing laugh. ‘Hardly. We were on our honeymoon, after all.’

Their honeymoon. Her mind flashed up an image of the two of them in bed. She could almost imagine it...their naked bodies, the exquisite anticipation...

But then the barriers came up.

She had no idea what it was like to touch Max, to kiss him, to know the shape of his muscles and the texture of his skin, to have his big hands gliding over her, making love to her.

She let out another heavy sigh.

‘It’s time you were in bed,’ he said.

‘Now you’re talking like you’re my parent.’

‘Not your parent—your nurse.’

‘Yes.’ That put her in her place. She was a patient, after all, and Max was being sensible, responsible, following the doctor’s orders and making sure she had plenty of rest.

They gathered up their plates and cutlery and took everything inside. While Max stacked the dishwasher Carrie had a shower in the gorgeous big bathroom. Max had packed a nightgown for her—pale blue cotton with a white broderie anglaise frill and shoestring straps. It seemed all her clothes these days were either very pretty or very tasteful. Nothing funky, like the oversize purple and green T-shirt that she remembered being her favourite sleepwear.

She found a fluffy white bathrobe in the cupboard and pulled it on, tying it modestly at the waist before she went back to the living area to bid Max goodnight.

He was relaxed on the sofa, scrolling through TV shows with the sound turned down, but he stood when she came into the room.

‘Thanks for dinner, and for looking after me today,’ Carrie said.

‘My pleasure.’ A confusing sadness shadowed his eyes as he said this.

Carrie’s throat tightened over a sudden painful lump. Was Max upset because she wasn’t acting like his wife? What did he expect now? A goodnight kiss?

He came towards her across the square of cane matting and her insides fluttered as she imagined lifting her face to him and their lips meeting. Would his lips be warm? Would he take her in his arms and hold her close to that hard, big body?

‘I hope you sleep well,’ he said, lifting a hand to her shoulder.

Through the towelling robe she felt the pressure of his fingers, warm and strong on her shoulder.

‘Goodnight, Carrie.’ He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze and then stepped back.

That was it.

Not even a peck on the cheek. He was being so careful, and she knew she should be grateful. It was what she needed, what she wanted.

So why did she feel disappointed?

‘Goodnight, Max.’ She gave a tiny smile, a wave of her hand, and then turned and walked back into her room.

* * *

Max let out the breath he’d been holding, aimed the remote at the TV and turned it off, then went quietly outside to the balcony. Standing at the railing, he felt the sea breeze on his face, slightly damp and cool, as he looked out across the dark satiny water. His throat was tight and his eyes stung.

Damn it.

Carrie had nearly killed him in there. She’d looked so vulnerable, standing in the middle of the room in her dressing gown and bare feet, a nervous sort of smile playing at the corners of her mouth. So beautiful.

He’d sensed that he could have taken her in his arms and she wouldn’t have put up a fight. In a moment of weakness he’d almost hoodwinked himself into believing that Fate had given him the old Carrie back, the girl who’d once loved him without reservation.

All that talk of their honeymoon had been agony. So many poignant, passionate memories. He’d been so tempted to take advantage of her innocence, to draw her in and kiss her, to have her once more in his arms, so soft and womanly and sensuous. To rekindle the uninhibited wildness and rapture of happier days.

To show her everything she’d missed.

But how could he take advantage of her now, too late? And why bother, when he knew her memory would return, and along with it her bitterness and resentment?

His hands tightened around the railing as he pictured the chilling moment when Carrie’s memory came back. He could almost see the curiosity and the light fading from her warm brown eyes to be replaced by dawning knowledge and cynicism, and quite possibly anger.

A soft groan escaped him. This was a crazy situation—having Carrie back with him, helpless and needing him. It was tearing his guts out.

He had no choice, though. He had to see this through. While his wife needed him he had to do everything he could for her, and then, with grim, unhappy resignation, he would weather the storms that inevitably followed.

* * *

Eventually Carrie slept, and when she woke the room was filled with pale light, filtered by the shutters. She heard sounds coming from the kitchen. The kettle humming to the boil. The chink of mugs being set on the granite bench.

She should get up and join Max. Throwing off the bedclothes, she sat up.

At the same moment there was a knock at the door.

‘Yes?’ she called, snatching at the sheets.

Max appeared. He was bringing her a cup of tea, and Carrie found herself mesmerised by the sight of him in black silk boxer shorts and a white T-shirt, spellbound by his muscular chest so clearly defined by the snug-fitting shirt.

Stupidly, she completely forgot to cover herself with the sheet, and now his intense blue gaze settled on her, taking in her dishevelled hair, her bare shoulders, the thin fabric of her nightgown. To her dismay her nipples tightened, and she was quite sure that he noticed.

Her pulse took off at a giddy gallop.

‘I thought you’d like a cuppa,’ he said.

‘It’s all right.’ Carrie knew she sounded nervous. Out of her depth. She had no idea how to deal with this. Quickly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the bathrobe that she’d left on a nearby chair. ‘I’ll come out.’

‘As you wish,’ he said politely. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen.’

She could tell by the mix of amusement and sympathy in his eyes that he knew exactly why she was nervous. She was sure he’d guessed at her lustful interest in him. It was almost as if her body remembered...everything...

* * *

They went out for breakfast. Max suggested that Carrie should choose a venue, and without hesitation she selected at a café with a deck built over the waterfront.

A friendly young waiter with a shaved head and a gold earring welcomed them with a beaming smile. ‘Haven’t seen you guys in a while.’

To Carrie’s astonishment, he stepped forward and smacked kisses on both her cheeks.

‘Hey, Jacko,’ Max responded, giving the waiter a hearty handshake and back-slap. ‘Good to see you.’

‘And it’s great to see you two. How are you both?’

Carrie gulped, wondering how well she knew this fellow and how much she should tell him.

‘We’re really well, thanks,’ Max said smoothly. ‘It’s been a good wet season, which always helps.’

Jacko nodded, then shot a quick glance to a table right next to the water. ‘Must have known you two were coming. Your favourite table’s free.’

‘How’s that for timing?’ Max was grinning as they took their seats.

Carrie hoped that her smile didn’t look too surprised as Jacko flicked out a starched napkin and deftly placed it, unfolded, on her lap.

‘Shall I fetch menus?’ he asked with a knowing smile. ‘Or would you just like your usual?’

Their usual? Carrie knew she must look stunned and confused. She shot a quick look to Max, who sent her a reassuring smile.

‘Our usual, of course. We can’t break with tradition,’ he told Jacko.

Carrie was shaking her head as Jacko left. ‘Don’t tell me I picked our favourite restaurant?’

Max smiled again, and his blue eyes shone in a way that set off another starburst inside her. ‘It was uncanny,’ he said. ‘There are half a dozen places along this strand, but you zeroed straight in on this place, like it was the only possible option.’

‘I have no memory of ever coming here.’

‘Perhaps your taste buds remember?’

And there it was again...the disturbing possibility that her body remembered the secrets her mind withheld.

Carrie took a deep breath. ‘So, what’s my usual breakfast order when I’m here?’

‘Pancakes.’

‘Really?’ She gaped at him. ‘But I—I thought... I’ve always been so careful with carbs.’

‘Paris cured you of that,’ Max assured her. ‘Whenever you eat here you always have blueberry pancakes and whipped cream.’

* * *

Walking back along the foreshore, on a path that wove between lush tropical gardens, Max had an urge to take Carrie’s hand or to slip his arm around her shoulders, just as he always had in the past.

It was tempting to ignore the letter she’d written, claiming she’d grown tired of life in the bush. Damn tempting to take advantage of this situation. To simply carry on as if their marriage was fine.

He knew the chemistry was still there. More than once he’d caught Carrie checking him out, and he’d seen the familiar flash of interest and awareness in her eyes.

‘Max?’ She turned to him now, and her lovely dark brown eyes held a hint of excitement. ‘How long does it take to drive to your place?’

Caught out, he frowned. ‘My place?’

‘Your property. Riverslea Downs.’

‘About six hours. Why?’




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