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The Baby Gift
Susan Crosby


The very pregnant woman standing before J.T. Ryker couldn' t remember who she was– or the name of her unborn baby' s father.But Gina Banning was the one woman J.T. would always remember. The last time he' d seen her she' d told him she hated him– and then married his partner a week later. So why had she driven through a snowstorm to J.T.' s doorstep?Gina sensed the honor-bound police chief who offered her shelter and protection was hiding something. His touch felt familiar. Was his kindness a precious gift… or would she and her child have to pay a price once all truths were finally revealed?









“What’s Your Name?”


J.T. asked the woman who’d arrived on his doorstep in the middle of a blizzard.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

J.T. strained to hear the words. “How’d you get here?”

“I guess my car skidded off the road and into a ditch. I walked from there. My head hurts.”

“I’ll call the doctor right away. You’re going to have to trust me,” he added.

“I’m also…pregnant.”

J.T.’s eyes zoomed in on her very large belly. She’d walked half a mile in a snowstorm in her condition? His gaze slid up to her face. Shock spread fast and far inside him.

He knew her. The very pregnant woman without a memory was Gina Banning, a part of his past that he’d almost laid to rest….


Dear Reader,

Silhouette is celebrating its 20


anniversary throughout 2000! So, to usher in the first summer of the millennium, why not indulge yourself with six powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire?

Jackie Merritt returns to Desire with a MAN OF THE MONTH who’s Tough To Tame. Enjoy the sparks that fly between a rugged ranch manager and the feisty lady who turns his world upside down! Another wonderful romance from RITA Award winner Caroline Cross is in store for you this month with The Rancher and the Nanny, in which a rags-to-riches hero learns trust and love from the riches-to-rags woman who cares for his secret child.

Watch for Meagan McKinney’s The Cowboy Meets His Match—an octogenarian matchmaker sets up an ice-princess heiress with a virile rodeo star. The Desire theme promotion THE BABY BANK, about sperm-bank client heroines who find love unexpectedly, concludes with Susan Crosby’s The Baby Gift. Wonderful newcomer Sheri WhiteFeather offers another irresistible Native American hero with Cheyenne Dad. And Kate Little’s hero reunites with his lost love in a marriage of convenience to save her from financial ruin in The Determined Groom.

So come join in the celebration and start your summer off on the supersensual side—by reading all six of these tantalizing Desire books!

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




The Baby Gift

Susan Crosby







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


For Debbie Swanson, who so graciously shares her

daughter with me, with love and admiration for the

amazing person you are.

And for Melissa Jeglinski once again.

My stalwart editor. You’re simply the best.




SUSAN CROSBY


believes in the value of setting goals, but also in the magic of making wishes. Ascribing to the theory that the “harder you work, the luckier you get,” she has been fortunate enough to receive Romantic Times Magazine’s Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Silhouette Desire of the Year, as well as being a finalist for the Romance Writers of America RITA Award. Her books appear regularly on the bestseller lists.

Susan earned a B.A. in English while raising her sons, now grown. She and her husband live in the central valley of California, the land of wine grapes, asparagus and almonds. Her checkered past includes jobs as a synchronized swimming instructor, personnel interviewer at a toy factory and trucking company manager, but her current occupation as a writer is her all-time favorite. Readers are welcome to write to her at P.O. Box 1836, Lodi, CA 95241.




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

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen




One


Police Chief J.T. Ryker couldn’t sleep. He supposed it was the quiet that had awakened him, a sense of something being different. His heart wasn’t thundering from the old nightmare but from an indefinable sensation—like holding your breath and listening hard, anticipation building and building until it just had to explode.

J.T. no longer questioned gut feelings. He climbed out of bed and looked out the window. Three hours ago he’d overseen the town’s less-raucous-than-usual New Year’s Eve celebration that ended at precisely midnight when snow began to fall.

What filled his sight now was a blizzard.

He ignored his uniform in favor of warmer clothes, then headed out the door with Deputy, the beagle he’d inherited with the job. He carried the dog through the snow until they reached Main Street, then Deputy led the way, happy for a middle-of-the-night trek through town. Protected by a wooden awning, they patrolled their little corner of the world, making sure it was safe.

The dog’s nails clip-clip-clipped along the wood-plank walkway of downtown. Accustomed to his owner’s routine, the beagle stopped at the first shop and pressed his nose to the glass door. J.T. turned the handle and sighed. Mrs. Foley had left the front door to her fabric, craft and ladies’ undergarments shop unlocked again, even though he’d reminded her at midnight. Three doors down, in Aaron Taylor’s hardware and auto parts store, no telltale red beam flashed. Aaron hadn’t activated the security alarm—again.

J.T. tried to educate them, but they remained blissfully stubborn about potential dangers, no matter how farfetched the possibility. The biggest crime they’d seen recently was a spate of graffiti vandalism, and that hard-boiled perpetrator had been identified by his mother, who’d recognized his handwriting and dragged him in to accept his punishment.

It was a far cry from J.T.’s nine years on the L.A.P.D. A year’s worth of crime in this mountain community wouldn’t fill a week’s log in the smallest L.A. substation. It suited J.T. just fine, especially since he was the only paid police officer, as well as the fire chief and all-around public servant. In a town of 514 residents, with houses scattered over miles of varying terrain, he never had a dull moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a day off. In September, maybe?

Hunching against the wind, he stuck his hands deeper in his jacket pockets. “A little trip to the tropics sound good to you?” he asked the dog trotting beside him. “Want to get out of that dumb-looking sweater and into a pair of swim trunks?”

Deputy barked once—J.T. always took that as a yes—then the dog went still as a post, his ears pricked up. After a couple of seconds he charged off.

J.T. looked ahead and spotted a heap in front of his office. Old John, he supposed. Too drunk to know he could die of hypothermia on a night like this. Too drunk to pick up the phone hanging by the office door, a direct line to J.T. at home.

Deputy’s tail wagged like a metronome at top speed, his rear end moving almost as fast. A woman’s soft laughter drifted with the wind as J.T. neared his office.

“I’m awake, dog. Stop licking my face.”

Her words were low, but not slurred like those of someone freezing to death.

“Stop it, you idiot.” She laughed again, taking the sting from her command.

Deputy barked and bounded toward J.T., then returned to the huddled woman again almost instantly.

J.T. crouched in front of her, resisting shining his flashlight when she shied away from him. An overhead light illuminated her red jacket, but a fuzzy-trimmed hood shadowed her face. With a violent shiver she pulled Deputy closer.

“Hi,” J.T. said.

She seemed to get smaller.

“That unfriendly pup in your arms is Deputy, and I’m the police chief, J.T. Ryker.”

“Oh.” She waved a hand toward the sign overhead, but she seemed to keep her focus directly on him. “Then you’re who I’ve been waiting for.”

Her teeth chattered, which was all he could see of her face. A muffler covered her chin.

“How long have you been here?” J.T. asked.

Her shoulders shifted in a decidedly uncasual shrug. She petted Deputy as he wriggled in her arms. “I used the phone, but there was no answer.”

Which meant she couldn’t have been waiting more than ten minutes. “Would you like to go inside?”

A few beats passed. “Do you have identification?” she asked.

He hesitated long enough that he could feel her withdraw. It had been almost three years since someone hadn’t taken his word at face value—since the day he’d taken the job. He pulled his leather badge holder from his pocket, then passed it to her. She turned it over and over in her gloved hands.

“There’s photo ID inside the wallet,” he said, sensing a more-than-average wariness. He wondered how old she was. A teenage runaway? A woman needing police protection? Or was she just lost—and rightfully suspicious of a man out walking at 3:00 a.m., even one claiming to be a police officer.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

Seconds ticked by as he waited. Even the dog noticed the tension in the air and backed away from her, his head cocked. Finally she whispered, “I don’t know.”

J.T. strained to hear the words. “How’d you get here?”

“I guess my car skidded off the road and into a ditch. That’s where I was when I came to, anyway. I walked from there. About half a mile, according to a sign I saw along the way.”

“Were you in the driver’s seat?”

She nodded, then slid a hand along the inside of her hood. “Where am I?”

“Lost and Found.”

Her reaction was slow to come. “I’m…lost and found?”

“The name of the town. I know. It threw me for a loop the first time I heard it, too.”

“Is it in California?”

“Yes. You’re about three thousand feet up in the Sierra Nevada mountains in the north-central part of the state. The closest big city is Sacramento, and that’s an hour and a half’s drive. Come on, let’s get you inside so you can warm up.” He held out a hand to her.

“My head hurts.”

“I’ll call the doctor right away. You’re going to have to trust me,” he added.

“I’m also—” she reached for his hand “—pregnant.” She wobbled as she stood.

J.T. steadied her, his eyes zeroing in on her very pregnant belly unprotected by her jacket, obviously not designed as maternity wear. She’d walked half a mile in a snowstorm in her condition?

“I’m okay now,” she said, pulling her hand free.

His gaze slid up to her face. Shock lit an inferno inside him that spread fast and far. Sweat turned impossibly icy beneath the layers of his clothes.

He knew her. The very pregnant woman without a memory was Gina Banning, a part of his past that he’d almost laid to rest.

In their first conversation she’d tried to tease him into telling her what his initials stood for. In their last, she’d told him she hated him.

Then a week later she’d married his partner.



She didn’t know what to make of the man, J.T. Ryker. One minute he was all kindness and concern, the next he was staring at her with cold, hard eyes. He’d taken her directly to the clinic, a few doors down from his office, because the heat was always left on there, he said.

She burrowed into the blanket he’d wrapped around her as they waited for the doctor to arrive. The police chief paced.

Back and forth he walked, sending a glance her way now and then as if he was knotted up with questions but had lost his ability to speak. The more she watched him, the more her head hurt.

Who am I? The biggest question of all hung over her like a lead blanket, the weight of it almost unbearable.

To distract herself she focused on the man. Early to midthirties, she guessed. Old enough to have character in his face. Experience. Tall, broad-shouldered and slim-hipped; strong enough to subdue someone without drawing the gun at his side. He’d tossed his jacket and gloves into one of a dozen pink plastic chairs in the waiting room as soon as he’d cocooned her in the blanket, his sharp-jawed face almost terrifyingly fierce—at odds with a voice he kept gentle. His eyes were a golden-brown, shades lighter than his hair. His frown lines seemed a part of him.

She wished she knew why he’d turned angry.

So much confused her. Answers to endless questions floated just outside her ability to recall. Each time she tried to pluck one out of the turmoil in her mind, her head pounded. Worst of all, the baby hadn’t moved since…since she didn’t know when.

Yanking off her gloves, she spread her hands over her belly, then spotted a gold wedding band on her left hand. Someone must be missing her—her husband, the father of her baby. Surely he would track her down and fill in her memory gaps. She twisted the band around her finger again and again, not finding the comfort she thought it would bring.

The baby rolled.

“Oh!” The sound escaped her, surprise and relief.

“Did you remember something?” the chief asked, stopping in front of her. Deputy had been sleeping under a nearby chair. He lifted his head and seemed to be waiting, too.

“My baby moved.” Tears stung her eyes. “I’ve been so worried.”

His gaze settled on her belly, where her hands formed a protective shield. He touched her ring. “You’re married.”

“Well, of course I’m married,” she snapped back. “I’m pregnant.”

“One doesn’t necessarily rule out the other,” he said, a bit of a smile relaxing his features.

“It does with me.”

“How do you know that?”

She frowned. “I just do. Some things you don’t forget.”

He crouched in front of her. “What’s your name?”

His expression had turned all fierce again, his gaze drilling her. She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I don’t know.”

“This is no time for an interrogation, J.T.”

The voice came from a doorway leading from the waiting room into the inner offices. She opened her eyes and watched a man of about the chief’s age move silently into the room. Sympathetic eyes, hair a little on the shaggy side, whipcord lean body. He nudged the chief aside, then knelt in front of her. His hands weren’t soft as they clasped hers, but they soothed, anyway. She almost melted into the chair.

“I’m Dr. Max Hunter, and I’m going to take care of you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her throat tightening. “Thank you.”

J.T. watched the exchange, his tension draining. Max had that effect on people. Born to heal. How Lost and Found had gotten lucky enough to have him settle there was a miracle in itself. He wasn’t much younger than J.T.’s thirty-four years, but he seemed to have lived three lifetimes.

Peripherally he heard Max question Gina. She tensed up again as he asked about her memory. Although Max’s questions were asked kindly, J.T. saw distress in her face when she darted a look at him.

“We’ve pretty much determined she can’t recall anything personal, Max.”

The doctor stood. “We’ll do an ultrasound and see just how that baby’s doing. Wait here a couple of minutes while I get the room ready.” He squeezed her shoulder before he left.

J.T. stepped forward. “I’ll leave you in Max’s competent hands—”

“No!” She grabbed his shirtsleeve. “What if my memory comes back and you’re not here?”

He reminded himself to treat her like any other victim. “I have to get to your car. You must have a wallet or something with identification. Deputy will keep you company.”

She stared out the window, then dragged her hood back at last, freeing a cloud of shiny, dark-brown hair, static electricity making it seem alive. Eyes as dark as her hair settled on him, the sparkle he remembered dulled now with pain and worry.

He should take a lesson from her in moving on, because she’d obviously put the past behind her. He’d only deluded himself into thinking he had—the ball of fire in his stomach told him otherwise.

“How can you find my car in a storm like this?”

“It’s my job.” He was afraid she’d left someone behind, either in the car or, worse, outside in the snow. It wasn’t a task that could wait until the storm stopped—or until daybreak. He scooped up his jacket from the chair and slipped it on. “Do you have your keys?”

“I think I left them in the car.”

He questioned her about landmarks and direction until Max came into the room, saying he was ready for her. J.T. waited for her to disappear into the exam room before he pulled the doctor aside.

“I know her, Max. Her name is Gina Banning—or at least it was Banning three years ago, which was the last time I saw her. Her husband was my last partner at the L.A.P.D. He died in a car accident right before I left the force. Gina was with him and was critically injured. She spent a month in the hospital.”

“Ah.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning her amnesia could very well be caused and sustained by a flashback to that accident rather than by blunt trauma or concussion. Could be both in combination, too. I’ll know more after I examine her.” He cocked his head at J.T. “Why didn’t you tell her who she is?”

“I started to, then she looked at me without the slightest recognition, and I didn’t know whether it would hurt more than help. What do you think?”

“I think you made a good decision. If she needs to hide behind the amnesia for a while, we need to let her. Her memory will likely return when she can handle the consequences of living through the accident again.”

“But she must have a new husband worried sick about her. Obviously she remarried.”

Max frowned. “I’m not schooled enough in amnesia to know what could come of having someone confront her and try to force her memory, but I’ll research it. And I agree that we have an obligation to notify her family.”

Her family. The words lingered in J.T.’s mind as he walked home to get his official vehicle, a four-wheel-drive sports utility vehicle. Reeling from the memories brought back by Gina’s reappearance, he debated whether to call out a couple of his volunteer cadets, then decided to give it one shot by himself first.

He shut down the clamoring pieces of his past as he searched for her car, grateful he had a job to do. She’d skidded off the opposite side of the road, she’d said, into a shallow ditch, knocking her head against the driver’s side window or frame. Something had told her to stay put—that it was her best chance for survival. But something stronger had urged her out of the car and up the road as the snow started coming down harder. After a couple of minutes walking, she’d seen a sign advertising Cochran’s Food & Fuel, 1/2 Mile.

J.T. slowed from a crawl to a creep when he caught a lucky glimpse of the sign. Lost and Found didn’t often get snow, and seldom in this amount, but once or twice a winter the area took on the magical look of a Christmas card, rarely lasting more than a day or two. He wished this hadn’t been one of those rare days.

Rounding a bend, he saw her car just off the road, a few inches of fresh powder muting the red color. The rear bumper cleared the road, but was still dangerously close. Had she stayed in the car, she might have been clipped by a passing vehicle—if she even survived the night.

He turned on his flashing ambers, then positioned his Explorer to make use of his headlights and spotlight before approaching her car. No chains. He gritted his teeth. She was damned lucky to have gone off the road where she did. At several spots along the route the drop-off was sheer and deadly.

What the hell had she been thinking, driving in the mountains in winter, in snow, without snow tires or chains? Why would she do such an idiotic thing? She was a good seven hours from home, driving in the dead of night, in unfamiliar territory. He couldn’t imagine what could have prompted such a suicide run.

Was she looking for him? He didn’t believe in coincidences, and no other possibility seemed feasible. Another impulsive decision, Gina?

Furious he might be on target with his suspicion, he jerked open the driver’s door of her roomy sedan. At least she had sense enough to drive a solid car, one known for safety. The deflated airbag sagged against the steering wheel, its lifesaving mission accomplished. Her keys dangled from the ignition. He snatched her big purse from the floor of the passenger seat, then carried it back to his truck and upended the contents onto the driver’s seat.

The mysteries of woman spilled onto the upholstery—crumpled tissues, sunglasses, an economy-size package of gum with three pieces missing, lipstick, hand cream, prenatal vitamins. A perfume atomizer, the flowery scent clinging to it. A map folded to the local route. He stuffed the items back into her purse.

He found cash in a manila envelope—almost three thousand dollars.

With a low whistle he opened her wallet. Four credit cards and a driver’s license, all under the name Gina Banning.

The unexpectedness of it made J.T. lean against the car and stare sightlessly into the night. She hadn’t remarried? That didn’t make sense. He knew for a fact she wasn’t the type to get pregnant out of wedlock and not marry the man responsible. Even without her memory she had known that much about herself. “As loyal as a puppy,” her late husband said of her once. “And as blindly trusting.”

Eric Banning’s expertise had been in playing to people’s weaknesses, a dubious skill which had sometimes worked to his benefit in police work. Hell, he had learned early on how to take advantage of what J.T. considered his strength—his unfaltering sense of duty and responsibility—managing somehow to turn it into a weakness. J.T. wondered if Eric had used Gina’s blind trust against her somehow. Apparently she’d trusted another man, too. And J.T., as well, even though she didn’t remember him…

Which could be the result of trauma, of course, and the fact he was the first person to come along and help her.

None of it added up. She wore a wedding ring, yet her husband had died three years ago. She was pregnant, yet she wouldn’t be pregnant without being married.

Three thousand dollars. J.T. slapped her wallet rhythmically against the car door frame. What critical piece of information was he missing?

He hiked back to her car and popped open the trunk. Clothes were strewn everywhere, some still on hangers, as if she’d scooped them out of the closet and drawers, then dropped them in the trunk. A Sears bag over-flowed with baby clothes and blankets, the tags attached. He dug out the receipt. She’d purchased everything yesterday at 5:18 p.m. in Bakersfield. Newborn disposable diapers filled another bag.

She’d been in a hurry. A big hurry. And she planned to be gone until after the baby arrived.

Who are you running from, Gina Banning? Whose child do you carry?

And why the hell are you here in Lost and Found?



Feeling the chief’s eyes on her like the bright beam of a spotlight, she stared at her driver’s license. Gina Banning. She repeated the name in her head a few times, testing it. Twenty-two years old. Five foot four, 120 pounds. Without baby, obviously.

Eric. Her husband’s name, according to a health plan card with both their names on it. She spun her wedding ring around her finger.

“I can’t picture a man’s face,” she said to J.T. and the doctor, who both waited silently as she examined the contents of her purse. “Isn’t that odd? Shouldn’t I have some recollection of my husband? And why is my checking account in my name only? Marriage means sharing everything.”

“More important,” the chief said, “why would you leave home when you’re less than a month away from giving birth? I’ll head over to my office and run a missing person’s report—”

“No! Please. What if I’m running from something?” Her voice echoed, loud and desperate, intensifying the pounding in her head. “Isn’t that reason enough not to alert someone where I am?”

“I have a duty, Gina.”

“I’m of age. And isn’t it your first duty to make sure I’m kept safe?”

“Someone is probably worried about you. Your family—”

“I don’t feel married.” The statement caught her off guard, even the mournful tone of it. She was married to Eric. He must be the father of the baby moving comfortingly inside her. What could have driven her from home? From him? “What if I end up on the news?”

“Don’t borrow trouble,” the doctor said, placing his hands on hers. “You’re getting all worked up, which is the last thing you need. Your only job at the moment is to get some rest. This has been a traumatic night for you, but your memory is going to come back, and we’ll figure everything out as soon as it does.”

“But where can I go?”

“You go with me,” J.T. said.

She shook her head again and again. “I can’t impose on you. Surely there’s a hotel.”

“No hotel. No bed and breakfast.”

“I don’t feel right…”

“We have no idea what you’re up against, Gina. It’s safer this way.” No other option was reasonable, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. Certainly he didn’t hold her responsible for Eric’s failings, but she was linked with him, this widow of a man he despised—the man responsible for the nightmares that forced J.T. to quit the department, the nightmares that had haunted him long after.

The only consideration now was her need for protection. He would protect her, no matter what the consequences. But would there be a price to pay when she remembered him? One more reason for her to hate him, when she found out he’d kept her identity from her?

His brother must be laughing from heaven. Chiding. In his lucid moments Mark had accused him of living his first life in the days of chivalry, then never stepping fully into the modern world. “Face it,” Mark had said often. “Chivalry’s dead.”

Well, J.T. believed in living by his own code. If that meant giving up the precarious tranquility he’d finally found, in order to offer peace of mind to an innocent woman about to give birth, so be it.

There were worse fates. And the decision got easier just looking at her pale face, at the strain he saw in her eyes. He owed her for the pain he’d caused, no matter how righteous his reasons had been.

Deputy nudged him with his muzzle. J.T. realized that Max had helped Gina into her coat, and they were waiting for him.

After she was buckled into his car, he headed around to the driver’s side. Max stopped him at the rear of the vehicle.

“Are you sure you can handle this?”

The quiet concern in his voice gave J.T. pause. “I have to, Max.”

“There are plenty of people who would take her in.”

“I would worry.” He pulled up his sheepskin collar to warm his ears. “This is the best solution.”

“She’s more than just the widow of an old partner. I can see that.”

“Leave it alone.” Okay, so he’d been drawn to her all those years ago. To her laughter and sweetness. To the adoring glances toward Eric. She was everything he’d wanted but didn’t dare to wish for.

Eric Banning hadn’t deserved her.

“I’ll stop by tomorrow,” Max said, resting his hand on J.T.’s shoulder. “Call me if she shows any signs at all of going into labor, or if her headache gets worse. Or if the moon turns purple.”

J.T. smiled. “Wondering if I was paying attention?”

Max made a noncommittal sound, then took a couple of steps back. “She’ll try to maintain her independence. It seems extremely important to her.”

“I’ll let her think she’s in charge.”

“I’m not some helpless female,” Gina called out the car window.

Both men turned in surprise. J.T. hadn’t heard the window go down.

“This ought to be entertaining,” Max murmured.

Hot air blasted J.T. as he climbed into the car. He started to adjust the heater to a more comfortable level, then hesitated. “You warm enough?” he asked.

“I don’t need to be coddled.”

The kitten had transformed into a tigress. He sent her a curious look. She stared straight out the window.

“I appreciate your giving me a place to stay, and I’ll reimburse you for any expenses you incur. But I’m not an invalid. I’m not incompetent. And I’m certainly not witless. I am confused. Please don’t make it worse by treating me like a child.” She drew a sharp breath. “I’ve said that to someone before. I was mad then, too.”

He remembered the moment as if it were yesterday.

She went silent as they drove the short distance to his house, then said suddenly, “My maiden name was Benedetto.” She pressed a hand to her mouth and looked at him. “How do I know that? And I have brothers and sisters. I remember them. I remember!”

He pulled into the garage, then angled toward her in time to see her push her fingers against her forehead, a signal he’d come to recognize.

It occurred to him that she might remember him before she remembered whoever she was running from—or even before she recalled her late husband. He eyed her thoughtfully. Oh, yeah. She was bound to be plenty mad at being kept in the dark. Added to whatever had driven her from home in the first place, there could be bitter consequences all around.

But weren’t some memories best left buried? If he’d had the chance to forget some things forever…

And yet it was his duty to help her remember, even as he hoped she never did.

He opened his car door. “Don’t push it, Gina. It’ll all come back on its own.”

J.T. helped her out of the car, keeping a hand under her elbow as they entered the house. He looked around, trying to see it from her perspective. He’d banished a lot of his frustrations with a saw and hammer while turning this house into a home.

She didn’t seem to look at her surroundings, however. Exhaustion lined her face. He guided her into the living room and settled her in a chair.

“Just relax for a minute while I get your stuff out of my car and make the guest room ready for you, okay?”

He thought she nodded.

“Okay, Gina? I don’t want to be accused of treating you like a child.”

She looked right at him, cool as snowfall, and he smiled. They’d almost been friends once upon a time. He focused on that.

After three trips he’d carted all of her belongings to the guest room. He folded back the blankets, then carried her toiletries into the adjoining bathroom, one she would share with him because he didn’t want her out of earshot, in case she needed anything.

He returned to the living room and stopped short. What a picture she made, asleep sitting up. He couldn’t begin to imagine the toll this day had taken on her. Every protective instinct flared. Whoever had pushed her into such a dire situation better hope he didn’t show up soon. J.T. couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t wring the guy’s neck. Eric had been bad enough—

He stopped that thought cold.

“Gina.” He cupped her shoulder. She leaned toward him, causing his heart to give a little lurch. The scent of a sun-warmed rose teased him. “Everything’s ready for you.”

“Mm.”

He waited, then, “Do you need help getting ready for bed?”

Her eyes popped open. He smiled.

“I’m not—”

“—a child. Yes, I know.” He did offer a hand up, however, as she swayed a little. “I found your nightgown. It’s on the bed.”

It was the longest ten minutes of his life, waiting for her. He hovered outside her door, listening for any indication she needed him, contemplating one of the items he’d found in her trunk—a sympathy card he’d sent after Eric’s death. Inside it, his handwritten words, an offer of help, if she ever needed anything.

He didn’t even remember sending it, but she’d kept it. No coincidence, after all. She’d been on her way to see him. Why, Gina? What kind of trouble would make you come to me, a man you proclaimed to hate?

Finally he heard the bed springs give a little and a murmur of sound from her.

“Everything all right?” he asked through the door.

“You can come in.”

“Deputy seems to want to sleep with me,” she said when he stepped into the room. “Is that okay?”

J.T. eyed the dog who was already curled up by her feet, a smug look in his eyes.

“He’s a free agent,” J.T. said, drawing a smile from her.

“Thank you for everything, Chief.”

Chief. Well, that was one way of staying detached. “You’re welcome. Good night, Gina.”

She must’ve fallen asleep instantly. He padded around the room, hanging up her jacket, then putting her boots in the closet, needing order in the chaos of his mind. Finished, he leaned across her to pat the fickle dog good night, careful not to disturb her. She made a soft, sleepy sound.

“J.T.?”

His jolt of surprise came less from the fact she was awake but that it seemed both odd and familiar to hear her say his name.

“When I close my eyes, why do I picture you wearing a dark-blue uniform?”




Two


Gina felt him move away from the bed. Opening her eyes, she saw him silhouetted in the bathroom doorway, shoulders set and legs planted, poised for action. She took a moment to admire him, this duty-driven man. His leashed strength and unwavering focus were even more appreciated now that she and her precious cargo were snuggled in a warm bed, out of harm’s way. It had been comforting hearing him move around the room, a brush of denim or a soft footfall the only sounds. But as she’d drifted toward sleep amid the peace his presence brought, a stark image of him imprinted itself in her mind.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

She couldn’t decide whether the edge in his voice was apology or accusation. “Do you wear a blue uniform?” she asked.

“No. Tan shirt, brown pants. Standard issue.”

Her temple pulsed. She spun her wedding ring, still hoping to draw reassurance from it, still finding none.

“There’s a photograph of me in a blue uniform with my parents in the hall outside the room,” he said, “taken the day I graduated from the police academy. I spent nine years on the L.A.P.D. before I accepted this job.”

She closed her eyes as fresh pain lanced her skull. Needing a diversion, she tried to focus on the conversation. “When did you move here?”

“What’s wrong, Gina?”

Silent as a stalking panther, he’d returned to the side of her bed and crouched there, although he didn’t touch her. She could’ve used a hug, a solid shoulder to lean on for just a minute.

“Do you need me to call Max? Are you in labor?”

Distract me, she begged him silently, wishing her head didn’t hurt every time something threatened to cut through the barbed wire guarding her memory. “I’m all right. I realized I could use a couple of extra pillows, though, if you have some.”

A cool breeze fanned her face at his instant departure. Deputy wriggled closer, then rested his head on her thigh, his liquid gaze uncensuring. The baby seemed settled, as well. Bracketed by baby and dog, Gina felt a contentment that she knew somehow was rare for her. Why?

And why wasn’t her husband with her? Eric. He should love and protect—

Fear stuck its claws in her, its talons wickedly sharp. What if it was Eric she was running from?

What if it wasn’t?

The chief suddenly loomed over her. “Are two pillows enough?”

She clenched the blanket with her fists, tucking it to her chin. Maybe she couldn’t trust anyone, not even J.T. Ryker, chief of police of Lost and Found, California. And she was alone with him, under his complete control—

“Gina?”

Deputy lifted his head, whining a little. J.T. patted him, all the while observing something in Gina’s expression he hadn’t seen before. Had her memory returned? He stooped down until they were eye to eye. She drew back. The blanket she gripped like an iron shield shook.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he said, guessing.

“I don’t know you,” she whispered, her eyes wide and searching.

“Yes, you do.”

She shook her head.

“I’m the man who’s going to protect you with his life.”

A watery sheen coated her eyes. Her throat convulsed. “Why would you do that?”

Because I care about you. I always have. The words stayed locked tighter than a cell door. He had his orders from Max. He wasn’t about to jeopardize her recovery by revealing they had a past, and a complicated one at that. Plus, she had a new man in her life, the father of the child she carried.

“I took an oath to protect and serve. It’s not a promise I take lightly. You’re safe with me, Gina. In every possible way.”

She seemed to relax all at once. The blanket fluttered, then drifted over her body, molding it again. Her eyelids lowered a little, her mouth softened. Their gazes met and held. Then, amazingly, she cupped his face with her hand.

“I’ll trust you,” she said quietly.

“Good.” He stood, breaking the contact. “I forgot to ask if you’re hungry.”

“Dr. Hunter gave me some soup while you were gone checking my car.”

She reached for the extra pillows and pulled them under the blankets, one apparently to cushion her belly, the other she shoved farther down. Between her knees? Then she burrowed like a settling kitten.

“If you need anything at all, just shout. I won’t be far,” he said, clenching his fists. He never wanted to see that look of fear in her eyes again. “If Deputy becomes a pain in the rear, tell him to get out.”

“Will he?” she asked, her voice slurred and sleepy. “Get out, that is?”

“Probably not. He’s training impaired. But I’ll hear and come get him.”

She smiled, then her breathing took on the slow, easy rhythm of sleep.

J.T. left the bathroom light on and the door cracked open to guide her should she wake. He looked out the window of his bedroom, noted that the blizzard had let up. Still, between the snow and the televised Rose Parade and football games, people would likely stay home today, and he wouldn’t be needed in his office. He’d heard the Caltrans crew pass by twice, already plowing the state highway. He lived close to the highway because of the accessibility, no matter what the weather. Most people would have to clear their own driveways or wait for Barney Cochran’s teenage sons to roll out of bed and plow the private roads they were contracted to do. J.T. also needed to have Gina’s car brought to his place.

His mouth twisted in a half smile. Everyone would see the unfamiliar car, and word would spread that he had a guest for the first time since he’d come to town. The rumors would start…

Turning from the window, he dropped onto his bed. With effort he tugged off his boots, then stretched out on the quilt, exhaustion rolling in waves down his body, but sleep not even a temptation. The nightmare would return. He didn’t doubt it for a second.

How long could he stall it?

He drew a deep, settling breath. That didn’t help, either. Gina’s perfume clung to his shirt, reminding him of their first meeting. She, a Phoenix, Arizona, transplant about to start her sophomore year at the University of Southern California. He, a thirty-one-year-old big-city cop trying not to let the job make him too cynical.

He had taken the youth athletic league team he co-coached with his partner, Eric Banning, to Tony’s Pizza after they’d won the age-ten-to-twelve division championship. Somewhere between the game and the party, Eric had disappeared—not a surprise. J.T. never had figured out why Eric had wanted to help coach, since he showed up only sporadically at the practices and games. He’d probably met some woman in the stands or the parking lot or at a traffic signal, and had gone off with her, his usual modus operandi. J.T. wasn’t about to let it spoil the kids’ celebration.

That first hot slice of pepperoni and sausage was calling his name when Gina walked through the door, wearing jeans, a plain white T-shirt, black leather jacket and boots, her long, dark hair shiny, her eyes sparkling. He barely noticed the two young women flanking her. Why would he? She was magnetic.

The restaurant might as well have been empty, except for them. Her eyes met his, and he finally understood that time really could stand still. Her smile froze, then softened before she looked away, her brows lifting at the last second, as if asking him a question she didn’t want to wait to have answered.

One by one his young players left with their families. He stayed and watched as she shot some rounds of pool, her jeans cupping an enticing rear end, the rest of her just as curvy. Leaning against her propped cue stick between shots, she returned his stare, less blatant but just as frequent.

It was crazy. He didn’t pick up women, yet he wanted to drive this one home and sleep with her that very night. Hell, he would’ve taken her right then and there on the pool table if he could have.

And because his attraction was so powerful, he waited for her to make the first move.

She finally did. After winning her fourth match, she silently held out a cue stick. Anticipation roared through him as he accepted her invitation. Or was it a challenge?

“J.T. Ryker,” he said as he wrapped his hand around the stick, taking care not to touch her.

“I’m Gina Benedetto.” She cocked her head. “And J.T. stands for…?”

A drift of flowery perfume reached him. “Jasper Thelonius.”

Her eyes twinkled. She leaned into him a little, her radiant heat stoking his fire a little hotter. “Or perhaps Jarvis Thurgood?”

“One’s as good as the other.”

“I’ll find out, you know. Somehow.”

Because he was tempted to kiss the smile off her lips, he reached around her to pick up a cube of chalk, his arm brushing hers. The air popped and sizzled between them. Out of control. This is way out of control. Shaken, he took a step back, hiding behind the motion of chalking the cue tip. “May I buy you a beer, Gina Benedetto?”

“You could, um, Junior Titus—” she flirted easily, naturally “—but the cops would probably haul you in.”

He knew, then. Knew before she said the words that there was no future with her, not tonight, not any night.

“I’m eighteen,” she added. “Nineteen soon, though.”

Eighteen. Might as well be a century between them. She hadn’t lived yet. And he…he had already lived too long.



Not finding a robe among the clothes in her closet, Gina showered and dressed before she left the guest room at a little past noon. Her night’s sleep had been interrupted several times by periodic trips to the bathroom or to walk off leg cramps. She might not be fully rested—was anyone this pregnant ever fully rested? she wondered—but she was relaxed. And hopeful.

No headache, so far. That was progress.

Her stomach rumbled, sending her in search of food. She wondered if the chief was at home. A glance into his bedroom as she’d shut and locked both bathroom doors had netted her a glimpse of an imposing four-poster bed. Sturdy pine furnishings and a cobalt-blue comforter and curtains lent a strong, masculine look to the tidy but warm and inviting room, one free of clutter or knickknacks. On the walls hung a couple of seascape watercolors that she wanted to inspect a little more closely, but she wouldn’t enter his room without an invitation. He’d already helped her above and beyond his responsibilities as a police officer, without complaining about the imposition.

Gina admired his house as she moved from room to room. The comfortably rustic furnishings melded with trees and mountains visible through huge windows, creating an indoor environment as impressive as the outdoor one. This wasn’t a house but a home, well loved and tended.

She found him sitting at a counter in the kitchen, sipping from a mug and reading, and dressed in his uniform, a gun holstered at his waist. He looked up from the book. Her breath caught a little at the intensity in his rich, golden eyes. Although his gaze never strayed from her face, she felt him look her up and down, as if she were a slender, sexy woman instead of…what she was. Wishful thinking, she chided herself, then frowned. She had no business wanting him to see her as a woman. She was married—

“Good morning,” she said firmly, changing the direction of her thoughts. He didn’t smile, exactly, but his expression wasn’t as fierce as last night. He really was an attractive man, in an I’m-the-boss kind of way, his uniform reinforcing the all-male, in-charge impression. She didn’t know a person could set his jaw that hard without shattering it.

“Sleep well?” he asked.

“Hmm.” She craned her neck to see the title of the book: Pregnancy and Childbirth. “A little light reading?”

“Found it in your trunk. I’ve been trained in how to deliver a baby, but I don’t know much about pregnancy.” He pointed to a cutaway drawing of an eight-months-pregnant woman. “This is you right now. How do you breathe?”

“Breathing’s not as much a problem as staying within bathroom range.” She examined the picture a little more closely. “I feel sorrier for the baby, all cramped up like that.”

This time his gaze did encompass her whole body, then lingered on her belly, as if he had permission now to look.

He picked up his mug again. “So, does ‘hmm’ mean you did or didn’t sleep well?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“You didn’t ask for help.” Accusation and maybe even disappointment rang in his words.

“I didn’t need any. But thank you for the offer.” She smiled at him, hoping to break the tension.

His frown deepened.

“Look, Chief, I’ve got enough problems without you being mad over whether I can find the bathroom during the night. If I couldn’t take care of myself, I wouldn’t have left home, I think, no matter what the situation there. Okay?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

He started to stand. She put a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place, felt his muscles clench. “I can fix something for myself. Have you eat— Oh! Good morning, baby.”

She closed her eyes a moment as she flattened her hand on top of her belly. “She’s been quiet this morning. I’d started to worry.”

“She?”

A smile lit up her eyes. “Don’t ask me how I know that. Do you want to feel her?”

Before he could answer, she grabbed his hand and placed it where hers had been. Even though her sweater made a bulky barrier, the intimacy startled him silent. The wonder of feeling something poking at her from inside made him relax his hand.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” she said, breathless, then laughed when the baby kicked harder.

J.T. stood. He couldn’t allow that kind of bond to form between them, not now, not ever. That baby belonged to some other man.

And becoming a father was a fantasy J.T. had long ago abandoned.

“Max wants you to call him,” he said abruptly, picking up the phone and punching a speed dial number. “I’ll fix breakfast today. Tomorrow you can.”

“You expect me to still be here?” She put the receiver to her ear. “No reports have come through?”

“None. Oatmeal okay?”

“Do you have chocolate chips?”

He must have looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, because she grinned.

“Cravings. It’s like eating an oatmeal and chocolate chip cookie for break— Good morning, Dr. Hunter. This is Gina Banning.”

J.T. listened to her answer Max’s questions as he measured water, salt and oatmeal into a microwavable bowl, then went in search of chocolate chips. He’d already fixed a bowl of orange sections, mixed with banana slices and sprinkled with chopped walnuts. It had been a long time since he’d made anyone breakfast.

“He says my blood pressure was pretty high last night, so he’ll stop by in a little while to check it again,” Gina said, coming up beside J.T. “What can I do to help?”

“Everything’s under control. No chocolate chips, but I can break up a candy bar, if that’ll work.”

“That would be great. Just a few small pieces tossed in when the oatmeal is done. A little goes a long way. Thanks.” She pressed her cheek to his arm for a second, then moved away.

Hell. He’d forgotten how touchy-feely she was. This was never going to work. She was only adding fuel to the explosion sure to blast the roof off when her memory returned—and she was bound to blame him. He would take responsibility for the other times she’d gotten mad at him, because he’d brought that upon himself, but not this time. Not for following orders. Well, maybe Max had finished his research on amnesia and would decide it was okay to give her some of her missing puzzle pieces. J.T. needed to know why she was here. He wanted to know why she was pregnant but not married.

“The coffee’s decaf,” he said, angling his head toward the coffeemaker. “But there’s milk and orange juice, too.”

She helped herself to the juice. “Where’s Deputy?”

“He’s got a dog door, so he comes and goes.” He started the microwave, then leaned against the counter, his arms and ankles crossed. “I’m surprised he’s stayed outside this long, actually, given how deep the snow is and how little he likes cold weather. He usually finds himself a sunny spot in the living room to nap in.”

“Your home is beautiful. And the view! The view is simply spectacular.”

“It was a big change for a city boy. Hadn’t even seen snow until I moved here. I had to learn how to drive in it.”

She swirled her juice in the glass, eyeing it instead of him. “Is there enough social life here for you? I mean, I assume you’re not married or I would’ve met Mrs. Ryker by now.”

“I keep her locked in the attic.”

Her head lifted in a flash. She frowned, then she tossed a paper clip at him.

He caught it on the fly. “There’s no Mrs. Ryker. It wouldn’t be easy being married to me. I’m never really off duty, although I’m not always on the clock. I tend to stay in uniform, because looking the part is half the battle.”

“It suits you.”

Simple words accompanied by her slow, thorough inspection of his…uniform, he assumed. But the flicker of purely female interest he saw in her eyes whisked him back to the night they’d met.

After a few seconds she put a hand to her forehead.

“Headache again?” he asked.

She nodded. “That was sudden. I’d been doing so well, too.”

“Any other memories come to you?”

“Images that don’t make sense.”

“Like what?”

She settled on a stool at the counter, set her glass down with a precise movement, then rolled it between her hands. He reminded himself that she didn’t remember him, that even though she said she would trust him, they were only words, and certainly not reason enough for her to confide in him. Some amount of caution would be ingrained in her.

“It’s as if someone took a bunch of movie clips and put them onto one tape,” she said after a while. “Flashes of people, and all of them seemed…I don’t know, angry or something.”

“At you?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a man—he’s young and nice looking. He isn’t as tall as you, I don’t think, and he’s kind of stocky. Or maybe he’s just muscular. It’s hard to tell. His hair—” she sliced a hand front to back over her head “—is cut really short, like a soldier.”

Eric, J.T. thought.

“He’s wearing a suit and tie, and there’s a flower on his lapel, so maybe it’s my wedding. Maybe he’s my husband? Why wouldn’t I recognize him, though? Then there’s a woman, not my mother, but about her age, and she’s crying. Crying so hard and pointing at me. And then the scene switches to my father, calling me…”

Pain dulled her voice, stealing what J.T. had always been drawn to—her optimism. She’d seen the good in everything, everyone…except him. She’d never forgiven him for what she called “leading her on” that first night, then turning his back on her.

“My father is calling me a brood mare. He’s saying he thought I was smarter than that.”

The defeat in her posture knocked on J.T.’s teetering wall of detachment. “Do you think these images are real or dreams?”

“I saw them as I woke up, so I hope they’re dreams.”

The microwave beeped. He leaned across the counter and wrapped his hands around hers, still clamping the glass. “Let it go for now, Gina.”

She lifted her gaze. “But to run like I did, J.T.? I had to be protecting my baby. Nothing else makes sense. I think what hurts is that I don’t seem to have anyone I trusted enough to help. Don’t I have friends? Why wouldn’t I go to my parents? Or one of my brothers or sisters? I have three of each, you know. Three older sisters and three younger brothers.”

J.T. served her breakfast as she sat, her chin propped on her hand, a frown of concentration on her face.

“I grew up in Phoenix. Wouldn’t I drive in that direction instead of north?”

“Too obvious a place to hide…if that’s what you’re doing.”

“Lost and Found seems like a good place to hide.” She dipped her spoon into the cereal. “How did you end up here?”

“Purely by chance.” At least this much of the story he could tell her honestly. “After I left L.A. I decided to travel. A couple of months into the trip I stopped here and had lunch at Belle’s Diner. By the time lunch was over, a bunch of the townspeople had held a meeting right there in front of me, then offered me the job of police chief, fire chief, dog catcher and anything else they thought of along the way, as necessary. They’d been looking for six months.”

“And you said yes.”

“I gave it some thought. About ten seconds.” He smiled at the memory. “Aaron Taylor walked over to his hardware and auto parts store, and came back with a gold badge, Deputy, his food and water dishes, and a warning that the dog howled when left alone. He still does.”

“Why did you leave L.A.?”

The back door opened, bringing a blast of cold air, nature’s change of subject. Deputy charged into the adjoining utility room, followed by Max, who stomped his boots on a throw rug just inside the door.

“Sun’s breaking through. It’s blinding out there,” he announced. “Your dog treed Mrs. Foley’s cat again.”

J.T. grimaced. “So that’s where he’s been.” He walked past Max and grabbed his jacket from a peg by the door. “I’d better go rescue the cat before Mrs. Foley starts hollering. Think I’ll swing by my office for a few minutes, too, if you don’t mind.”

Max followed him out the door. “You want me to baby-sit?”

“Does she need it?”

“It’s probably not a good idea to leave her alone yet.” Max lowered his voice. “From what I’ve learned, we were right to let her try to work things out on her own first. After a few days we might jog her memory along a little.”

And so the charade continues, but at what cost? J.T. wondered.

The door opened behind them.

“Anything you have to say about me can be said to me,” she told them, her fists propped on her hips. “In fact, I insist.”

J.T. smiled at the sight. Did she really think she looked tough? Not with her hair swirling around her shoulders like that and her cheeks glowing pink. And especially not with those all-too-feminine curves. Tough? Nope. Soft and maternal. Irresistible.

Irresistible? He swallowed against the significance of the word.

“I’m serious,” she said.

“Good thing I’m the one with the gun.”

Her eyes narrowed. She started down the stairs. “Look, Chief—”

“Stay put. I’ll explain,” Max said, as the telephone rang inside the house.

“Mrs. Foley,” J.T. muttered.

“I’ll handle her, too.”

“Handle?” Gina repeated, dangerously low.

“A figure of speech,” Max said.

“It better be.” J.T. gritted his teeth. He looked at Gina, wondering if she’d heard.

She stared at him, into him. The phone stopped ringing, leaving a stinging silence. He could try to back-pedal and end up looking more ridiculous than he already did, or he could ignore it, hoping she didn’t read too much into his spontaneous remark.

What was that old saying? Better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt?

No doubt about it, he was a damned fool when it came to her. Always had been. Max didn’t help, either, by just standing there, grinning like an idiot.

The moment stretched like cheese on pizza, a long string of awkwardness, getting thinner and thinner.

“Take your time. I’ll be fine,” Gina said, kindly slicing through the tension.

Well, Mark, what would you say about that? he asked his brother silently. The damsel rescues the knight. Chivalry’s not dead. It’s just switched genders.




Three


Except for the crackle and hiss from the fireplace, it was quiet. Gina eased into wakefulness, trying to recapture bits and pieces of a new dream, something to do with pool tables and pizza. The man with the military haircut was there, laughing, sliding his arm around her waist. J.T. stood nearby, somber and watchful, wearing a dark-blue uniform. Every time she walked toward him, he disappeared. The other man kissed her—

Her eyes flew open. Disoriented and breathless, she looked around J.T.’s living room, where she’d taken her third nap of the day. The lights were off except for one small table lamp. A glance at the mantel clock told her it was a little past ten o’clock. She’d slept for two hours straight—a record.

And she was safe. Her heart stopped thundering; tension melted away.

“I thought I heard you moving around.”

J.T. came into view, a comforting sight.

“Then you must have incredible hearing,” she said, admiring his long, lean lines for a moment. Pregnancy hadn’t made her immune to him as a man. He’d been good company all day, besides. Not very talkative, but an attentive listener. “I haven’t moved, Chief. I can’t.”

He crouched beside her, concern in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Your sofa is way too cushy. I think I’m embedded for life. Or until I get my abdominal muscles back.”

He helped her to sit up, then sat beside her, his expression serious. The clock ticked. The fire popped. Remnants of the dream knotted her stomach. Still, she was intrigued by him. There had been moments since she’d dropped into his life that he seemed to wish he’d never been saddled with her. Other times he looked so deep into her that heat radiated head to toe at the invasion. She’d felt at ease with him almost from the beginning, but this was the first time he’d chosen to sit so close to her…

Oh. She understood now. His home and office computers were linked. He was about to give her news she wasn’t going to like.

“Some chicken soup?” he asked.

“In a little while.” She linked her fingers, squeezing until they hurt. Her imagination ran wild with possibilities. “What have you found out?”

His hesitation was tangible. “Nothing.”

“Is that the truth?”

“You asked me not to feed your name into the system, but so far no one has reported you as missing.”

“What do you think it means?”

Again a hesitation, this time a little more ominous. “Frankly, I’d feel more comfortable if someone was searching for you through legal channels.”

“Me, too.” Pushing herself up, she walked to the fireplace and held her hands out to the flames. The heat barely penetrated her cold skin—and colder thoughts. “There’s another possibility, though. Maybe no one cares that I’m gone. Which is worse, do you think?”

“Gina—”

“No. Please don’t baby me. I need to know what I’m facing.”

She heard him come up behind her. He didn’t touch her, yet his warmth transferred to her. He would protect her with his life, he’d said. She believed him, and with that belief came trust, 100 percent.

She stared at her wedding ring. Pain hammered her head, vibrated behind her eyes. Instead of ignoring the signal and backing away from it, she tried to focus on what it meant.

“What if there’s a reason that I don’t feel married? Maybe I’m not. I might be wearing a ring so that people won’t think the worst of me.” She shook her head. “No. That wouldn’t explain why Eric’s name is on the health insurance card.”

J.T. stood behind her, waiting for her to reach the next logical conclusion: that her husband wasn’t alive. As soon as she figured that out, memories might come faster than she could cope with, but at least they would know why she was here and where the father of her child was.

And why that phantom man wasn’t taking care of her.

“I can’t think about it anymore. I need positive thoughts right now, for my baby’s sake,” she said with a note of finality. “Chicken soup, you said?”

“Or anything else you feel like eating.” Anticipating her next move, he took a step back as she turned, her belly a whisper away from brushing his.

“Have I said thank you for all you’re doing, Chief?”

“Not in the past two hours.”

The phone rang. He grabbed the portable receiver he’d brought with him. “Chief Ryker.”

“How’s the patient?”

J.T. eyed her. She’d moved to look out the picture window and was staring at the cloudless night sky, her hands gliding in circles over her belly, as if massaging the baby. “You can ask her yourself, Max. She actually speaks English.”

Over her shoulder she smiled at him. He passed her the phone then headed for the kitchen to heat up the soup. He’d already figured out that she was more comfortable eating a small meal every few hours, so he’d adjusted his schedule to her needs. It hadn’t been difficult to cater to her, just a battle to get her to let him.




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