A Husband Worth Waiting For

“Get rid of you?” He blinked. “Why should I want to get rid of you?”

Her eyes went blank for five seconds. Then they took on a scornful expression. “So you’ve changed your tune now that you need help. Oh, you didn’t have to bother with all that playacting. I’m not about to leave you in the lurch.”

“Sarah, I have to tell you—”

“Go to bed,” she snapped. “You look as if you’re going to pass out at any minute.” Pausing only to scoop up the little boy—his son!—she said, “Emma, come with me to the kitchen. I’ll make us all some lunch.”

The little girl—his daughter!—trotted after Sarah.

Head spinning, he watched them go. He didn’t want any lunch. All he wanted was to lie down. But first, he had to tell his wife he’d lost his memory. Then he’d have her fill him in on everything he’d forgotten. And the first thing he wanted to know was: why was she so angry with him?

Legs wobbly as rubber, he made his way across the foyer, following the fast-fading sound of voices.

“Mom—” that was Emma “—I wanted to go upstairs with Daddy!”

He turned into a corridor and saw a room ahead with the door swinging half-shut. The voices now came from beyond it.

“We have to talk, Emma.” Sarah’s voice came faintly. “That man—he’s not your daddy.”

Jedidiah stumbled. Almost fell. He righted himself, swore under his breath—what breath he had left! He wasn’t the child’s father? Then whose child was she?

“He is too my daddy!”

“No, your daddy’s gone to Heaven. You know that.”

“But he’s come back!” Emma started to cry. “Daddy’s come back!”

“Honey, he’s not your daddy. And he’s not Jamie’s daddy, either—”

Now the boy started to cry, a keening wail that drowned out the heartrending sobs jerking from his sister.

Jedidiah felt as if the carpet had been swept out from under his feet. Was this real? Or was he still in his hospital bed under the influence of some mind-bending drug?

“Listen to me.” Sarah’s voice was urgent, with an edge of panic. “Both of you. I’m going to explain.”

He cocked his head and his ears. This he wanted to hear. But a shadow fell over the open doorway, and a second later the kitchen door shut with a sharp click.

He eased his way along the corridor and stopped at the door. Pressing his ear to it, he listened.

All he could hear was a murmur.

Not one word was intelligible.

Oh, this was great. His wife wasn’t speaking to him, and his children were some other man’s.

But now was not the time to ask for explanations; not with Jamie and Emma around. They were already upset enough. He’d wait till he got Sarah on her own.

Turning, he felt a great emptiness in his heart as he made his way to the stairs. He’d thought, when he’d come back to this house, that it was a home. A home, with a wife who loved him. What he had walked into was a situation as bleak as it was depressing: a house with a woman who despised him, and two children who belonged to some other man.

By the time he’d climbed the stairs, he could hardly see straight. He staggered into the first bedroom he came to, and after clumsily stripping to his briefs, he aimed himself toward the bed. It was queen-size, with a puffy hunter-green duvet.

He tugged the duvet aside, fell onto the mattress.

And passed into oblivion.

Sarah sat on the ladder-back chair, with Jamie on her knee and Emma standing in front of her. Emma clutched Girl to her chest as she listened to her mother’s explanation.

“So you see,” Sarah finished, “Mr. Morgan isn’t Daddy, but his older brother. And that’s why he looks like Daddy.”

“I thought Daddy had come down from Heaven,” Emma said sadly.

“Da-da,” pronounced Jamie firmly, “is back.”

Sarah sighed. She believed that Emma now understood the situation; Jamie, obviously, did not.

“He’s your uncle, Jamie. And I don’t want to hear one more word about it.” She got up and set him on his booster seat. “After we have lunch, Emma, I’m going to put Jamie down for a nap. You, too—”

“I don’t want a nap!” Emma protested.

“Yesterday was a long day,” Sarah said. “And you were up till after midnight. No arguments.”

She needed to talk to Jedidiah Morgan. Needed to set him straight about a few things. And she didn’t want the children around when she did.

The man had a nerve, she reflected tautly as she opened a can of tomato soup; to kiss her like that, thinking it would sweeten her up.

She paused, the can momentarily forgotten as her mind flicked back. It had been so unexpected—the last thing in the world she’d thought he had in mind when she joined him at the foot of the stairs. Certainly she hadn’t been thinking about kissing. She’d been thinking how shattered he looked; how exhausted.

Huh!

Lips compressed, she poured the soup into a pan. Not so exhausted that he couldn’t stir up the energy to grab her and give her a bone-melting kiss—

Bone-melting?

A hot blush rose to her cheeks. She’d purposely avoided thinking about that kiss and the effect it had had on her. His lips had been sensual and smooth, his scent musky and male. For a mind-stopping moment she’d been tempted to succumb to his advances. Lord only knew how she’d managed to resist.

But thank heaven she had.

Jedidiah Morgan was, she realized, just like his brother—he could turn on the con man’s charm when it suited him. But she wasn’t about to fall for the Morgan charm again. Not now. Not ever.

She put the pan on the burner and switched the burner on. She’d take him some lunch as soon as she’d fed the children. And once he’d eaten, she’d let him know that if he wanted her to stay and look after him for a few days, first they had to establish some ground rules.

“Mom.” Emma paused with her soup spoon halfway to her mouth. “I think I hear a dog outside.”

“A doggie?” Jamie’s eyes gleamed.

As Jamie spoke, Sarah heard a sharp yelp, followed by a scrabbling sound against the back door.

She sighed. “That’ll be Max—your uncle’s dog.” She’d forgotten all about the black Lab—but she certainly hadn’t forgotten its aggressive reaction to her when they’d met.