Authors: Ginny Baird
“Only on blueberry,” he said. “There’s something about that
fruit and chocolate mix.”
“Yes!”
“How did it happen for you?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” She studied the table a beat. “It may have
had something to do with my mixing up the pancake syrup and—”
“The chocolate meant for your milk?”
Her eyes flashed in recognition. “I think that’s right.”
“No way,” he said, sipping from his coffee. “That’s what
happened to me, too.”
Carmella turned smugly to Justin. “You see, Bridget’s made
just the way she’s supposed to be. Just right for Daddy.”
“Find me a bucket. I think I’m going to hurl.”
Lucy tried not to be stung by Justin’s constant barbs,
searching her heart for understanding. The boy was hurting more than he let on
and covered those wounds in a patina of sarcasm. It must be terribly hard to
lose a parent at such a young age. In some ways the absence of his mom troubled
him even more than Carmella, because he’d had more time to spend with her
before she’d gone. Lucy felt a lump in her throat as an old familiar ache
arose. She couldn’t quite place it, but it was there deep inside, telling her
not to judge Justin too harshly. His father, however, filled another role.
William sighed and frowned at his son. “I’d appreciate it if
you revised your attitude. Especially since I need your help later this
morning.”
“Help?”
“I want you to watch Carmella—”
“But, Dad—”
“So I can take Bridget to the doctor.”
“Why’s Bridget going to the doctor?” Carmella’s face clouded
over. “Is she sick?”
“Who knows?” Justin said with a smirk. “Maybe she’s
pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” both William and Lucy said together in shock. He
stared at her.
“No, no, I don’t think so,” she said, laying a hand on her
belly.
William shook a scolding finger at Justin. “You, young man,
have been spending
way too much
time
online.”
A little while later, William sat with Bridget in the
physician’s office. She’d already had a complete check-up in private. Now they
were awaiting the results of the examination. “Dr. Mass? Please tell me,”
Bridget asked with concern, “is it bad news?”
The big-bellied, white-haired physician removed the
stethoscope from around his neck. William noted it still had the same small
stuffed reindeer attached that it had sported for years. “Please, call me
Chris, dear,” he told Bridget with a warm smile. “All my patients do. Except
for ones like him” he said, tilting his head toward William, “who I’ve been
treating since they were in diapers.”
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” William urged.
Dr. Mass steadied his small circular glasses above his plump
round nose. “I’m afraid it’s a clear-cut case of amnesia. The bump on the back
of her head, combined with the memory loss, can point to nothing else.”
Bridget lifted her brow with concern. “How long will it
last?”
Dr. Mass stroked his snowy beard. “That all depends.
Sometimes these things resolve themselves in a matter of days. Then again, they
can drag on for months.”
“Months?”
William
blurted involuntarily. He’d been prepared to help Bridget out temporarily. But
for the long term? He just didn’t know. He met her blue-eyed gaze and thought
he heard angels sing. William shook his head, thinking he’d had one too many
hit of bourbon pecan pie. But wait a minute... That was
yesterday
.
“Have you tried the police?” Dr. Mass asked him. “The
missing persons bureau?”
“Everything I could think of,” William assured him.
“I plan to follow up more when we get home today.”
“That’s good, son,” Dr. Mass said. “Might even want to try
one of those Internet postings. I hear they can be very helpful. Someone’s
bound to be looking for her.”
William glanced at Bridget, regret brimming inside him. “I’m
sure of it,” he said, wondering where that sentiment had come from. It’s not
like she could stick around forever. She had a life—and a fiancé—to
return to, after all.
“Chris,” Bridget said. “It’s very strange. There are some
things I remember, little things really, that don’t make any sense. But the
bigger picture is all a blur.”
He eyed her with understanding. “Par for the course, dear.
The memories should all come back, but won’t necessarily surface in the
expected order.
“The good news is that you’re perfectly healthy, other than
the amnesia. The scans were clear and all your tests came back negative. The
best I can suggest for the short term is that you engage in things that might
spur your memory.”
“Such as?” William asked.
Dr. Mass turned toward Bridget. “When you arrived at the
Kinkaid house, did you have anything with you? Anything at all?”
****
Chapter Five
Lucy perched on the edge of the bed in the master bedroom.
William shut the door and came and sat beside her, a stack of presents in hand.
“You’re right about doing this away from the kids,” he said.
Lucy had insisted on utmost privacy for the rest of the
gifts’ unveiling. Judging by the item in the package that Justin had opened,
she couldn’t imagine what might be in these other boxes. Hopefully, nothing too
scandalous for her
Koochie.
Boy, that
just seemed wrong. Who on earth calls somebody that?
“Ready?” William asked, passing her box number one. She felt
her face warm and he reddened in return.
“Maybe I should... um... Open them alone?”
“I was a married man once, you know.”
“Sure,” she said, smiling tightly and feeling as if her
cheeks might burst from the pressure.
“This one looks interesting,” he said, peering at the tag. “
My love will set you free.
I wonder what
that means?”
Lucy shrugged and peeled back the wrapping with trepidation.
It was as if, with each layer of red and green foil, she was stripping away
herself. Oh my God, she thought, staring into the box. Perhaps she was a
stripper, after all!
William chuckled and raised a pair of fur-lined
handcuffs from the unfolded tissue paper. “Well, well.” He studied her in a new
way that told her maybe he was reconsidering her profession, too. “Any
flashbacks?” he asked with a wry twist to his lips.
“Not a one!” she declared a little too loudly. All at once
it felt terribly hot in here. Was that because she was used to going without
clothes? Lucy cringed, thinking that forgetting might have its merits.
He handed her another box. “Try again?” he said, both
looking and sounding mildly amused.
She peeked at the tag and then stood abruptly. “Oh no, I
don’t...” There was no way on earth! “I think I’d better open this one in the
bathroom!” She grabbed the box and scurried out of William’s sight, barricading
herself behind the door. Seconds later she flung open the package and wailed,
“What kind of woman am I?”
William sat up with a start on the bed. Perhaps there was
more to Bridget than he’d imagined. She certainly seemed to have a secret side.
Not that he minded, or that it was really any of his business. He was only
interested in helping learn who she was, sparking her memory, that’s all.
Bridget burst back through the bathroom door, hastily
gathering the rest of the packages in her arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Hiding these away somewhere where the children won’t find
them!”
“That bad?” he asked, wide-eyed.
“Oh, much worse,” she assured him, without surrendering any
details. “Do you have something like duct tape?”
William appeared taken aback. “Duct tape? Is that something
else you like to—?”
She turned bright red. “Oh God, no. It’s nothing like that!
I just want to close these securely. We can’t take any chances.”
He handed her the fur-lined handcuffs, which she flung back
in the box like they carried something communicable. “Hmm, yes. I see what you
mean.”
She stared at him, mortified. “Wait a minute. You don’t actually
believe those are
mine
?”
“No,” he said, ribbing. “I know they’re for
Koochie.”
She heaved a sigh, big blue eyes brimming with tears. “This
is so very awful. I don’t see how this has helped one bit.”
“Listen,” he said standing and taking the packages from her.
“There could be dozens of reasons why you had those presents with you.”
“Really?” she asked, looking hopeful.
“Why, sure,” he said,
unable to think of any.
“So you’re not judging me?”
“Judging? Sweetheart, I don’t know you well enough to judge
you.”
“But if you did, would you?”
She tilted up her chin and William realized in a flash that
she was within kissing distance. It wasn’t like he’d done it in a long time,
but he clearly recalled the instinct. He guessed it was like riding a bicycle,
only softer... more curvy... and feminine. Heat warmed the back of his neck.
“Would I?” he asked, lost in the moment.
“Judge me,” she repeated, dark eyelashes fanning wide.
William drew a breath and counted to ten, telling himself
not to lose his head. Here he was with a beautiful woman beside a large comfy
bed on a wintery afternoon.
And my
children are right downstairs
,
he reminded himself, swallowing hard.
With
my mother and father!
“No, absolutely not. Never.” He took a giant step
back, drawing the gifts in toward his chest. “I mean, never in a bad way.
Listen, Bridget, I’m a very fair-minded individual. Whatever other people
choose to do in their personal lives is their business, not mine. I mean, as
long as everyone’s a grown-up and agrees.”
“Yes, that’s what I think too,” she said, taking a
step back of her own.
“I think you’re right, and we’d better find a place to stash
these.”
“Good,” she said with a nod.
Downstairs on the living room sofa, Carmella snuggled
between her grandparents as her Grammy read her a storybook. Her Poppy sat on
her other side, reading the sports section of the newspaper.
Emma turned the page and Carmella looked up with a pout.
“Why did they go upstairs?”
“They needed some privacy, dear,” Emma said.
“For what?”
Grant chuckled. “Likely discussing North Pole secrets.”
“But I want to hear how Santa got her down the chimney!”
Grant glanced at Emma. “I’d be interested in hearing that
myself.”
“Shush,” she told him.
Carmella stared at Emma with big, brown eyes. “Bridget’s not
sick, is she Grammy?”
“Oh no, dear.”
“Dr. Mass says she’s healthy as a horse,” Grant said. Then
he added under his breath, “Not even pregnant.”
Emma glared at him, but Carmella just said, “Darn!”
Her grandparents exchanged glances, then looked at her.
“I was hoping for twins,” the child explained.
William entered Justin’s room to find him working at his
computer. Justin glanced in his dad’s direction, then closed a series of pop-up
boxes.
“Justin, I’m going to need your help with something.”
“Sure thing, Dad,” Justin said, still furiously clicking the
mouse. “Name it.”
William scrutinized his son a beat, and then met the boy’s
gaze. “Do you know how to build a Web page?”
“Piece of cake.”
“Good, because I was thinking we could put up one of those
Internet postings.”
“An advertisement?”
“Well, no. Yes. Something like that. What’s the name of that
local site where you can get anything and everything?”
“Dave’s List?”
William nodded soundly. “That’s the one. Do you think
they’ve got a section for Lost and Found?”
Justin smiled securely. “No worries, Dad. You can leave
everything
to me.”
William sighed with relief. “That’s my boy. Now,” he asked,
“What do you need?”
“We probably need a picture. We can use your digital
camera.”
“Great thought. I’ll go and get it,” he said, turning away.
“Bridget, too.”
“Uh, Dad?” Justin called after him. “I was just thinking...
Maybe it would help if Bridget modeled some of that stuff she brought with her?
You know, make her more recognizable?”
William shot him a stern look and shook his head. “Don’t
think so, Justin.”
A big-busted woman strode into Mitch’s real estate office
with a combative air. She slapped her purse on his desk and Mitch looked up at
the bleached blonde in a leopard print coat smacking her gum. She removed her
dark glasses to glare at him. “What’s the big idea?”
“Bridget!” he said with surprise. “Ain’t you a sight for
sore eyes. So, you decide on that six mil mansion?”
“No, you slimy cheat. What’s your excuse this time? Still
haven’t gotten over the fact that I dumped you for Roger?”
He blinked at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My packages!” she cried with dismay. “You promised you’d
bring them by.”
“I did! I mean, I sent... Wait a minute. Are you saying you
never got them?”
She pulled herself upright on her petite frame and studied
her manicured nails. “I knew you didn’t have it in you to be a gentleman,
despite all that stuff you said.” She lifted cat-green eyes to his. “You’re
still getting back at me, ain’t ya?”
“No, Bridget! I swear! I’d never—”
She licked her lips and he squirmed in his chair. “Though
you’re still pretty good to look at, Mitch-o. Despite your conniving.”
She leaned forward, her coat gaping to reveal the low-cut
blouse beneath it.
Mitch gulped. “And you’re still looking good, too. How’s
Roger?” he asked with a squeak.
“Getting bored with marriage, I think.” She inserted herself
between Mitch and his desk, then purred in a sexy whisper, “I always thought
you worked too hard.”