Lisette Belisle - His Pretend Wife

Given a chance, he’d do so many things differently.

His grandmother had done her best to teach him right from wrong. She’d even insisted he serve time as an altar boy. Somehow, according to Gran, that was supposed to keep him out of trouble. It worked—but only after he’d beaten up the bully on the block who teased him for wearing a dress—standard altar-boy issue. After he won the boy’s respect, the other kids had left him alone, which suited Jack. He didn’t need friends, he didn’t need anyone.

Anyone who believed otherwise was a fool.

So much for the past. He didn’t have much of a future. He frowned when someone took his hand. Someone feminine clasped him firmly, palm to palm. He tried to hold on, returning the pressure, and felt the flutter of a pulse racing against his thumb. His own heart jumped in his chest. Reality started to fade. The room and its occupants receded, everything turned gray. More prayers. Jack couldn’t make out the words. But he recognized one voice.

Abigail.

He struggled to grasp her presence. Had she been around earlier? He was hurt, possibly dying. Why couldn’t she leave him in peace?

Then, incredibly, he felt her lips against his—as soft as he’d imagined. In his dreams.

So, this was a dream. He welcomed her presence because everything around was cold and dark and empty. On the inside, he was burning up, a white-hot pain knifed through him with each breath.

“Please, Jack, don’t give up.” That voice pulled him back from the brink. Her soft words penetrated the cloud of pain, making it almost bearable. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

He wanted to believe her.

His hand clenched around something soft and feminine; he wanted to hold on and never let go.

Time lost its meaning.

Hours later, while the rest of the world prepared to celebrate the arrival of a brand-new year, Abby sat alone with Jack in the intensive care unit where he was recovering after surgery. The doctors had dealt with the worst of his injuries—all but his leg—and he was breathing better.

Abby was still recovering from the shock of what she’d done—she’d lied, more than once, claiming to be Jack’s wife. Amazingly, no one had questioned her. Now, she was alone—with Jack. She’d never felt more frightened in her life.

She should call someone back home. No doubt, her brother was waiting for news of Jack. Somehow Abby couldn’t deal with all the questions. Not yet. A day of reckoning would come soon enough. She wondered how much Jack would remember—if anything.

She’d used her fake status to insist the doctors delay surgery on Jack’s leg until the following day. A top surgeon was flying up from Boston. Jack still wasn’t out of danger. She desperately wanted him to get well. That was the only real part of this whole charade.

A new year was about to ring in. In the holiday spirit, a nurse brought Abby some pastries and mock champagne—fizzy apple juice. “I know it’s difficult. But you’ll need your strength. You really should eat something.”

“Thank you.” Abby obeyed, unable to recall when she’d last eaten. All that was normal seemed unreal.

Jack’s accident had wiped away everyday considerations. How odd to realize that life could change and rearrange itself in a heartbeat. From the moment Abby had realized Jack was missing, nothing had been the same.

The nurse injected some medication into Jack’s intravenous and adjusted the drip. “If it’s any comfort, the whole staff is pulling for both of you.”

“That’s very kind of you. Please thank everyone.”

“Have you been married long?”

Unable to hide her growing discomfort, Abby blushed. “Not very long.”

“You must be very much in love with him.”

Abby wanted to shout a denial, but she couldn’t bring herself to burst the young woman’s romantic bubble. “How can you tell?”

“It shows.” The nurse smiled. “If you’re planning to spend the night, the chair’s comfortable. You’ll find an extra pillow and some blankets in the closet.” Before she left, she added, “Oh, I almost forgot—your brother called.”

That startled Abby. “What did you tell him?”

“That Jack’s current condition is stable.”

“Oh.”

Abby had no idea how she was going to explain her erratic behavior to her family. In addition to her parents, she had three brothers. Drew would understand. He wasn’t exactly known for his caution. In fact, his impulsiveness had gotten him into trouble a time or two. However, claiming a relationship to an unconscious man would be considered extreme even by Drew’s standards.

There was simply no explanation for her rash decision to embark on a rescue mission that included masquerading as Jack’s wife. After the nurse left, Abby sipped mock champagne from the paper cup, wondering if she was losing her mind.

The midnight hour came.

A flurry of hushed well-wishers out in the hallway announced its arrival. Only a few patients were well enough to join the staff in the subdued celebration.

How odd to start a new year in this place. With Jack Slade. Abby stared at his sleeping face. It wasn’t a soft face, his life experiences had left their mark. He was only twenty-seven but his youth had been spent in harsh places.

Now he had some new bruises, a cut over his left eye. Luckily, it wasn’t deep enough to need stitches and wouldn’t leave a scar to mar his ruggedly handsome features.

However, some scars remained on the inside, hidden from view, but they were there. Jack probably had a collection of them. Of course, he’d never share them with Abby. They were little more than strangers really. She wondered why that knowledge should hurt.

No doubt he would be furious when he learned she’d claimed to be his wife. It was only temporary. Abby silenced an irrational pang of regret. Then, out of some deep well of emotion buried deep within, she reached over and gently kissed him. There was no response.

In fairy tales, all it took was one chaste kiss to turn a frog into a prince. With a sad whimsical smile, Abby acknowledged that fanciful transformation wasn’t likely to happen in this case.

Nevertheless, she pressed her lips to his a second time and whispered, “Happy New Year, Jack.”

Jack woke in a small, dark hospital room. There was a window, but the blinds were closed. He had no idea if it was night or day. He squinted into the dim reaches of the room crammed with medical equipment. A machine monitored vital signs in little beeps and blips. Other sounds were muffled. How long had he been unconscious?

Hours?

Days?

His mouth felt thick and fuzzy. When he tried to move, he discovered his left arm was in a cast. His right hand was hooked up to an intravenous tube, dripping colorless fluids into a vein. His ribs hurt, but at least it no longer felt as if each breath would be his last.

He tried to lift his head, then groaned. It felt as if an elephant was sitting on it! He remembered someone saying he had a mild concussion. It didn’t feel mild.

Okay, enough whining—he could deal with a headache, and a few additional bumps and bruises. He’d survived a lot worse. In fact, he was damn lucky to be alive. Then, he remembered.

His leg!

His gaze flew to the bottom of the bed. Yes, his left leg was there. Encased in a hip-to-toe white plaster cast, it was still attached at the hip. He’d only dreamed it was gone. At the sight of it, he released a harsh breath. They’d saved his leg.

So, Abby had kept her promise.

Imagine that.

Throughout the nightmarish experience, he’d felt her presence every step of the way. He should be grateful for her help—and he was—but that was it. He’d be a fool to care about Miss Abigail. There, he’d put her in her rightful place—far above him—a firm reminder that she was way out of his league.