Linda O. Johnston - Marriage - Classified

“You cared about him, too,” she said brokenly.

“Yes. I cared about him. And I care about you. Sara. Do you remember yet who I am?”

She hated to admit it—especially since she believed that for her to tell him the truth would hurt him. And though he had doubted her veracity, she didn’t want to hurt him. He appeared to be hurting more than enough already.

But even if she lied, it was not a lie she could sustain. She couldn’t answer the simplest question about him, such as where he worked or lived.

And so she said, “I’m sorry. I truly am. But, no, I don’t.”

“My name is Jordan Dawes. Yours is Sara Shepard Dawes. We were married today, Sara—just before you were hit on the head and your father was killed.”

Sara awoke with a start. She had the strangest feeling that someone…was watching her.

She opened her eyes slowly and let them focus on a white ceiling with acoustical tile. Her insides churned for a moment, as she felt disoriented. Where was she?

She moved her head to look around and a wave of pain shot through it. Her head. The pain. Oh, yes. She was in a hospital.

“You’re awake,” said a familiar male voice. “How do you feel?”

Someone had been watching her. She turned slowly to see Jordan Dawes sitting in a chair near the window.

“Better than yesterday,” she replied. “How long have you been here?”

“All night, more or less. I only went home for a quick shower and some fresh clothes. I wanted to keep an eye on you.”

An unexpected feeling of well-being in a dangerous world curled through Sara. She found herself smiling in gratitude.

His return grin revealed a set of perfect teeth. It did nothing to hide the tiredness around his eyes, though. Lines radiated from their edges and a bruised darkness underscored each. His light brown hair looked as though he had run his long fingers through it rather than a comb.

“I should be asking how you feel,” Sara said. “You look like you need a good night’s sleep.”

“Maybe tonight,” he said. He had a slight hook to his nose that she hadn’t noticed yesterday. It gave his face a little extra character that she found charming. “Or at least as soon as I’m certain there’s no way anyone can get to you.”

Get to her. Not that she had forgotten what had happened yesterday. As appalling as it had been, it was, after all, the only memory she had. But the horror of the day had not been at the forefront of her mind during the few minutes she had been awake. Until now.

“Are there any leads?” she asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice. She touched the bandage at the side of her head.

“Sure.” His tone was confident, but his expression suggested he was just trying to make her feel better. “We’re following up on a bunch.”

We? Sara hadn’t yet inquired what Jordan did for a living. If things were normal, she undoubtedly would know. Now, though, she asked, “Are you a policeman, Jordan?”

His expression contained surprise and a hint of exasperation. “Then you really don’t remember anything? Despite our conversation yesterday, I’d hoped—Well, never mind. I’m a detective with the Santa Gregoria P.D., Sara. I was recently hired by your father, who, as I said yesterday, was chief of police.”

Her father. Casper Shepard, the poor, bloodied man who had been killed yesterday beside her…And she couldn’t even remember him. She couldn’t remember a blessed thing that Jordan hadn’t told her. A small sob shook Sara.

“I’m sorry.” Jordan sat beside her on the bed and held her close against him. “I’m so sorry, Sara. I’d do anything to have prevented Casper’s death. Our plan—” He stopped talking. The hands that had been moving soothingly over her back stopped, too. “We’ll find the murderer,” he finished. “I promise.”

Sara was certain he’d been about to say something else. Before she could question him further, though, a hospital worker came in with her breakfast. She wasn’t hungry but allowed the food to be placed on the tray beside her bed. She made herself take a sip of cold, sweet orange juice and a bite of overcooked eggs. She needed energy—didn’t she?—to get her memory back.

Jordan returned to his seat near the window. This morning he wore a black knit shirt that molded to an all-male body with the broadest of shoulders above thick, substantial biceps. She watched as he crossed one of his legs, encased in tight blue jeans, over the other.

Why on earth was she noticing all that?

The answer came to her very quickly. Her mind had raced over a lot of territory before she had finally succumbed to exhaustion the night before. Though not as urgent as some of the other matters she reflected on, one that had troubled her was where she spent that particular night.

It had been their wedding night. She had become convinced of it, even if she didn’t remember. Jordan had told her so. And she had been wearing a wedding gown.

A bride shouldn’t spend her wedding night alone.

Had…had Jordan and she spent other nights together? Sara somehow believed that, even if she remembered nothing else, she would recall what it had felt like to make love with the spectacular hunk of a man across the room. To feel those large, strong hands all over her flesh. To run her own fingers along the nakedness of the hard, hard chest against which she had been so protectively held.

Making love with a man as tender and caring, and as phenomenally good-looking as Jordan Dawes would not be something a woman would forget.

But Sara sighed deeply and sank back into her pillows. This woman had forgotten even her name. Her father. The fact that she had been married. The way she loved the man she had wed just yesterday.

Could she also have forgotten making love with him? The answer, absurdly, was yes.

But she wouldn’t spend much longer here in the hospital. She couldn’t. Eventually she would go home with Jordan. They would start their new life together. Try to put all that had happened behind them—except to the extent that they would help to catch her father’s murderer.

In any event, even if her wedding night had been so dismal, there had to be plenty of exciting nights in the future that she could spend with her new husband, Jordan.

Except…she didn’t really know him.

Would it be fair to him to start married life with a wife so flawed she couldn’t even remember their wedding?

Would her memory return, or would she never recall how much they cared for one another? Could they start from scratch and forge a strong new relationship?

Worst of all, no matter how kind, no matter how good-looking Jordan was, how could she plan on being the newly wedded wife of an absolute stranger?

JORDAN SLOWLY PUSHED open the door to Sara’s hospital room. It was late afternoon. He had waited until she had fallen asleep again before going out to get a cup of coffee and a sandwich from the cafeteria.

“Jordan?” Her voice was soft and a little groggy.

“Yes. I hoped you’d sleep longer.” He strode into the room and sat beside her bed on the chair that he had commandeered as his own. He hadn’t allowed her visitors yet, but she seemed to be improving. There were a lot of people who were concerned about her.

None more than he.

He would let a few of the others come to see her, starting that evening—after he’d had a chance to speak with her further.

And only if he was certain of her continued safety.

“All I’ve been doing is sleeping,” she complained, rolling over to face him. “There’s not even a television in this darned room.”

That had been by design. The news was full of lurid details about Casper’s murder on the day of his daughter’s wedding, speculation as to her condition, and a lot of background information that could only hurt her.