Shirley Jump - Escape for New Year - Amnesiac Ex, Unforgettable Vows / One Night with Prince Charming / Midnight Kiss, New Year Wish

“You have another headache.”

“No. Just … tired.” Taking her elbow, he ushered her inside. “Wake me up when you come to bed?” she asked.

As if to confirm it, he dropped a kiss on her crown. As they moved down the hall, she felt compelled to ask him to promise. That’s what a newly married bride would do, no matter how tired, right?

But the words didn’t come. And as that pin pricked again—niggling, enflaming—she only wished she knew why.

The following day, Bishop accompanied Laura into the office of a local GP.

Colorful children’s drawings hung on a corkboard, but Bishop’s attention was drawn to the top of a filing cabinet and a Hamlet-type skull, only this skull exposed the complicated mass that made up the mysterious chambers of a human brain. A little creepy but, in this instance, rather fitting.

Dr. Chatwin, a woman in her thirties, gestured to a pair of chairs.

“Please take a seat, Mrs. Bishop. Mr. Bishop.” While they made themselves comfortable, the doctor swept aside her long brunette ponytail and pulled in her chair. “Your husband spoke with me briefly this morning, Mrs. Bishop.”

Dressed in a pale pink linen dress Bishop had always loved to see her in, Laura crossed her legs and held her knees. “Please, call me, Laura.”

Dr. Chatwin returned the smile. “You hit your head last week and are experiencing some difficulties, is that right?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Laura’s clasped hands moved from her knees to her lap. “Not … difficulties. ”

The doctor’s brows lifted and she leaned back in her chair. “Some issues with memory?”

Laura froze before her slender shoulders hitched back. “Some things have seemed … a little foggy.”

Swinging back around, the doctor tapped a few words on her keyboard. “Any headaches, dizziness, sleeplessness, nausea?”

“One headache.”

“Irritability, confusion?”

“I suppose some.”

While Bishop stretched his legs and crossed his ankles, happy to let a professional take charge, the doctor performed the usual tests with her stethoscope then checked for uneven dilation of the pupils. She asked a few simple questions. What suburb they were in. Laura’s full name. The date. She gave no outward sign of surprise when Laura announced a year two years past.

After tapping in a few notes, the doctor addressed them both. “You’d like to be referred to a specialist, is that right?”

Bishop replied. “Thank you. Yes.”

Without argument, the doctor began writing the referral. “Dr. Stanza is considered the best neuro specialist in Sydney. This isn’t an urgent case, however, so expect a wait.”

Bishop straightened. “How long of a wait?”

“Call his practice,” the doctor said, finishing the note. “They’ll book you into his first available slot.” After sliding the letter into an envelope, she scribbled the specialist’s name on the front. “As you’re both no doubt aware, there are instances of memory impairment associated with head trauma due to a fall. The doctor last week would’ve told you recollections usually return over time, although it’s not unusual for the events leading up to the incident, the incident itself and directly after to be lost permanently.” The doctor pushed back her chair and stood. “You’re not presenting with any physical concerns, Laura.” Her warm brown eyes shining, she handed the envelope to Bishop and finished with a sincere smile. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, particularly with your husband taking such good care of you.”

Five minutes later, Laura slid into the car, feeling tense and knowing that it showed, while Bishop reclined behind the wheel, ignited the engine, then slipped her a curious look.

“Something wrong?”

Laura didn’t like to complain. Bishop was simply making certain she was cared for. As she’d told the doctor, she had felt irritable on occasion. Some things were a little confusing … clothes she couldn’t remember in the wardrobe, a new potted plant in the kitchen … that truly odd feeling she’d had yesterday on the eastern porch when those wallabies had bounded away. But the doctor hadn’t seemed concerned. She’d indicated that the missing bits and pieces would fall into place soon enough.

The broad ledge of Bishop’s shoulders angled toward her. “Laura, tell me.”

“I don’t need to go to a specialist,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “You heard Dr. Chatwin. No physical problems. Nothing urgent. I don’t want to waste a specialist’s time. It’ll probably cost a mortgage payment just to walk through the door.”

A corner of his mouth curved up. “We don’t have a mortgage.”

“That’s not the point. Dr. Chatwin said she was sure I’d be okay.”

“I’m sure you will be, too. But we’ll make an appointment with the specialist and if we don’t need it, we’ll cancel.”

She crossed her arms. “It’s a waste of everyone’s time.”

“If it is, then there’s no harm done.” His voice lowered and he shifted the car into Drive. “But you’re going.”

She stared, not pleased, out the window as they swerved onto the road that would take them home. She loved that Bishop was a leader, that he wanted to protect and care for her. But she didn’t need to be bossed around. She hated visiting doctors and hospitals. How many times did she have to say she was okay?

She stole a glance at his profile, the hawkish nose and proud jutting chin and her arms slowly unraveled.

And another thing … he hadn’t come to bed last night. When she’d woken, his side hadn’t been slept in. Seeing the covers still drawn, the pillow still plump, had put an unsettling feeling in her stomach, as if she’d already foreseen or had dreamed that he wouldn’t be there when she woke. Not that she’d tell Bishop that. He’d blow it way out of proportion. She didn’t need to be asked more questions.

But perhaps Bishop needed the green flag from this specialist before giving his consent to her falling pregnant. He liked to have all the pegs lined up before going forward with anything. And he took the whole becoming a father thing ultraseriously which, on a baser level, she was grateful for.

So she would grit her teeth, visit this specialist, get the all clear, and once she had a clean bill of health, there should be absolutely nothing to stand in their way.

Three days later, splitting wood for the fireplace, Bishop set another log on the chopping block and, running a hand up over the smooth handle, raised his axe. The blade came down with a whoosh and a thunk that echoed through the surrounding forest of trees.

He’d taken the rest of the week off, and every minute since that doctor’s visit, he’d waited, wondering if this would be the day when his metaphorical axe would fall. Every minute inhabiting that house, sharing that bed, he was conscious of living out the mother of all deceptions.

But, if he were being manipulative, it was with good reason. He was a man stuck in the middle of a particularly difficult set of circumstances … locked in a game of nerves where he could anticipate the moves and yet still had little control over how this rematch would end.

Grinding his teeth, Bishop set another log on the block. He was about to bring the axe down when Laura appeared, carrying his cell phone, traversing the half dozen back stairs and crossing the lawn to where he waited near a yellow clump of melaleuca. With her, she brought the floral scent of her perfume as well as the aromas of the casserole and chocolate sponge dessert she was preparing. He’d missed her home-cooked meals more than he’d realized. Hell, he’d missed a lot of things.

“It’s Willis.” After handing over his phone, she dropped a kiss on his cheek then inspected the blemish-free sky. A frown creased her brow. “You should put a hat on.” She headed off with a skip. “I’ll bring you one.”