The Cowboy Way(2)

By: Anna Alexander

“Fine,” he rasped. His throat felt like he swallowed a handful of rocks.

“Your wife’s here. She’s been sitting out in the waiting room. Would you like to see her?”

Dread and excitement filled his belly as his battered brain and heart engaged in a knockdown, drag out tug-of-war. Yes, he wanted to see her. For one thing, he hoped that seeing her would trigger his memory. Second, plain curiosity itched around his neck like an over-starched collar. Who had agreed to spend the rest of her life with him as a rancher’s wife? It took a special type of woman to weather the storm of long nights during calving season and the stress of bringing a herd to market. She’d have to be strong of spirit and demand the same of him as well. Would she now hate him for not remembering her and his promise to love, honor, and cherish?

“Does she know about…?” He pointed to his head.

“Yes, she knows everything. I’ve told her to answer any questions you may have, but also to let you remember as much as you’re able to on your own. It’s going to be an adjustment for you both. She understands that.”

She. He still didn’t even know her name. Dr. Grayson looked at him through the thick lenses of his glasses, his eyes squinted in concern. “Would you like to see her?”

His ability to speak flew the coop. He nodded, muscles tensing as Dr. Grayson left the room. When the door reopened, his breath left his body in a harsh rush and he wondered if he was still knocked out cold and in la-la land.

Hell’s bells and damnation.

Stunning. That was the only word that came to mind. Absolutely stunning. Long dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, revealing a soft chin and high cheekbones. Big brown eyes edged in mink-thick lashes looked at him nervously as her tongue swept over her full lips. His mouth went dry as he continued the perusal of the rest of her small and curvy shape. Soft and round, she was the perfect blend of girl next door and citified bad-girl that made a man want to strip away the innocent smile to expose the vixen beneath the cashmere sweater.

This was his wife? Again, what type of an ass would not remember being married to this beautiful woman? God, was he a lucky son of a bitch.

Apparently, his circulatory system was functioning just fine as desire stirred his blood, setting off another rush of guilt. How could he be getting a hard-on at a time like this? She was a stranger, a damn fine-looking stranger, but still, he knew nothing about her. What kind of a message would an erection send? Hi, I don’t remember you, but it would be great if you crawled into this bed naked. Yeah, that would be a great first impression.

Her smile trembled at the corners. “Hello.” Her voice was soft and sweet like warm butterscotch.

“Hi.” A quick glance down assured him that his lengthening cock was covered properly. Thank God they unhooked him from the monitors, because otherwise they might have thought he was having an attack by the way his heart pounded behind his ribs.

Those dark eyes of hers raked over him as if she could assess his injuries by sight alone. From the top of his bruised head to the bottoms of his restless feet, her gaze sent the nerve endings tingling. He noticed the dark circles that marred her perfect skin, and he wished he hadn’t been their cause.

“You don’t remember me?” She drew the question out.

Trey took a good long look that went deeper than her outer beauty. He forced everything in his being to remember something, anything, about their life together. He pulled in a deep breath and detected her subtle vanilla scent, separate from the antiseptic smell of the hospital room. The perfume wasn’t familiar, but it was comforting, soothing. When his head felt as if it was going to explode from the effort, he let out another harsh exhale.

He shook his head, defeated. “I’m sorry.”

Her small shoulders slumped as she nodded, and her gaze fell to the floor. His arms ached to hold her, to give her comfort, which struck him as funny since he was the one lying there injured.

After a second, she lifted her gaze with a glimmer of resolution in her eyes. “My name is Greta. Margaret, actually, but everyone calls me Greta.”

“Greta,” he repeated and relaxed against the pillows. This was a start. She wasn’t falling apart or running away. Yet. “How long have we been married?” The question sounded lame in his ears, but he figured he had to start somewhere.

“Six years.” She took a step closer. Her head tilted in curiosity. “What do you remember? The ranch, the house?”

“Some of it. I remember the cattle, and the house I remember from when I was a kid. Does it still look the same?”

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