MIND OF HER OWN
DIANA LESIRE BRANDMEYER
Copyright © 2013 by Diana Lesire Brandmeyer. All rights
reserved.
Chapter One
Rain pelted the ceiling- to-floor windows of the family
room.
The grayness of the evening invaded Louisa Copeland’s mind
and home. The oversize chair she snuggled in helped hide
her surroundings. The thick romance in her hand further
darkened her mood as she read how the hero whisked away
the heroine for a surprise dinner on some pier. Were there
relationships like that? She didn’t know of any.
“Give it to him!” Joey, her five- year-old son, joined the
fray as Madison, her twelve- year-old daughter, dangled a
plastic horse over the head of Tim, her youngest son, just
out of his reach.
Jolted from the fantasy world into the real one, where
rainy days turned children into caged animals, Louisa
gripped
the book tight and took five deep breaths. “Madison, if you
don’t give it back to Tim now, I will take your phone away
for the rest of the day.”
Madison’s eyes narrowed. “Daddy won’t let you.”
“He isn’t here at the moment. He is working but will be
home for dinner, and you can discuss it with him then. But
for now give it to Tim.”
“Baby.” Madison sneered at Tim. “Take your stupid
horse.”
Problem solved, Louisa retreated into the book to finish
the chapter. Done, she sighed and laid the book face up
on the side table next to her reading chair. The love-
struck characters standing in front of a houseboat mocked
her from
the cover and filled her with jealousy. She longed to be the
woman between those pages. She closed her eyes, pursed her
lips against her hand, and tried to imagine the feel of
Collin’s
lips on hers.
She couldn’t. Her hand didn’t smell woodsy like Collin.
Why would it? They hadn’t slept together in over a week. Not
since that hurtful night when he’d accused her of not loving
him enough. And until he apologized, he wouldn’t be back
in her bed. She wasn’t going to give in this time, even if
she
did toss and turn all night in that enormous bed because she
missed him. But letting him back in her bed without a true
“I’m sorry” would mean he’d won, and she couldn’t accept
that. He would have to come to her first, and sending her
those two dozen roses didn’t count either. She knew he had
his secretary call the florist, and Louisa didn’t want a
quick-
fix apology. No, she wanted a heartfelt, grand gesture of
some
kind. She hadn’t quite figured out what it would take for
Collin to make the sting of his words dissolve, but she knew
it would have to come from him, not his office staff.
“Mom? Are you kissing your hand?”
Startled by her son, Louisa felt her face flush. Her
thoughts
twirled around themselves as she tried to come up with a
reason
for her action. “I was pretending to be a jellyfish. See?”
She put the back of her hand against her lips and wiggled
her
fingers like tentacles.
“Why?” His serious face moved closer to hers to inspect
the gesture.
“Because I was reading a book that has the ocean and
jellyfish
in it.” She could tell Tim believed her the minute his
hand went to his own face. He walked away with his own
pretend jellyfish flailing its tentacles.
She considered the morality of lying to her child but
dismissed it. Her children didn’t need to know she couldn’t
remember how their father’s kisses felt. She and Collin had
lost the spark, the excitement and joy. Even their
communication
had dwindled to no more than a few small phrases—“
Where’s the paper?” and “Have you seen my
phone?” Did his commitment to her exist any longer? Had
he found someone else?
Her head started to pound again from a migraine that had
first made its appearance when a save-
the-date for her family reunion had arrived in the morning
mail. She still couldn’t
believe it. A save- the-date? When did my family get so
fancy? A
phone call from her mother had followed minutes later. She
demanded that Louisa tell her whether or not she and Collin
would be there. An argument had started about Louisa being
a snob and not wanting to know her own family, not wanting
to spend time with her mother, which then led into why
Louisa and Collin weren’t taking the children to church. The
call ended with the usual rebuttal of “We will when we find
a church we like.”
Her mother always brought out Louisa’s obstinate side.
Louisa knew she had that effect on her own daughter, but she
wasn’t sure how to fix either problem. She rubbed a thumb
knuckle into the center of her forehead the way the
neurologist
had shown her to ease the pain. She wouldn’t be scratching
cleaning the van off her list today. Bending over made
the pounding worse.
This morning, Collin had promised he would be home for
dinner— for the first time since he’d announced he wanted to
make partner this year at his firm. He’d informed her that
he
would be working extra hours and expected her to take care
of the family. So she did her part and his. Then, less than
a
month later, he’d accused her of loving the children more
than she loved him. How could he make that judgment since
he was never home? The roses his secretary sent the next day
didn’t even make it to a vase. She’d trotted out to the curb
and stuffed them in the trash, where he’d see them when he
came home that night. Since then, the two of them had lived
like oil and vinegar unshaken in a jar.
Thunder rolled and lighting sparked in the distance.
Maybe Collin wanted to make amends tonight, and that was
why he was making an effort to be home early. Or maybe he
wanted to tell her something else, something she might not
want to hear. Would she listen? What if he wanted to tell
her she wasn’t the kind of wife a partner at his firm would
need? She did complain about having to attend office
functions.
They made her feel small— just a stay- at-home mom.
She couldn’t compete with the woman lawyers, especially
Emmie, the tall, stick- thin beauty who had an office next
to Collin. Louisa could share a recipe or where the best dog
park was located, but nothing brilliant or witty crossed her
lips anymore. She rose from her chair and walked to the
glass
door. The waves on the lake had increased in height. Cleo,
their dog, was out there somewhere.
Did Collin love someone else? Like a virus, the image of
Emmie with her cute clothes and bright smile at the Fourth
of July party threaded from Louisa’s mind and invaded her
spirit. She swallowed back the fear that rose from her heart
and lodged in her throat. That just couldn’t happen. Collin
was hers and only hers. He didn’t belong to the firm or
anyone
else. She had to find a way to make him understand that
she did love him, that he came first in her life. She wished
she could open up and tell him everything. Maybe then he
would . . . no, he would never love her if he knew her secret.
No, that story could never be told. She would have to find
another way.
The first thing she’d do was prepare a meal so delicious he
wouldn’t want to miss another one. She knew it was foolish
to put such expectations on her cooking but held out that
there might be a fraction of hope, a glimmer of a
possibility.
Behind her, Madison shrieked at her brother, lurching
Louisa back to her own reality show. “Give me back the
remote!”
“It’s my turn!” Joey tried to outshout his sister.
“Yeah, it’s our turn!” four- year-old Tim echoed.
The noise brought fresh, sharp spears of pain to Louisa’s
head. With a sigh, she ignored the opportunity to jump into
the fray and yell herself. In her stocking feet she crossed
the
great expanse of the golden oak floor to the kitchen, which
was located to the side of the family room. When they first
moved in, it had seemed like a great floor plan, all open,
but
now she regretted having chosen it. It made her always
available
to the children, and if one room wasn’t picked up, the
whole house looked like a mess.
The clock in the entryway chimed five times. The hour
had come! If only she could cook like Emeril, she might
have a chance to win back her husband’s love— or at least
his presence at the table. Then again, Collin might break
his
promise to her and the kids again and not even come home
for dinner.
She flipped through the cookbook that rested on top of a
cobalt- blue stand, where it usually sat for looks.
“Mom?” Tim ran circles around the kitchen island. “Joey
and me want a snack.”
“Not now.” The page in front of her held a beautiful
prospect for a meal, just not one made by her. Who cooks
dinner like this? She flipped the page. Why had she bought
this book? Surely she didn’t think she would ever have time
to prepare a dish from it or be able to get her children to
eat
it. . . . She read the ingredient list. What is jicama?
“Mom, can we have Crunch Squares for dinner?” Tim
interrupted her thoughts, tugging on the bottom of her
shirt.
Louisa turned her attention from the cookbook pages.
She placed her hands on her hips in her don’t-
mess-with-me stance and stared down at two small, pleading
faces. Her
sons craved anything coated or sprinkled with sugar. “Sorry,
boys, you cannot have cereal for dinner. You need protein
and vegetables so you grow big and strong like your daddy.”
She pried Joey’s fingers from the bright orange and red
cardboard
box.
“The commercial says it has all the vitamins and nutrients
we need.” Madison bellowed her opinion from the family
room.
“Don’t believe everything you see on TV, Madison.”
Making dinner night after night for three kids and Collin
had never entered her mind when she said “I do” at the
church thirteen years ago. She closed the book, weary of its
glossy pictures. She couldn’t pull off a gourmet meal
tonight,
not with this roaring headache. She’d be better prepared
this
weekend. Possibly Collin would eat with them Sunday night
if she gave him enough notice.
“We’re having grilled chicken.” She looked down at
the two waifs standing in front of her. Joey and Tim both
frowned in unison. She blinked at their action and shrugged
it off. Some days she thought those two had to be twins,
even
though that was physically impossible since she had given
birth to them twelve months apart. “You two, pick up the
fort you’ve assembled in the other room. I don’t want to see
or step on even one plastic block tonight.”
“It’s not a fort. It’s a space station.” Tim scrunched his
face
in disgust. “I told you a hundred times, Mom.”
“It’s a grand space station, but you still need to put it
away.” She watched them leave the room, thinking a sloth
could move faster than those two when it came to cleaning.
Chicken— that’s what she was doing, wasn’t it? What
else should she put on the table? Maybe a salad and mac
and cheese, she thought. Yes, that would be best. It would
cause less tension around the table if everyone had
something
they liked.
Cleo whimpered at the back door. Her nails scratching
against the glass felt like tiny needles pushing into
Louisa’s
optic nerves. It ratcheted her headache higher on the pain-
management scale. She had never wanted a big dog, but
Collin wouldn’t settle for anything small. Not even medium
size. It had to be a brindled Great Dane, the gentle beast,
to make him happy. It didn’t matter to him that she would
be the one hauling the dog to the vet and puppy day care
for socialization and training classes. She tried to ignore
the
pathetic whining coming through the door. Maybe the kids
would let the dog inside.
Peering through the open archway, Louisa checked to see
if anyone was moving. She could hear a satisfying plunk of
plastic hitting plastic— the boys were picking up like she’d
asked. Slow, but at least the rug had begun to appear. She
had
been cleaning for most of the day and wanted to enjoy an
orderly space after dinner. Madison lay on the couch with
her
head hanging over the end. Her blonde hair almost touched
the floor as it moved in time to a music video.
“Madison, let Cleo in before she chews through the door.”
“But, Mom, this is my favorite song,” Madison whined
from the couch. “Can’t Joey let her in?”
“No. I told you to do it.” Louisa squatted down in front
of the cabinet and grabbed a pot for the macaroni. As it
filled
with water, she rubbed her temples with her fingers. Cleo
scratched against the door again.
Louisa felt herself stiffen as she prepared to go into
battle
with Madison. She turned to see what her daughter was
doing. Madison had stood but had not moved in the direction
of the door. Instead she watched the television screen
and swayed to the beat of the music.
“Madison, step away from the TV.”
“I’m going. You don’t have to tell me everything twice. I’m
not stupid.” She glared at her mother.
This is what the counselor they were seeing called a
standoff.
She and Collin were supposed to be stern in their commands
and follow through with them. Well, she didn’t have
any problem with following through, but Collin did. All
Madison had to do was turn her lower lip down into a pout
and Collin backed off, afraid to upset his little girl.
There was
a time when Collin would do anything for me, too, she
thought.
Those days disappeared the minute Madison said “Daddy.”
Louisa removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. The
intensity of the headache rose. “Thank you, Madison, for
promptly doing what I asked.”
Madison clenched her lips tight, straightened her back,
and stomped over to the door and yanked it open. Cleo came
bounding through, her nails clicking over the wooden floor
like fingers on a keyboard. Madison turned, whipping her
long hair around like a weapon, and stared at Louisa as if
to
say, “I did it. Don’t ask me to do anything else ever
again.”
“Thank you.” Louisa slid her glasses back on and smoothed
her hair behind her ears. She checked to make sure the boys
were still doing as she’d asked. They were making progress.
The clock in the entryway weakly imitated England’s Big
Ben at the half- hour mark. It wouldn’t be long before
Collin
came home. Maybe he would relieve her tonight. A hot
bath— no, a long, hot bath, she corrected herself—
sounded wonderful if not dreamlike. Please, God, let him be
in a good
mood and willing to play with the kids tonight, she offered
in
silent prayer. She loved these kids; she really did. It was
just
that today, with all their requests, they had drained her of
the
will to live. School had begun less than a month ago. Why
the school board felt the teachers needed to take off
already
for a two-day conference escaped her tonight.
Back in the kitchen, Louisa picked up a glass from the
counter, a dribble of milk left in the bottom. A quick rinse
under the faucet, and then she placed it in the dishwasher.
All the small chores were done. The counter no longer held
books, toys, or dirty dishes. Louisa opened the pantry door
and caught a cereal box as it fell. She shook it. Almost
empty.
Someone had been snacking in secret, probably Madison.
She reached for the indoor grill on the top shelf. The cord
dripped over the edge and dangled in her way. She wrapped
it around her hand to keep it out of her face. Standing on
tiptoes, she used her fingertips to work the grill out.
Barking, Cleo burst through the kitchen, chased by Joey.
“Stop running in the house!” They wouldn’t; she knew
from past experience. Once Cleo began a game, she wouldn’t
quit until she wanted to. Louisa almost had the grill in her
hands. If she were just a little taller . . . there! She
balanced
it on her fingers.
“Look out!” Joey screamed.
Louisa jerked her head around and saw the tiger-
striped 120- pound dog skidding across the floor, straight
for her. The
“gentle giant” rammed into her leg. She felt her sock- clad
feet
give way and slide out from under her. The grill slipped
from
her grasp as she fell to the floor. Her last thought was
that
dinner would be late.
***
Salt water burned her lips as she floated onto a white,
sandy
beach. Piccolo notes from seagulls called to her as they
landed
in an uneven line onshore. They hunted for forgotten corn
curls and abandoned sandwich crusts, their tiny claws
etching
the sand behind them. A flash of white danced into her
view. She glanced at the gauzy skirt grazing her ankles and
wondered when she’d changed clothes. Then she noticed her
hand held a bundle of calla lilies tied with a dark- green
satin ribbon that trailed to her knees.
Next to her, the ocean increased its crescendo. Froth
swirled around her bare feet, and the small white bubbles
tickled her toes. Like a child, she wove up and down the
shore, playing a game of tag with the swash marks on the
sandy shoreline. She slowed her steps as a man ahead of her
grew larger and larger until she finally stood next to him.
He
didn’t have a name, but she knew she would marry him this
day. Her lips began to form the words “I do” when a voice
crashed her wedding.
“Come on, baby, wake up.” Warm fingers brushed across
her cheek. Startled, she tried to open her eyelids, but they
felt
weighted as if someone had stacked pennies on them. Peeking
through her lashes, she discovered a pair of chocolate-
brown eyes gazing into hers. And not the milk- chocolate
kind but the dark, eat- me-now-and-I’ll-solve-your-problems
kind.
She tried to sit, but the onslaught of pain in her head
stilled
her like Atlanta traffic in a snow shower. Bright light lit
the
room around her, but it wasn’t a room she knew.
“Louisa, baby. You gave me quite a scare. How do you
feel?” His hand trembled as it gently swept across her
forehead.
“I’m Jazz.” Her words oozed like cold honey past her
thickened tongue. She was desperate for information and a
cool drink of water. “Wrong woman. Where am I?”
His hand dropped to his side, and he stepped back from
her. “Dr. Harrison?” His weight shifted from one foot to
the other.
The man she assumed to be the doctor maneuvered past
Mystery Man. From his pocket, he pulled out a penlight and
shone it into her eyes.
“Evil man. That’s a bit torturous to my brain.” She swatted
at his hand but pulled back before making contact, realizing
his purpose was to help, not hurt her.
“You’re in the ER. You suffered a nasty bump on the head,
Louisa. You have a concussion, which is making your head
hurt.” He clicked off the light and placed it back into the
pocket of his lab coat. “Your scan came back clean. There is
no bleeding in your brain. I’ll have the nurse come in and
unhook the heart monitor in a minute. You can go home
with your husband in a little while.”
“Husband?” The monitor showed a jump in her heart rate.
“Please, I’m not who you think I am.” She wished for them
both to dissolve from her sight and for someone, anyone,
even a disgruntled fan, to appear in their place. Something
like wind seemed to roar in her ears, and she struggled to
catch her breath.
“Just calm down. Take a few breaths.” Dr. Harrison patted
her hand.
The old, reliable remedy— take in oxygen and the world’s
problems will be solved. Somehow that made her feel normal.
She could go home soon, or at least Louisa could. She
closed her eyes, willing the two of them to go away.
“Open your eyes, Louisa,” the doctor ordered.
Still not willing to play their game, she compromised and
opened one. “Light hurts. I’m not Louisa.”
“You’re just a bit confused right now. Your name is Louisa,
Louisa Copeland. The bang on your head gave you quite a
headache, didn’t it?” The doctor patted her arm as if doing
that would change her identity. “This is all to be expected,
just a bit of disorientation. Don’t worry. Once the swelling
goes down, you should remember everything.”
Respect for his position kept her from saying that maybe
he needed to switch places with her. After all, she knew she
was Jazz Sweet.
The doctor turned his back to her. “Collin, I think you
need to take her home. Once she’s home in familiar
surroundings,
I believe her memory will return.”
Collin. She considered the name. Irish, she thought. A
romance hero’s name. Maybe she would use it in her next
book. He certainly looked the part— strong chin and thick
brown hair that begged for a path to be wound through it
with willing fingers.
“What if she doesn’t?” Collin asked.
“Take her to your family doctor for a follow- up tomorrow.
Wake her a couple times tonight and ask her questions.
Make her answer with words; full sentences would be even
better.” She heard the familiar rough scratch of pen on
paper.
“Give her acetaminophen or ibuprofen tonight.” He tore the
paper from his pad and slapped it into Collin’s hand. “Fill
this for pain if she needs it.”
Home? Whose home? Jazz dropped the characterization of
her newest hero. Home with Collin? She focused on those
three words. That couldn’t be right— she loved adventure,
but
going home with a man she didn’t know went beyond what she
would do for book material. She didn’t go anywhere without a
folder full of notes, and she hadn’t spent any time
researching
living with this man. Panic ran like ice water down her
neck.
She struggled to prop herself up on an elbow and demand
an explanation. The end of the bed wavered like a desert
mirage, causing her to wonder if the head injury had
affected
her sight. She squinted, trying to sharpen her vision, but
it
didn’t help much.
She needed to tell the doctor— maybe then he wouldn’t
send her with this man. Jazz started to call out, but the
white
of the doctor’s coat blurred out of her sight before she
could
recall his name.
Collin bent over her. She noticed that for a man who’d
been working all day, he still smelled nice. “Well, honey,
you
heard him. Let’s get you back home.”
“Water. Please.” She pointed to a sweating water bottle
that beckoned just out of her reach. Collin put it in her
hand
but held on to it. For a moment she thought he planned to
help her bring it to her lips like an invalid. Good thing he
didn’t or he’d be wearing it, she wanted to say, but thirst
won
over talking.
The liquid slid down her parched throat. Feeling better,
she returned the bottle to him and then hit him with the big
question. “Tell me who Louisa is and why you think I’m her!”
***
Collin sank down in the chair next to Louisa’s bed. She
looked paler than his daughter’s collectible porcelain
dolls.
“You don’t remember us?”
“Remember you? No. I’ve never met you. Wait, you
weren’t at Jen’s party, were you?” Hope touched the edge of
her voice.
“Who’s Jen?” He rubbed his earlobe while he went
through a quick list of Louisa’s friends.
“My agent. Jen is my agent.”
“Agent? For what?” He knew they hadn’t been communicating
well, but when did she decide to sell their house? No,
she’d said her agent, not ours.
“I write inspirational romance novels.” She crumpled the
edge of the bedsheet between her fingers.
“Romance?” Collin felt like he had fallen into another
dimension. Louisa had never written a word, much less a
book or books. She had said novels, as in more than one.
Hadn’t she? He assessed the situation. It had to be a grasp
for
attention. He had been working hard, and yes, he probably
deserved this. He’d play along for a little bit. “Who do you
think you are?”
“Jazz Sweet. I live at . . . on an island or the coast.
Florida,
I think.” She rubbed her forehead with the tips of her
fingers.
“Louisa, you win, okay? I’m sorry— I really am— about
what I said.” He squeezed his hand into a fist and then
released it, a futile attempt at ridding himself of the
tension
in his body. “Let’s not play games here. It’s late, and it
would
be nice to go home, wouldn’t it?”
“Games? What games are we playing?” She cocked her
head at him, her eyebrow raised in question.
The look she gave him wasn’t one he recognized. She truly
looked lost and confused. His gut clenched. She really
didn’t
know who she was. “Never mind, it’s not important. Once
you get home, I’m sure you’ll be back to normal.”
“Go find your wife. Maybe she’s in the next room.” She
waved her hand at him as if to dismiss him. The diamonds
on her finger caught the overhead light and winked at him.
Collin grasped her hand out of the air. He felt a tug at his
heart as she struggled to pull away from him. “Wait. Look at
your hand. See, you have a wedding ring; it belonged to my
great- grandmother.” He traced it with his finger. “Honey,
you’re not a writer. And you live with us in Hazel,
Illinois.”
She brought her hand close to her face and inspected
the ring as if she had never seen it before. She jerked her
face toward his, and comprehension of the plural word rode
across her face. “Us? How many people make an us?”
“You, me, and . . .”
She tapped her lower lip with two fingers as she
concentrated
on the information he was giving her.
“The kids.” He leaned back in the chair, confident she
would remember the children.
Louisa splayed her hand against her chest. “Kids? What
kids?” she squealed as if he’d said she lived with a rowdy
bunch of sailors. “I think I had better call Kristen now.”
Collin grew even more confused, starting to doubt he was
looking at his own wife. Louisa loved those kids. How could
she not remember them?
“Who’s Kristen?” he managed to ask while massaging the
back of his neck with his hand.
“She is my assistant. She’s organized and knows all my
plans. I can’t keep any deadline without her.” She peered
around him. “Is there a phone in here?”
Collin looked at the ceiling and counted the white tiles
over the bed. He took a deep breath, then let it out. “I’ll
call
Kristen if you give me her number.”
“I– I don’t know it,” Louisa stuttered. Her blue eyes filled
with tears, and she whipped her face away from him. The
tension in his shoulders eased. This was a behavior he
recognized.
Louisa never let him see her cry.
“Then for now, why don’t you come home with me?” He
used the persuasive voice he typically saved for jurors.
“But . . .”
He placed his fingers on her lips to silence her. “I know
you’re my wife, even if you can’t remember. So I’m thinking,
why not come home with me and see if your memory returns?”
“You really think I’m your wife?” She glanced at the door
expectantly as if waiting for someone to come and tell him
differently.
“I know it. And I can prove it when we get home. I’ll
show you our wedding pictures.” Louisa had organized their
photos in matching albums. It wouldn’t take any effort to
find the right year.
“Did we get married on the beach?” Uncertainty shone on
her face, but her voice held confidence that he would say
yes.
Collin took another punch to his gut. She didn’t remember
the expensive wedding— her very own fairy- tale day, she’d
called it. He shook his head. “No, Louisa. We were married
in your parents’ church.”
“Again, not me.” Louisa swung her legs to the edge of the
bed. She grabbed her head with both hands. “Ouch. What
happened to me, anyway?”
“The indoor grill fell on your head.”
She snorted. “Right, like I own one of those.”
“You do. While you were getting it off the shelf, Cleo
knocked you down.”
“Is Cleo your daughter?”
Collin rubbed his chin with his hand and held back a
groan of frustration. “Cleo is our dog, a Great Dane, our
gentle beast.”
“Collin?” Her voice softened, and he leaned in closer to
hear. “How many kids are there?”
“Just the three,” he said.
“Three? Just three? Do you— we—have a nanny?” She
rubbed the side of her face with the palm of her hand.
Collin laughed at the absurdity of the question, then
sobered, realizing she didn’t know the answer to her own
question. This could not be good. He summoned his patience
before speaking. “Louisa, you didn’t want a nanny for them,
remember?”
“No. I don’t remember. I’m Jazz— have you forgotten?
And I’ve decided. I will not be going anywhere with you.
Who knows? You might be a serial killer or a stalker.” She
crossed her arms and held them against her chest.
“I’m not either of those things. Look, honey, I’m tired.
I’ve worked over twenty- five hours this week and it’s only
Tuesday. I shouldn’t even have come home when I did, but I
promised you that I would make it for dinner.”
“Please don’t call me ‘honey,’ ‘cutie,’ or any of those
couple
names. We’re not a couple, and besides, they sound silly.”
He didn’t know what to say. Louisa liked his terms of
endearment. Didn’t she? The differences between the wife he
had left at home this morning and this seemingly new one
dumbfounded him.
“Why did you get married and have a family if you weren’t
going to participate? What kind of important career do you
have? Do you save peoples’ lives? Are you a surgeon?” She
glared at him, waiting for an answer.
Her rapid- fire questioning made him feel like he was
standing on the courthouse steps facing a battalion of
reporters.
It didn’t matter that the question was one he’d been asking
himself lately— right now, being home wasn’t feasible.
Not with several trial cases and the promise of a
partnership
dangling in front of him. He didn’t have time for anything.
If Louisa wanted to be Jazz, he didn’t care as long as she
kept
their family life intact. “I’m a lawyer. That means I have a
lot to do tonight. So get dressed and we’ll go home. I’m
sure
you’ll remember everything when we get there.”
“I’m not going with you.” Louisa slid her legs back onto
the bed and pulled the sheet up under her chin like a child
refusing to go to school. “I’ll get dressed as soon as you
leave,
and then I’m going to—to—”
“To what? Where are you going to go?” He waited to hear
her plan, watching her eyebrows bob up and down while she
thought. “Well?”
“I’ll go to a hotel. So there, problem solved. You don’t
have to worry about me anymore. You’re free to go.” Again,
she waved her hand toward the door, dismissing him as she
lay back against the pillow. “If you don’t mind, would you
hand me my purse before you leave?”
“It’s at home.” He looked down at her. Her blonde hair
feathered across the pillow and caught the light from
overhead,
softening the silky strands. He reached out to touch
it as he often did, but her icy look kept him at a distance.
“That’s what you want? To be here alone in a hospital, in
this
town, and not knowing anyone?”
She nodded and pointed to the door.
“Then I’ll go.” Collin paused at the doorway and turned
to give her a chance to change her mind. She didn’t say
anything,
just lay there looking like a lost child, eyes wide and
fighting tears. “Nice meeting you, Jazz Sweet.” He knew he
needed to convince her to come home with him. He couldn’t
leave her here until her memory returned. There had to be a
way, but for now, he’d let her think she’d won this battle.
He
left the room and didn’t look back.
