The Husband She'd Never Met Page 3

  Yeah, right. Like that would solve anything.

  Instead, he gave a shrug. ‘I guess you realise I’m not Sylvia’s dream son-in-law?’

  ‘Mum claims she warned me about life in the bush.’

  Max nodded. ‘That started from the moment we met.’ He’d never meant to think of his mother-in-law as The Dragon, but three years of poorly veiled hostility could stuff with a man’s good intentions.

  Carrie’s eyes were wide. ‘So my mum was against it, but I married you anyway?’

  He chanced a quick grin. ‘You were stubborn.’

  Then he quickly sobered. He’d only told Carrie half the story, of course. Right now she innocently assumed that all was rosy in Max-and-Carrie Land—the nickname they’d given their marriage in happier times. And this morning he’d assured her she could trust him. Which was true, but her accident had left him walking a fine line between the truth and the way he wished things could be. The way they should be.

  Now, as he drove on over wide rolling grasslands, he wondered how much he should tell Carrie. It would be weird to try to explain that she’d walked out on their marriage. He didn’t want to confuse her. Given her memory loss, it was hard to gauge how much she could take in.

  And yet they had two hours of driving before they reached the coast... Two hours of tiptoeing through a conversational minefield.

  ‘How did we meet?’ Carrie asked suddenly.

  Max swallowed to ease the sudden brick in his throat. This was the last question he’d expected. It was hard to accept that she remembered nothing of an occasion that was enshrined in his mind for ever and lit up with flashing neon lights.

  He told her the simple truth. ‘We met at a wedding.’

  Carrie’s lovely chocolate-brown eyes widened. ‘Really? Was the wedding in Sydney?’

  ‘Yes. A work colleague of yours—Cleo Marsh—married one of my mates.’

  ‘Gosh, I remember Cleo. She was great fun. Quite a party girl. And she married a cattleman?’

  Max nodded. ‘Grant grew up on a cattle property, but he studied medicine and now he’s a rural GP based in Longreach. He met Cleo when they were both holidaying on Hayman Island.’

  ‘How romantic.’

  ‘Quite,’ he said softly.

  ‘I—I wish—’ Carrie began to chew at her thumbnail. After a bit, she said, ‘I wish I could remember meeting you.’

  The question slugged him like a physical blow. Perhaps he should just tell her the truth and stop this conversation now.

  ‘How did it happen, Max? Did our eyes meet across a crowded room? Or did you chase me?’ Carrie dropped her gaze to the gnawed thumbnail. ‘Did I flirt with you?’

  Against his better judgement Max allowed himself to relive the amazing chemistry of that night, the glittering, harbourside venue and that first, heart-zapping moment of eye contact with Carrie. Her shining dark eyes and dazzling bright smile, the electric shock of their bodies touching the first time they danced...

  Quietly, he said, ‘I reckon we could safely claim all of the above.’

  ‘Wow,’ she said, but she didn’t sound very happy.

  She let out a heavy sigh, gave a toss of her long brown hair and flopped back in her seat, with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed, as if even this tiny slice of information was more than she could handle.

  * * *

  Carrie wished she could go to sleep. She just wanted the next few hours—the tedious journey over endless sweeping plains, the Townsville hospital and the medical tests—to be over and done with. Along with that fantasy she wanted a miraculous mind-clearing drug that would restore her memory and bring her instantly back to normal.

  Or did she?

  Was she ready for reality?

  Did she really want to wake up and find herself reliving every minute detail of her life as an Outback wife?

  She slid another glance Max’s way. She had to admit she couldn’t fault her husband’s looks. Yes, he had a distinctly outdoorsy aura, but she was rather partial to well-developed muscles and piercing blue eyes.

  She wished she could remember meeting him at Cleo’s wedding. For that matter she wished she could remember their own wedding. She looked again at her left hand and the faint mark on the ring finger and contemplated asking him about her wedding ring and why she wasn’t wearing it, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear his answer.

  Of course the reason might be simple—she’d taken the ring off as a practical safety precaution—but the answer also might be complex and awkward, and right now Carrie was quite sure she had as many complications as she could handle. So, although her curiosity about Max was off the scale, she decided it was wisest to choose her questions carefully. Best to stick to the past. The straightforward simplicity of their first meeting.

  ‘Were you wearing a tux?’ she asked. ‘On the night we met?’

  Max looked surprised, and then mildly amused. ‘I suppose I was.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Yes, of course I was. It was an evening wedding. Quite formal.’

  ‘And what was I wearing?’ She wondered if it was a dress she could remember. ‘What colour?’

  He shot her a twinkling sideways glance. ‘The female mind never ceases to amaze me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘All the questions you could ask and you want to know what colour you were wearing more than three years ago.’

  She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling almost playful. ‘You don’t remember, do you?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Tell me, then.’

  ‘It was a slinky almost backless number in a fetching coppery shade. And you had matching streaks of copper in your hair.’

  Carrie smiled. She couldn’t remember the dress, but it sounded like the sort of thing she might have chosen, and she’d loved having her hair streaked to match an outfit.

  Suddenly emboldened, she asked, ‘Did we sleep together on that first night?’

  To her surprise, she saw the muscles jerk in Max’s neck as he swallowed, and then he took his time answering. ‘What do you think?’ he asked finally.

  Carrie blushed, caught out by her own cheeky question. As far as she could remember she wasn’t in the habit of jumping into bed with men on a first date. Then again, she couldn’t remember ever dating anyone quite as disturbingly sexy as Max.

  ‘Well,’ she said carefully. ‘We did end up getting married, so I guess there might have been sparks.’

  Max didn’t shift his gaze from the road in front of them, but his hands tightened around the steering wheel and a dark stain rose like a tide up his neck. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘There were sparks.’

  Something in his voice, half rumble, half threat, sent Carrie’s imagination running wild. Without warning she was picturing Max in his tux, shedding his jacket and wrenching off his bow tie, then peeling away her slinky copper dress. She saw him bending to touch his lips to her bared shoulder, to cup her breasts in his strong hands and—

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. She knew very well that this wasn’t a memory. It was pure fantasy. But it was a fantasy complete with sparks that lit flashpoints, burning all over her skin, and firing way deep inside.

  Silenced and stunned by her body’s reaction, she slunk back in her seat, crossed her legs demurely once more and folded her arms. It was time to stop asking questions. Any kind of conversation with this man was dangerous.

  * * *

  At last the tests were over and Carrie had seen the Townsville specialist. As far as her head injury was concerned there were no serious complications and she had been told that her memory should return, although the doctor couldn’t tell her exactly when this would happen. For the time being Carrie was to follow the normal precautions.

  She shouldn’t be left alone for the next twenty-four h
ours and she should have plenty of rest and avoid stressful situations. She should not drink alcohol or take non-prescription drugs, and there was to be no more horse riding for at least three weeks, when she was to return for another appointment.

  ‘I’m sure your memory will be restored by then,’ the doctor told her confidently as they left.

  It was good news, or as good as she could expect, and Carrie knew she should be grateful. To a certain extent she was grateful. She could expect a full recovery, and she had a husband who seemed willing to help her in every way possible.

  But the problem of her lost memory felt huge, like an invisible force field between her and Max. He was a constant physical and highly visible masculine presence at her side, and yet she didn’t know him. He knew everything about her, but she didn’t know him. At all.

  Apparently the memories were there, locked inside her brain, but she couldn’t reach them. It was like living with a blindfold that she couldn’t remove.

  She was ignorant of basic things—Max’s favourite food and his most loved movies. She didn’t know what footie team he followed, or whether he shaved with an electric razor. And she knew nothing about his character. His heart. Was he a good man? Was he even-tempered or prone to anger? Was he kind to old ladies and kittens? Did he love being a cattleman?

  Did he love her?

  And the biggest question that dominated her thoughts right at this moment—where did he plan to sleep tonight?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘I’VE BOOKED AN APARTMENT,’ Max said as their vehicle crested a hill and a vista of sparkling blue sea and a distant green island suddenly lay before them. ‘I made the booking for a few days, in case you need time to adjust before we head back to Riverslea Downs.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Carrie. ‘That’s thoughtful.’ Already, as they’d travelled from the hospital through the city, she’d noticed large shopping centres, several restaurants and cafés, and a movie theatre or two.

  ‘If you can’t be in Sydney, a big city like Townsville is at least better than a remote Outback cattle station,’ her mother said when she rang to find out how Carrie was.

  ‘Yes, I guess so.’ Carrie was actually more interested in finding out what it was that her mother had been going to tell her during their previous phone conversation.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ her mother said now, quite bluntly. And then, in more soothing tones, ‘Honestly, darling, I’ve forgotten. It can’t have been important.’

  Carrie was certain she was lying, but it seemed pointless to push the matter.

  Now, having rung off, she asked Max, ‘If we stay here for a few days who will look after your cattle?’

  This brought a smile. ‘The cattle can look after themselves for the time being. We’ve had a good wet season, so the dams are full and there’s plenty of pasture. But anyway Barney’s there.’

  Carrie frowned. ‘Who’s Barney?’

  Max looked momentarily surprised, as if he considered this person entirely unforgettable, but then he said quickly, ‘He’s an old retired ringer. He lives on the property. He worked there for nearly sixty years. Worked for my father before me. And when it was time to retire he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the Outback, so he has his own little cottage and does odd jobs around the place.’

  ‘A kind of caretaker?’

  Max grinned. ‘Better than a guard dog.’

  So it seemed Max was kind to old family employees. Carrie approved, and wondered if she should make a list of things she was learning about her husband.

  She soon discovered he’d chosen an impressive apartment. It was on the fourth floor of a building built right beside the sea, very modern and gleaming, with white walls and white floor tiles and a neat kitchen with pretty, pale granite bench tops. The living area was furnished with attractive cane furniture with deep blue cushions. A wall of white shutters opened on to a balcony with a view over palm trees to the dazzling tropical sea.

  ‘How lovely,’ she said. ‘I’m sure this must be the perfect spot for my recovery.’

  Max’s blue eyes were warm as he smiled. ‘That’s what I was hoping.’

  Tentatively, Carrie returned his smile. ‘We haven’t stayed here before, have we?’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘We usually come to Townsville a few times a year for a city break.’

  Really? It sounded like a pretty nice lifestyle. But right now Carrie had one rather big and worrying question—how many bedrooms were there?

  She looked around nervously, counting the doorways that led from the main living area, somewhat relieved to see there was more than one.

  ‘This is the main bedroom,’ Max said smoothly as he watched the direction of her gaze. And then he crossed to an open doorway. ‘Come and look—it’s not bad.’

  Still clutching the small leather holdall with her few possessions, Carrie followed him. The room was huge, with what seemed like acres of pale cream carpet and an enormous white and aqua bed. And there were floor-to-ceiling windows giving an incredible view to the sea on one side and to a pretty marina filled with sleek, beautiful yachts on the other. Another doorway led to an en-suite bathroom that was equally huge and white and luxurious.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, and heat spread under her skin as she wondered, again, if Max planned to share this room with her.

  He was standing just a few feet away and his wide-shouldered presence seemed to make the bedroom shrink. Her imagination flashed forward—she was lying in that enormous bed, the sheets smooth and silky against her skin. Max was emerging from the bathroom, coming straight from the shower, naked, his powerful body gleaming in the lamplight. And then he was lifting the sheet and sliding in beside her...

  To her dismay, she realised he was watching her and she sucked in a shaky breath. The play of emotions on his face suggested that he was remembering something from their past. She wished she knew what it was. Wished she knew how many nights they’d spent in rooms like this. Max was so earthy and masculine... She was sure, deep in her bones, that those nights had been wild.

  ‘Were—were you planning to sleep in here, too?’ she asked, and her voice was ridiculously breathless.

  ‘You’re supposed to stay relaxed, so I was assuming you’d want your own bed, but it’s entirely your call.’ His expression was cool now, as if he was deliberately clearing it of emotion. ‘I don’t need to sleep here. There’s another room. Whatever you prefer.’

  Carrie gulped. ‘Right.’ Flustered, she looked around at this room which, in reality, was big enough to house a small village. She looked anywhere except at Max, who was waiting for her decision.

  ‘I’ll take the other room,’ he said quietly.

  She must have taken too long. She blinked and exhaled the breath she’d been holding, letting it go with an embarrassingly noisy whoosh. Foolishly, she felt a moment’s disappointment.

  Then she caught Max’s stern gaze, still fixed on her, and she couldn’t think what to say so she nodded. Almost immediately she marched back to the living room, curiosity driving her to check out the other bedroom.

  It was obviously designed for children, and was much smaller than the main room, without any of the views and with two single beds that looked ridiculously small for such a big man.

  She turned to Max, who had followed her. ‘You won’t be comfortable in here. We should swap. I’ll be perfectly fine in one of these beds, and I’m tired, so I don’t need the views and I wouldn’t—’

  ‘Carrie, calm down.’ Now Max looked almost amused. ‘It’s OK. I’ll be fine in here.’ The skin around his eyes creased as he smiled. ‘You’re convalescing. You’ll be better with a room to yourself, and the main bedroom has an en-suite.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ she said, still flustered. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Now, you should go on to the balcony and enjoy
the view,’ he said. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  Max looked more like a cowboy than a waiter or a chef, but he made a surprisingly good cuppa and, without asking, knew exactly how Carrie liked her tea—with just a dash of milk and no sugar. The evidence that he really was her husband was growing, and she accepted it with a mix of dismay and bewildering excitement.

  Perhaps when she got her memory back her life would be suddenly wonderful. Perfect. Far better than she could possibly imagine...in spite of their marriage’s Outback setting.

  For now, at least, it was very pleasant to sit on the balcony with a cool breeze blowing in from the sea. She caught the scent of frangipani in the air, and the sky was tinged with pink from the setting sun. Down by the water cockatoos squabbled in treetops. Out on the still, silvery bay, kayakers paddled.

  The setting was idyllic. Carrie’s companion—her husband—was handsome and charming. She wanted to enjoy the moment and not to worry.

  If only the situation didn’t feel so unreal—like a pretence, as if she’d slipped through a time warp and was living someone else’s life.

  Max organised dinner, ordering takeaway food from a nearby Chinese restaurant, which he collected and then served using the apartment’s pretty aqua blue dinner service.

  The night was deliciously balmy, so they lit candles with glass shades and ate on the balcony. Moonlight shone on the water and lights on the black shape of Magnetic Island twinkled in the distance. A yacht left the marina and glided smoothly and silently over the dark bay, heading out to sea.

  For Carrie, the combination of the meal and the moonlight was quite magical, and she could feel her body relaxing, the nervous knots in her belly easing, even while her curiosity about Max and their marriage mounted.

  ‘Do you know what I’ve done with my wedding ring?’ The question, just one out of the hundreds of questions circling in her head, spilled from her before she quite realised what she was saying.