The Husband She'd Never Met Read online

  Radiant was the only word to describe how they looked. Radiant and triumphant. Glowing with unmistakable joy.

  The ache in Carrie’s chest bloomed, pressing under her ribs and making her feel sick as she stared miserably at the photo, wishing she could remember, wishing she could experience again the obvious truth it showed her.

  As she set the photo down, however, she felt a reassuring warmth begin to spread slowly through her as she realised that her feelings for Max were valid. It was OK that she’d liked him from the moment he’d appeared in her hospital room. It was fine that her initial liking was growing deeper with every hour she spent in his company.

  She didn’t have to fight the emotions and longing he roused in her. He was her husband. He loved her. They loved each other.

  Wonderfully reassured, she looked at the other photos. Her good friends Joanne and Heidi had been her bridesmaids. They were dressed alike, in charcoal-grey silk, and carried pink and white bouquets.

  Then her attention was caught by another photo, and in this one she was arriving at the wedding, leaving a sleek black car decorated with white satin ribbons and walking into the church on the arm of a tall and rather striking silver-haired older man. He must have given her away, but although he looked ever so vaguely familiar Carrie couldn’t place him. He certainly wasn’t an uncle or an old family friend, and she’d never known her father. He’d died when she was a baby.

  She was still puzzling over the man’s identity when she heard the fly-screen door in the kitchen swing open, then shut, followed by Max’s footsteps. He came into the hall and stopped at the doorway.

  Carrie turned.

  ‘Hi, there,’ he said quietly.

  Just looking at him, she felt her heart-rate kick up a notch. ‘How’s Barney?’ she remembered to ask.

  ‘Fine. I explained how things are. He’s looking forward to catching up with you at some stage.’

  ‘Right.’ Feeling awkward about any future conversation with the unknown Barney, Carrie pointed to the photos. ‘I’ve just found these. I guess they’re the final proof that we tied the knot.’ She tried to sound lighthearted and amused as she said this, knowing that Max must be tired of her looking worried all the time.

  A dark stain coloured his neck. ‘You were a beautiful bride, Carrie.’

  ‘You scrubbed up pretty well yourself.’

  A brief smile flickered, but he didn’t look happy.

  Why? Carrie felt a new niggle of alarm. Was she behaving so very differently from usual? She wondered what kind of wife she’d been. Affectionate? Given to passionate impulses? Right now she wished Max would take her in his arms and kiss any doubts away.

  It wasn’t going to happen. He was being too careful.

  She picked up the photograph of herself with the strange silver-haired older man. ‘Who’s this fellow? Did he give me away?’

  ‘Yes.’ Max came closer and his gaze was serious now as he fixed on the photo she held. ‘He’s a neighbour.’

  ‘One of your neighbours?’ she asked, feeling more puzzled than ever.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Doug Peterson.’

  ‘Why on earth would he give me away?’

  Max’s eyes shimmered with sympathy. ‘Carrie, he’s your father.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘MY FATHER?’ SHOCK EXPLODED through Carrie, zapping and bursting in a white-hot blast.

  ‘Yes,’ Max said gently, but with inescapable certainty.

  But I don’t have a father. My father’s dead.

  Her emotions were rioting—a panicky mix of anger, confusion and doubt.

  All through her childhood she’d longed for a father. So many times she’d tried to imagine him, conjuring up her perfect fantasy. A strong, kind, loving man who was inclined to spoil her...

  She’d been so conscious of the lack of a father figure. It had made her noticeably different from the other kids. Her parents weren’t merely divorced. Her father wasn’t a man to be visited on weekends or during school holidays. He was dead. Gone for ever.

  Now... This news...

  A wave of dizziness swept over her and her legs felt as weak as water. She might have slumped to the floor if Max hadn’t caught her.

  ‘Hey, take it easy.’ His rock-solid arms held her safe and she felt so helpless she let her head rest on his shoulder, grateful for his strength.

  ‘You should be lying down,’ he said.

  ‘But you have to tell me what you meant. How can that man be my father?’

  ‘One thing at a time.’

  Before she quite knew what was happening Max had slipped one arm around her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, and with breathtaking ease swung her feet from the ground. He carried her as if she weighed no more than a kitten. Without further comment, he took her to the bedroom.

  For a brief few moments she enjoyed the heady luxury of being carried by her strong, hunky husband before he laid gently her on the big white bed.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said as she sank into the pillows. ‘I’m OK, though, Max. It was just such a shock about my father. I—I don’t understand.’

  ‘I know. I’ll explain.’ Carefully, he stepped a discreet distance from the bed, his expression both concerned and sympathetic. ‘But first let me get you a drink of water.’

  ‘No, I don’t need water. I’ve just had a cup of tea.’ Impatient now, Carrie rose up on one elbow. The loss of her father had always been a black hole in her life. She had to know more. ‘Tell me about this Doug Peterson.’

  After a moment’s hesitation Max moved closer again. To her surprise, and secret delight, he sat on the edge of the bed, his thigh almost touching her leg, leaving her excruciatingly aware of the minuscule gap between them.

  ‘You’ve already been through the shock of discovering your father once before,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry you have to go through it again. It was hard enough the first time.’

  Carrie frowned. ‘So when did it happen? How did I meet him?’

  ‘Doug and Meredith were at Grant and Cleo’s wedding—the same wedding in Sydney where we met.’

  ‘Is Meredith Doug’s wife?’

  ‘Yes, his new wife. Well, not so new now. They’ve been married for about ten years. She’s also Grant’s aunt.’

  ‘OK...’ Carrie was only just managing to follow the links between these strangers she’d never met. ‘So I met you and this man who claims to be my father on the same night?’

  It sounded incredible.

  ‘He is your father, Carrie.’ Max’s voice was warm with sympathy. ‘Your mother married Doug when she was just twenty-one. She’s admitted to—er—let’s say “fudging the truth” when she told you that he’d died.’

  Whack.

  It was like stumbling and falling into the black hole that had always haunted her. Carrie felt disorientated again—as if she could barely tell which way was up. All these years she’d had a father.

  How could her mother have lied about something so terribly important?

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘I’m not exactly sure.’ Max frowned at a spot on the floor. ‘As I understand it, Sylvia realised she’d made a mistake soon after she married Doug. She couldn’t stand living in the Outback. The isolation really got to her.’

  That was certainly believable. Her mum had always been a city woman. No doubt about that. She thrived on getting together with her girlfriends and going for coffee and to art galleries and the theatre.

  ‘Sylvia didn’t want you to know about Doug,’ Max added. ‘She was afraid you’d insist on visiting him. I think she was terrified of sending you away for holidays on his property. I’ve always thought—’

  Max broke off and his mouth tightened. He seemed to be th
inking through the best way to word what he needed to tell her.

  ‘I think your mother might have been scared she’d lose you,’ he said gently. ‘Anyway, for whatever reason, she persuaded Doug to keep his distance.’

  ‘But to say he was dead was so extreme.’

  It was cruel.

  Knowing her mother, though, Carrie thought it was also highly credible. She could remember the way her mother used to carry on whenever there was a story on the news about graziers, or the Outback, or drought.

  ‘Mum used to say that anyone who lived in the bush was mad. Reckoned they shouldn’t complain and ask for government assistance because they’d chosen to live out there.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Max was scowling now and his mouth was a grim downward curving line.

  Carrie wondered if she’d offended him. ‘Obviously I didn’t agree with her,’ she said.

  He didn’t respond to this. He didn’t meet her gaze either, and she wondered what this meant. Had she become like her mother? Had she also found the Outback lifestyle too hard? It was a disappointing thought, but it was also quite possible, she supposed—perhaps even likely. She was a city girl at heart, like her mum.

  Or was she?

  If only she knew.

  She thought how incredibly emotional the discovery of her father must have been for everyone involved—herself, her mother and her father. But it was hard to feel those emotions now, when she had no memory of that meeting.

  Carrie was more interested in the man in front of her. ‘Tell me about us,’ she said, driven by a sudden burning need to know.

  Max’s blue eyes widened with something close to shock. ‘Us?’

  ‘I love how happy we look in those wedding photos. Is—is it still like that for us?’

  Max swallowed. and for a terrible moment he looked upset. A hint of silver shimmered in his gorgeous blue eyes.

  Fear clutched at Carrie’s heart. What was the matter? Was their marriage in trouble?

  ‘I’ll be honest,’ he said eventually, and his gaze was once again steady and warm, making her wonder if she’d imagined his earlier distress. ‘I still love you as much as I did on our wedding day, Carrie.’

  She shivered. They were lovely words to hear, but why didn’t Max look happier? Was it simply because he was worried about her amnesia? Or was there something else?

  ‘What about me?’ she had to ask. ‘Have I been a good wife?’ Good grief, that sounded so pathetic. Hastily, she amended her question. ‘Have I made you happy?’

  With a heartbreakingly crooked smile Max reached out and traced a gentle line down her cheek with his thumb. ‘You’ve made me happier than I ever dared to hope,’ he said.

  But his smile was so sad that Carrie felt inexplicably depressed. And completely confused.

  A heavy sigh escaped her.

  Max must have read this as a signal and he stood.

  ‘You should try not to worry about any of this for now,’ he said. ‘You need to rest.’

  She supposed he was right, but she’d rest more easily if she didn’t sense that there was something vitally important he hadn’t told her.

  ‘Take it easy in here and I’ll fix you something to eat,’ he said.

  In an instant Carrie was sitting up. ‘I don’t expect you to wait on me.’

  ‘It will only be something simple. How does grilled cheese on toast sound?’

  ‘Oh...’ Grilled cheese on toast was her favourite comfort snack, and right now she couldn’t think of anything she would like better. Max must have known that. She could very easily have kissed him. ‘That would be perfect,’ she said with a smile. ‘Thank you.’

  His mouth tilted in a funny little answering smile and he sent her a comical salute before he left the room. She wondered if this was an old joke between them.

  When would she know? When would any of this make sense?

  * * *

  When the phone rang in the kitchen, Max answered it quickly.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Max.’ His mother-in-law made no attempt to hide her disappointment. ‘I was hoping to speak to Carrie.’

  ‘She’s resting, Sylvia. I’m afraid the long journey has tired her.’

  ‘Of course it will have tired her. I can’t believe you dragged the poor girl all the way out there in her condition.’

  Max grimaced. ‘It was Carrie’s decision to come home.’

  ‘Home?’ There was no missing the scoffing tone in Sylvia’s voice now. ‘I’m quite sure Carrie doesn’t think of Riverslea as her home any more.’

  Just in time, Max bit back a four-letter word. He was at the end of his patience.

  ‘But the more important question,’ his mother-in-law continued, ‘is whether my daughter is in any condition to make wise choices.’

  This was a question Max had asked himself, but he wasn’t prepared to concede a major point to The Dragon. ‘Carrie seems perfectly lucid.’

  Sylvia sniffed. ‘Well, I’ll make no bones about it. I’m not happy about this situation.’

  That was hardly the surprise of the century. Sylvia hadn’t been happy from the moment she’d met Max. When their meeting had been closely followed by Doug Peterson’s revelations, Sylvia had put on such a turn that she’d had to spend a night in hospital. Max had felt sorry for her at the time, but his sympathy had been sorely tested over the years that had followed.

  ‘Sylvia, can I suggest you don’t tell Carrie how you feel about this when you speak to her? It wouldn’t be helpful.’

  There was a distinct gasp on the end of the line. ‘I’ll thank you not to lecture me on how to speak to my own daughter.’

  With no polite response at the ready, Max held his tongue.

  ‘I believe in speaking my mind,’ Sylvia continued. ‘And there’s something I need to say to you, Max. I’ll be upfront.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘Don’t be facetious. I’m worried about Carrie. I’m concerned that you plan to take advantage of this situation.’

  This time Max gritted his teeth so tightly it was a wonder his jaw didn’t crack. ‘What the hell are you implying, Sylvia? That I’ll seduce Carrie while her memory’s gone?’

  ‘Well...yes. That is my concern. Carrie’s vulnerable right now.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ he said coldly. ‘And I’ll ask you to give me some credit for acting in my wife’s best interests.’

  ‘Well, yes, but I happen to know...’

  Sylvia paused and Max was gripped by a new tension. Did his mother-in-law know that Carrie had planned to leave him?

  There was a heavy sigh on the end of the line. ‘I trust you’ll keep your word, then,’ Sylvia said, although she didn’t sound satisfied.

  ‘I’ll tell Carrie you called and that you send her your love.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll call again in the morning.’

  Max’s thoughts were grim as he set the phone back in its cradle. Sylvia had always resented him for luring her daughter away from the bright lights and into the depths of the Outback.

  Not that Carrie had needed much luring. She’d been dead keen to leave the city when they’d first met. With her lovely dark eyes gleaming with excitement, she’d declared she would follow him to the Antarctic, to the top of Everest or to Timbuktu, as long as they could be together. Much to her mother’s despair.

  Max remembered again the one and only time Sylvia had come to Riverslea Downs to stay with them. She’d barely ventured outside, even to sit on the veranda. She’d spent most of the five-day visit ensconced in the lounge room, dressed as if she was expecting a visit from the Queen.

  With her hair just so, her nails carefully painted and pearls at her throat and ears, she’d worn a petulant frown as she’d filled in the time when Carrie had been too busy to entertain her
by doing cross-stitch.

  There had been all-round relief when she left. Her parting gift had been a cross-stitched cushion bearing the message Families are For Ever.

  Max had read this as a threat.

  But tonight he had a deeper worry than his mother-in-law. He was haunted by the inescapable fact that Carrie had followed in her mother’s footsteps and walked away from her marriage. And yet this evening she’d asked that heartbreaking question.

  Have I made you happy?

  He’d told her the truth. She had made him happier than he’d ever dared to hope. For two and a half years they’d worked in harmony together on the property, they’d been good mates and passionate lovers.

  He was unwilling to tell Carrie the rest of it—that she’d lost her love of the land and left him. That mere days ago she’d trampled on his heart with hob-nailed boots.

  * * *

  A soft dawn filtered through the white curtains. In the vague state between dreaming and waking properly, Carrie lay staring about her at the room—at the painting of a misty hillside, at the white dressing table and pretty green glass bowl that held a jumble of her earrings. Everything felt familiar, and for a moment she felt as if she remembered it all...remembered it from a time before yesterday when Max had brought her home.

  But as soon as she tried to pin down those memories they drifted away like cobwebs in a breeze, leaving her with nothing. Not a single sense of ever having seen this room before her accident, or the house, or the man who shared it with her.

  She wondered where Max had spent the night. And then she couldn’t help wondering what it had been like when he’d slept in here with her. Not the sex—she got far too hot and bothered whenever she thought about their naked bodies joined in passion. But she allowed herself to wonder about other intimacies.

  Did she sometimes reach out and touch her husband during the night? Just because she could and because she liked to reassure herself that he was there, warm and breathing by her side? Did she sleep in his arms? Or snuggle into the solid warmth of his back?

  Or did they lie unromantically far apart, with as much distance between them as possible?