SHE STAMMERED, CONFUSED. “WH-WHAT?”
His voice, thick and unsteady, was no more than a hoarse whisper. “Who are you?”
She looked at Henry whose face clouded with concern.
“Ty,” he stammered, “its Emma. Your wife.”
His eyes jerked open, then squinted against the brightness before fixing on her. “Wife?”
She sat up straight, forced herself to remain calm despite the uncertainty ripping through her. How can he not remember me? “Yes.”
Henry placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’ll send one of the boys to town for Doc Morton and the sheriff. He said to let him know as soon as Ty came around.”
She clenched her jaw to kill the sob clogging her throat and nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” He turned and left them alone.
It took monumental effort to speak in a neutral tone. “You seem to remember Henry…what else do you remember?”
He paused. “Not much.”
She bit her lip, took a breath. “What exactly is not much?”
Eyes shut, mouth a tight line, he rolled his head slowly side to side, and groaned.
“Are you in pain?”
“Head hurts like a bitch.” Without opening his eyes, he continued, “Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to cuss.”
She fought hard against the tears. Crying wouldn’t help anything. “No apology needed.” She resisted the urge to add I’m your wife.
He didn’t remember her. How was that possible?
She reached for the bottle holding Lupe’s pain medicine. “This should help.”
“Henry gave me some. Any water left?” His voice was gruff and hoarse, his words clipped.
She set it aside and reached for the glass of water on the table. She supported his neck while he drank it all.
With a heavy sigh, his head sank back on the pillow. “We’re married?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
She hesitated. “Less than two weeks.”
He opened his eyes and blinked several times. “That’s all?”
She nodded, smoothed down the front of her skirt. “We married right before you left for the drive.” Her face heated with the memory of their lovemaking. How could he not remember?
The silence drug on and she thought he drifted off again.
“You came after me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” His speech became slurred, and his eyelids fluttered.
“You’re my husband.”
His eyes slid shut, his chest rose and fell in even movements.
“And I love you,” she whispered.
Emma stood at the foot of the bed and watched as Doc Morton examined the patient.
“All things considered, Tyler, I’d say you’re doing good.”
“How bad?”
“You’re a lucky man.” He pointed to the gash across Ty’s forehead. “A slight turn of your head and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Took a bullet out of your shoulder and you left leg. Nothing vital hit but you lost a lot of blood.” He turned to Emma. “Stick to soup and light stuff a few days as he can tolerate it, but take it easy. He’s been out of it for a week.” He snapped his bag shut. “Keep him still for another week, then try to get him moving around.”
“How long before this headache and dizziness goes away?” Ty glanced at Emma, “and why can I remember Henry but not…that I’m married?”
Doc shook his head. “Not surprised you got memory issues. Something put an egg-sized knot on your head.”
“How long before it comes back?”
“Can’t rightly say. The brain is pretty hardy but yours took a beatin’. We just need to be patient and let it heal.” He spoke to Emma. “Lupe’s pain concoction will work for his fever, too, if it comes back.” He handed her a small brown bottle. “If the pain gets too bad, give him three or four drops of this in a spoon of water. It tastes like…well, it’s bad. It’ll put him to sleep which is probably best. I’ll be back in a few days.”
He turned for the door and greeted a newcomer. “Howdy, Sheriff.”
“Doc.” Sheriff Dawson tipped his hat as he entered the room. “Can I talk to him?”
“All yours.”
Tall and rawboned, with snow white hair, Jeff Dawson, sheriff for over a decade, was known for being an honest and fair man who stood toe-to-toe with the rowdiest of cowhands.
He smiled at Emma, his brown eyes kind and gentle. “I stopped in to see Rafe. He seems to be doing some better these days.”
“Yes, he does.”
He turned to Ty, his voice switching to business. “Wanna tell me what happened to you?”
“Wish like hell I knew.”
He glanced at Emma who shrugged slightly. “He can’t remember anything about it.”
Dawson’s brow crinkled and he looked back to Ty. “Nothing?”
“Last thing I remember was sitting on Henry’s porch with a cigar.”
“When was that?”
“I don’t know.” His curt reply held a heavy dose of frustration.
“He’s been here almost six weeks, Sheriff.” She kept her voice devoid of emotion, revealing nothing of her inner turmoil.
“All right, what about enemies? Anyone you know of who might want to harm you?”
Emma gasped and two sets of eyes focused on her.
Sheriff Dawson spoke first. “Something wrong, Miss Emma?”
Too startled to reply right away, a cold knot of fear grew in her stomach. “Walker. He threatened Ty.”
“Who’s Walker?”
“Why would Walker threaten him?”
The questions came on top of each other and added to her state of anxiety. “He…wasn’t happy about our marriage. He told me Ty was good as dead.”
She glanced at Ty, whose face darkened with an unreadable emotion.
“Well, I must say I was surprised myself when I got the wedding invite. I thought you and Walker were — ”
“I was never, ever going to marry him.” Heat raced to her cheeks as her temper flared.
Dawson looked at her a moment, took a breath, and returned to questioning the patient. “Anyone else in your past I need to know about?”
“No. At least not that I can remember. Ask Henry. We’ve known each other for many years.”
“Okay. You remember anything else, get word to me.” He turned back to Emma. “I’ll talk with Walker but I gotta say, that don’t sound like him.”
You don’t know him like I do.
After he left, Emma busied herself straightening up the bedroom while avoiding looking at Ty.
“Can we talk?”
She nodded, too distressed to answer his soft-spoken question.
He tried to scoot himself up in the bed but quickly fell back.
“Here, let me help.” She maneuvered the pillows behind him, and soon had him sitting upright. She forced herself to ignore the memories swamping her at the proximity of his mouth to hers; the taste of him, the smell of him threatening to dissolve her determination.
He leaned back and puffed out a breath. “Thanks. Hate like hell to be so weak.” This time he didn’t apologize for cussing but he did look away, the hint of a flush on his bearded cheeks.
She pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat, suddenly so nervous she trembled. What did he want to talk about? Did he remember something?
He closed his eyes and she waited for him to speak.
“Were you…involved with him? Walker?”
“Hell no!” She sputtered, bristling with indignation.
His eyes widened, then a ghost of smile tugged up one corner of his mouth. “You cussed.”
She met his steady gaze. “Yes, well, I do sometimes. You never minded.”
He studied her for several heartbeats before continuing. “Why would he threaten me, then?”
She couldn’t sit still so she walked to the window and back before speaking. “Our marriage is …not like most.”
“Meaning?”
She took a deep breath and told him.
“So, you’re saying because of your father’s will, he would use you to get the ranch and tried to scare off anyone who came to call?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t want to marry him?”
“Not if he was the last man on earth.”
“But you would marry a total stranger? Someone you know nothing about?”
She chewed on her lip, shy about revealing her love for him but knowing she should. “I knew all I needed to.”
His brow creased, and his eyes narrowed. “Which was?”
She returned to the chair, hands folded in her lap. “You’re a good man. You respect me.” She met his steady gaze. “I trust you. And…I love you.”
His jaw clenched, and he remained silent.
“You told me up front you weren’t sure you even knew what love was but that you cared for me.”
“I did?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“Well, we talked… about things.” Heat rushed to her cheeks and she looked away.
“Like what?”
“Oh, hell!” She moved to the end of the bed and crossed her arms over her chest.
When she looked at him, a ghost of a smile appeared for a heartbeat, then dissolved.
“You didn’t mind that I’m not what one would normally expect in wife.”
“Why not?”
Her hands fisted on her hips and she blew out a breath. “Because I’m not very…ladylike. I cuss, I wear britches and work alongside the men, and…”
He stared, eyes narrowed. “And…”
“I can’t cook.” She folded her arms across her chest again, glanced at him, then quickly away. “And I’d never been kissed…till you showed me how.”