Beach Season (41 page)
Authors: Lisa Jackson
C
HAPTER
4
HAPTER
4
Shawna’s heart nearly stopped. “Parker?” she whispered, struggling to keep her voice steady as she took his bandaged hand in hers. “Don’t you remember me?”
His gaze skated over her face and he squinted, as if trying to remember something hazy, but no flash of recognition flickered in his eyes.
“I’m Shawna,” she said slowly, hoping to hide the tremble of her lips. “Shawna McGuire.”
“A doctor?” he guessed, and Shawna wanted to die.
“Yes—but more than that.”
Tom Handleman caught her eye, warning her not to push Parker too hard, but Shawna ignored him. This was important. Parker had to remember! He couldn’t forget—not about the love they’d shared, the way they had felt and cared about each other.
“We were supposed to be married,” she said quietly, watching his thick brows pull together in consternation. “The day after your accident, at Pioneer Church, in the rose arbor ... I waited for you.”
He didn’t say a word, just stared at her as if she were a complete stranger.
“That’s enough for now,” Tom Handleman said, stepping closer to the bed, snapping on his penlight, trying to end the emotional scene. “Let’s take a look at you, Mr. Harrison.”
But before Tom could shine his penlight into Parker’s eyes, Parker grabbed the doctor’s wrist. The crisp sheets slid from one side of the bed, exposing his bare leg and the bandages, still streaked with dried blood. “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded, his voice gruff and nearly unrecognizable. “What happened to me? What’s she talking about?” He glanced back to Shawna. “What marriage? I’ve never even been engaged—” Then his eyes dropped to Shawna’s left hand and the winking diamond on her ring finger.
“Mr. Harrison, please—”
“Just what the hell happened to me?” Parker repeated, trying to sit up, only to blanch in pain.
“Parker, please,” Shawna whispered, restraining him with her hands. She could feel his shoulder muscles, hard and coiled, flexing as he attempted to sit upright. “Just calm down. We’ll straighten this all out. You’ll remember, I promise.” But she had to fight the catch in her throat and her professionalism drained away from her. She couldn’t be cool or detached with Parker. “Dr. Handleman’s your physician.”
“I don’t
know
any Handleman. Where’s Jack Pederson?”
know
any Handleman. Where’s Jack Pederson?”
“Who?” Handleman asked, writing quickly on Parker’s chart.
Shawna glanced nervously to the doctor. “Jack was Parker’s trainer.”
“Was?” Parker repeated, his features taut from pain and the effort of trying to remember those tiny pieces of his past that teased him, rising just to the surface of his mind only to sink deeper into murky oblivion. “Was?”
“That was a couple of years ago,” Shawna said quickly.
“What’re you talking about? Just last Saturday, Jack and I—” But he didn’t finish and his features slackened suddenly as he turned bewildered blue eyes on Handleman. “No, it wasn’t Saturday,” he whispered, running one hand through his hair and feeling, for the first time, the bandages surrounding his head. Involuntarily his jaw tightened. “Maybe you’d better fill me in,” he said, dropping his hand and pinning Tom Handleman with his gaze. “What the hell happened to me?”
“You were in an accident. Several days ago.”
Parker closed his eyes, trying vainly to remember.
“From what the police tell me, a truck swerved into your lane, your Jeep crashed through the guardrail, and you were pinned inside the vehicle for several hours. They brought you in here, we performed surgery, and you’ve been unconscious ever since.”
Parker seemed about to protest, but didn’t. Instead he listened in stony silence as Tom described his injuries and prognosis.
“So, now that you’re awake and the swelling in your leg has gone down, we’ll do surgery on that knee. It will all take a little time. You’ll be in physical therapy for a while, then you’ll be good as new—or almost.”
“How long is ‘a while?’ ”
“That depends upon you and how everything heals.”
“Just give me an educated guess.”
Handleman crossed his arms over his chest, folding Parker’s chart against his lab coat. “I’ll be straight with you, Mr. Harrison.”
“I’d appreciate that—and call me Parker.”
“Fair enough, Parker. It could take anywhere from three months to a year of physical therapy before you can play tennis again. But, if you set your mind to it, work hard, I’ll bet you’ll be walking without crutches in six months.”
Parker’s jaw was rock hard and his eyes, clouded, moved from Tom’s face to Shawna’s. “Okay. That answers one question. Now, tell me about the driver of the truck—is he okay?”
“Not a scratch,” Tom replied. “You missed him completely, even though he was all over the road. He was too drunk to report the accident.”
A muscle jerked in Parker’s jaw as he tried to remember. Horrifying images taunted him, but he couldn’t quite make them out. Nonetheless his heart began to beat unsteadily and his hands, beneath bandages, had started to sweat. “There’s something else, though,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Something—I can’t remember. Something ... important.”
God, what is it?
God, what is it?
Shawna cleared her throat. Though she tried to appear calm, Parker read the hint of panic in the way she glanced at Handleman and toyed with the strand of pearls at her neck. “Maybe that’s enough for you right now,” she said.
“You know something, both of you. Something you’re keeping from me.”
Shawna, feeling the urge to protect him, to lie if she had to, to do anything to keep him from the horrid truth, touched his arm. “Just rest now.”
“Is that your professional advice?” Parker asked. “Or are you trying to put me off?”
“Professional,” Tom said quickly, rescuing Shawna. “A nurse will be in to take your temperature and order you some lunch—”
“Wait a minute.” Parker’s voice was stern. “Something’s wrong here, I can feel it. There’s something you’re not telling me about the accident.”
What the hell is it?
Then he knew. “Someone else was involved,” he said flatly. “Who?”
What the hell is it?
Then he knew. “Someone else was involved,” he said flatly. “Who?”
Shawna’s shoulders stiffened a bit and her fingers found his on the cold metal railing.
Handleman offered a professional smile. “Right now all you have to worry about is—”
Parker sat bolt upright, tearing the IV tubing from the rail of the bed and ignoring the jab of pain in his knee. He kicked off the sheets and tried to climb out of bed. “What I have to worry about is who was with me. Where is he—or she?” Fire flared in his eyes as Handleman tried to restrain him. “I have the right to know!”
“Whoa—Parker, settle down,” Handleman said.
“Who, damn it!”
“Brad Lomax,” Shawna whispered, unable to meet the confused torture in his eyes.
“Lomax?”
“He was in the car with you. He drank too much at our wedding rehearsal dinner and you were taking him home.”
“But I don’t remember—” He swallowed then, his eyes clouding. Somewhere deep in his mind he remembered the squeal of tires, the shatter of glass, felt his muscles wrench as he jerked hard on the steering wheel, heard a terrifying scream. “Oh, God,” he rasped. “Who is he?”
“A tennis pro. Your student.” Shawna felt her eyes grow moist as she watched the skin over his cheekbones turn white and taut.
“I was driving,” he said slowly, as if measuring each agonizing word. “Lomax. How is he?”
“I’m afraid he didn’t make it,” Tom replied, exchanging glances with Shawna.
“He was killed in the wreck?” Parker’s voice was sharp and fierce with self-loathing. “I killed him?”
“It was an accident,” Shawna said quickly. “An unfortunate one—his seat belt malfunctioned and he was pinned under the Jeep.”
Parker blinked several times, then lay back on the pillows as he struggled with his past. This couldn’t be happening—he didn’t even know these people! Maybe if he just went back to sleep he’d wake up and this hellish dream with the beautiful woman and clouded jags of memory would go away. “Does Lomax have any family?”
Just you,
Shawna thought, but shook her head. “Only an uncle and a couple of cousins, I think.”
Shawna thought, but shook her head. “Only an uncle and a couple of cousins, I think.”
“I think you’d better get some rest now,” Tom advised, motioning to a nurse standing by the door. “I want Mr. Harrison sedated—”
“No!” Parker’s eyes flew open.
“This has all been such a shock—”
“I can handle it,” Parker said tightly, his face grim and stern. “No sedative, no painkillers. Got it?”
“But—”
“Got it?” he repeated, some of his old fire returning. “And don’t try slipping anything into this!” He lifted his fist with the IV tubes attached.
Handleman’s mouth became a thin white line. “Lie back down, Mr. Harrison,” he said sternly, waiting until Parker reluctantly obeyed. “Now, it’s my job to see that you’re taken care of—that you rest. But I’ll need your help. Either you contain yourself or I’ll have the nurse sedate you.”
Muscles rigid, eyes bright with repressed fury, Parker stared at the ceiling.
“Good. Just let me know if you change your mind about the sedatives or the painkillers. Now, Shawna, I think Mr. Harrison needs his rest.”
“Wait a minute,” Parker insisted, reaching for Shawna’s hand again. “I want to talk to you. Alone.” His gaze drilled past Handleman’s thick glasses, and fortunately, the doctor got the message. With a nod of his head, he tucked his clipboard under his arm, left the room, and closed the door.
“Tell me,” he said, forcing himself to be calm, though his fingers clenched tightly over hers.
“About what?”
“Everything.”
Shawna sighed and sagged against the bed. How could she begin to explain the whirlwind fantasy that had been their relationship? How could she recount how Parker had seen the potential in a streetwise juvenile delinquent and had turned him into one of the finest young tennis players in the nation—a boy who had become a younger brother to him?
“Tell me,” he insisted, hungry for knowledge of himself.
“First things first. What do you remember?”
“Not enough!” he said sharply, then took a deep breath. “Not nearly enough.”
“I’ll tell you what I can,” she said, “but you’ve got to promise to stay calm.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible,” he admitted.
“Then we haven’t got a deal, have we?”
Swearing under his breath, he forced a grin he obviously didn’t feel. “Okay,” he said. “Deal.”
“Good.”
“Something tells me I should remember you.”
“Most definitely,” she agreed, feeling better than she had since the accident and grinning as she blinked back tears. Then, as all her bravado crumbled, she touched him gently on his forehead. “Oh, Parker, I’ve missed you—God, how I’ve missed you.” Without thinking, she leaned forward and kissed him, brushing her lips suggestively over his and tasting the salt from her own tears.
But Parker didn’t respond, just stared at her with perplexed blue eyes.
Shawna cleared her throat. “Fortunately, that part—the loneliness—is over now,” she said, quickly sniffing back her tears. “And once you’re out of here, we’ll get married, and go to the Bahamas, have a ton of children, and live happily ever after!”
“Hey, whoa. Slow down,” he whispered. Rubbing one hand over his jaw, he said, “Tell me about Brad Lomax.”
Shawna realized he wouldn’t give up. Though she felt the urge to protect him, she decided he had to face the truth sooner or later. She wanted to soften the blow, but she had to be honest with him. “Brad Lomax,” she said uneasily, “was a hellion, and he was a terror on the tennis courts, and you saw something in him. You recognized his raw talent and took him under your wing. You and he were very close,” she admitted, seeing the pain in his eyes. “You knew him a lot longer than you’ve known me.”
“How close?” Parker asked, his voice low.
“You were his mentor—kind of a big brother. He looked up to you. That night, the night of the accident, he’d had too much to drink and wanted to talk to you. You offered to take him home.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Why did he want to talk to me?”
Shawna lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. No one does. I suppose now that no one ever will.”
“I killed him,” Parker said quietly.
“No, Parker. It was an accident!” she said vehemently.
“How old was he?”
“Don’t do this to yourself.”
“How old was he?” His eyes drilled into hers.
“Twenty-two,” she whispered.
“Oh, God.” With a shudder, he closed his eyes. “I should have been the one who died, you know.”
Shawna resisted the overpowering urge to cradle his head to her breast and comfort him. The torture twisting his features cut her to the bone. “Don’t do this, Parker. It’s not fair.”
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