Mind of Her Own (2 page)

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 that 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 over 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 people’s 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—”