Who knew making dinner could change your life?
Louisa Copeland certainly didn’t. But when the George Foreman grill falls out of the pantry onto her head, resulting in a bump and a mighty case of amnesia, Louisa’s life takes a turn for the unexpected.
Who is this Collin fellow, claiming she is his wife? And whose kids are those? Her name can’t be Louisa. Why, she is the renowned romance writer Jazz Sweet, not a Midwestern mom of three.
Struggling to put the pieces together of the life she’s told she had, Louisa/Jazz may realize that some memories are better left alone.
Louisa Copeland certainly didn’t. But when the George Foreman grill falls out of the pantry onto her head, resulting in a bump and a mighty case of amnesia, Louisa’s life takes a turn for the unexpected.
Who is this Collin fellow, claiming she is his wife? And whose kids are those? Her name can’t be Louisa. Why, she is the renowned romance writer Jazz Sweet, not a Midwestern mom of three.
Struggling to put the pieces together of the life she’s told she had, Louisa/Jazz may realize that some memories are better left alone.
Book Excerpt:
Chapter One
Rain pelted the ceiling-to-floor windows of the family
room. The grayness of the evening invaded Louisa Copeland’s mind and home. The
oversize chair she snuggled in helped hide her surroundings. The thick romance
in her hand further darkened her mood as she read how the hero whisked away the
heroine for a surprise dinner on some pier. Were there relationships like that?
She didn’t know of any.
“Give it to him!” Joey, her five-year-old son, joined the
fray as Madison, her twelve-year-old daughter, dangled a plastic horse over the
head of Tim, her youngest son, just out of his reach.
Jolted from the fantasy world into the real one, where rainy
days turned children into caged animals, Louisa gripped the book tight and took
five deep breaths. “Madison, if you don’t give it back to Tim now, I will take
your phone away for the rest of the day.”
Madison’s eyes narrowed. “Daddy won’t let you.”
“He isn’t here at the moment. He is working but will be home
for dinner, and you can discuss it with him then. But for now give it to Tim.”
“Baby.” Madison sneered at Tim. “Take your stupid horse.”
Problem solved, Louisa retreated into the book to finish the
chapter. Done, she sighed and laid the book faceup on the side table next to
her reading chair. The love-struck characters standing in front of a houseboat
mocked her from the cover and filled her with jealousy. She longed to be the
woman between those pages. She closed her eyes, pursed her lips against her
hand, and tried to imagine the feel of Collin’s lips on hers.
She couldn’t. Her hand didn’t smell woodsy like Collin. Why
would it? They hadn’t slept together in over a week. Not since that hurtful
night when he’d accused her of not loving him enough. And until he apologized,
he wouldn’t be back in her bed. She wasn’t going to give in this time, even if
she did toss and turn all night in that enormous bed because she missed him.
But letting him back in her bed without a true “I’m sorry” would mean he’d won,
and she couldn’t accept that. He would have to come to her first, and sending
her those two dozen roses didn’t count either. She knew he had his secretary
call the florist, and Louisa didn’t want a quick-fix apology. No, she wanted a
heartfelt, grand gesture of some kind. She hadn’t quite figured out what it would
take for Collin to make the sting of his words dissolve, but she knew it would
have to come from him, not his office staff.
“Mom? Are you kissing your hand?”
Startled by her son, Louisa felt her face flush. Her
thoughts twirled around themselves as she tried to come up with a reason for
her action. “I was pretending to be a jellyfish. See?” She put the back of her
hand against her lips and wiggled her fingers like tentacles.
“Why?” His serious face moved closer to hers to inspect the
gesture.
“Because I was reading a book that has the ocean and
jellyfish in it.” She could tell Tim believed her the minute his hand went to
his own face. He walked away with his own pretend jellyfish flailing its
tentacles.
She considered the morality of lying to her child but
dismissed it. Her children didn’t need to know she couldn’t remember how their
father’s kisses felt. She and Collin had lost the spark, the excitement and
joy. Even their communication had dwindled to no more than a few small
phrases—“Where’s the paper?” and “Have you seen my phone?” Did his commitment
to her exist any longer? Had he found someone else?
Her head started to pound again from a migraine that had
first made its appearance when a save-the-date for her family reunion had
arrived in the morning mail. She still couldn’t believe it. A save-the-date? When did my family get so fancy?
A phone call from her mother had followed minutes later. She demanded that
Louisa tell her whether or not she and Collin would be there. An argument had
started about Louisa being a snob and not wanting to know her own family, not
wanting to spend time with her mother, which then led into why Louisa and
Collin weren’t taking the children to church. The call ended with the usual
rebuttal of “We will when we find a church we like.”
Her mother always brought out Louisa’s obstinate side.
Louisa knew she had that effect on her own daughter, but she wasn’t sure how to
fix either problem. She rubbed a thumb knuckle into the center of her forehead
the way the neurologist had shown her to ease the pain. She wouldn’t be
scratching “clean the van” off her list today. Bending over made the pounding
worse.
This morning, Collin promised he would be home for
dinner—for the first time since he’d announced he wanted to make partner this year
at his firm. He’d informed her that he would be working extra hours and
expected her to take care of the family. So she did her part and his. Then,
less than a month later, he’d accused her of loving the children more than she
loved him. How could he make that judgment since he was never home? The roses
his secretary sent the next day didn’t even make it to a vase. She’d trotted
out to the curb and stuffed them in the trash, where he’d see them when he came
home that night. Since then, the two of them had lived like oil and vinegar
unshaken in a jar.
Thunder rolled and lightning sparked in the distance. Maybe
Collin wanted to make amends tonight, and that was why he was making an effort
to be home early. Or maybe he wanted to tell her something else, something she
might not want to hear. Would she listen? What if he wanted to tell her
she wasn’t the kind of wife a partner at his firm would need? She did complain
about having to attend office functions. They made her feel small—just a
stay-at-home mom. She couldn’t compete with the woman lawyers, especially
Emmie, the tall, stick-thin beauty who had an office next to Collin. Louisa
could share a recipe or where the best dog park was located, but nothing
brilliant or witty crossed her lips anymore. She rose from her chair and walked
to the glass door. The waves on the lake had increased in height. Cleo, their
dog, was out there somewhere.
Did Collin love someone else? Like a virus, the image of
Emmie with her cute clothes and bright smile at the Fourth of July party
threaded from Louisa’s mind and invaded her spirit. She swallowed back the fear
that rose from her heart and lodged in her throat. That just couldn’t happen.
Collin was hers and only hers. He didn’t belong to the firm or anyone else. She
had to find a way to make him understand that she did love him, that he came
first in her life. She wished she could open up and tell him everything. Maybe
then he would . . . No, he would never love her if he knew her
secret. No, that story could never be told. She would have to find another way.
The first thing she’d do was prepare a meal so delicious he
wouldn’t want to miss another one. She knew it was foolish to put such
expectations on her cooking but held out that there might be a fraction of
hope, a glimmer of a possibility.
Behind her, Madison shrieked at her brother, lurching
Louisa back to her own reality show. “Give me back the remote!”
“It’s my turn!” Joey tried to outshout his sister.
“Yeah, it’s our turn!” four-year-old Tim echoed.
The noise brought fresh, sharp spears of pain to Louisa’s
head. With a sigh, she ignored the opportunity to jump into the fray and yell
herself. In her stocking feet she crossed the great expanse of the golden oak
floor to the kitchen, which was located to the side of the family room. When
they first moved in, it had seemed like a great floor plan, all open, but now
she regretted having chosen it. It made her always available to the children,
and if one room wasn’t picked up, the whole house looked like a mess.
The clock in the entryway chimed five times. The hour had
come! If only she could cook like Emeril, she might have a chance to win back
her husband’s love—or at least his presence at the table. Then again, Collin
might break his promise to her and the kids again and not even come home for
dinner.
She flipped through the cookbook that rested on top of a
cobalt-blue stand, where it usually sat for looks.
“Mom?” Tim ran circles around the kitchen island. “Joey and
me want a snack.”
“Not now.” The page in front of her held a beautiful
prospect for a meal, just not one made by her. Who cooks
dinner like this? She flipped the page. Why had she bought this book?
Surely she didn’t think she would ever have time to prepare a dish from it or
be able to get her children to eat it. . . . She read the
ingredient list. What is jicama?
“Mom, can we have Crunch Squares for dinner?” Tim
interrupted her thoughts, tugging on the bottom of her shirt.
Louisa turned her attention from the cookbook pages. She
placed her hands on her hips in her don’t-mess-with-me stance and stared down
at two small, pleading faces. Her sons craved anything coated or sprinkled with
sugar. “Sorry, boys, you cannot have cereal for dinner. You need protein and
vegetables so you grow big and strong like your daddy.” She pried Joey’s
fingers from the bright orange-and-red cardboard box.
“The commercial says it has all the vitamins and nutrients
we need.” Madison bellowed her opinion from the family room.
“Don’t believe everything you see on TV, Madison.” Making
dinner night after night for three kids and Collin had never entered her mind
when she said “I do” at the church thirteen years ago. She closed the book,
weary of its glossy pictures. She couldn’t pull off a gourmet meal tonight, not
with this roaring headache. She’d be better prepared this weekend. Possibly
Collin would eat with them Sunday night if she gave him enough notice.
“We’re having grilled chicken.” She looked down at the two
waifs standing in front of her. Joey and Tim both frowned in unison. She
blinked at their action and shrugged it off. Some days she thought those two
had to be twins, even though that was physically impossible since she had given
birth to them twelve months apart. “You two, pick up the fort you’ve assembled
in the other room. I don’t want to see or step on even one plastic block tonight.”
“It’s not a fort. It’s a space station.” Tim scrunched his
face in disgust. “I told you a hundred times, Mom.”
“It’s a grand space station, but you still need to put it
away.” She watched them leave the room, thinking a sloth could move faster than
those two when it came to cleaning up.
Chicken—that’s what she was doing, wasn’t it? What else
should she put on the table? Maybe a salad and mac and cheese, she thought.
Yes, that would be best. It would cause less tension around the table if they
all had something they liked.
Cleo whimpered at the back door. Her nails scratching
against the glass felt like tiny needles pushing into Louisa’s optic nerves. It
ratcheted her headache higher on the pain-management scale. She had never
wanted a big dog, but Collin wouldn’t settle for anything small. Not even
medium size. It had to be a brindled Great Dane, the gentle beast, to make him
happy. It didn’t matter to him that she would be
the one hauling the dog to the vet and puppy day care for socialization and
training classes. She tried to ignore the pathetic whining coming through the
door. Maybe the kids would let the dog inside.
Peering through the open archway, Louisa checked to see if
anyone was moving. She could hear a satisfying plunk of plastic hitting
plastic—the boys were picking up like she’d asked. Slow, but at least the rug
had begun to appear. She had been cleaning for most of the day and wanted to
enjoy an orderly space after dinner. Madison lay on the couch with her head
hanging over the end. Her blonde hair almost touched the floor as it moved in
time to a music video.
“Madison, let Cleo in before she chews through the door.”
“But, Mom, this is my favorite song,” Madison whined from
the couch. “Can’t Joey let her in?”
“No. I told you to do it.” Louisa squatted down in front of
the cabinet and grabbed a pot for the macaroni. As it filled with water, she
rubbed her temples with her fingers. Cleo scratched against the door again.
Louisa felt herself stiffen as she prepared to go into battle
with Madison. She turned to see what her daughter was doing. Madison had stood
but had not moved in the direction of the door. Instead she watched the
television screen and swayed to the beat of the music.
“Madison, step away from the TV.”
“I’m going. You don’t have to tell me everything twice. I’m
not stupid.” She glared at her mother.
This is what the counselor they were seeing called a
standoff. She and Collin were supposed to be stern in their commands and follow
through with them. Well, she didn’t have any problem with following through,
but Collin did. All Madison had to do was turn her lower lip down into a pout
and Collin backed off, afraid to upset his little girl. There
was a time when Collin would do anything for me too, she thought. Those
days disappeared the minute Madison said “Daddy.”
Louisa removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. The
intensity of the headache rose. “Thank you, Madison, for promptly doing what I
asked.”
Madison clenched her lips tight, straightened her back, and
stomped over to the door and yanked it open. Cleo came bounding through, her
nails clicking over the wooden floor like fingers on a keyboard. Madison
turned, whipping her long hair around like a weapon, and stared at Louisa as if
to say, “I did it. Don’t ask me to do anything else ever
again.”
“Thank you.” Louisa slid her glasses back on and smoothed
her hair behind her ears. She checked to make sure the boys were still doing as
she’d asked. They were making progress.
The clock in the entryway weakly imitated England’s Big Ben
at the half-hour mark. It wouldn’t be long before Collin came home. Maybe he
would relieve her tonight. A hot bath—no, a long, hot bath, she corrected herself—sounded
wonderful if not dreamlike. Please, God, let him be in a
good mood and willing to play with the kids tonight, she offered in
silent prayer. She loved these kids; she really did. It was just that today,
with all their requests, they had drained her of the will to live. School had
begun less than a month ago. Why the school board felt the teachers needed to
take off already for a two-day conference escaped her tonight.
Back in the kitchen, Louisa picked up a glass from the
counter, a dribble of milk left in the bottom. A quick rinse under the faucet,
and then she placed it in the dishwasher. All the small chores were done. The
counter no longer held books, toys, or dirty dishes. Louisa opened the pantry
door and caught a cereal box as it fell. She shook it. Almost empty. Someone
had been snacking in secret, probably Madison. She reached for the indoor grill
on the top shelf. The cord dripped over the edge and dangled in her way. She
wrapped it around her hand to keep it out of her face. Standing on tiptoes, she
used her fingertips to work the grill out.
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.
U
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
probably 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!”
U
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—”
“To what? Where are you going to go?” He waited to hear her
plan, watching her eyebrows bob up and down while she thought. “Well?”
“I’ll go to a hotel. So there, problem solved. You don’t
have to worry about me anymore. You’re free to go.” Again, she waved her hand
toward the door, dismissing him as she lay back against the pillow. “If you
don’t mind, would you hand me my purse before you leave?”
“It’s at home.” He looked down at her. Her blonde hair
feathered across the pillow and caught the light from overhead, softening the
silky strands. He reached out to touch it, as he often did, but her icy look
kept him at a distance. “That’s what you want? To be here alone in a hospital,
in this town, and not knowing anyone?”
She nodded and pointed to the door.
“Then I’ll go.” Collin paused at the doorway and turned to
give her a chance to change her mind. She didn’t say anything, just lay there
looking like a lost child, eyes wide and fighting tears. “Nice meeting you,
Jazz Sweet.” He knew he needed to convince her to come home with him. He
couldn’t leave her here until her memory returned. There had to be a way, but
for now, he’d let her think she’d won this battle. He left the room and didn’t
look back.
Author Bio:
Christian author, Diana Lesire Brandmeyer,
writes historical and contemporary romances. Author of A Mind of Her Own, A Bride’s Dilemma in Friendship, Tennessee and We’re
Not Blended We’re Pureed, a Survivor’s Guide to Blended Families. Once
widowed and now remarried she writes with humor and experience on the
difficulty of joining two families be it fictional or real life.
Instagram:
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Diana Leshire Brandmeyer is giving away a copy of Mind of Her Own.
The giveaway is only available to U.S. addresses.
To be entered in the book drawing, leave a comment along with your email address. You may enter twice--once on each spotlight post. (It's not too late to go back and leave a comment on yesterday's post)The giveaway is only available to U.S. addresses.
6 comments:
Oh this is interesting! Can't wait to see how this story line plays out. cjajsmommy /at/ gmail /dot/ com
Deb R.
How very interesting, is she Louisa or Jazz? Can't wait to find out!
pattymh2000(at)yahoo(dot)com
I'd love to read more and see how it turns out.
lkish77123 at gmail dot com
Thanks for sharing this great excerpt. I certainly am anxious to read the "rest of the story"!
Connie
cps1950 AT gmail DOT com
Nice excerpt. kamundsen44(at)yahoo(dot)com. kim
Looking forward to reading the book!
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