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“Mucho pain,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“Sí.” Padillo placed the sheet and woven blanket over her body again. “It will be…tender for a few days, but should be able to carry your weight by the end of the week.” Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat, he added, “We were wondering if you were ever going to wake up.”
“How long was I—?”
“You were in a coma for six days,” Trent said, and from the looks of his jaw he hadn’t shaved the entire time she’d been under. She supposed that it was testament to his undying love that he’d spent the better part of a week keeping his vigil, and yet there was something about him that seemed almost predatory.
Again she looked at his harsh features, trying to find some hint in her memory of the rugged planes of his face. Surely if she’d married him, loved him, sl
ept in the same bed with him, she would recall something about him. She bit down on her lip as he returned her stare, his eyes an opaque blue that gave no hint of his emotions. Desperation put a stranglehold on her heart.
“The nurse will give you medication for the pain,” Dr. Padillo said, making notes on her chart before resting his hip on her bed. “Tell me about the—Dios,” he muttered, snapping his fingers.
“Amnesia,” Trent supplied.
“Sí. Have you any memory?”
Nikki glanced from the doctor to Trent and back again. She needed time alone with the doctor and yet Trent wasn’t about to leave. “Can we speak privately?” she asked, and Padillo’s brows drew together.
“We are alone….” He glanced up at Trent, his furrowed expression showing concern.
“Please.”
“But your husband—”
“Please, Doctor. It’s important!” She wrapped her fingers into the starched fabric of his white jacket.
“It’s probably a good idea,” Trent said with a nonchalant shrug. As if he had nothing to hide. “She’s a little confused right now. Maybe you can straighten things out for her and help her remember.”
I’m not confused about you, she thought, but bit hard on her tongue, because the truth was, she didn’t know a thing about herself.
Trent let his fingers slide along the bottom rail of the hospital bed. “I’ll be in the hall if you need me.” As he left the room, his bootheels ringing softly, he closed the door behind him, and Nikki let out a long sigh.
“That man is not my husband,” she asserted as firmly as she could.
“He’s not?” The doctor’s eyebrows raised skeptically, and he eyed Nikki as if she’d truly lost her mind.
“I—I’m sure of it.”
“Your memory. It has come back?”
“No, but…” Oh, this was hopeless! She clenched a fist in frustration, and pain shot up her arm. “I would remember him. I know it!” Unbidden, hot, wet tears touched the back of her eyelids, but she refused to cry.
Dr. Padillo patted her shoulder. “These things, they take time.”
“But I would remember the man I married.”
“As you remember the rest of your family?”
She didn’t answer. The haze that was her past refused to crystallize and she was left with dark shadows and vague feelings, nothing solid.
“Your home? A pet? Your job? You remember any of these things?”
She closed her eyes and fought the tears building behind her swollen lids. She remembered so little and yet she felt like she was trapped, like an insect caught in the sticky web of a spider, vulnerable and weak. She stared at the IV tube draining into her arm, the iron sides of the bed, the gauze on her arm and the tiny room—her prison until she could walk again.
If only she could remember! Why was Trent posted like a wary guard in her room day and night? Surely he trusted the hospital staff to take care of her. Or was his concern of a different nature? Was he afraid she might escape?
She closed her eyes as the questions pounded at her brain. Why the devil was she on this little island off the coast of Venezuela? And why in God’s name wouldn’t this doctor believe her? There had to be a way to convince him!
