A Bride Worth Fighting For (7 page)

He frowned. He’d heard more times than he could count how lucky he was to still have his father with him. But Gwen was right. The man he’d known and loved had been gone for a long time, but because he still physically existed, Tucker hadn’t been allowed to mourn him.

This woman who didn’t remember him and had only a fake relationship with him somehow understood him better than anyone else in his life. He shifted away from her and pulled a pair of biodegradable cups from the picnic basket. Twisting open the thermos, he sniffed the contents. “Iced tea.”

He poured two glasses, needing something cold and refreshing to clear his head.

Gwen took a cup and tapped it to his. “To us, two orphaned lost souls who found each other and will make something together.”

With the glass halfway to his lips, he paused. Had mutual loneliness drawn his brother to her, regardless of Darlene’s machinations? Had Darlene become desperate to control the next generation of Wilde Land Development before her husband passed away and she lost everything?

If so, he still stumbled over the logic that had caused her to call on him to fill John’s half of the engagement. She’d never been able to control him, and they both knew it. Of course, without John, he was her only option.

Gwen threaded her fingers through his. “I may not remember everything between us, but I know I couldn’t have fallen for a better guy. Maybe amnesia is a blessing because it allows me to fall in love with you twice. I like you, Tucker, a lot.”

Shit. She wouldn’t like him if she knew what a fraud he was.

She didn’t wait for him to respond as she laid her head on his lap. His cock jumped to attention, but she simply closed her eyes. Within a minute, her even breathing and slack limbs assured him she was fast asleep.

He stroked her hair that wasn’t quite red but wasn’t quite brown either, lifting it away from her neck so he could watch the tick of her pulse. One moment she appeared awake and healthy, and the next she slept like the dead. On the other hand, he enjoyed the way she curled against him, trusting him, accepting him without question.

“I like you, too,” he murmured. More than he’d ever imagined. More than he wanted to.

“Mr. Wilde, you are the last guest I expected to call out for littering on the grounds.” Rekkus strode across the orchard, carrying his notebook and an assortment of loose, rumpled papers.

Tucker normally never let his notebook out of his sight. But not only had he abandoned it, he’d completely forgotten it as he’d carried Gwen to the orchard.

“Thank you. I won’t do it again.” He reached up to take his belongings, careful not to disturb her as she continued to sleep on his lap.

“As long as your mate keeps making you lose your mind, don’t promise too many things,” Rekkus advised.

He tried to ignore her warm breath, inches from his groin. Yep, she was making him lose his mind, but he wouldn’t lose his control. “Why do you call her my mate?”

“Is she or is she not the one your soul wants to spend all of eternity with?” The other man turned and marched away without waiting for a reply.

Just as well, because Tucker had no intention of answering. The absurd question could join Cemil’s touchy-feely mumbo jumbo in his mental recycle bin. With his emotions still raw from talking about his father, he needed something concrete and quantifiable to focus on.

Stroking Gwen’s hair with one hand, he opened his notebook with the other and read through his notes on the island plant life. Then he added a couple of pages about the stunning apple trees. They deserved an entire book dedicated to their uniqueness. Unfortunately, he only knew enough to fill the pages he’d written.

At a loss for what else to record while Gwen lay on his lap, limiting him from exploring further, he picked up the loose papers and correspondence to fit back into the pocket of the notebook.

One envelope was still sealed, the one his assistant had shoved at him with the order to open it when he had a moment alone. Right now qualified, although he’d been enjoying the vacation from office work more than he wanted to admit.

After glancing down to ensure Gwen still slept, he opened the packet and skimmed the papers. His assistant had managed to uncover information about the property overlooking the lake, something he’d been trying to discover for the better part of a year. He read through slowly, queasiness filling his stomach. Removing his hand from Gwen’s hair, he clenched the papers.

He’d hoped for answers but not the ones delivered to him. The reclusive owner had left the property to her niece when she’d died, but the niece had already died several weeks before. The person now set to inherit the lake property was the niece’s daughter, Gwendolyn.

The woman who currently rested her head within licking distance of his cock.

Who’d planned to marry his brother.

Who loved resorts.

Who would have Darlene’s full support if she wanted to develop the area.

Shit, shit, shit. She must have been working with Darlene to pull off the development quietly, denying him the chance to fight for the conservation of the natural habitat.

Everything he hadn’t understood at the wedding made sense now. John had been in on the scheme. While the marriage promised him the CEO position, she would get a big-ass resort from the deal, Darlene would gain more power, and the natural habitat would be destroyed.

He crumpled the paper in his fist. If he had his way, Gwen would never remember who she’d been and what she’d been trying to do. He wouldn’t simply wish for it, though. He would do whatever he could to rewrite her memories of the past, so she would love the land, not aim to destroy it.

As a silver lining, he didn’t have to worry about blurring the line between what was real and fake in their relationship. Everything was fake. She was not a person he could like, trust, or build a future with.

Unlike last night’s dinner, Tucker barely spoke two words throughout the evening meal, no matter how many times Gwen apologized for falling asleep on him during their picnic. He claimed not to resent her for nodding off, but his icy demeanor said otherwise.

Although she’d done nothing all day but nap, eat, and relax, by the end of the meal her headache had become intolerable. She went straight to her room and crawled into bed. The pain might have been worthwhile if she remembered pieces of herself and her life pre-coma, but she’d come no closer to answers and had drifted further from Tucker than ever.

The next morning she awoke to Sage sashaying across the room, holding out a shake in such a bright hue of green it glowed like a traffic signal. She blinked and sat up in bed, the miserable evening flooding back to her.

“This isn’t working. I’m supposed to be healing, but nothing’s changed. I’m wasting your time and mine and especially Tucker’s.” No wonder he was pissed at her.

“You’re not wasting anyone’s time, and you are making progress, even if you can’t see it,” Sage assured her, pressing the too-bright drink into her hand. “And ignore Tucker. He’s being a bit of a knucklehead, and he’s not helping either of you by dumping my incense and avoiding the shakes I’ve designed especially for him.”

Gwen smiled at the knucklehead description. “If I’m really progressing, I don’t even notice because it happens too slowly. What do you recommend to work off my frustration?”

“Sex is always a good standby.”

She choked on her drink.

Sage laughed. “Alternate option: Trixie is leading a yoga class on the lawn in fifteen minutes. Why don’t you give that a try?”

Yoga. She spun the word around her brain. Nothing clicked to lead her to believe she was a yoga kind of girl. On the other hand, to discover how the Wiccan Haus owners operated their resort, she ought to check out as many of the offered classes and amenities as possible.

Trying out yoga sounded a whole lot less intimidating and risky than testing the benefits of sex.

After dressing in stretchy, comfortable clothes, she paused in the hall at Tucker’s closed door. No, she wouldn’t disturb him by inviting him to join her. He’d lost patience with babysitting her.

She headed to the lawn and took her place at the back of the assembled guests.

“We’re going to start with a palm tree,” a tall woman with long silver hair announced.

Gwen followed the instructions, reaching her hands to the sky and then back behind her. Stretching on tiptoes, she reveled in the salty ocean breeze teasing her face.

“Feel the cool air brushing your skin. Feel the stretch in your body. Clear your mind,” Trixie called out.

Yes. She understood those things. Ignoring the yoga instructions, Gwen reached behind her and pulled one foot up toward her butt. After stretching her hamstring, she repeated on the other side. She didn’t know her yoga poses, but a litany of stretching exercises filled her mind, ones she performed every day before she headed out for a jog.

She ran.

Every day.

She was a runner. Not for sport or to race but to clear her mind and center herself.

Trixie called out a new position, but Gwen ignored her, adrenaline humming through her veins. She knew something about herself, something real and true, and needed to explore every aspect of her discovery.

Spreading her legs, she bent first over one and then the other. She had no idea what kind of stamina she had or if she’d be able to run more than a dozen steps, but she straightened and turned from the class. By living footstep to footstep, heartbeat to heartbeat, she could escape the endless parade of questions she had no answers for.

She’d barely left the lodge behind before her feet become boulders at the ends of her legs and her lungs labored over each breath. Instead of wilting her confidence, the physical discomfort freed her. She couldn’t worry about the things she couldn’t remember if every breath required all her concentration.

With no direction in mind, she ran down a path, retaining just enough outside awareness to retrace her steps for the return trip. But she didn’t want to return. She wanted to keep running, basking in the glorious freedom.

For the first time, no one hovered over her. The blocked sections of her mind didn’t cripple her. Jogging freed her from the past she couldn’t remember and from the future that made no sense without a past to ground her.

So she ran. And ran. Through the woods. Along trails. Onto sand. Until her body refused to take another step. With a final wheeze, she collapsed onto the sand. Her blurred vision created a mirage of water in front of her.

She gasped for breath through the fire in her lungs and squeezed her eyes closed. When she lifted her lids, the water remained, placid waves lapping the sand in front of her. She raised her head slowly.

A lake stretched before her, the sun sparkling off the water, the brightness too intense for her eyes to tolerate. She’d never seen this lake before. She was sure of it. Yet, at the same time, something about it felt familiar.

She untied her shoes, pulled them off, and stuffed her socks inside. Then she wandered to the water’s edge, letting the sand seep between her toes and the waves lap her ankles. The lake bottom was too gritty and less slimy than she expected. She preferred mud and muck to squish between her toes as it did when she walked barefoot along the edge of her lake.

She had a lake? How could that be possible? She and her mother had lived in an apartment in the city with a concrete balcony instead of a yard. But her certainty didn’t waver. A lake was part of her present and figured into her future.

She sat on an oversized rock at the edge of the water, letting her feet dangle in the refreshing coolness. Staring at the sand and pebbles below the surface, she allowed the rhythmic motion and calm natural beauty to entrance her.

She was a runner. With a lake. The pieces didn’t tell the whole story, but they gave her more than she’d known this morning.

If only she could uncover what part Tucker played in her present and future, she might understand enough to begin to move forward and live again.

***

“Where’s Gwen?” Tucker asked as Sage approached him in the lobby, holding out a glass of thick lavender liquid.

“She’s fine. She’s doing what she needs to do.” Sage pressed the glass into his hand. “I made this just for you.”

He grimaced. “Thanks, but I’m not thirsty.” Especially for something that looked like liquid cotton candy.

She frowned. “Why are you so against indulging in anything that could help you heal?”

Maybe because he had nothing to heal from. Obviously, the staff wasn’t accustomed to guests who merely accompanied someone else. “Tell you what, I’ll drink the shake if you tell me where to find Gwen?”

“If you stay here, you’ll run into her,” the wispy blonde promised.

He gritted his teeth, ignored the unnatural purple drink, glared through the window, and paced the floor. Yesterday, in the orchard, he’d been angry with Gwen, but now his anger and frustration focused inward. He hated the idea of her recovering her memory and turning back into the type of woman who’d manipulate a man into marriage and strike deals with Darlene. That wasn’t the woman he knew, and he couldn’t mesh the two personalities in his brain.

Two long hours later, Gwen strode up the path, pumping her arms, more energetic than she’d been since racing up the church aisle over a month ago. The only other time he’d witnessed such excitement and happiness on her face was dancing at the Christmas party.

He opened the door to the lodge and marched down the sidewalk to meet her.

She beamed at him, placing her hand on his forearm. “I have to talk to you.”

“About what? Where did you go this morning?” A chill swept through him. Her excitement likely had to do with her memory returning, but if that were the case, she wouldn’t be happy to see him.

Her happy expression faded, and she released his arm.

Their relationship might be a fraud, but his attraction to her from the moment she’d awoken in that hospital bed had grown into something real. He not only wanted the real person inside her to break forth and shine, he wanted a part in making that happen. Instead, he’d been pacing the lobby, excluded.