A Bride Worth Fighting For (6 page)

Gwen strolled side by side with Tucker along a dirt trail until the path narrowed, forcing them to walk single file. He stopped often to examine the leaves of the plants. Afterward, he scribbled notes and sketched drawings in his notebook.

“I wish my phone worked out here. I’d love to take pictures of all these plants to study them,” he said, gazing over the landscape with a longing she’d never seen when he looked at her.

“Won’t the camera part still work, even without a cell signal?” She frowned, unable to remember the last time she’d spoken on a cell phone. She had one in her purse, but she didn’t know who to call, and the fact that no one had called her pointed to a serious lack of friends in her past.

He shook his head. “No electronics work on the island, other than the computer and phone behind the main desk.”

If she got permission to use the computer to look up her social media page, she might get an idea of who her friends were and what her life had been like before…well, whatever had happened.

She focused on a plant with silky white tendrils peeking out of half-opened pods. “What kind of plant is this?”

He barely glanced up from his notes. “It’s very similar to a Common Milkweed, but the breed is just a bit off. Common Milkweeds grow up to six feet tall and have long, broad leaves. This one appears full grown at barely a foot high.”

“A dwarf milkweed?” she suggested.

“In the manner you’re thinking, yes. But, technically, these plants over here are Dwarf Milkweeds, which are a different and rare prairie plant. And this”—he strode a half-dozen steps and then squatted in front of a plant bursting with pale-pink blossoms—“looks very similar to a Swamp Milkweed, which is usually found in wetland areas or on the edges of a lake.”

Gwen squinted into the sun. A vague body of water with reeds around the bank shimmered just out of focus in her mind. Had she visited the place once or simply encountered a picture in a magazine? The more she tried to think, the more her head ached with a pain so strong she wanted to curl into a fetal ball and moan for hours.

Even if she never recovered her memory, she longed for the mental strength to believe she could start over if she had to. She sometimes captured fleeting moments of the strength she craved, usually after awakening from a nap and with Tucker by her side. But, too soon, the shooting pain returned, coupling with the dull ache that never went away.

She sighed.

He turned to her, the sparkle in his eyes fading. “I’m boring you. You need to sit and rest.”

“No, to your first statement. Yes, to the second. But I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing.”

“The other stuff isn’t important. You are.”

He’d said a variation of the same words a half-dozen times every day, and she was sick of being patronized. “I might not remember you from before, but I’ve learned enough about you since we arrived here to know studying these plants is very important to you, so don’t insult me by pretending it’s not. We can be in love without me being the sole focus of your life.”

At least, she hoped so, but, judging from the way he looked at her compared to the way he studied the flowers, he didn’t love her at all.

The color drained from Gwen’s face, and her knees buckled. Tucker lunged for her, his notebook and papers scattering on the ground as he caught her around her torso and under her knees. He lifted her in his arms. “We’re getting off the island, and I’m taking you for a CT scan and an MRI.”

“I’m okay. Put me down, and let’s see if the picnic’s ready in the orchard. I just need something to eat.”

He continued to hold her, carrying her up the hill to the orchard, even though she needed more than food. She needed more than the Wiccan Haus could offer, more than he could give her. The stiffness leaked from her limbs, and she relaxed against him. But he couldn’t get her words out of his head.

We can be in love without me being the sole focus of your life.
She talked about their love as if it were a given, while he contemplated exploring the attraction between them. As soon as she was off the island and stabilized, he’d confess the truth. He’d lose some of her trust, but before they could build a real relationship, they had to start with an honest foundation.

He crested the hill and stopped, love and relationships melting from his mind as he stared at the apple trees. No, they weren’t apple trees. They couldn’t be. No fruit could possibly grow this way. “That’s incredible. Unbelievable.”

“What is?” Gwen lifted her head from his chest.

“The trees have apples in all states of bloom—blossoms, tiny green fruit, almost ripe, fully ripened—all on the same tree, some even on the same branch. It’s impossible. Trees can’t do that. Fruit ripens uniformly throughout the growing season, not like this.”

“I guess the laws of nature don’t follow the same rules at the Wiccan Haus.” She shrugged, as if he hadn’t made an earth-shattering discovery with the potential to change everything he’d ever known about plant life. She wiggled out of his arms and stepped toward the closest tree. “Do you think we can pick an apple and eat it?”

“Of course you can.” Cemil, the man who’d met them at the dock, approached from the other direction. “Eat as many as you like. Just save room for the rest of your picnic.” He gestured toward a blanket spread under a far tree.

“She’s not well. She needs real medical care,” Tucker said, as Gwen plucked a bright-red apple, rubbed it on her shirt, and bit into it. Like when she’d drunk Sage’s shakes, color instantly returned to her pale cheeks.

“Just because she’s not in a sterile room where people prod her with needles doesn’t mean she’s not getting the care she needs.” Cemil placed his hand on Tucker’s forearm. “We’re taking care of her, I promise, and we want to take care of you, too. The healing at the Wiccan Haus isn’t reserved solely for Gwen.”

Where the hell had that come from? He yanked his hand free. “I don’t have anything I need to heal from. I’m healthy.”

“Don’t limit your thinking to physical healing. I’m talking about emotional and spiritual wounds.”

Tucker waited a beat for a “gotcha” punch line accompanied by raucous laughter and a slap on the back, but Cemil’s earnest expression projected genuine concern. Well, he wasn’t wounded and didn’t need whatever touchy-feely new-age therapy the guy wanted to sell him. Any guilt over pulling this scam on Gwen would go away as soon as she stabilized and he revealed the truth. “I’m not into exploring my emotions. I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is.”

Cemil raised an eyebrow. “All your relationships are great? Everything with your family is perfect?”

“Swell,” he replied, not hiding his sarcasm. “Thanks for asking.”

Shaking his head, Cemil walked away.

Okay, he’d acted like a jerk, but if Gwen had recovered enough to prance from tree to tree nibbling on an apple, he wouldn’t ruin the near-perfect day by thinking about how Darlene had destroyed his family. He’d come here for a week away from her shit.

He strode to the closest fruit tree and twisted off a red apple, focusing on Gwen as he bit into it, the crisp, sweet, yet slightly tart flavor exploding on his tongue. “Wow, these are delicious. What do you think?”

“I think I want to take a tree home with me.” She laughed and skipped over to where a picnic basket sat on a blanket, as if the incident on the nature path had never happened.

Maybe Cemil was right about the Wiccan Haus providing what she needed, although he stood by his assertion he didn’t need a thing. He was here for her and to protect the natural habitats from whatever scheme she might have been a part of with Darlene, nothing more.

By the time he reached the blanket, Gwen had pulled from the basket a platter of tiny sandwiches and a thermos of something—tea or cider, he guessed. She lifted out a bowl, peeled off the lid, and held it to her nose. Her expectant expression crumpled, and she hugged the bowl to her chest.

Tucker dropped to her side. “What is it?”

“Homemade cinnamon applesauce.” She sank cross-legged on the blanket, still hugging the bowl.

“This is upsetting because…?”

“It’s upsetting in a good way.”

“Uh-huh.” Cemil, with his touchy-feely understanding, would know how to handle her mood, but since Tucker had driven the other man away—and wasn’t sorry for it—he had to muddle through on his own.

“My mother used to make cinnamon applesauce that smelled just like this,” she explained, her eyes misty. “We would sit on the balcony of our apartment and eat applesauce while we watched the sunset and the people returning home for the night. I miss her so much.”

“You remember her and that she died?” He hadn’t given much thought about where her memory gaps started and ended, other than how he and his family were part of the void.

“Ovarian cancer.” Her lips trembled. “By the time she was diagnosed, she only had a couple of months to live. With the exception of a maiden aunt who preferred to live in seclusion in the country, Mom and I just had each other for family.” She paused. “How many times have I told you this before?”

He shook his head, hating the stupid ruse, wanting to know her and share with her on their own terms. “None. We didn’t talk much about our pasts. I guess it hurt too much.”

Tucker took the plate Gwen passed him, holding it as she ladled applesauce onto it. After serving herself, she offered him a platter of sandwiches. “Let me ask a really basic question that I surely used to know the answer to. I met your step mom in the hospital. Does that mean your parents are divorced?”

Hand shaking, he dropped the sandwich he’d just picked up. “Mom died a long time ago.” Thankfully, his voice stayed cool and matter of fact. He retrieved the sandwich and set it on his plate, needing a moment to figure out what details he could share without choking up.

“I was in elementary school, and John was in diapers. He ended up with a lot of leaky diapers because Dad and I could never get the hang of fastening those things so they didn’t sag.” Blabbering about what a sucky diaper changer he’d been was a good choice. Those memories didn’t haunt him.

“You and your dad are close?”

“Almost more like partners than father and son. Kind of like you and your mom, I guess. We were really close because we didn’t have anyone else.”

“Were?” She scooted toward him on the blanket, pressing her side against his.

“While I was in college, he met Darlene.” He devoured his sandwich, letting his anger take over. Obsessing about the destruction his stepmother caused was familiar, acceptable, and necessary to have any hope of stopping her.

Gwen raised a brow. “You don’t approve?”

“I didn’t trust her, but she was beautiful and smart, and Dad was lonely. I voiced my reservations, but he married her anyway. He swore she’d never come between us or change him. For a while, he was right.”

She set her plate down and reached for his hand. “What happened?”

He squeezed her fingers, needing her comfort as he voiced the events he’d never had a reason to talk about aloud. The only people close enough for him to confide in had lived through the situation with him. “Dad had a stroke.”

She pressed her other hand on top of his.

“At first, the news seemed pretty dire, and we lived day to day, hoping he would pull through but with no idea what his long-term prognosis would be if he did. While John and I focused on Dad’s health, Darlene took over running his land-development company.”

“Her husband so ill had to be hard on her,” Gwen said.

Any sympathy for Darlene had long since disintegrated. “She still didn’t have the right to overhaul the entire company management and replace competent employees with her puppets.” Anger for the good, loyal people she’d dumped bubbled within him. “Suffice to say, I didn’t like the changes—changes that were never hers to make.”

Gwen bit her lip. “Somebody had to run the business while your dad was out of commission.”

“Yes, but not her. Dad’s parents originally owned the company. He holds it in trust until he dies, when it will pass to my brother and me. I asked the court to declare Dad incompetent so John and I could run the company without Darlene’s interference.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother until you told me the diaper story. You two are close?” Lifting her hand from his, she resumed eating.

Crap. He hadn’t meant to bring John into their conversations. He chose to ignore the observation and soldier on with his story. “Dad started recovering, enough to demonstrate his competence to the court.”

She studied him. “This should have been good news. Why am I getting the feeling it’s not?”

Thank goodness she hadn’t tried to return to the subject of his brother. “The stroke changed Dad. He couldn’t make decisions without consulting Darlene first. He became confused, and she used it to manipulate him. Worst of all, he didn’t want anything to do with me. He didn’t want to talk and didn’t show up for our standing weekly breakfast date. Half the time, he wouldn’t acknowledge I was his son.”

“Oh gosh, how awful for you.” She wrapped her arms around his chest.

He’d succeeded in pulling her attention from John, but confessing the change in his father hurt far more than he’d expected. Anger and frustration he could handle, but not the grief that threatened to overwhelm him.

“You must feel like everyone close to you loses their memory,” she whispered.

Her words pulled him back from the abyss. He nearly laughed, even though the situation didn’t hold a shred of humor. “Dad’s condition is so different from yours. In the past year, he’s had a series of mini-strokes. He’s now at the point where he doesn’t recognize anyone and can’t perform the most basic bodily functions without assistance.”

“The judge would have to agree he’s incompetent now.”

He swallowed. He’d had the same thought so many times but hadn’t dared voice it. “I am an awful son for publicly humiliating him. I can’t do it again, especially when every time I look at him, I can’t help wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see him alive.”

“I’m so sorry.” She reached up and brushed his hair off his forehead, the gesture so sweet and familiar he wanted to spend the rest of the day frozen in the moment. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your parent while at the same time still have them with you, reminding you of what you lost but unable to let you move on.”