He frowned, shook his head. “What are you talking about?”
“The shoe. The one I found.” She pressed her lips together, although she wasn’t sure if she meant to hold back a cry or it was because she was trembling so badly.
“You’re hysterical.”
“I’m not. What did you do with it?”
“I never saw it. Bailey, you told me about it. We were going to go retrieve it, but I got called away. Next thing I know, you’re in the hospital. I’ll go now, if you want me to. Or we can go in the morning.”
“It’s not there.”
“How do you—” His expression cleared. “You went alone that morning.”
She nodded. “And it was gone.”
“Look, babe, there’s an explanation for this. An animal carried it off. Or Tony came back for it and has buried it someplace.”
An explanation. He always had a logical explanation.
“The shoe was just a shoe,” he went on, “forgotten by some drunken lovers. I know it, Bailey. I’ve lived here all my life.”
“I saw you. The night. Heading out into the woods.”
“Your memory’s come back?” He looked hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were carrying a shovel, Logan.”
“A shovel? Baby, I don’t know what, or who, you thought you saw, but it wasn’t me. Stop looking at me that way. Like you don’t even know me.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.” He strode across to the balcony and pulled her into his arms. She tried to pull free, but he held her tight. “You know me.”
He kissed her. She tried to turn her head, but he brought it back, hand in her hair, fingers twisting around the strands.
He kissed again. And then again. Each time more deeply. Drawing her in. Moving his mouth against hers, his tongue against hers, in a way only he could. Emptying her mind of everything but him, his touch, his breath against her damp skin, his scent.
A hint of turpentine, she realized, arching her neck. It clung to him along with the cool of the night and the pine of the forest.
Turpentine. From Raine’s.
Gooseflesh followed his lips. She was on fire. Drunk with passion. He swept her up and carried her to the bed. There, he made love to her, until she arched up against his mouth, hands wound in his hair, his name ripping from her lips.
He entered her then, roughly, ferociously. He thrust deeply, she gripped his shoulders, fingernails digging, holding on. He climaxed with a roar, then rolled off her. No cuddling or whispered love notes.
Retribution, she thought. For cutting him to the quick. Betraying him with unbelief.
The silence stretched between them. Deep and wide. She whispered his name. Instead of responding, he turned onto his side, his back to her.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Tuesday, April 22
9:35 A.M.
The next morning, they hardly spoke. Even Tony seemed subdued. It hurt almost more than she could stand.
Bailey poured herself another glass of juice, more for something to fill the silence than because she really wanted it. Instead of returning to the table, she crossed to the patio doors and looked out at the spring day.
“What’s all this?” Logan asked so suddenly she jumped.
She looked over her shoulder. “What?”
He motioned to the pile of receipts she’d dumped out of her purse yesterday.
She had forgotten all about them. “I was looking for something in my purse. Following up on something Stephanie said.”
His eyebrows shot up and Bailey went on. “She told me we’d talked the day of the accident. And that I was on my way to the doctor.”
“What doctor?”
“An OB/GYN.”
“Great. You knew you were pregnant and didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t say that because I don’t know that’s true. I probably suspected it. I’m sure my plan was to confirm the news, then tell you. Surprise you with the good news.”
He didn’t respond and she went on. “Stephanie told me something else. That she asked me to stop at Henry’s. I said I would, promised to call her after but didn’t. Obviously, I wasn’t able to.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this last night?”
“Do you really need to ask? You were exhausted.”
“Right.” He stood. Didn’t look at her. “I’m going to head down to the barn to check on Paramour. Then I have a meeting in Covington.”
“Wait!” He paused at the door. She held out a hand. “Logan, please try to understand—”
“Actually, I think I do understand. You think I’m a liar. And worse. Much worse.”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t think that, but she didn’t not think it. How could that be? How did she explain, when she didn’t understand herself?
His expression hardened. “That’s what I thought.” He patted his leg and Tony trotted after him. He stopped once more. “I didn’t hurt True. Or anybody else. But I can’t make you believe that. You trust me or you don’t, Bailey.”
And then he was gone. She sagged against the counter.
Trust him or not.
Love him.
Or not.
She squeezed her eyes shut, confusion hanging over her, dark, suffocating. A cloud of uncertainty. A part of her gave him everything and would stand with him against all odds. But the other part was suspicious. Fearful.
She’d come out of the coma this way. With this terrible sense there was something she knew, something urgent, that she had to share.
Remembering was key. Bailey straightened. Dr. Saunders. The last place she knew she had been—or was supposed to have been—the day of the accident. She retrieved the obstetrician’s number and dialed it.
A perky-sounding receptionist answered right away.
“Good morning,” she said, “this is Bailey Abbott. I’m a patient of Dr. Saunders.”
“Yes, Mrs. Abbott. How can I help you this morning?”
“Could you tell me when I was last in to see the doctor?”
A slight hesitation, as if surprised. “Of course. What’s your birthday?”
Bailey told her, and a moment later she was back with the information. “You’ve only been in once, Mrs. Abbott. Last Wednesday.”
The day of the accident.
“Thank you. This may sound odd, but do you have a record of the time I left?”
“Excuse me?”
“When I finished with the doctor and checked out?”