The Husband She'd Never Met. Barbara Hannay

you’ll get your memory back.’

      The problem was that right now Carrie wasn’t sure that she wanted her memory to come back. Did she really want to know that it was all true? That she wasn’t a city girl any more? That she lived on a cattle property and was married to this strange man?

      It was far too confronting.

      She wanted the reassuring comfort of the life she knew and remembered—as a single girl in Sydney, with a reasonably interesting and well-paid job at an advertising agency and a trendy little flat in Surry Hills. Plus her friends. Friday nights at Hillier’s Bar. Saturday afternoons watching football or going to the beach at Bondi or Coogee. Every second Sunday evening at her mother’s.

      It was so weird to be able to recall all these details so vividly and yet have no memory of ever meeting Max Kincaid. Even weirder and more daunting was the suggestion that they hadn’t merely met, but were married.

      Did she really live with this strange man in the Outback?

      Surely that was impossible. She’d never had a hankering for the Outback. She knew how hard that life was, with heat and dust and flies, not to mention drought and famine, or bushfires and floods. She was quite sure she wasn’t tough enough for it.

      But perhaps more importantly, if she was married to this man...she must have slept with him. Probably many times.

      Involuntarily Carrie flashed her gaze again to his big shoulders and hands. His solid thighs encased in denim. She imagined him touching her intimately. Touching her breasts, her thighs. Heat rushed over her skin, flaring and leaping like a bushfire in a wind gust.

      For a second, almost as if he’d guessed her thoughts, his blue eyes blazed. Carrie found herself mesmerised. Max’s eyes were sensational. Movie star sensational. For a giddy moment she thought he was going to try to lean in, to kiss her.

      On a knife-edge of expectation, she held her breath.

      But Max made no move. Instead, he said, matter-of-factly, ‘I’m told that you can check out of the hospital now. I’m to take you to Townsville. For tests—more X-rays.’

      Carrie sighed.

      He picked up the holdall he’d brought with him and set it on the chair beside her bed. ‘I brought clean clothes for you.’

      ‘My clothes?’

      His mouth tilted in a crooked smile. ‘Yes, Carrie. Your clothes.’

      He must have gone through her wardrobe and her underwear drawer, making a selection. Invading her privacy. Or was he simply being a thoughtful husband?

      If only she knew the truth. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

      ‘Do you need a hand?’

      Instinctively her gaze dropped to his hands. Again. Dear heaven, she was hopeless. ‘How do you mean?’

      ‘With getting out of bed? Or getting dressed?’

      She was quite sure she blushed. ‘No, thanks. I’ll be fine.’

      ‘I’ll be outside, then.’ With the most fleeting of smiles, Max left.

      * * *

      In the hospital hallway, Max dragged in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he tried to ease the gnawing anxiety that had stayed with him since his initial panic yesterday, when he’d heard about Carrie’s accident. He’d never experienced such gut-wrenching dread.

      In that moment he’d known the true agony of loving someone, of knowing his loved one was in trouble and feeling helpless. He’d wanted to jump in his vehicle and race straight to the hospital, but Doug had warned him to hold off. Carrie was sleeping and probably wouldn’t wake before morning.

      Now, Max felt only marginally calmer. Carrie was out of danger, but he was left facing the bald facts. Two days ago his wife had walked out on him. Today she had no memory of ever meeting him.

      It was a hell of a situation.

      One thing was certain: he had no hope of sorting anything out with Carrie if she didn’t even know who he was. But by the same token, there was no question that he wouldn’t look after her until she was well again. He was still her husband, after all. He still loved her. Deeply.

      And he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Carrie still loved him, that she hadn’t been totally honest about her reasons for leaving. But perhaps that was just wishful thinking. There was a strong possibility that when Carrie’s memory returned she would also recall all her grievances in vivid detail.

      The very thought ate at Max’s innards, but he would worry about that when the time came. Till then, his role was clear.

      * * *

      Carrie edged carefully out of bed. Her feet reached the floor and as she stood she felt a bit dizzy, but the sensation quickly passed. The bump on her head throbbed faintly, but it wasn’t too bad.

      She took out the clothes Max had brought—a pair of jeans and a white T shirt, a white bra and matching panties. There was also a plastic bag holding a pair of shoes—simple navy blue flats. Everything was good quality, and very tasteful, but Carrie found it hard to believe they were hers.

      Where were the happy, dizzy colours she’d always worn?

      Conscious of the man waiting mere metres away, just outside her door, she slipped off the hospital nightgown and put on the underwear. The bra fitted her perfectly, as did the pants, the jeans and the T-shirt.

      She was surprised but rather pleased to realise that she was quite slim now. In the past she’d always had a bit of a struggle with her weight.

      She combed her hair again and then checked the bedside cupboard and found a plastic hospital bag with more clothes—presumably the clothes she’d worn when she arrived here. Another pair of denim jeans and a blue and white striped shirt, white undies and brown riding boots. Crikey.

      She felt as if her whole life and personality had been transplanted. These clothes should belong to a girl in a country style magazine. Which was weird and unsettling. How had this happened? Why had she changed?

      Anxiety returned, re-tightening the knots in her stomach as she stuffed the bag of clothes and the brown handbag into the holdall. She checked her phone again. Still no reply from her mum.

      Mum, ring me, please.

      She needed the comfort of her mum’s voice. Needed her reassurance, too. At the moment Carrie felt as if she was in a crazy sci-fi movie. Aliens had wiped a section of her memory and Max Kincaid was part of their evil plan to abduct her.

      She knew this was silly, but she still felt uneasy as she went to the door and found Max waiting just outside.

      His smile was cautious. ‘All set?’

      Unwilling to commit herself, she gave a shrug, but when Max held out his hand for the holdall she gave it to him.

      They made their way down a long hospital corridor to the office, where all the paperwork was ready and waiting for her.

      ‘You just have to sign here...and here,’ the girl at the counter said as she spread the forms in front of Carrie.

      Carrie wished she could delay this process. Wished she could demand some kind of proof that this man was her husband.

      ‘Will I see the doctor again before I leave?’ she hedged.

      The girl frowned and looked again at the papers. ‘Dr Byrne’s been treating you, but I’m sorry, he’s in Theatre right now. Everything’s here on your sheet, though, and you’re fit to travel.’

      ‘Carrie has an appointment in Townsville,’ Max said.

      The girl smiled at him, batting her eyelashes as if he was a rock star offering his autograph.

      Ignoring her, he said to Carrie, ‘The appointment’s for two o’clock, so we’d better get on our way.’

      Carrie