The Husband She'd Never Met. Barbara Hannay

it was hard to gauge how much she could take in.

      And yet they had two hours of driving before they reached the coast... Two hours of tiptoeing through a conversational minefield.

      ‘How did we meet?’ Carrie asked suddenly.

      Max swallowed to ease the sudden brick in his throat. This was the last question he’d expected. It was hard to accept that she remembered nothing of an occasion that was enshrined in his mind for ever and lit up with flashing neon lights.

      He told her the simple truth. ‘We met at a wedding.’

      Carrie’s lovely chocolate-brown eyes widened. ‘Really? Was the wedding in Sydney?’

      ‘Yes. A work colleague of yours—Cleo Marsh—married one of my mates.’

      ‘Gosh, I remember Cleo. She was great fun. Quite a party girl. And she married a cattleman?’

      Max nodded. ‘Grant grew up on a cattle property, but he studied medicine and now he’s a rural GP based in Longreach. He met Cleo when they were both holidaying on Hayman Island.’

      ‘How romantic.’

      ‘Quite,’ he said softly.

      ‘I—I wish—’ Carrie began to chew at her thumbnail. After a bit, she said, ‘I wish I could remember meeting you.’

      The question slugged him like a physical blow. Perhaps he should just tell her the truth and stop this conversation now.

      ‘How did it happen, Max? Did our eyes meet across a crowded room? Or did you chase me?’ Carrie dropped her gaze to the gnawed thumbnail. ‘Did I flirt with you?’

      Against his better judgement Max allowed himself to relive the amazing chemistry of that night, the glittering, harbourside venue and that first, heart-zapping moment of eye contact with Carrie. Her shining dark eyes and dazzling bright smile, the electric shock of their bodies touching the first time they danced...

      Quietly, he said, ‘I reckon we could safely claim all of the above.’

      ‘Wow,’ she said, but she didn’t sound very happy.

      She let out a heavy sigh, gave a toss of her long brown hair and flopped back in her seat, with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes closed, as if even this tiny slice of information was more than she could handle.

      * * *

      Carrie wished she could go to sleep. She just wanted the next few hours—the tedious journey over endless sweeping plains, the Townsville hospital and the medical tests—to be over and done with. Along with that fantasy she wanted a miraculous mind-clearing drug that would restore her memory and bring her instantly back to normal.

      Or did she?

      Was she ready for reality?

      Did she really want to wake up and find herself reliving every minute detail of her life as an Outback wife?

      She slid another glance Max’s way. She had to admit she couldn’t fault her husband’s looks. Yes, he had a distinctly outdoorsy aura, but she was rather partial to well-developed muscles and piercing blue eyes.

      She wished she could remember meeting him at Cleo’s wedding. For that matter she wished she could remember their own wedding. She looked again at her left hand and the faint mark on the ring finger and contemplated asking him about her wedding ring and why she wasn’t wearing it, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear his answer.

      Of course the reason might be simple—she’d taken the ring off as a practical safety precaution—but the answer also might be complex and awkward, and right now Carrie was quite sure she had as many complications as she could handle. So, although her curiosity about Max was off the scale, she decided it was wisest to choose her questions carefully. Best to stick to the past. The straightforward simplicity of their first meeting.

      ‘Were you wearing a tux?’ she asked. ‘On the night we met?’

      Max looked surprised, and then mildly amused. ‘I suppose I was.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Yes, of course I was. It was an evening wedding. Quite formal.’

      ‘And what was I wearing?’ She wondered if it was a dress she could remember. ‘What colour?’

      He shot her a twinkling sideways glance. ‘The female mind never ceases to amaze me.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘All the questions you could ask and you want to know what colour you were wearing more than three years ago.’

      She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling almost playful. ‘You don’t remember, do you?’

      ‘Of course I do.’

      ‘Tell me, then.’

      ‘It was a slinky almost backless number in a fetching coppery shade. And you had matching streaks of copper in your hair.’

      Carrie smiled. She couldn’t remember the dress, but it sounded like the sort of thing she might have chosen, and she’d loved having her hair streaked to match an outfit.

      Suddenly emboldened, she asked, ‘Did we sleep together on that first night?’

      To her surprise, she saw the muscles jerk in Max’s neck as he swallowed, and then he took his time answering. ‘What do you think?’ he asked finally.

      Carrie blushed, caught out by her own cheeky question. As far as she could remember she wasn’t in the habit of jumping into bed with men on a first date. Then again, she couldn’t remember ever dating anyone quite as disturbingly sexy as Max.

      ‘Well,’ she said carefully. ‘We did end up getting married, so I guess there might have been sparks.’

      Max didn’t shift his gaze from the road in front of them, but his hands tightened around the steering wheel and a dark stain rose like a tide up his neck. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘There were sparks.’

      Something in his voice, half rumble, half threat, sent Carrie’s imagination running wild. Without warning she was picturing Max in his tux, shedding his jacket and wrenching off his bow tie, then peeling away her slinky copper dress. She saw him bending to touch his lips to her bared shoulder, to cup her breasts in his strong hands and—

      Oh, for heaven’s sake. She knew very well that this wasn’t a memory. It was pure fantasy. But it was a fantasy complete with sparks that lit flashpoints, burning all over her skin, and firing way deep inside.

      Silenced and stunned by her body’s reaction, she slunk back in her seat, crossed her legs demurely once more and folded her arms. It was time to stop asking questions. Any kind of conversation with this man was dangerous.

      * * *

      At last the tests were over and Carrie had seen the Townsville specialist. As far as her head injury was concerned there were no serious complications and she had been told that her memory should return, although the doctor couldn’t tell her exactly when this would happen. For the time being Carrie was to follow the normal precautions.

      She shouldn’t be left alone for the next twenty-four hours and she should have plenty of rest and avoid stressful situations. She should not drink alcohol or take non-prescription drugs, and there was to be no more horse riding for at least three weeks, when she was to return for another appointment.

      ‘I’m sure your memory will be restored by then,’ the doctor told her confidently as they left.

      It was good news, or as good as she could expect, and Carrie knew she should be grateful. To a certain extent she was grateful. She could expect a full recovery, and she had a husband who seemed willing to help her in every way possible.

      But the problem of her lost memory felt huge, like an invisible force field between her and Max. He was a constant physical and highly visible masculine presence at her side, and yet she didn’t know him. He knew everything about her, but she didn’t know him. At all.

      Apparently