Since waking up yesterday afternoon, he’d bombarded her with a multitude of questions, wanting to know everything about himself. She’d done her best to give him answers while not feeding into his desire to do too much too quickly. It was an exhausting task, akin to trying to keep a panther on a leash.
“Has Papa forgotten us forever?” Max asked in a small voice.
“No, my lamb.” Straightening his collar, Gabby gave him a reassuring smile. “But it may take a while for him to recall all the details. In the meantime, you must be patient with him and, above all, do not disturb his peace—”
“You went through this already, Mama,” Fiona said impatiently. “Max might have a sieve for a brain, but I don’t.”
“I donothave a sieve for a brain.” Max’s cheeks turned red.
“Bacon, then,” his sister retorted.
“I am not bacon-brained!”
“You’re bacon all over. This little piggy went to market…” Fiona chanted.
“Don’t call me a pig!” Max shouted.
“Children,” Gabby began.
They ignored her, tossing arguments back and forth like a ball. Her temples pounded, the muscles tightening at the base of her skull. Worry and lack of sleep had taken their toll, and she felt like an old blanket, fraying at the edges. She tried again to capture her children’s attention; their voices only got louder.
“Fiona and Maximillian, for heaven’s sake, stop bickering.”
The words burst from Gabby, and she didn’t know who was more surprised, she or the children. Although she felt a jab of guilt for her sharp tone, her authority was respected for once. The pair quieted, staring at her with rounded eyes.
She regained her composure. “Fiona, stop teasing your brother. Max, don’t take the bait so readily.”
The children looked at each other, then at her, chorusing, “Yes, Mama.”
“All right.” She exhaled, trying to ease the tightness in her head. “Let us proceed.”
She shepherded her offspring toward Adam’s suite, pausing when Max had to race back to the nursery to fetch something he’d forgotten. He rejoined them, huffing and carrying a book, then he and his sister skipped ahead while Gabby tried to calm her nerves. As relieved as she was that Adam was safely on the mend, a host of other worries swarmed.
When would he regain his memories? How would he be with the children, whom he didn’t remember? What could Gabby do to aid his recovery? And most of all…
Who in God’s name is Jessabelle?
It felt churlish of her to obsess over the unknown female, bovine or otherwise, when there were bigger and more pressing concerns. But she couldn’t help it. No matter how she tried to stuff her suspicions into theLet Sleeping Dogs Liebin, they refused to be quarantined. The identity of Jessabelle had taken on a monumental sense of importance, for reasons she didn’t completely understand. But it would not leave her alone, festering like a sliver that she could neither remove nor ignore.
She simplyhadto know. But could she risk adding to Adam’s strain during this precarious time? And even if she found the courage to ask him…would he remember?
Arriving at her husband’s door, she forced herself to concentrate on the visit at hand. This meeting between Adam and the children had to be handled delicately. She didn’t know how Fiona and Max would respond to the changes in their previously larger-than-life papa.
With a ready smile on her face, she knocked and opened the door. “Good morning—”
Fiona flew past her. “Papa! Oh, Papa, I’ve missed you ever so much!”
The girl ran toward the green brocade sofa where Adam was reclined, propped up against pillows. Gabby’s breath held when it looked like Fi might fling herself at him, heedless of his injury…but she stopped just short of the sofa.
Her red ringlets tipping to one side, Fiona said tremulously, “Are you hurt, Papa?”
“I’m doing better.” Adam stared at his daughter, clearly trying to think of what to say next. “Thank you for asking.”
On the surface, he looked more like his old self. Quinn had given him a shave and arranged his ebony hair into its usual slicked-back style. Over his sleepshirt, he wore his maroon dressing gown lined with black silk. With the exception of the yellow bruises on his temple and the visible bulk of the bandage beneath the robe, he appeared almost normal.
His tentativeness, however, was new. His throat bobbed, his gaze flicking between Fiona and Max, who’d come to stand just behind his sister. Gabby couldn’t fathom what it must be like for Adam, seeing his own flesh and blood and having no recollection of them.
“Now that you’ve seen me, don’t you remember me, Papa?” Fiona’s voice had a tell-tale quiver that hurt Gabby’s heart. “Youdoknow me, don’t you?”
