Protector in Disguise, page 23
“Hello?”
“Is this Hannah Colton?” the unfamiliar female voice asked. “Formerly Hannah Mackenzie?”
Something flashed across the back of her neck, heating it. She hadn’t gone by that name in over four years. Not since Owen had hightailed it out of Owl Creek and probably Idaho as a whole, not that he’d bothered to tell her a blessed thing about his plans or final destination.
“Can I help you?” she countered instead of confirming the answer to the woman’s question, because after all, Mackenzie was still Lucy’s last name and until she knew exactly what the nature of this inquiry was, she would wait to share any information.
“I’m looking for Hannah Colton who was married to Owen Mackenzie. He’s been in a terrible accident.”
* * *
Hannah drove toward Conners, but not wearing her caterer’s uniform, the smart white coat with the entwined B and A of her logo embroidered on the left breast. Instead, she’d scrambled to get Marcia to cover for her at the last minute at the brunch, dropped Lucy at her mother’s house—which fortunately had always been in the cards due to the impending job—and then wandered around in a daze trying to remember how to breathe, let alone the four hundred things she still needed to get done. Because thanks to Owen, she was still a single mom.
Owen Mackenzie. A name from the past that she wished a lot of days would stay there. But she saw him every time she looked at Lucy. Lucy’s features favored her mother’s, but she had light brown hair, halfway in between Hannah’s blond and Owen’s dark brown. And she definitely had her father’s eyes with her mother’s green irises.
What she couldn’t figure out was why the hospital had called her.
She and Owen hadn’t spoken in years. If he had her phone number, it was news to her because he’d certainly never hit the call button even one time. Had he asked the hospital to contact her?
Okay, there were two things she couldn’t figure out—why they’d called her and why she’d agreed to go see him in the hospital. She should have hung up and not thought a moment more about him. That’s what he’d done to them.
But the lady who’d called indicated that there were complications from the accident and that it would be very beneficial for Owen to see her in person. In Conners. A stone’s throw from Owl Creek, where Hannah and Lucy had been living the whole time without one single iota of contact from her ex-husband.
Curiosity, maybe, could be the driving factor here. Was he sorry he’d left them? It would be sweet to hear that. In fact, she had a serious fantasy about that exact thing. The second he saw her standing there, he’d fall to his knees, apologies pouring from his mouth profusely.
Of course, he had apparently been hurt in the accident. There wouldn’t be a lot of falling to his knees, unless he rolled out of the hospital bed inadvertently. Which she would take. She wasn’t picky.
Hannah laughed at herself. Yes, she was picky. She wanted a full-bore apology, first to her, then to Lucy second. Then she wanted to spit in his face and turn on her heel to walk out the door so he could see what it felt like to have someone he’d depended on show him their back.
She drove as slowly as possible, telling herself it was due to the heavy snowdrifts on the sides of the plowed highway, but it was really to give herself time to settle. It worked, to a degree.
But when she got to the hospital, nerves took over. It would be a miracle if she didn’t throw up at his feet, assuming he was ambulatory. She didn’t actually know what condition she’d find Owen in. The lady on the phone had been so vague, continually repeating that the doctor wanted to talk to her in person.
After parking and finding her way to the correct floor, she crept down the hall to the room the receptionist had indicated, feeling like she’d stumbled into another world. One with a hushed sense of doom and urgency. She didn’t care for the atmosphere at all.
A plate with number 147 next to a whiteboard was affixed to the wall. Someone had scribbled Owen Mackenzie on the white part with a marker.
The door was open. She forced herself to walk through it, her gaze automatically drawn to the figure in the bed.
Owen. Her fingers flew to her mouth.
His eyes were closed and he had a square bandage near his temple. There was so much white—his gown, the sheet, the bed, the walls. And machines. With beeping. She scarcely recognized the way her heart was beating, this erratic thump that couldn’t find a rhythm.
And then he opened his eyes and fixed them on her. She smiled automatically because oh my God, it was Owen. Ashen-faced and obviously in pain, but she had never forgotten that particular shade of brown framed by his lashes, like an espresso with just the right amount of milk to turn it a molten chocolate color.
His hair was longer, spread along his neck, and he should have shaved two weeks ago, but the scruff along his jaw had just enough edge to it to be slightly sexy. No. Not sexy. She slammed her eyes shut and drew in a shaky breath.
“Hello?” he rasped.
“Hi, Owen,” she murmured and that was it. The extent of her brain’s ability to form words. Her throat’s ability to make sounds.
After all this time, after all the scenarios she’d envisioned, the tongue-lashing she’d give him if they were ever in the same room together again—that was all she could come up with? Lame.
“Are you one of the nurses?” he asked, blinking slowly. “Why aren’t you wearing scrubs?”
Raising a brow, she eyed him. “It’s me, Owen. Hannah. I know I’ve put on a few pounds, but come on.”
Only five! Maybe seven, tops. Plus her hair was the same, since she hadn’t changed styles in... Good grief. Had it really been four years that she’d been getting this exact same cut?
“Are we related? The hospital said they were trying to track down my family.”
Confused, she cocked her head. “You’re kidding, right? We’re not related, not anymore, though I don’t know that being married is actually the same as being related, come to think of it.”
And now he had her babbling, which felt like par for the course. She’d been knocked sideways since the phone call back at home, and being here in this room with Owen hadn’t fixed that any.
She had to get it together. This was her chance to make her fondest wish come true—Owen on his knees, begging her forgiveness, blathering about how sorry he was he’d left her. How much he missed her. How big of a mistake he’d made.
Then and only then could she hold her head up high and walk away. Forget this man and the way he’d made her question her judgment every hour of every day, which was not a great parenting skill, by the way.
She’d get that confession out of him or die trying. She opened her mouth.
“Ms. Colton, I presume?” Hannah glanced at the door where a white-coated older gentleman stood with an iPad. “I’m Doctor Farris. Mr. Mackenzie is unfortunately suffering from amnesia. We had hoped that seeing you might jog something loose, but based on what I just heard, that doesn’t seem to have happened.”
“Amnesia.” The concept bounced around in Hannah’s head, searching for a place to land, but she couldn’t quite connect all the dots. “You mean he lost his memory? That’s a real thing? I thought Hollywood made up that condition for dramatic purposes.”
“Oh, no, it’s very real.” Dr. Farris smiled kindly. “It’s also not very well understood or studied so a lot of times, we’re a little unsure on how to treat it. Conventional wisdom says to give it time, and eventually everything will come back to him.”
“Sorry... Hannah?” Owen called, his gaze searching hers as if desperately trying to recall even a sliver of a memory that included her. “I wish I remembered you, but I don’t. I don’t remember who I am either. Can you tell me?”
Oh, she could. Absolutely. She’d had four years and change to stew about how this man had treated her. He deserved to hear every last horrible thing he’d done to her. Every last tear she’d shed.
But instead, she sat down heavily in one of the bedside chairs and blurted out, “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”
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ISBN-13: 9780369753243
Protector in Disguise
Copyright © 2024 by Deborah Evans
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Veronica Forand, Protector in Disguise
