Betrayed Bride

  Champagne Books Presents

  Betrayed Bride

  By

  Allison Knight

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Champagne Books

  www.champagnebooks.com

  Copyright 2013 by Allison Knight

  ISBN 978-1-77155-046-8

  May 2013

  Cover Art by Trisha FitzGerald

  Produced in Canada

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Champagnebooks.com (or a retailer of your choice) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Other Books By Allison Knight

  A Matter Of Passion

  A Treasure For Sara

  Battlesong

  Heal My Hurting Heart

  Heartsong

  Roses For My Lady

  Windsong

  Dedication

  To all those who offered a helping hand as I learned to write.

  And to Hank, as always.

  One

  “Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes for me. I know you can hear me.”

  The husky male voice played through her mind. It sounded so familiar. She’d heard it before, but her name wasn’t “sweetheart”. Her name was...

  What was her name? She couldn’t remember!

  Sheer panic seized her and she tried to sit up. Her head felt like it would burst with the attempt. Intense pain, like the hot blade of a knife, shot through her skull. She sank back into a black hole where there was nothing.

  Time passed, but almost as if he’d read her mind, the same voice came out of the darkness and asked, “How long? Surely you can give me an answer.”

  Was he talking to her? She heard the words through a haze, but for some reason, the masculine voice sounded so familiar.

  She tried to open her eyes. They felt glued shut, and all she could do was listen.

  “I’ve told you these things take time,” said a different voice, not deep like the first. “My tests indicate she’s coming around. See. She’s finally starting to wake up again.”

  She moved her head, but a sharp, cutting pain brought any movement to a halt. Where was she? She pried her eyes open enough so she could see a narrow slit of light, but the brightness nearly blinded her. The sensation was excruciating. She squeezed her lids shut.

  “Honey, welcome back.”

  She tried to say something to that husky voice, but she couldn’t make her lips or her tongue work. Her throat was on fire. She tried to bring an arm up to cover her eyes, but she couldn’t move. For some reason, she was frozen in place.

  What was wrong with her? Where was she? She tried to remember.

  Nothing.

  A complete blank. She took a deep breath and tried to make her burning throat cooperate.

  The second voice came at her from somewhere next to her head. “Mrs. Porter, my name is Dr. Burton. You were in an automobile accident and have been asleep for a long time. You are in a hospital, and your husband is here at your side. I’m going to do a couple of tests now and I want you to relax.”

  Mrs. Porter? Husband? What was he talking about? She wasn’t married. Her name—her name was Samantha...Samantha Knapp. Sam to her friends and her Aunt Jewel, and Samantha to her father. At least she remembered who she was. For a second she relaxed.

  Then the doctor’s words exploded in her head. She didn’t have a husband. She wasn’t married. She was an elementary school librarian. Panic surged. She struggled to move, to open her mouth, to tell him there had been a huge mistake.

  The doctor’s command came at her, sharp, insistent, “No! Don’t try to move or talk, just do as I tell you.”

  Fear told her not to fight him.

  As he issued his orders—raise her index finger, wiggle her toes, blink—she tried to follow his directions. Each attempt brought an increase in the violent pounding in her head until he said, “All done.”

  He patted her arm, and she felt a swimming sensation as she drifted into nothingness, away from the pain.

  Two

  She opened her eyes. It was dark. Was it night?

  A strange, rhythmic noise thumped above Sam’s head. The hammering sensation she’d experienced the last time she moved her head came back with a vengeance. She froze.

  Before she could gather more thoughts, the whisper of footsteps coming close alerted her to another presence. Something bumped her bed. She felt the brush of a hand against her shoulder and stared into the face of a gray-haired woman leaning over her.

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you open your eyes. My name is Alice, and I’m your nurse tonight.”

  Sam jerked against the words and opened her mouth, but nothing came.

  “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Porter?” The woman squeezed her shoulder, leaning close enough so Sam could see the nametag pinned to the collar of her white blouse. “If the pain is intolerable, we can give you some pain medication.”

  Sam wet her lips and tried again. “Name’s not Mrs. Porter...it’s Samantha Knapp.” The sound of her own rusty voice startled her.

  “Yes. Your name is Samantha. Your husband says he and your friends call you Sam, so may I call you Sam?”

  “D-don’t have...husband.”

  The nurse reached for her armband. Sam tried to move her head.

  “Hurts,” she managed to say, despite the pain. Could she try again to explain they were making a big mistake? “Not married. A mistake.”

  Once again, the panic built. Why did they think she had a husband? She lived at home with her father. She sighed with relief. Her memory was returning, and she knew she wasn’t married. But with those memories came the growing guilt shadowed by her resentment over her father’s restrictions. He needed to get a life of his own and let her live hers.

  But where was he? The doctor’s explanation skated through her mind. She had been in a car accident. Had she been driving him somewhere?

  “My father?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer. “He wasn’t with me in the car?”

  “No, your father...he’s fine. He checked in earlier today. You were sleeping, and you should try to go back to sleep now. If it’s okay with you, I’d rather not give you any more pain medication at the moment.”

  She started to shake her head, then decided against it. “No med...”

  “Good. If you need something later on, let me know. I’ll check on you later.” Concern laced the fading words as Alice moved away from her.

  “Thank you,” Sam managed. A glimmer of light rushed into the room, then disappeared as the door opened and closed. Alice had gone. Somehow, the room felt empty.

  She had to think. Why did everyone keep saying she was married? She would ask her father when he came. Knowing him, he’d be here first thing in the morning. She drifted off to sleep again.

  ~ * ~

  Sam opened her eyes and felt more alert. Her head ached, but the pain wasn’t as sharp. Morning sun shone through a window opposite her bed, but the bright light didn’t seem to start the awful pounding in her head the way it had before. The thumping sou
nd beside her head didn’t seem as loud. She was even aware of noise outside her door.

  The doctor said she’d been in an accident. She blinked, trying to remember what had happened to her.

  A blank.

  She closed her eyes, hoping she could concentrate and remember how she had gotten hurt. Driving home from work? Her dad would know. Knowing how possessive he was, he’d be here soon. Then she’d ask him about this marriage nonsense.

  When more voices registered, she strained to hear what was being said. The first doctor and the familiar deep, husky voice were talking. She needed to open her eyes to see if they were close, but that would mean twisting her head and she wasn’t ready for that.

  “Post traumatic amnesia...”

  “But it won’t last, will it?” The man’s voice rushed through her, and she drew a rapid breath. Why did it sound so familiar?

  “Look, Mr. Porter, I know this has been difficult for you, but your wife sustained massive injuries.” The doctor’s words jolted her. Wife? No!

  “A head injury...her coma was not unexpected. We still don’t know how much damage was done and it will be some time before we do. You have to be patient. She is talking and beginning to move, so that’s encouraging.”

  “How long before you know the extent of damage?”

  “Well, after I’ve run more tests...” The voices faded away.

  Sam struggled with what she had heard.

  Injured.

  Coma.

  Damage. What had happened to her?

  She couldn’t remember, but they had it all wrong. This was some kind of horrible misunderstanding. They had to have mistaken her for someone else, someone who looked like her.

  Aunt Jewel would know. Sam smiled. Of course, her wonderful aunt, the only mother she’d ever known, would clear this up immediately. All it would take was a phone call. Aunt Jewel would be able to confirm her identity.

  Maybe Aunt Jewel had flown in when she heard Sam had been hurt. Since her aunt practically raised her, it would make sense that she was here. As blunt as she was, Aunt Jewel would clear this up in short order.

  Now, where was her father? She thought he’d be here by now. She gasped. If he checked on her, he had to have been here, so why hadn’t he corrected the doctor and the nurses and told them she wasn’t this Mrs. Porter?

  None of it made any sense. As anxiety started to build, a massive headache developed. It felt like a thousand little men were in her head, each one pounding on a drum. She closed her eyes to block out the agony. Anything to stop the pain.

  Concentrate, she ordered, and wiggled in bed before trying to lift her arms and legs. She could move her arms and one leg a bit. The other leg seemed to be immobile. But best of all, if she moved her head slowly, she could turn without the sensations nearly blinding her.

  The room was large, with a window on one side. A long, wooden shelf held a vase of red and white carnations, and a display of cards lined the rest of the wood. She’d have to ask a nurse if she could see the cards. Something might indicate why everyone had made such a mistake.

  Dr. Burton sauntered into the room. “Good morning, my dear. Glad to see you’re awake, because we need to do a few more tests.”

  A nurse stuck her head around the door. “Doctor, Mr. Porter is waiting.”

  “All right, send him—”

  “No! No, please. I’m not married,” she pleaded. “It’s all a mistake. I don’t have a husband.” Her head started pounding again, and a different kind of fear sliced through her, one that made her nauseated.

  “All right, Samantha, it’s all right. You don’t need to see him now.” Dr. Burton leaned over and grabbed her hand. “It’s okay.” He rubbed his fingers over the back of her hand as if to soothe her.

  “He’s not my husband. I’m not married. Please tell him to go away.” She tried to jerk out of his grasp.

  He patted her shoulder. “I’ll tell him. I want you to try to relax,” he said, moving away from her bed, toward the door.

  Carefully, she turned her head and watched him say something to the nurse, then grab a chair and position it next to her bed. He picked up a red binder she hadn’t noticed before and began to write.

  “Where is my father?”

  Dr. Burton stopped writing and looked at her. “Samantha, tell me what you remember.”

  She stared at him. Why didn’t he answer her question?

  “Where is my father? Why isn’t he here?”

  “Tell me what you remember.”

  “Why won’t you answer my question? Is there something wrong with my father?”

  “Samantha, your father is fine. We need to concentrate on you right now, so I need to know what you remember.”

  “I remember everything but the accident. That’s a blank, but I remember my school. I’m the school librarian, and I live with my father. My mother is dead, my name is Samantha Knapp, and I’m twenty-two years old.”

  He looked startled and wrote something in his binder. “Now, tell me what day you think it is.”

  “How long have I been in the hospital?”

  Dr. Burton closed the binder and moved the chair away from the bed, ignoring her question. “Let me ask you a different question: Describe the last day you remember.”

  She frowned. He wasn’t answering her questions again. She closed her eyes and lifted her arm to her forehead. What day did she remember? Despite the pain throbbing against her temples, she tried to concentrate. It had been a Tuesday. In the morning. The principal stopped her in the hallway and said they had a meeting with some company exec after school that afternoon. She’d hoped it wouldn’t last too long, because she’d agreed to have an early dinner with her father before he went back to work. After he left the house, she could get back to her painting.

  “The last day I remember was Tuesday, October 17.” Sam lowered her arm.

  Dr. Burton looked pleased, then frowned. “Samantha, where were you?”

  “I was at school.”

  He opened the binder and starting writing again. She couldn’t help notice the concern covering his face.

  “Okay, now I want you to rest.” He closed the binder, then patted the bedrail. “Sleep is the best medicine for you. That’s what I told your aunt when I talked to her. But I think you need to see another doctor as well. Dr. Rice will be coming in to talk to you this afternoon. He’s a very good doctor. He might answer some of your questions. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

  Sam watched him stride from the room and sighed with disappointment. Aunt Jewel wasn’t here, but the doctor had talked to her. Of course, there was her father... He might have demanded Aunt Jewel stay home. She’d have to ask him when he came, if he came. He might be furious with her for getting hurt.

  She’d also give a lot to know what Dr. Burton wrote in that binder of his. Of course, he hadn’t answered any of her questions, and she didn’t understand why. And why did she need to see another doctor? She groaned with frustration.

  Where was her father? If he wasn’t hurt, then why wasn’t he here? And if her father had ordered Aunt Jewel to stay in Long Island, why hadn’t he called? One of them could straighten this out. She needed her questions answered.

  Three

  Alex Porter ran his hands through his hair and glared at Dr. Burton. “What you do mean, she doesn’t want to see me and wants me to leave?”

  “She’s telling everyone she’s not married. I know this makes no sense to you, but you have to be patient.”

  Alex paced the small conference room and ignored the stout doctor with his mop of white hair and piercing blue eyes.

  “That’s all I’ve been—patient.” He’d worried and waited for the last two months as the doctors had worked to bring Sam back from the injuries that had nearly taken her from him. He’d been patient through the bleak days that had melted one into another, as the severity of her head injury was diagnosed, her beautiful, long hair shaved, the pressure in her head relieved. He’d been patient when he listened to
the awful explanations that she might not recover or perhaps not recover fully. He was tired of being patient.

  “She’s afraid. I honestly believe she doesn’t remember you.”

  “What do you mean, she doesn’t remember me? I thought the nurses were kidding when they said she didn’t know she was married. My God, we’ve been together for more than a year. I’ve known her for nearly a year and a half. How can she not remember me?” Alex stopped his pacing to glare at Dr. Burton once more.

  “She’s in a confused state. With her broken leg and the severe head injury with post traumatic amnesia, she’s also wiped over a year from her mind.”

  “What?”

  Dr. Burton nodded. “She thinks it’s a year ago and the beginning of the school year. Long before you were married.”

  Alex sank into the nearest chair. She’d forgotten about their marriage? It wasn’t possible. They were so good together. She’d told him she loved him, and she knew how much she meant to him. Okay, so he had been forced to work long hours for the last several months before the accident, and he’d had to do a lot of traveling, but she hadn’t complained.

  The sex had been good. No, their lovemaking had been more than good, so how could she wipe their relationship from her mind?

  Dr. Burton’s voice registered. “I want to know where you met your wife, Mr. Porter.”

  “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Well, the psychiatrist I want her to see, Dr. Paul Rice, will want to know if something happened before she met you, something so unpleasant, so life-changing, she wants to block it from her conscience.”

  “You think something happened to her?” He stood and started to pace again.

  “I don’t know, but it’s a place to start. In fact, I want you to talk to Dr. Rice before he sees Samantha. He can see you this afternoon about three. Is that okay?”