Chapter 26

Chrissie had her head bent over her notepad, scrutinizing the measurements for the playroom when she felt a presence behind her. Ian leaned against the doorway again, not really watching her, since that was impossible, but the sensation was the same.

"So, you're the one," he said as though he could feel her eyes on him.

"The one?" she asked, a little grateful he couldn't navigate the toy-explosion floor. Ian Fisk might be handsome, but he was so tall and big across the shoulders, he intimidated her.

He pointed at her general direction. "The one who's husband sweet-talked Ophelia into giving up that bracelet."

Chrissie's fingers immediately curled around her birthday gift.

"May I?" he asked, holding out his hand. Swallowing nervously, she skirted around a wooden castle and doll house to reluctantly return her bracelet. She didn't want to insult the man, after all. This was a big account for her. She needed this to boost her business to the next level

"Ah...the primrose one...I wondered," he said, tracing the carved pattern with his fingertips. He continued to rotate the pale red circlet in his able fingers, and Chrissie's heart started constricting, thinking he might not give it back. "This little gem took me three months to finish. I had to start over twice...the primroses were murder on my fingers."

"They're very beautiful," she commented breathlessly. Give it back!

"Do you know of the painting by Millias?" he asked, tilting his head to the side to scrutinize her in a way only he could. His nostrils flared as though taking in her scent, and she almost stumbled away from him, but he held her bracelet, so she wasn't going anywhere.

"Yes, I am familiar with it," she replied, proud that her voice didn't shake. He smiled at her.

"I hear it is quite a sight to see," he commented.

"If you like Pre-Raphaelite art," she said, and he arched an eyebrow at her, "And you don't?"

"The painting Ophelia is very beautiful," she admitted, "but the majority of Pre-Raphaelite paintings showcase women in various poses and character, and I find it a bit...weird. A whole movement meant to defy popular artisticism, by their use of light and color, but all those men chose women as their main subjects, and it's a little creepy, is all."

He continued to study her presence. "What is your favorite art style?"

Chrissie began to wonder if he had a point to all this or if he was just playing around with her. She shrugged. "Personally, I enjoy Cloisonnism and Nabis. The bold colors surrounded by thick outlines...kind of like life, I guess. The lines might be harsh, but there's always a little bit of wonderful between them. Paul Ranson's Edge of the Forest and Apple Tree with Red Fruit are two of my favorite paintings."

He considered her answer and finally nodded, tossing her bracelet back to her. "Okay, you'll do."

"I'll do for what?" She thrust her hand through the bracelet ring, sighing blissfully that she wore it again.

"To have the honor of owning one of those," he said arrogantly and nodding his chin at her wrist.

"Am I honored?" she asked blithely. "Because I feel like I've just been interrogated for war crimes."

Ian threw back his head and laughed. "Intelligent and charming," he mused. "Your husband is a lucky man. And you smell nice, too. What's that you're wearing? Smells citrusy."

Ophelia reappeared and saved her. "Ian stop badgering the poor woman. She has work to do. Besides, Chrissie here is the lucky one. That husband of hers is one handsome man."

Ian whirled on his wife. "Really? Would he be just as handsome as a dead man?"

Ophelia gasped. "Ian! Chrissie is standing right there!"

"I know she is," he said calmly and tipped his head in Chrissie's direction, "I mean no disrespect, of course, Mrs. Willard."

Chrissie shuffled forward menacingly. She really didn't want to get into a marital argument with her newest clients, but he just threatened her husband.

Whoa. Where did that come from?

Okay, so Race was her husband, but to feel so protective of him? And to take on a man bigger than her work van? She must be nuts, but he said that, and now she wanted to clobber him with a Tinker Toy...or that collection of pet rocks on the shelf.

As though sensing her hostility, he grinned innocently at her. "Ah, so the lioness protects her mate? Now, I really want to meet this Race Willard, see what kind of man earns such loyalty in a woman."

"Take a look in the mirror sometime," Ophelia said, and Ian grinned at her, "You know I can't do that, darling."

Chrissie took the moment to cool her boiling blood. Ophelia jabbed Ian in the stomach, and he sighed and said, "I am truly sorry, Mrs. Willard. I love my wife very much, and it still pains me to know that other men can see how beautiful she is when I can't."

Chrissie melted right along with Ophelia. That's so sweet. Ophelia reached up and kissed him on the neck. "You know you get to feel me in ways no other man ever will."

He grinned wickedly at her. "Can I feel you now?"

"We have guests," Ophelia reminded him, but she whispered something in his ear, and he perked up immensely.

About that time, the front door opened and it sounded like a stampede coming down the hall. Ophelia looked at her watch. "They're early," she muttered, and looked at Chrissie. "The kids...my cousin took them to the zoo to keep them out of your hair, but..." She trailed off and she glanced at Ian. Together, they moaned, "Kate."

"What happened?" Ophelia asked to whomever stood in the hallway. A streak of red hair ran past Chrissie and she blinked at a little girl, around six years old, hiding in the playroom's closet.

"Why did you tell Kate she could have a pony?" a male voice asked, and Chrissie moved into the hallway, thinking she should just round up her employees and let the Fisk household deal with this new crisis.

"I did not say she could have a pony," Ian replied, frowning at a young man in his early thirties and a pretty blond a little younger than the man. "I said I would make her a pony."

Ophelia bent to lift a baby boy out of a carrier, and two more boys -- four and three years maybe? -- fled in the direction of the kitchen. Good Lord, they brought the zoo home with them.

The younger man huffed and said, "Well, she thought differently and tried to take one home from the zoo...climbed right over the fence and hopped on it's back. We were politely asked to leave and not come back."

"It's your own fault, Noah," the blond said, clearly frustrated. "You were supposed to be watching her. You know how she is."

"Don't start with me, Mira," the man -- Noah -- ground out, but Ian put a stop to the impending argument, "Katherine Grace Fisk! Come here, now!"

A few seconds later, the red-headed girl emerged from the playroom and pasted an angelic smile on her face. "Daddy," she began, but Chrissie turned to Ophelia and placed her hand on the mother's arm, not wanting to witness that big, tall man getting worked over by a little girl wearing a Hello Kitty skirt. It would almost be as embarrassing as when she watched that big, tall man fondling his pregnant wife in full view of five strangers.

"We'll go ahead and finish up and leave," she said quietly. "Call the office when you're able to come in and discuss the designs, okay?"

"Thank you, Chrissie," Ophelia said with a calm smile, cuddling her baby close, which made Chrissie's throat lock up from the pure sweetness of it. "I'm sorry for the drama, but I'm sure you understand. You'll be starting a family soon, right?"

Chrissie didn't answer. She hustled her group out into the van and Brian drove them back to the office. "And I thought my family was nuts," he muttered and Anandi giggled. Chrissie just sighed and thought, It seemed fairly normal to me.

There was a bouquet of mountain wildflowers waiting on her desk when she got back to the office. The card simply said, "Race."

*****

Race paced the floor of the dining room with as much patience as he could. This was Chrissie's first day back at work, and he wondered how it all went. He almost called her numerous times today, but hung up the phone every time, not wanting to come across as overly-anxious.

Dena sat on the couch, reading a book, but she looked over her shoulder at him. "Will you please sit down? You're making me nervous."

"I can't help it," he said, running his fingers through his hair. "She's late. What if something happened?"

"She's not that late," Dena said, going back to her book. "It's her first day back. I'm sure she had a lot of work to catch up on."

"Do you think the flowers was too much?" he asked. Dena said, "No, it was sweet, and I'm sure she'll think the same."

"No, no," he argued with himself. "It was too soon. She's going to think I'm pressuring her into accepting all of this too quickly." He stopped and thought for a second. "Maybe she didn't get them. Maybe the florist was busy today -- they said it might happen -- and I have time to cancel the order." He rushed toward the phone, but Dena beat him to it. Dang, that woman can move fast!

She laughed, "Calm down. Chrissie is going to think that it was sweet of you to remember her today, and nothing else. Get a grip, man. You're acting like this is your first rodeo."

"Well, it is...kind of," he said, sinking into himself. "I'm trying to figure out a way to start over, make her fall in love with me again, and I'm nervous, okay?!"

"Take a deep breath and let it out," she administered calmly, and Race chuckled.

"You sound like that Dr. Gray."

"I've got to meet this guy," she said. "He sounds wonderful."

He got his anger up again. "What do you mean? I didn't tell you anything. What did Chrissie say about him?"

"She said nothing, but I watched the hypnosis video with her last night," Dena supplied.

"And what did Chrissie say about him?" he asked again, feeling his stomach cramp. Oh, no, what if Chrissie was really attracted to the guy, and she'd only been placating him?

"Would you look at yourself?" Dena huffed jovially. "Chrissie said nothing about the Wonderful Dr. Sebastian Gray."

"Wonderful? She said he was wonderful?" Chrissie never said he was wonderful. 

"Chrissie thinks nothing about Dr. Gray," Dena said, grinning. "I think he's wonderful...and sexy as all get out! Gracious that man looks good. I never cared for the suit-wearing kind, but he could sure fill one out. And for your information, my sister would never have an affair. I know she gave you some flack about that the last time you had a fit over Dr. Gray. Did you ever wonder why she's still here? "

"She lives here."

"Yeah, but you ever wonder why she gave you an out from this situation, but didn't take one for herself? Most women I know w(uld have hit the highway by now than spend any more time with a man they aren't attracted to. She may not be at peace with being married, but she is married and that's all she needs to stay faithful. If she married, then she knows she married for love...she's just trying to find that love again."

Race dropped to the couch and stuck his head in his hands. He wanted to believe Dena...he really did. "I think I need a drink," he muttered to himself. He'd never been this unsure of anything before, even when Dr. Newell couldn't find a problem with Chrissie's brain. He knew he told Chrissie he'd never doubt her on her fidelity, but that big Green Monster had him by the throat and it wouldn't let go.

What if she didn't find that love again...would she ever?

Chrissie's key turned in the lock of the back door. Race shot to his feet and met her in the kitchen. She'd been chewing on her lip again. It looked red and swollen...or had someone been kissing her? "Hi," he said, in a relatively normal voice.

"Hi," she replied, smiling softly. "Thanks for the flowers. They were beautiful."

When she smiled at him like that, he was the only man in the world...and Greenie released him. "You're welcome," he said with a smile of his own, clearing the leftovers of jealousy from his throat. "How was your first day back?"

"Fine, fine," she said, throwing her bag and keys on the table. "I met with Ophelia Fisk today, and I was introduced to Lily King."

"I don't know who that is," he said, leaning a hip against the counter. This was almost like old times. She came in, told him about her day, and life was good. Well, almost like old days. Usually, he gave her a hello kiss before she could get her key out of the lock, but that was neither here nor there.

"She's an architect and owns a construction business. She's married to Bryce King, the billionaire...or millionaire, or something with an aire."

"Sounds like you have a full day," he said. "So...um, nothing else? Everything was okay?"

She sighed and sat down in a kitchen chair to remove her shoes. "No, not everything. I met Ethan and Cole today."

It took him a moment to fully understand what she meant by that. "Oh, crap, Chris, I'm sorry. I forgot about them. You didn't fire them or anything? They need that job between races."

Chris glanced up at him. "Races?"

"Yeah, they're part of my racing crew, but they're trying to save up some money for a European backpacking trip this fall."

She nodded. "Oh, okay, and no, I didn't fire them. It was just...weird, you know? Nobody at works knows about my memory loss, and it was a little unsettling to see people I didn't recognized. I'm just thankful they were the only two."

Race was getting a good idea to the whole scope of this problem. Not only did she not remember him or their marriage, or any parts of their past together, but any kind of ricochet from that past was gone from her, too. He asked her to hire Ethan and Cole when her other two measuring goons quit to work on off-shore oil wells. Anything involving him -- no matter how small -- wasn't there in her brain, and Race closed his eyes for a moment to breathe in...let it out...again...

He heard her giggle. "What are you doing?"

"Breathing," he said, opening his eyes to grin down at her. 

"Normally, people can do that without concentrating," she said, standing up and stretching. "Lord, I'm tired. What's the plans for dinner? I'm too tired to fix anything."

"I'll take care of it," he offered, wanting to wrap his arms around her when she stretched like that. "What would you like?"

"I don't care. Something light. Is Dena here?"

"Yup," he said, moving over to the drawer that held take-out menus. "Greek sound okay?"

"Greek sounds wonderful," she said, moving past him. Coming abreast of his body, she faltered, lifted her hand as though she had a desire to touch him in some way. He waited, holding his breath as he kept his eyes on the menu. Finally, with jerky movements, she pecked him softly on the cheek and whispered, "Thank you...for the flowers." She left the kitchen, and Race touched the warm mark where her lips kissed him. It was progress.