time."
He thought about the crab he'd tried to drag from its burrow that afternoon. He wasn't sure he had time to coax his memories to the surface.
But her palm felt warm and soft against his arm. "Dinner smells good," he lied. "Let's eat."
Her look of startled pleasure stayed with him for the remainder of the night.
"Mrs. Renault, would you join us?"
Helen frowned over the article she was reading on how to make a rock garden. Dr. Noel Terrien was standing at his door, a door that had been closed for some time now. Helen had been prepared to wait the full hour. She was completely caught off guard by the invitation to join in Gabe's therapy.
"It would be helpful to your husband if you would sit with us from time to time," added the doctor encouragingly.
Oh, bother. She was still distressed that she'd had to leave work early. The paperwork had piled up from her day off, and she hadn't even put a dent in it. The routine that she'd enjoyed when Gabe was gone was shattered. Once more, the world revolved around him.
She immediately chided herself for being so insensitive. Gabe was dealing with far more serious issues than inconvenience. She ought to be more supportive. The sooner he recovered, the sooner she could move on with her life.
On the other hand, she wasn't that eager to bring back the old Gabe. The man she'd brought home from the hospital might look like him, but he hadn't acted anything like him. He'd been patient, thoughtful, and attentive—attributes he hadn't exhibited in years.
The old Gabe had also refused to take part in Mallory's counseling. She didn't want to be guilty of the same crime, so she dropped the magazine on the chair and snatched up her purse.
Gabe was waiting in the doctor's office. He'd chosen the least comfortable chair and was sitting ramrod-straight in it with his arms crossed.
No wonder Dr. Terrien had asked for her help.
At her entrance, Gabe sent her an imploring gaze. He looked so utterly miserable that compassion welled up in her. She surprised herself by taking the chair nearest his and giving him an encouraging smile.
Dr. Terrien sat in a wingback chair opposite them. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees. He was a big-boned man with a head of salt and pepper curls, thick eyebrows, and eyes the color of the ocean on overcast days.
"Mrs. Renault," he said, "your husband has just been relating to me what it is he can remember, and his memory apparently stops about the time he met you. I'm hoping you can fill in the gaps. Whether or not he remembers is not as important right now as giving him a sense of continuity. He was just telling me of his years at Annapolis."
Helen took a cleansing breath. Okay, she thought, simple enough. She could color in Gabe's past without revealing her own naive belief that he would be her prince and make her life a fairy tale.
"Annapolis," she repeated, picking up the doctor's cue. "So, you remember your classes?" She addressed this question to Gabe, who nodded grimly. "One of your instructors' names was Commander Troy," she continued. "Do you remember him?"
He nodded slowly, his brow clearing. "Sure," he said. "Naval history. He was the one who encouraged me to be a SEAL."
"You were his favorite student," Helen explained, trying to keep the mockery out of her tone, "older and more experienced than the others. He obviously convinced you, so you went to Coronado for BUD/S training class 223 and you were one of the sixteen who actually graduated. You remember all that?"
"Yes," he said succinctly.
"Then you remember being assigned back on the East Coast," she added.
"I remember," he said, looking glum. "But I lived in the bachelor quarters."
"You did then," she agreed. "But the next summer you went back to Annapolis to visit Commander Troy."
Gabe's eyes roved her face like searchlights. It was clear he'd forgotten that part.
Helen plunged ahead, keeping her story as factual as possible. "And when you did, he introduced you to
He thought about the crab he'd tried to drag from its burrow that afternoon. He wasn't sure he had time to coax his memories to the surface.
But her palm felt warm and soft against his arm. "Dinner smells good," he lied. "Let's eat."
Her look of startled pleasure stayed with him for the remainder of the night.
"Mrs. Renault, would you join us?"
Helen frowned over the article she was reading on how to make a rock garden. Dr. Noel Terrien was standing at his door, a door that had been closed for some time now. Helen had been prepared to wait the full hour. She was completely caught off guard by the invitation to join in Gabe's therapy.
"It would be helpful to your husband if you would sit with us from time to time," added the doctor encouragingly.
Oh, bother. She was still distressed that she'd had to leave work early. The paperwork had piled up from her day off, and she hadn't even put a dent in it. The routine that she'd enjoyed when Gabe was gone was shattered. Once more, the world revolved around him.
She immediately chided herself for being so insensitive. Gabe was dealing with far more serious issues than inconvenience. She ought to be more supportive. The sooner he recovered, the sooner she could move on with her life.
On the other hand, she wasn't that eager to bring back the old Gabe. The man she'd brought home from the hospital might look like him, but he hadn't acted anything like him. He'd been patient, thoughtful, and attentive—attributes he hadn't exhibited in years.
The old Gabe had also refused to take part in Mallory's counseling. She didn't want to be guilty of the same crime, so she dropped the magazine on the chair and snatched up her purse.
Gabe was waiting in the doctor's office. He'd chosen the least comfortable chair and was sitting ramrod-straight in it with his arms crossed.
No wonder Dr. Terrien had asked for her help.
At her entrance, Gabe sent her an imploring gaze. He looked so utterly miserable that compassion welled up in her. She surprised herself by taking the chair nearest his and giving him an encouraging smile.
Dr. Terrien sat in a wingback chair opposite them. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees. He was a big-boned man with a head of salt and pepper curls, thick eyebrows, and eyes the color of the ocean on overcast days.
"Mrs. Renault," he said, "your husband has just been relating to me what it is he can remember, and his memory apparently stops about the time he met you. I'm hoping you can fill in the gaps. Whether or not he remembers is not as important right now as giving him a sense of continuity. He was just telling me of his years at Annapolis."
Helen took a cleansing breath. Okay, she thought, simple enough. She could color in Gabe's past without revealing her own naive belief that he would be her prince and make her life a fairy tale.
"Annapolis," she repeated, picking up the doctor's cue. "So, you remember your classes?" She addressed this question to Gabe, who nodded grimly. "One of your instructors' names was Commander Troy," she continued. "Do you remember him?"
He nodded slowly, his brow clearing. "Sure," he said. "Naval history. He was the one who encouraged me to be a SEAL."
"You were his favorite student," Helen explained, trying to keep the mockery out of her tone, "older and more experienced than the others. He obviously convinced you, so you went to Coronado for BUD/S training class 223 and you were one of the sixteen who actually graduated. You remember all that?"
"Yes," he said succinctly.
"Then you remember being assigned back on the East Coast," she added.
"I remember," he said, looking glum. "But I lived in the bachelor quarters."
"You did then," she agreed. "But the next summer you went back to Annapolis to visit Commander Troy."
Gabe's eyes roved her face like searchlights. It was clear he'd forgotten that part.
Helen plunged ahead, keeping her story as factual as possible. "And when you did, he introduced you to
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