A Wyoming Christmas to Remember
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Melissa Senate
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14
Chapter One
“You’re my husband?” Maddie Wolfe asked.
She tried to latch on to the word, for something, anything, to associate husband with the total stranger sitting at her bedside. The stranger holding her hand in both of his and looking at her with worried green eyes.
“My name is Sawyer Wolfe,” he said. “We’ve been married for seven years.”
“Sawyer Wolfe. Seven years,” she repeated. “And I’m Maddie Wolfe?” She hadn’t even known that until he’d told her when she’d woken up just a couple minutes ago with no idea who she was, where she was or who he was. Her mind, where her identity and memories should be, was a big blank nothing.
She glanced from him to what was beside her bed—quietly beeping hospital machines, an IV pole. A television mounted on the beige-yellow wall. A long, wide window. A miniature Christmas tree decorated with garland and ornaments on the windowsill and so many poinsettia plants—pink, red, white—she couldn’t even count them. There were even more bouquets of flowers.
I’m in a hospital, she realized, reaching up to the goose egg on her forehead and the deep scratch beside it. That would explain why her head felt so woozy and achy. And maybe why her mind was so blank. I’m...she thought, trying to come up with her name on her own. Maddie Wolfe? Didn’t ring a bell. She tried for her age. Nothing. Where she lived. But there was just that nothingness again.
Sawyer Wolfe nodded, his eyes shimmering with tears, relief, concern. When her own eyes had fluttered open, the first thing she saw was him. He’d jumped up, shouted, “Maddie’s awake! My wife is awake!” and then grabbed a white call button attached to her bed and pressed it three times before sitting back down and taking her hand, kissing the back of it over and over.
“Your wife?” she’d asked.
He’d glanced up from the kissing of her hand, clearly confused. “Maddie?”
“Maddie?” she’d repeated, more confused.
He’d sat up very straight. “Maddie, do you know who you are? Who I am?”
She’d looked at him long and hard, and believe you me, he was something to behold. But nothing about this man was familiar.
She’d shaken her head, which had her reaching up to the goose egg, the deep scratch beside it.
“Your name is Maddie Wolfe,” he’d told her. “I’m Sawyer Wolfe, your husband. You were in a car crash—it was snowing hard and you hit a guardrail.”
Now, before she could ask him anything else, two women came rushing in, one in blue scrubs, the other in a white lab coat with a name tag: Dr. Louisa Addison.
The nurse began taking her vitals: temperature, blood pressure.
“Maddie doesn’t seem to know her name or who I am,” Sawyer said to the doctor.
Dr. Addison asked her a bunch of questions she didn’t know the answers to. What is your name? What year is it? Who is the president of the United States?
As the doctor jotted things down on her chart, Maddie wondered how she knew what a chart was if she didn’t know what year it was. She glanced at the four pink poinsettias on the windowsill, clearly knowing what those were. Her gaze moved to the little Christmas tree. There were two Woodstock ornaments—the little yellow bird from Peanuts, Snoopy’s buddy. Why would she know that but not even know it was Christmastime if the tree hadn’t clued her in?
Ow, my head, she thought, letting the questions, the confusing buzz go. The blankness came back, and she instantly felt better.
She glanced at the man—six-two, maybe six-three, dark hair, a scar above his left eyebrow. If she thought he looked worried before, it didn’t come close to the concern on his face now.
“My mind is blank,” she said to both of them. “Why is my mind blank?” She tried to think what day it was, but as she ran through the days of the week, none registered as the right one. She bolted upright. “Why don’t I know my name? Sawyer said I was in a car crash?”
Dr. Addison nodded. “You’ve sustained a head injury that seems to have affected your memory. But rest assured, you’re in good hands. You are Maddie Wolfe, thirty-two years old. Your husband, Sawyer Wolfe, is right here—he’s the chief of police in Wedlock Creek. You’re in Brewer County Hospital in Wyoming, transferred here from the Wedlock Creek Clinic.”
No memory: amnesia. She knew what that was. It explained why her mind was full of holes. She grasped on to what she was told. My name is Maddie Wolfe. My husband is Sawyer Wolfe. Police chief. Wedlock Creek.
Nothing. Her own name was unfamiliar. Her husband was a stranger.
She swallowed, glancing over at the Woodstock ornament. She kept her focus on the little yellow bird, and for some reason, it comforted her.
“Maddie,” Dr. Addison said, “Sawyer hasn’t left your side in the two days since you were brought in.” The doctor offered an encouraging smile to both Maddie and the man. “Your parents and sister were here this morning and said they’d be back this afternoon.”
Parents and a sister! She couldn’t even remember her own family.
“I’ll go text them that you’re awake,” Sawyer said, leaping up and heading near the door, where he pulled out his phone.
As the doctor typed instructions into a computer monitor against the wall and the nurse checked her IV, Maddie stared at Sawyer. Surely if he were her husband, she would remember something. A familiarity. A flash of their wedding day. The two of them at home. Something, anything.
“Will my memory return?” Maddie asked the doctor.
Dr. Addison turned to her. “Amnesia is a tricky thing. There are a few different kinds, and yours is likely caused by trauma. We’ll have to wait and see. I did have a patient a few years ago who’d suffered temporary amnesia from a bad fall. His memory returned to full function within three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” she repeated. “I might not remember anything about myself for three weeks?”
Dr. Addison gave her a reassuring smile. “Could be sooner. But we’ll run some tests, and based on how well you’re doing now, I don’t see any reason why you can’t be discharged later today.”
Discharged where? Where did she live?
With your husband, she reminded herself.
She bolted upright again, her gaze moving to Sawyer, who pocketed his phone and came back over, sitting down and taking her hand in both of his. “Do I—do we—have children?” she asked him. She couldn’t forget her own children. She couldn’t.
“No,” he said, glancing away for a moment. “Your parents and Jenna will be here in fifteen minutes,” he said. “They’re ecstatic you’re awake. I let them know you might not remember them straightaway.”
“Jenna?” she asked.
“Your twin sister. You’re very close. To your parents too. Your family is incredible—very warm and loving.”
That was good.
She took a deep breath and looked at her hand in his. Her left hand. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. He wore one, though—a gold band. So where was hers?
“Why aren’t I wearing a wedding ring?” she asked.
His expression changed on a dime. He looked at her, then down at his feet. Dark brown cowboy boots.
Uh oh, she thought. He doesn’t want to tell me. What is that about?
Two orderlies came in just then, and Dr. Addison let Maddie know it was time for her CT scan, and that by the time she was done, her family would probably be here.
“I’ll be waiting right here,” Sawyer said, gently cupping his hand to her cheek.
As the orderlies wheeled her toward the door, she realized she missed Sawyer—looking at him, talking to him, her hand in his, his hand on her face. That had to be a good sign, right?
Even if she wasn’t wearing her ring.
Almost exactly the same time that the orderlies wheeled Maddie back into her hospital room, her family arrived. Sawyer had been hoping for some time alone with Maddie, but he’d get that later at home. Right now, her family needed to see her.
The MacLeods—pronounced MacLoud—all hovered around her bed. They lived up to their name and then some.
“Maddie!” April MacLeod shouted, throwing her arms around her daughter. “Oh goodness, I’m not squeezing any sore spots, am I? Let me look at you. Oh my, that’s some goose egg. But that’ll go down, lickety-split. We brought you chicken noodle soup from that fancy gourmet place you like in Brewer. You love chicken noodle.” She stared at Maddie, then waved her hand in the air. “Did I even tell you who I am? I’m your beloved mother, that’s who. You and your sister here are my world. And this guy—” she slung an arm around her tall, gray-haired husband’s shoulder “—married thirty-four years next Saturday.”
“Glad you’re awake, Maddie-girl,” Ace MacLeod said, giving his daughter a gentle hug. Tears shone in his blue eyes and he blinked them back. “You scared us half to death.”
Jenna MacLeod Spinner leaned down to hug her twin as best she could—her sixth-months-pregnant belly didn’t let her get as close as she clearly wanted. “So word is that you don’t remember anything. Trust me, we’re unforgettable. It’ll come back to you.”
Maddie gave a shy smile. “I hope so. You definitely seem like people I’d like to know.”
April laughed her huge, throaty, I-used-to-smoke laugh. “You adore us. Can’t get enough of us. But you take it easy until the doctor says otherwise. I know you’ll try to come back to work, and I won’t hear of it. Not until you’re cleared.”
Maddie tilted her head. “Work? What do I do?”
“You manage the family business—MacLeod’s Multiples Emporium.”
“A multiples emporium?” Maddie repeated. She couldn’t even guess what that was.
“Wedlock Creek, our hometown, is famous for its multiples,” April explained. “The Wedlock Creek Wedding Chapel has a legend attached to it—for a hundred years now. Those who marry there will have multiples in some way, whether through luck, a little help from science or through marriage.”
“Which one are Jenna and me?” Maddie asked with a grin.
“Pure luck,” her mom said. “Multiples run on both sides of the family. And since there are so many multiples in town, we started a business devoted to twins and triplets and quads and quints twenty-five years ago. Gift baskets, layettes, baby shower accoutrements, personalized gifts, anything anyone could want to celebrate all things multiples.” She glanced at Sawyer, then smiled down at Maddie. “Well, Maddie-girl, we’re going to let you get out of here. Sawyer will take you home, and we’ll call later to see how you are.”
Maddie gave a quick smile and nod, and it was strange how Sawyer couldn’t read her expressions anymore. He knew her so well. But now that she didn’t even know how she felt about anything or anyone, all her reactions were new to him.
An hour later, after eating a light lunch and having her vitals checked again, Dr. Addison ran through some instructions, handed over the discharge papers and Maddie was free to leave.
“Earlier I asked your mom to stop by the house and bring you clothes to change into,” Sawyer said. “And your favorite boots.” He handed her an overnight bag.
“Ah, thank you. I’ll just be a bit.” She headed into the bathroom with the bag.
Why aren’t I wearing my wedding ring?
He hadn’t answered that question, and he was sure she was going to ask again. But he didn’t want to tell her. He didn’t want to talk about any of that.
He shouldn’t be almost glad that she’d forgotten what had made her drive away from him the morning she’d crashed her car. He couldn’t take back what he’d said, even if he hadn’t meant it, even if he’d said it in anger and frustration. He had said it—and Maddie couldn’t remember.
He was going to have to tell her the truth.
His phone pinged with a text. His rookie, Justin Mobley.
Hey, Chief. Annie Potterowski’s beagle swiped a hot pretzel out of a kid’s hand by the chapel earlier, and the parents want to file a formal complaint. Apparently, it’s the second time in a month. I’ll handle it.
Sawyer texted back.
Just what I like to hear.
Welcome to Wedlock Creek, where food-snatching beagles accounted for half the crime. The other half was the usual—expired car registration, vandalism, the odd burglary, car accidents, teenagers up to old tricks, fights and occasionally more serious issues. Sawyer had lived in Wedlock Creek his entire life, and very little surprised him. Except what had come out of his mouth the morning of Maddie’s crash. And the crash itself. And the memory loss.
His wife didn’t remember any of it. The past few months and how hard things had been. Maddie grabbing her cool-gel pillow and stomping from their bedroom to the living room to sleep on the sofa. The conversations that always ended in arguments and then stalemates. She didn’t remember any of that.
It’s like we can have a fresh start, he thought. Unfairly. Because Maddie was who she was and wanted what she wanted. And she would regain her memory—within a few weeks, if that long. And then what? They would be in exactly the place they were before she’d driven off—and hit the guardrail.
She came out of the bathroom looking more like herself—her beautiful long light brown hair was out if its ponytail, and she’d exchanged the hospital gown for an off-white sweater and jeans. And her favorite footwear, red cowboy boots.
“I stared at myself in the mirror for quite a while,” she said with a smile. “I look a lot like my twin. Except for the pregnant belly.”
For a moment, a hot surge of panic hit him. He thought she’d regained her memory—and that she’d tell him she wasn’t going anywhere with him. But he could tell by her warm, open expression that she had no memory of how she and Jenna had always talked of being pregnant at the same time, new mothers together, new aunts to each other’s babies together.
She didn’t remember any of that.
He slung her bag over his shoulder. “Ready to go?”
“Ready,” she said.
This had to be so strange for her. Following him blindly, not recognizing a thing about him or her past or anyone.
He put the bag down and looked directly at her. “Maddie, I want you to know that I love you very much. I’ve loved you since we were both five years old, and I’ll love you when I’m ninety-two. Anything I can do to make you more comfortable, you just say the word, okay?”
He’d caught them both by surprise with that. She stared at him for a moment, then her expression softened. “I appreciate that. And did you say since we were five years old?”
“That’s how long we’ve known each other. My family moved next door to yours.”
“That’s some history we have,” she said. “I wish I could remember it, Sawyer.”
“In due time, you will.”
Inside his SUV, they buckled up, and he headed for Wedlock Creek, a half hour from Brewer. Maddie asked some questions on the way—if they went to Brewer, a bigger town, often (no); did they have favorite restaurants (yes—Mexican in Brewer and several in Wedlock Creek); what kind of music they liked (Maddie liked her top-forty hits and ’70s music, and Sawyer had long been all about the Beatles and had a fondness for country).
Finally, they pulled into town, Maddie staring out the window.
“Wow, this town is so pretty,” she said. “All the shops and restaurants decked out for Christmas. Wedlock Creek looks like a postcard. Ooh, look at that,” she said, pointing.
Sawyer glanced up at the Wedlock Creek Wedding Chapel, built a hundred years ago. Even on a weekday at 5:17 p.m., there were tourists walking around the grounds, several brides in white gowns, the food trucks and carts at this end of Main Street doing brisk business even on a cold December day. Annie Potterowski, the elderly officiant and caretaker of the chapel along with her husband, was walking the pretzel-stealing beagle, who had a rap sheet for that kind of behavior. Wedlock Creek residents loved the chapel’s mascot dog, but his habit of jumping up and swiping food out of people’s hands was cute only the first time it happened to someone, then they were less inclined to laugh about it. The beagle was wearing a red-and-green Christmas sweater, and Sawyer had to admit it added to his mischievous charm.
“That’s the chapel your mom was telling you about,” he said, “with the legend of the multiples.” A big green wreath with a red bow was on the arched door, which was dotted with white Christmas lights.
“Did we marry there?”
He nodded. Please don’t ask what I know you’re going to ask next, he thought.
“But no little multiples of our own?”
There it was. “No. Ah, this is us,” he rushed to add, turning onto Woods Road. He pulled into the driveway of the last house on the dead-end street, an antique-white arts-and-crafts-style bungalow—or at least that was what she’d called it. To him it was just home.
She stepped out of the car, stopping to stare up at the house. “Wow, we live here? It’s gorgeous. And the sparkling Christmas lights around the front trees make it look like an enchanted cottage.”
They day he’d hung the lights, they hadn’t been speaking. He’d needed something to do, something for her, something for them, so he’d spent an hour wrapping the strands around the trees and the porch. Maddie had broken their mutual silent treatment by thanking him. It’s Christmastime, she’d said. We’ve got to get through this so we can have a good Christmas. But they’d done exactly that for a few Christmases now, and Maddie had sounded so unsure of herself.
“You fell in love with this house when you were a kid,” he said now, handing Maddie her set of keys. “It was built in the early 1900s. You saw it on your paper route and said, ‘Sawyer, one day, I’m gonna live in this dream house.’ And you do.”
She smiled, seeming lost in thought for a moment. “How long have we lived here?”
“I bought it for us as a surprise the day I proposed to you,” he said. “My offer was accepted on the house, and I raced over to your condo to ask you to marry me. That offer was accepted too.” He smiled, remembering how she’d flung herself into his arms, kissing him all over his face, completely forgetting to say yes. In fact, it wasn’t until he’d told her he had another surprise for her and driven her over to the house with the Sale Pending sign in front that he reminded her she hadn’t. She’d been sobbing happily over the house and unable to speak for ten minutes and finally took his face in her hands and said, “Sawyer, yes. Always yes.”
Always yes. Except recently, when there had been so much no between them that their history together hadn’t been able to protect them.
She took all that in, then glanced at the key chain. “I’m seeing a pattern here. There’s a little ceramic Woodstock on here, and there were two ornaments on the little Christmas tree in my hospital room.”
“You like birds. And you love Woodstock. Always have. For your birthday every year when we were kids, I would get you something Woodstock. Woodstock erasers, Woodstock socks, Woodstock key chain. In fact, the one in your hand I gave you on your fourteenth birthday.”
She smiled. “Really?”
He nodded. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s head in.” He gestured for her to lead the way because he wanted her to feel that this was her house, even if she didn’t remember it.
She used her key and opened the door, slowly stepping inside. “I like it!” she exclaimed, nodding at the colorful round area rug in the entryway and vintage Le Chat Noir poster with the black cat on the wall.
“Oh my, who’s this?” she asked as a German shepherd hurried up to her with mournful whines. The dog sat at her feet.
“That’s Moose, retired K-9. We worked together for years when I was a detective, but for the last three years he’s been enjoying a life of leisure. He’s eleven years old and adores you.”
“Aw,” she said, kneeling down to pet him. “Hi, Moose.”
“He missed you the past couple of days.” And so did I. Praying you’d wake up. That’d you’d be okay. Bargaining.
“I’ll take your coat,” he said, removing his and hanging it up in the hall closet. She unzipped her down jacket and handed it to him, and he hung it up with her red-and-pink scarf, a gift from her knitting-crazy twin.
He watched her walk around the living room, looking at objects and peering at photos. She picked up their wedding photo off the mantel, one of her favorites because that devilish chapel beagle had photobombed him dipping Maddie in a kiss near the steps.
Her shoulders slumped, and she put the photo back. “I can’t remember my life.” She shook her head. “And it’s clearly a wonderful one. Loving family. Handsome, devoted husband. Lovely home all decked out for Christmas. A sweet dog named Moose.” Tears shone in her eyes, and she dropped down onto the sofa, Moose padding over and putting his head on her lap. She leaned over and buried her face in, hugging the dog.
Well, if it makes you feel any better, things weren’t all sunshine and roses.
Badumpa. Not.
He sat down beside her, hands on his knees. And before he could even think about it, he blurted out, “It’s my fault you got into the accident, Maddie. I said something that upset you, and you got in your car and peeled out fast to get away from me.”
She turned to him. “What did you say?”
“That maybe we should separate.” He closed his eyes for a second and let out a breath. He’d hated saying that. The first time and now.
“The emphasis on should makes me think someone else suggested it first. Me?”
He shook his head. “Right before the accident, we’d had our weekly appointment with a mediator slash marriage counselor. We’d been going to her to help us deal with a stalemate. She said it seemed to her that neither of us was willing to budge and that maybe we should think about separating. I got so upset, I stalked out. You followed and we argued outside. And then I said it—maybe we should separate.”
“What could have possibly come between us to that degree?” she asked.
He took a breath. “Starting a family.”
“Ah,” she said, looking at her left hand. Her bare left hand. “Now things are making sense. Before I got in my car and huffed away, did I yank off my wedding ring because I was angry about that and about you saying maybe we should separate?”
“That’s exactly right. You took it off and handed it to me. I have it in my wallet.” He’d never forget how that had made him feel, like his entire world was crumbling and he couldn’t catch the pieces.
“So I assume it’s me who wants kids?” she asked.
He nodded.
“And you’re content with things as they are. Wife, dog, job.”
He nodded again.
“Married seven years, thirty-two years old, seems like a reasonable time—past reasonable time—to start a family,” she said, a prompting lilt in her voice.
Acid churned in his gut. “I never wanted kids. You always did. And you counted on me changing my mind. You had no doubt I would, even though I cautioned you about that. You never really believed deep down that I wouldn’t want a ‘little Wolfe, a little us’—as you used to say.”
She tilted her head. “And you still don’t?”
He got up and walked over to the windows, looking out at the snow still clinging to the bare tree limbs. “The past two days, while you were lying in that hospital bed...and I had no idea if you’d wake up...I made so many bargains. If only you’d wake up, I’d agree to ten kids. As many as you wanted.”
“So we’re going to have ten kids?”
He turned around to face her. “If that’s what you want.”
“Because you bargained?”
He nodded. “The most important thing to me was having you back. I have that. So yes. Ten kids.” He’d almost lost her. He’d said, prayed, that he’d give anything to have her back. And he’d meant it.
She stared at him, lifting her chin, and he had no idea what she was thinking. Her expressions, the way her mind worked now—all that was new to him. “Well, the only thing I want right now is my memory back. Maybe just being here, in my home, with you, will jog something, trigger something.”
He hoped so. Until then, they had this rare chance to be together without the past stomping on their marriage. He had the unfair advantage of knowing everything about them while she knew nothing, and there was no way he’d take it. He’d always be honest with Maddie. And what was most true this minute was that he loved her more than anything, would do anything for her. Ten children. Twenty.
All that mattered was that she’d survived, that she’d be all right, that she was home.
