Bride in Trouble Read online

  Bride in Trouble

  Bay of Islands Brides Book 1

  by

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  Copyright 2018 Serenity Woods

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is coincidental.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter One

  Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  She lay in a narrow bed with crisp white sheets tucked around her. To her left, the sunlight streamed through large windows. The sky outside held a faint blush—early morning then, maybe six or seven a.m.

  Dark-blue curtains framed the windows and complemented the blue walls and light-gray floor. The room looked clean but impersonal. A photo of a tree in a field that could have been anywhere decorated the wall opposite.

  Beneath the window, a man sat in a chair, reading a book. He had short brown hair and a handsome, kind face, and he wore jeans and a white tee. He was maybe late twenties or early thirties. He’d rested one ankle on the opposite knee, and he was leaning his head on a hand, engrossed in whatever he was reading. He looked as if he’d been there a while.

  Without moving her head, she moved her gaze around. Her right arm rested on the sheet, a piece of sticking plaster holding the needle inserted into the back of her hand. From it, a drip led to a bag of fluid hanging from a metal frame.

  She was in hospital.

  Glancing down, she looked at the rest of her body. Her legs were visible as mounds beneath the bedclothes, and when she wiggled her toes, both sides moved. She didn’t feel as if she’d had an operation anywhere, but she ached all over, and she could see several grazes on her arms. When she tried to roll her head on the pillow, she received a sharp stabbing pain to the base of her skull.

  Lifting a hand, she brought it up to her face. Her fingers found a bandage that went all the way around her head as if she were a mummy. She followed it and found—just behind her right ear—a large pad that obviously covered a serious wound, judging by how tender it felt and how much her head was now throbbing.

  The man sitting opposite her glanced up at that moment. He stared at her for a second, then hurriedly got to his feet and came over.

  “Hey.” He reached out and took the hand she was touching to the bandage. “You’re awake.”

  She moistened her lips and swallowed. “Could I have a drink?” she whispered.

  “Of course.” He turned and poured water into a cup from a jug on the table beside them, then passed it to her, supporting her hand as she took a few sips from the straw. When she nodded, he placed it back on the table. “How are you feeling?”

  “Hazy.”

  “That’s just the morphine.” He rubbed her arm affectionately. “You were in a lot of pain.”

  She touched the bandage again. “My head hurts.”

  “Well, that’s to be expected.”

  “Why? What happened to me?”

  His green eyes surveyed her face for a moment. “What do you remember?”

  She looked away, trying to recall the event, but it was like searching in gray fog. She had vague images of people standing around the bed, asking questions. She remembered crying because she didn’t know the answers, as if she’d been taking an exam for which she hadn’t revised. But she didn’t remember arriving at the hospital, or what had happened before that.

  “You had an accident,” the man said gently. “You were out running, and a car came out of a side road and knocked you down. You hit your head on the ground and did quite a bit of damage.”

  That explained the bandages and the horrid headache.

  He pursed his lips. “Do you remember your name?”

  She blinked at the strange question. “Of course. I’m Phoebe Goldsmith.”

  He smiled. “That’s a good start. Do you know where you are?”

  “In hospital.”

  “Which town?”

  “Whangarei?” It was a guess—it was the nearest hospital to where she lived in Kerikeri, the pretty town in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand.

  “Yes, that’s right.” He tipped his head to the side. “Do you know who I am?”

  She went to say no, then frowned. He was familiar… Her brain seemed to be working slower than normal, like a computer with a crap processor that took twenty minutes to start up in the morning.

  Rebooting… rebooting…

  Then realization dawned, and her frown deepened. “Dominic?”

  He nodded, and his face lit with relief. He’d been afraid she wouldn’t remember her own brother.

  “You’re going gray,” she said with amusement, spotting the color at his temples. “And you look… different.” She was being polite; she meant that he looked older. Not bad older, just… older. In her memory, he had a lean, almost slender, physique, with hollows beneath his cheekbones and a rangy frame. Now, his arm muscles stretched the sleeves of his tee, his shoulders and neck muscles were solid, and he just looked more… mature. Something didn’t feel right. Her frown returned. “What’s going on?”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment the door opened. Phoebe looked over to see an older woman entering the room. She was tall and slim, and her face was familiar, although, like her son, she looked older, with fine lines around her eyes and mouth. The long blonde hair that Phoebe remembered was cut in a bob.

  “Mum!” Phoebe felt a rush of relief at the sight of her mother.

  “Sweetheart.” Noelle Goldsmith put down the bags she was carrying on a chair, then strode over to stand the other side of the bed. “Oh, you’re awake. That’s wonderful. How are you feeling?” She leaned forward to place a heartfelt kiss on Phoebe’s cheek.

  “My head hurts.”

  “I’m sure it does, sweetie, it’s had a terrible bang.”

  “Almost shook your brain out of your ears,” Dominic said. His jollity was forced; he and their mother were looking at each other, she raising her eyebrows, he giving a small shake of his head, having a silent conversation.

  Phoebe looked from one to the other, her heart hammering on her ribs. “How long have I been in a coma?”

  “You haven’t, darling,” Noelle said. “Not really. You lost consciousness for about an hour. You’ve been in and out of it because of the morphine, that’s all, sleeping mostly.”

  “For how long?” Phoebe said, bewildered.

  “Only since Thursday,” Dominic said. “Today’s Saturday.”

  “What’s the date?”

  “The fourth of February.”

  Phoebe swallowed hard. “The year, Dominic. What year is it?”

  Both he and their mother went still. “What year do you think it is?” he asked.

 
“I… I’m not sure…” She watched them exchange a worried glance.

  “Sweetheart, it’s 2018,” Noelle said, resting a hand on hers. “Don’t you remember?”

  Phoebe’s heart was racing, and it was making her head pound. This didn’t make any sense.

  “Where’s Dad?” she asked. She needed her father. Sound, solid, and sensible, he had a way of making everything seem as if it was going to be all right.

  Dominic and Noelle exchanged a long glance. “I’ll get the nurse,” Dominic said, and he strode across to the door and left the room.

  Noelle picked up her hand and cradled it in her own. “Darling, Dad died just over a year ago.”

  Phoebe stared at her in horror. “What?”

  “It’s the accident, it’s obviously jostled your memories around a little. I’m sure everything will get back in the right order when the swelling goes down, please don’t worry.”

  How could she not worry?

  “Daddy,” she whispered, and her eyes filled with tears. Her head pounded, and she lifted a hand to it with a moan, closing her eyes, afraid they were going to pop out of her head. It felt as if someone had inserted a knife between her skull and the top of her spine, and was twisting it slowly.

  Her mother’s hand left hers, she heard a click, and then she felt a rush of something enter her bloodstream. Instantly, the knife in her skull withdrew, and the pain eased to a dull throb. Through half-opened eyes, she watched the room begin to fade away.

  “It’s all right, Rafe’s on his way,” Noelle said, taking her hand again. “That’ll make you feel better.”

  Phoebe opened her mouth to ask who Rafe was, but couldn’t get her lips to form the words. Sleep overcame her, and she sank slowly into oblivion.

  *

  The next time she woke, the sun was high in the sky and the room was hot. Her head hurt, but it wasn’t throbbing as badly as last time. She shifted on the bed, and the nurse standing beside her smiled.

  “Hello, Phoebe! Good to see you awake again. How are you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  “Good. Want to sit up?”

  “Oh, please.”

  The nurse lifted the back of the bed. “I’m going to check your blood pressure and a few other things, okay?”

  “Okay.” Phoebe watched her bustling around. “Where are my mother and brother?”

  “Oh, they’ll be in soon. You have quite a contingent here to see you. They were all talking too loudly, so I sent them down to the TV room. I’ll let them in when you’re ready.”

  Phoebe nodded, lifting a hand to touch her head. “Do I look awful?”

  The nurse smiled. “A little tired, but not too bad. Maybe you’d like a quick bath before seeing everyone?”

  “I’d love that.” She gestured at the drip in her hand. “Can you take this out? It’s uncomfortable.”

  “It’s how we’ve been administering the morphine,” the nurse said. “But I can take it out and give you pills if you need them now you’re up and about.” She came over, peeled off the sticking plaster, and withdrew the needle. “There.” She pushed the tray of equipment away. “You’re doing very well, dear. It won’t be long and you’ll be feeling more like your old self, I’m sure.”

  “What about my memory?” Phoebe said softly.

  The nurse stopped and studied her for a moment. “Do you still not remember the accident?”

  “It’s much worse than that, I’m afraid. I appear to have lost quite a few years.”

  “Hmm.” The nurse pursed her lips. “The doctor will be around this afternoon, and he’ll be able to tell you more about that.”

  “Will I get my memory back?”

  “It depends.” She patted Phoebe’s hand. “Don’t worry about it right now. Let’s get you in the bath and cleaned up, and then you can see your family.”

  “Can you get my mum to help me?”

  “Of course.” The nurse started the bath running, then left the room.

  Phoebe lay there and looked out of the window until her mother arrived.

  “Sweetheart, oh you look better,” Noelle said, walking up to the bed.

  “I feel better. Still tired, though. The nurse said I could have a bath.”

  “That sounds like a great idea. I’ll check the water.”

  When it was ready, Noelle and the nurse supported Phoebe while she got to her feet, making sure she didn’t feel too woozy, and then they led her into the bathroom.

  “No getting your dressing wet,” the nurse cautioned. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  Noelle helped her daughter remove her hospital gown, and then made sure she got into the water safely. “I’ll be outside,” she said.

  “No, stay, please.” Phoebe gestured to the toilet next to the bath, and Noelle smiled and sat on the seat.

  Phoebe put her arms around her knees, just enjoying the heat of the water, letting it soak into her limbs. She had scratches all over her arms and legs, and a big graze on her knee that stung, but it was nice to feel clean.

  “Let me scrub your back,” Noelle said. She knelt beside the bath, put a little soap on the sponge, and rubbed it slowly across her daughter’s skin.

  Phoebe leaned her cheek on her knees. “Is Dad really gone?”

  Noelle paused for a moment, then continued washing. “I’m sorry, love, but yes. Just over a year now.”

  “How did he die?”

  “He had a heart attack.” Noelle’s hand stopped for a moment. She squeezed the sponge tightly in her fingers. Then she carried on washing Phoebe’s back.

  “It’s so odd,” Phoebe whispered, tears stinging her eyes. She couldn’t bear to think about her father not being around, not yet. She’d have to process that later.

  Noelle reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “You really don’t remember?”

  “I’ve been trying to think what the last thing is I can remember. It’s all a bit muddled. I think… it’s the day I left to go to Auckland University.”

  Noelle stared at her. “You don’t remember anything after that?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  Noelle had gone white. “You were only eighteen.”

  “And now I’m…” Phoebe calculated. Her birthday was in September, and Dominic had said it was February. “Twenty-six?”

  Noelle nodded.

  “Eight years. I’ve lost eight years.” She felt a swell of panic, and immediately her head started to thump.

  “Easy.” Noelle brushed the sponge down her arm. “I’ve been doing some reading about amnesia, and it’s quite possible your memory will come back in time.”

  “But what if it doesn’t? What if those eight years have been knocked out of my brain?” Phoebe couldn’t comprehend what that would mean going forward. How could she get on with her life when she couldn’t remember if she had a job, or what all her friends and family were doing? She had no idea what movies were popular, what music. There might have been a world war for all she knew. Maybe there had been a natural disaster that had swept away half the country.

  “The main thing is that you’re here, and you’re awake, and we’ll deal with anything else that happens one step at a time,” Noelle said.

  Phoebe swallowed hard. “Okay.”

  “How are you feeling? Are you up to seeing some people? Everyone’s desperate to see you with their own eyes to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Who’s here?”

  “All the family,” Noelle said, “except Dominic—he’s had to go to work.”

  “Elliot,” Phoebe said, naming her other brother.

  “Yes. And both your sisters.”

  “Roberta,” Phoebe said. “And Bianca.” She smiled. Bianca was her identical twin. They’d always been close. She would be out of her mind with worry.

  “They can’t wait to see you,” Noelle said.

  Phoebe nodded. “I’d like to see them.” She frowned then,
remembering her mother’s words just as she’d fallen asleep that morning. “Earlier, you said ‘Rafe’s on his way,’ and that he would make me feel better. Who’s he?”

  Noelle squeezed out the sponge and put it by the taps, then turned to get a towel. “Why don’t we wait and see if you recognize him? If anyone’s going to jog your memory, it’s going to be him. Now come on. Let’s get you out, and then I’ll brush and braid your hair for you.”

  Five minutes later, she was out, dried, and wearing comfortable track pants and a T-shirt that had the slogan In Training for the Zombie Apocalypse that Noelle told her was one of her favorites.

  “I don’t get it,” she said, looking upside down at the slogan.

  “You like to run.” Noelle steered her over to the mirror.

  Dominic had told her she was running when the car knocked her down. “Do I?” The statement baffled her. She’d played some tennis at high school, and netball, and she hadn’t been bad at the high jump, but she wouldn’t have called herself an athlete. The only time she’d have been interested in running anywhere was to get to a sale at the local chocolate shop. “I don’t…” The rest of the sentence faded on her lips as she looked into the mirror.

  She saw a pale face with a graze on her cheek, big green eyes with dark shadows beneath them, and a head swathed in bandages. She looked the same as she remembered, almost.

  “I’ve lost an awful lot of weight,” she said.

  “It’s all the training.” Noelle emptied the bath.

  “For what?”

  “You’re doing a triathlon next month. Well, you were.” Noelle gave her a hesitant smile. Careful to avoid the wound, she began to brush Phoebe’s hair.

  “Jesus. Seriously?”

  “You’ve changed a lot since you were eighteen, sweetheart. But don’t stress. We’ll bring you up to speed later.” She braided Phoebe’s hair over her shoulder and tied it with a band. “Let’s get you back in bed, and then we’ll bring the others in.”

  Phoebe let her mother lead her back to the bed, and she climbed on top of the covers, exhausted already from the exertion of taking a bath.

  “Not long,” the nurse stated when Noelle said she was getting the rest of the family. “We don’t want to tire her out.” She pulled the movable table around, placing it across the bed. It bore a tray with several dishes. “Lunch,” she said. “Eat up—you need to get your strength back.”