Husbands, Husbands...Everywhere!

“Wyoming, originally,” he replied, grateful to be sure on that score. Studying a copy of his personnel file while he was still laid up in the hospital had provided some essential information. “More recently, I’ve been living in southern Arizona.”

Ethel’s mouth curved up at the tips. “Why am I getting the feeling that you’re a cowboy?”

A cowboy? On the outside, maybe. The clothes in his closet said he favored the trappings. But in practice? He knew the answer to that one.

Ryan shook his head. “Actually, I’m a pilot.” He hesitated before deciding it wouldn’t hurt to add, “For the past few years, I’ve flown a helicopter for the Border Patrol.”

Abby blinked at that news. She set her fork down carefully and reached for her water glass, hoping she didn’t look as interested as she couldn’t help being.

He’d flown freelance for a living during the time she’d known him. That he’d gone to work for a government agency surprised her a little. He hadn’t been fond of structure of any type. But it didn’t surprise her, not a whit, that he’d continued to fly.

If he had quit, she would have been stunned.

“Land sakes,” Ethel replied, eyes widening. “The Border Patrol. That must be exciting.”

“I suppose you could say so,” Ryan said.

And that was all he said, although Abby waited, ears alert, for more. This was something new, she couldn’t deny. He’d never been reluctant to talk about his work. In fact, it had been much the opposite.

She was still mulling that over when he shifted in his seat and directed a comment squarely at her. “You said this was your godmother’s place.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She left it at that, deciding he wasn’t the only one who could be tightfisted when it came to handing out information. After all, she didn’t owe him any explanations. She didn’t, in fact, owe him anything.

“Are you helping her run things around here?” he went on in the next breath.

“At the moment.”

“Because she’s away,” he added, a reference to her earlier disclosure when he’d first appeared on the doorstep. “Will she be gone long?”

“No.”

“Vacation?” A probing glint lit in his gaze with that last question. Plainly her brief replies had roused his curiosity.

“Something like that,” she said mildly.

And now Ethel’s bright voice broke in. “Goodness gracious, dear, it’s no secret that she’s on her honeymoon.”

Ryan’s brows climbed. “Your godmother just got married?”

Abby nodded. “For a second time.”

Ethel chuckled. “And for her second trip to the altar, she picked an old cowboy.”

“Pap!” Cara suddenly exclaimed, again fixing the man across the table from her with a firm stare.

This time a wince crossed his face. Abby caught it and almost laughed out loud, despite everything.

“The darling reminds me of my first and so far only little great-granddaughter,” Ethel said. “Gets something in her head and just won’t give it up.”

“Terrific,” Ryan muttered, and went back to his dinner.

ABBY FOUND HERSELF tossing and turning in the middle of the night, which hardly amazed her. The day had, without a doubt, provided her nerves with a challenge, although at least dinner had gone easily enough once Ethel began to do most of the talking, treating her companions to a short history lesson on Harmony’s early beginnings when, as Ethel had put it, “a group of settlers from back East got as far as this valley in their horse-drawn wagons, took a long look around them and were smart enough to dig in their heels.”

Meanwhile their guest had concentrated on his meal, doing justice to it before leaving them to head back to his room—a room Abby couldn’t help but be grateful was nowhere near hers. Thank goodness for big houses.

Abby released a lengthy breath and listened to an owl hoot somewhere in the distance as she turned on her side. In contrast, not a whisper of sound came through the connecting door to the smaller room next to hers. Cara at least, snug in her crib, was getting a good night’s rest. Which hadn’t always been the case. Their first months together had left them both heavy-eyed in the mornings more often than not, but that seemed to be behind them. One more thing to be grateful for, Abby reflected.

Actually her blessings were many. If they didn’t include getting a single wink of sleep tonight, she would still count herself fortunate.

Was he getting any sleep?

The question slipped into her mind as she closed her eyes and settled deeper into the pillow. The answer shouldn’t matter to her one way or the other. And it didn’t, she assured herself. But she couldn’t help wondering.

As far as the accommodations went, she knew that any guest at Aunt Abigail’s should find a peaceful night’s rest easy to achieve. The rooms, although not especially large by conventional hotel standards, had nevertheless been furnished with care. Dotted-swiss curtains, bright ceramic lamps and chintz-covered lounging chairs provided a homey touch. Plus, to make things even more comfy, most of the rooms on the guest half of the second floor featured the coziest of feather—

Abby’s eyes popped open to stare up into the darkness as another memory surfaced, one she’d totally forgotten. Until now.

Ryan Larabee was allergic to certain types of feathers, particularly those often used in bedding material. And the room she’d given him had all of the comforts many visitors found so much to their liking…including a plump feather bed.

In the normal course of events, he would have immediately said something about it. Instead he’d said not one word—because he didn’t remember that allergy any more than he remembered her. It was the only conclusion she could come to, and now knowing full well what he apparently didn’t, she supposed she had to do something.

Of course, you have to, her conscience said, in no uncertain terms.

Abby swallowed a sigh, tossed back the covers and got to her feet, sending the long skirt of her emerald silk nightgown plunging to her ankles. She pulled on a matching robe, belted it tightly around her waist, and shoved her toes into ivory satin slippers. Making a midnight visit to a certain man’s room was the last thing—the very last thing—she wanted to do.

Having a healthy conscience, she decided grimly, could be a definite liability.

She slipped quietly from her room, made her way down the carpeted hall that ran crosswise from one side of the house to the other, opened the door that divided the family area from the guest quarters, and had scarcely reached the first room past the center staircase when a muffled sneeze shattered the silence.

Now she absolutely had to go through with it.

She drew in a breath and knocked softly on a creamy-white door, telling herself that she was prepared for whatever greeted her. Seconds later she stood facing a bare-chested male wearing nothing more than hip-hugging denim, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours she could only stare. No matter what her brain had to say on the subject, her eyes were determined to look their fill. And they did.

It took another sneeze to jolt her back to the matter at hand and have her gaze quickly rising to meet red-rimmed eyes that were still amazingly blue.

“Sorry if my hacking woke you,” he said in a voice not only low but hoarse as he raised a hand and brushed back strands of dark hair hanging down his forehead. “I must have caught a cold or something.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s not that,” she told him. “We have to change your room. You’re having an allergic reaction.”

A puzzled frown formed as she watched. “I’m allergic to the room?”

“To the feather bed, actually.” She cleared her throat delicately. “I mean, that might well be the case,” she added as reasonably as she could manage. “Some people do have an allergy to certain types of feathers.”

It was his turn to stare for a silent moment before his frown deepened. “You didn’t say I might be allergic a second ago. You said I was.” His eyes narrowed. “How the devil would you know that?”

His tone was terse enough to have her chin lifting. Not only had she been trying to help him, she’d also been attempting to do it as tactfully as possible, for all the good it had done her. Well, so much for that effort, she decided, squaring her shoulders. She was through tiptoeing around something they probably should have gotten straight hours earlier.

“I know,” she said very deliberately, “because I remembered just minutes ago your mentioning the allergy in question when we encountered a couple of down-filled pillows during our honeymoon.”

His jaw dropped like a stone before he snapped it shut and opened it again. “Our honeymoon.”

She nodded just once, and kept it brisk. “That’s right. Maybe you don’t recall me, but I happen to be your ex-wife.”

Chapter Two

His wife. Ryan stood stock-still while his mind groped to take it in. His first thought was that it couldn’t be. His personnel file had indicated nothing about a wife. No one he’d talked to since the accident had so much as mentioned a wife. For God’s sake, he couldn’t have a wife!

Then again, she’d said ex-wife, he reminded himself. At least he could remember that much. Belatedly, at any rate.

“When exactly were we on this honeymoon?” he managed to get out before another huge sneeze racked him.

His companion arched a tawny brow. “I think we’d better continue this discussion elsewhere, after we find you another room.”

“Right.” He reached up and rubbed an eye, damn thankful that his hand was still steady.

She started to turn, then swung back to him, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Uh, now that I think about it, none of the other rooms on this side of the house is available at the moment. Ethel’s got them torn apart for the cleaning service to do their thing tomorrow so we can have them ready for more guests due to arrive this weekend.” She hesitated. “There is a spare room available in the family area that I suppose you could use. It’s at the other end of the hall.”

Probably close to her own, he couldn’t help thinking. Maybe that was why she seemed far from pleased at the prospect of letting him sleep there. Whatever the case, right now he didn’t care whether she was thrilled or not. He wanted to get going and get some answers.

Ryan crossed the room in his bare feet, snatched the shirt he’d worn earlier from the chair and pulled it on, leaving it to hang open, then grabbed his wallet from an old dresser painted sunny yellow and stuffed it in a back jeans pocket. Since he’d been sleeping in no more than his skin, he figured he was set for the night. “Let’s get out of here.”

After another second’s pause, she dipped her head in a nod. “Okay. I’ll show you where the spare room is, and then we can talk downstairs. I could use a cup of tea.”

“I could use a stiff drink,” he didn’t hesitate to counter as he shut the door behind him with a soft thud and followed her down the hall.

“Well then, you’re in luck. My godmother’s new groom keeps a small stock of beer that’s touted to be Colorado’s finest in the refrigerator.”

“Sounds good,” he had to admit.

“I thought it would,” she told him, tossing the words over her shoulder. “Especially to you.”

He frowned. “Why especially to me?”

She marched ahead, spine ramrod straight, her robe swishing as she walked. “Because you were partial to that brand of beer at one time, particularly when you were in the mood to throw a party. Which, trust me, was often.”

He didn’t take that as a compliment. “How often?”

“Often enough to have the neighbors longing for some peace and quiet.”

HE WAS STILL mulling over that zinger when they faced each other across a butcher-block table set at one side of a large kitchen that was a study in contrasts, the chief of them being an old-fashioned black stove that stood next to a modern stainless-steel refrigerator. The red-and-white checkered floor looked to be far from new despite a waxy sheen, but the gleaming dishwasher set under the cocoa-colored counter and beside a porcelain sink was another story.

Ryan took a lengthy swallow from an ice-cold bottle and placed it on the table. He was more than ready for some firm facts, ones that went beyond his past partying habits. Now that the shock had worn off enough to consider a few things, he found he had no doubt about his having once been intimately involved with the woman sitting across from him sipping her tea. His body, he thought, had recognized her right off and responded accordingly. At this very moment, he knew his eyes would have found it no hardship to wander over the silky green fabric covering her breasts. Breasts that he must once have done more than look at. Yes, indeed. He had no doubt about that, either. He’d have done a lot more than look.

Haul in your libido, Larabee. It’s past time to get a few answers.

Ryan reclined in the ladder-back chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “As I asked between sneezes upstairs, exactly when were we on this honeymoon?”

Abby set her delicate china cup down on a matching saucer. “You’re not questioning that we did in fact have one?”

“Not at the moment,” he replied, and left it at that.

“Well then, whether you choose to believe it happened or not, we met in Tucson nearly seven years ago, in the lounge area of a restaurant near the University of Arizona where some of my friends and I were celebrating the fact that we’d graduated from U of A earlier that day. You asked me to dance. I accepted. It was pretty much a whirlwind courtship. We eloped on a scorching hot day in July, got married at a small wedding chapel on our way south, and honeymooned in Mexico.”

He didn’t move a muscle as he absorbed that information. “And when did we part company?”

“Barely a year later.”

“Not one of the longest marriages on record,” he said.

Her lips, moistly pink despite no trace of makeup, twisted. “I suppose that sums it up.”

“Who wanted the divorce?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “I did.”

Why? He caught the thought back before he could voice it. Something told him he wasn’t going to like the answer. “And we haven’t seen each other for six years?”

“No contact at all since we left the courthouse in Tucson. We had no major joint assets, like a home, and with no children involved, there was little reason to keep in touch.”

He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair. “At least that explains why you weren’t listed in my personnel file. I joined the Border Patrol five years ago. They’d have done a background check at the time, but they wouldn’t have been looking for ex-wives.” And he must’ve kept mum about the brief marriage when it came to his fellow agents, he thought to himself. They might be nearly as amazed to learn what he had just discovered as he’d been. As for where his copy of the marriage—not to mention divorce—papers were, he’d come across a key for a safe deposit box, one he hadn’t checked out yet.

“The personnel records showed my parents as deceased,” he added, “and a sister living in Wyoming as next-of-kin.”

“Mmm-hmm. Have you spoken to her?”

“No, not yet.” That was something else he’d been meaning to do. “If I had contacted her, she’d probably have broken the news before you rocked me back on my heels with it.”

“She might have mentioned me,” Abby agreed. “Certainly she knew I had joined the family. We talked on the phone a few times and exchanged Christmas cards one year. I wanted to visit her and you said we would, but we never got around to it. You always seemed to be too busy. Back then you were working as a freelance pilot, and you loved your job.”

“More than I loved to party?” he couldn’t help asking in a tone as dry as dust.

“Yes,” she replied calmly. “Freelance work seemed to suit you to a T. I’d ask why you gave it up…but I bet you don’t know, do you?”

It was his turn to meet her gaze head-on. “No.”

Abby leaned forward and propped her elbows on the table, deciding it was time she asked some questions. Especially one. “What happened, Ryan?”

After a second’s hesitation, he heaved a gusty sigh. “Unfortunately, I’m not real clear on that subject. The first thing I remember is coming to on a flat stretch of desert a few miles north of the border with the wind howling in my ears. I was strapped into a helicopter that was a lot worse for wear. Apparently I’d set it down during one devil of a spring dust storm—or maybe crash-landed would be a better description.”

God, he might have been killed. That was all she could think. A chill ran down Abby’s spine at the realization of just how close he’d probably come to total disaster.

“I drifted in and out of consciousness. Mostly out, I imagine. The next thing I knew, a state highway cop was looking me straight in the eye and asking who I was.” Ryan chuckled, but the sound held no humor. “I guess it was a helluva shock to both of us when I had to tell him I didn’t have a clue.”

Abby frowned. “You don’t remember anything at all?”

He shook his head. “Not about me. The only way I can explain it is that I have no trouble recalling the mechanics of how to drive, but what kind of cars I’ve driven in the past are another thing altogether.”

“What do the doctors say?”

He lifted a broad shoulder in a shrug. “That it could all come back to me tomorrow. Then again, it might take a lot longer than that. Head injuries are apparently chancy. One thing for dead sure, people in white coats have done enough poking and prodding to last me a lifetime.”

The clipped edge to that last comment told her he’d be happy to drop the subject. She could understand why, too. It had to be frustrating beyond belief to have no idea when the memories would return, or even if they would, totally. And he’d injured more than his head. Now she knew the reason for the slight limp she’d caught earlier. “How’s your leg?” she inquired mildly.

A rueful expression crossed his face. “I guess I didn’t fool you, huh?”

“You nearly did,” she told him. “It wasn’t that noticeable.”

“I don’t notice it much myself anymore,” he said. “It was probably the long drive this morning that did it. The muscles seem to knot up when I’m sitting too long.”

“You drove up from Douglas?” she asked, recalling the address he’d given as his residence when he’d checked in.

“Uh-huh.”

The location had made sense to her once he’d revealed his current government employer. Douglas, a smaller city at Arizona’s southern tip, was much closer to the border than Tucson. But both were a long way from where he was now. And that brought up another question. “Why did you come to Harmony?”

He met it with a question of his own. “Do you know a guy named Jordan Trask?”

She shook her head.

“He used to be with the Border Patrol before he moved here. He called me yesterday after hearing about the accident from someone else we both worked with down south. Trask didn’t waste any time in suggesting that I get away for a while and give this town a try.” Ryan grimaced wryly. “Actually, he flat-out ordered me to get my butt in gear and haul myself up here. Said this place would make a new man of me.”

Abby had to smile. “Sounds like he might be a good friend to have.”

“I can’t argue with that. He says we’ve known each other for as long as I’ve been with the agency.”

But Ryan didn’t remember him, any more than he remembered her. Or anyone else. She couldn’t help but feel more than a little sympathy, yet she held back on expressing any, suspecting it would not be welcome. “Did he tell you about Aunt Abigail’s?”

“Yeah.” This time his low chuckle held some genuine humor. “He stayed here at one point, even raved about the feather beds.”

She laughed and found it felt good, despite everything. “You’ll have to thank him.”

“I will, believe me. I plan on paying him a visit this weekend.”

Abby took another sip of tea. “So you’re staying in Harmony for a while?” The question was as casual as she could make it.

He nodded. “I’m in no hurry to head south again. Actually the people I work for don’t seem in any rush to have me back on the job. They keep telling me to get a good rest. It’s pretty clear that at least some of the powers-that-be consider me a loose cannon right now.” He blew out a disgusted breath. “It’s like I lost my mind instead of my memory. If this drags on, they’ll probably agree to give me a desk job, where they can keep an eye on me while I push papers around, but I won’t be doing any flying for them as things stand, that’s plain.”

There was no hint of anguish in his last remark. None. And that surprised her. “Won’t you miss it?”

“The flying?” His expression turned thoughtful. “I don’t know. I haven’t missed it yet, not especially. It’s the inactivity, the doing nothing besides coddling myself, that’s beginning to drive me up the wall.”

Now Abby was stunned clear down to her toes. Good Lord. He hadn’t missed it.

Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You don’t think I’m crazy, too, do you?”

“Ah, no, of course not.”

“Then why are you goggling at me?”

She was, she abruptly realized, and made herself stop. “I’ll admit to being a little amazed,” she said after a moment, well aware that was a gross understatement. “Flying was once as important to you as breathing.”

The sheer truth was, Abby thought, flying had been more important to him than anything. Everything. Including her. Once she’d accepted that, she’d known their marriage was in major trouble.

“Could be it was exactly as you say,” he allowed. “Right now, though, it’s as foggy as everything else. If I had to do it this second, I don’t think I’d have any bigger problem figuring out how to fly than I did how to drive. But how it felt to be a pilot is another story. It’s one more piece of the past behind this damned blank wall in my mind.” His jaw tightened. “The whole thing is bugging me, I don’t deny it. That’s another reason I’m in no hurry to go back south. I’d just wind up roaming around my apartment and muttering to myself.”

“You live alone?” Again she tried for a casual tone, and knew she hadn’t succeeded when his eyes lit with a knowing gleam.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Apparently, there’s been no woman in my life lately.” He paused for two ticks of the kitchen clock. “Who do you live with?”

“Cara,” she replied without hesitation. “We’re currently living in my condo in Phoenix.” But not for too much longer, Abby thought with satisfaction. By the time Cara was a toddler, they’d be settled into a real home, one with a backyard big enough for a little girl to play in to her heart’s content.

And it wouldn’t be just the two of them.

“Is she your baby, or have you adopted her?”

That question brought Abby up short. Then again she supposed she shouldn’t be startled to learn that he thought she might be Cara’s birth mother. She could have had several children in the years since they’d parted.

So could he.

But she didn’t think that was the case. In fact, if he were to confess to becoming a father during those same years, she knew it would amaze her every bit as much as his statement that he hadn’t missed being able to fly.

No, she was the one who had taken on the role of parent. Or, rather, fate had given it to her.

“Cara is the only child of a couple I considered two of my best friends,” Abby explained. “I met Elena, Cara’s mother, in college. Elena had huge dark eyes, mounds of curly black hair, and more than her share of ambition. She moved to the Phoenix area after we graduated and made her mark in the business world before marrying. Like Elena, her husband was a product of the foster-care system and had to overcome some real challenges in order to succeed in life. After I moved to Phoenix myself several years ago, I saw them on a regular basis, and they asked if they could name me as Cara’s guardian in the event anything happened to them. I agreed, although none of us expected anything to happen, not as young as they were. But it did.” Abby’s sigh was long and heartfelt. “They lost their lives in a boating accident on Lake Pleasant when Cara was nine months old.”