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Husbands, Husbands...Everywhere!
Sharon Swan


The Husband Next Door!The first time Abby Prentice saw Ryan Larabee…she fell head over heels into a broken heart. Now he was back on her doorstep with no memory of their marriage–or their divorce.As manager of Harmony's bed-and-breakfast, Abby had her hands full. Add a handsome fiance in Phoenix and a toddler downstairs, and the last thing she needed was her sexy ex sleeping in the room next door! The flyboy's wicked grin and kiss-stealing ways tempted her to drop everything for a second chance at love. But with his memory and forgotten feelings bound to return at any moment, did Abby dare risk falling for her husband one more time?







“Why didn’t we stay together?”

She should have expected it. In a way, it was surprising that he hadn’t asked before. “I don’t see any need to go into it,” she said, folding her arms. She saw no need to open old wounds—mostly hers.

His jaw set in a stubborn line. “It was because of my job, wasn’t it?”

Abby drew in a breath, and let it out slowly. “Whatever happened back then, those days are over, Ryan.”

“And what about the nights?” With that quiet question he stepped forward to close the gap between them. “Did I leave you alone then, too?”

He’d moved too close to let her feign indifference. Close enough to have certain memories flaring to life. Much too close for her comfort. She saw the challenge in his eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that if I kissed you right this minute, you wouldn’t feel anything?”

“You’re not kissing me,” she informed him in no uncertain terms.

And then he was.


Dear Reader,

Welcome to Harlequin American Romance, where you’re guaranteed heartwarming, emotional and deeply romantic stories set in the backyards, big cities and wide-open spaces of America. Kick starting the month is Cathy Gillen Thacker’s Her Bachelor Challenge, which launches her brand-new family-connected miniseries THE DEVERAUX LEGACY. In this wonderful story, a night of passion between old acquaintances has a sought-after playboy businessman questioning his bachelor status.

Next, Mollie Molay premieres her new GROOMS IN UNIFORM miniseries. In The Duchess & Her Bodyguard, protecting a royal beauty was easy for a by-the-book bodyguard, but falling in love wasn’t part of the plan! Don’t miss Husbands, Husbands…Everywhere! by Sharon Swan, in which a lovely B & B owner’s ex-husband shows up on her doorstep with amnesia, giving her the chance to rediscover the man he’d once been. This poignant reunion romance story is the latest installment in the WELCOME TO HARMONY miniseries. Laura Marie Altom makes her Harlequin American Romance debut with Blind Luck Bride, which pairs a jilted groom with a pregnant heroine in a marriage meant to satisfy the terms of a bet.

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance


Husbands, Husbands…Everywhere!

Sharon Swan






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For all my great friends in Illinois




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Born and raised in Chicago, Sharon Swan once dreamed of dancing for a living. Instead, she surrendered to life’s more practical aspects, settled for an office job, concentrated on typing and being a Chicago Bears fan. Sharon never seriously considered writing a career until she moved to the Phoenix area and met Pierce Brosnan at a local shopping mall. It was a chance meeting that changed her life, because she found herself thinking, what if? What if two fictional characters had met the same way? That formed the basis for her next novel, and she’s now cheerfully addicted to writing contemporary romance and playing what if?




Books by Sharon Swan


HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

912—COWBOYS AND CRADLES

928—HOME-GROWN HUSBAND* (#litres_trial_promo)

939—HUSBAND, HUSBANDS…EVERYWHERE!* (#litres_trial_promo)










Contents


Chapter One (#u65f15602-7a0e-5c10-a146-869d610ceb66)

Chapter Two (#u17113543-f364-5c12-8374-8a476f4f1e47)

Chapter Three (#u4358dcb2-cfd2-536b-99b2-46a7ea62be5b)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


A man who once had sworn he would never forget her looked her straight in the eye with a blank expression, as if he’d never seen her before in his life.

Abby couldn’t help but stare herself, thinking that unless Ryan Larabee had an identical twin with the same brilliantly blue gaze, it had to be him. And since she recalled quite well that his only sibling was an older sister, it was definitely Ryan.

She knew that. She was just having trouble convincing her vocal cords to say something to him, which was understandable. After all, it wasn’t every day that a woman met a dangerously attractive male from her past, one she’d never expected to see again, even if she hadn’t managed to block out all thoughts of him. To find that very male calmly standing on the doorstep, looking at her as though she were a complete stranger, was a startling experience, enough to leave anyone’s throat frozen.

And Abby could only produce one hard swallow.

It was the tall and lanky man facing her who finally broke the silence. “Are you, ah, by any chance Aunt Abigail?” he asked in a deep voice tinged with a Western drawl that she remembered all too well. His halting tone seemed to indicate he’d been anticipating someone older.

“No, I’m not,” she got out at last after another swallow.

He reached up and thumbed his black Stetson back from his forehead, revealing short, thick strands of dark brown hair. “I called earlier about a room. Someone said there were plenty available.”

She cleared her still-tight throat. “That would have been one of my godmother’s friends who helps out here. My godmother, who’s out of town at the moment, owns this house and runs Aunt Abigail’s Bed and Breakfast. As it happens,” she added very deliberately, “I was named after her.”

“I see,” was his reply.

She didn’t doubt he would have more to say shortly, when total recall hit, which was bound to occur after she told him what she was about to tell him. Her appearance had changed over the years, she had to concede. Certainly she was no longer a starry-eyed twenty-three. But despite the fact that she now wore her hair in a neat chin-length style rather than down past her shoulders, and favored tailored blouses and slacks over more casual tops and jeans, this had to jar his memory in a big way.

Bracing herself, she said, “I’m Abby Prentice.”

All he did was continue to gaze down at her blandly. “I’m Ryan Larabee. If there does happen to be a room available, do you suppose I could come in?”

For a stark second she still couldn’t move, and then she stepped back carefully, opening the front door wide. He entered, holding the sturdy handle of a large black suitcase in one long-fingered hand. The lightly scuffed leather matched his stack-heeled boots, while the rest of him was clad in faded denim.

Still trying to get her bearings, Abby closed the rust-colored door behind him. She would have liked to lean against it, at least long enough to shut her eyes for an instant and draw in a steadying breath. Instead, she squared her shoulders, knowing full well that she had to deal with her visitor—good Lord, he was about to become a guest!—and her nerves would have to wait. Ready or not, it was time to assume her hostess duties, and she could only hope this particular visit would be short.

“Welcome to Harmony, Arizona,” she said, calling up the most politely offhand tone she could muster.

“Thanks.” He left it at that before he followed her toward a makeshift front desk to one side of the center oak staircase. No trivial conversation, she couldn’t help but note. No easy chuckles, either. Not the barest hint of the breezy charm that had seemed almost second nature to the man she’d known.

Abby groped to take in those facts and found herself frowning as the smarts she usually put to good use finally kicked in. Although she remained more than a little at sea after the shock she’d just been treated to, it was becoming increasingly clear, at least to her way of reasoning, that no one could appear so entirely indifferent to another person they had shared so much with.

It wasn’t normal. And neither, she was more than beginning to suspect, was this situation.

Abby’s frown deepened with each step forward. The man who had just arrived, the same one currently following hard on her heels, wasn’t putting on an act and pretending not to recognize her. She was all but positive of that now, mainly because there wasn’t the slightest reason to believe otherwise. In any case, it would have taken a world-class actor to pull it off. And since there was also no way she could have slipped his mind, surely not after their joint and hardly casual history, she was left to come to one conclusion.

Ryan Larabee honestly and truly didn’t have a clue as to who she was. As far as he was concerned, she was a stranger. Which could only mean that something was wrong, Abby told herself as she made her way around the small butterscotch-colored desk standing on thin, gracefully curved legs.

Yes, something had to be very wrong.

RYAN GLANCED AROUND HIM as his hostess completed the necessary paperwork to check him in, wondering if he’d ever been in a place like this before. A gingerbread house—that had been his first impression as he’d stood on a narrow sidewalk backed by a tree-lined street and viewed the large, frame home painted a bright cinnamon with rusty-red trim around gleaming windows. Strange, he knew what a gingerbread house was, could even picture a layer of white frosting decorating a pitched roof, but whether he had ever taken a bite out of one was a total mystery.

He could only damn well hope that situation would change, and soon.

“Your room is at the top of the stairs to the right, first door on the left.”

Ryan nodded in response to the soft yet briskly issued statement. He had to admit he’d expected at least a slightly warmer and less strictly business-like welcome than he’d gotten so far at Aunt Abigail’s. He’d been told that Harmony, set in a valley rimmed by low, pine-dotted mountains northeast of Phoenix and offering plenty of crisp sunshine, wasn’t just a great spot to visit location-wise, it was also a place that prided itself on its friendliness.

Friendly? For a minute there, waiting on the threshold, he’d discovered himself questioning whether the woman answering the merry doorbell would let him in at all.

Not that it had been a hardship to watch her do a decent job of staring him down with a smoky-green gaze. She was easy on the eyes, no doubt about it. If a man were partial to redheads of the tall and willowy variety, not precisely beautiful yet with skin that looked as smooth as cream, she’d fit the bill.

Something told him he was that kind of man, and it wasn’t his brain talking. No, it was his body that was letting him know in no uncertain terms exactly what sort of woman attracted him.

“A buffet breakfast is available between seven and nine-thirty, and the front door is locked for the night at ten o’clock. If you plan to be out later than that—”

“Why, of course, he plans to be out later, at least on occasion,” another soft voice, this one bubbling with good cheer, offered just then. The well-rounded woman it belonged to, one currently bustling her way down the hall from the rear of the house, might have had Everyone’s Favorite Grandmother stitched across the ruffled top of her pearly white apron. Silvery hair caught up in a high bun and sparkling gray eyes only enhanced the image.

“If this is Mr. Larabee,” she added, “which I assume it is, he’ll be here for a while. Too long for a young man to go to bed with the birds every night, I’m sure.”

His hostess hesitated a second before countering that statement with her own, one issued in a tone more blunt than cheerful. “You only wrote tonight’s date down in the register.”

“With a little dash after it, dear.” Standing at one side of the desk, the older woman pointed with a short and what seemed to be flour-dusted finger. “That means this particular guest wasn’t certain about the length of his visit.”

“Hmm.”

She wasn’t overjoyed at that news, Ryan noted. But if the redhead’s companion noticed it as well, she ignored the evidence and fixed him with a sunny smile. “I’m Ethel Freeman, and I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay here, Mr. Larabee.”

“I answer to Ryan,” he said, dredging up a smile of his own. He doubted it was half as effective as hers, but he hadn’t had much practice smiling lately.

“Yes, of course,” she continued, barely missing a beat. “Please call me Ethel. I’m sure Abby will want to be on a first-name basis, too. It’s always so much more comfortable.”

Comfortable was the last thing the woman with the deep russet hair appeared to be at the moment, but Ryan decided to do some ignoring himself. Could be that something about him bothered her, or maybe it was just men in general. Either way, hanging around right now probably wouldn’t win him any points.

He took a quick step back from the desk, grateful that his muscles readily responded even though a tight group stretching down one of his thighs was starting to give him hell. “I’ll take up my bag,” he said, “and get settled in. Can you recommend a place for dinner tonight?”

Abby, as he guessed he should call her, opened her mouth, only to snap it shut again when Ethel wasted no time in saying, “Since it’s your first night here and you’re the only guest, weekdays in spring usually being a slower time, why don’t you have dinner with us? I’m making one of my favorites—chicken and dumplings.”

He had no idea if he shared a fondness for that dish, but it sounded good. And, although he was well aware that Abby hadn’t hurried to second the invitation, not by any means, he was tired enough to give in without hesitation. “Sounds terrific. What time do we eat?”

“Six o’clock,” Ethel promptly informed him. “The dining room is off the hall toward the back of the house, on the left.”

“I’ll be there.” And with that he picked up his luggage and started toward the stairs, doing his damnedest not to limp, not while an audience was around. A man had his pride, after all, and he didn’t care what the doctors said about mustering some patience for the healing process.

At least certain other parts of him appeared to be in full working order. Ryan smiled again, this time to himself. He’d been worried on that score, he had to admit. But not any longer. All it had taken was the sight of one particular long-legged, green-eyed, smooth-skinned female to have him dead sure that he was in top-notch shape in one very important area. No matter what, he was still a red-blooded male.

From a short distance below him, the woman in his thoughts watched him climb the steps. She didn’t miss the way he seemed to favor one leg over the other, but probably only because her currently heightened senses were so attuned to his every move. Whatever the case, there was no denying the strength of the arm carrying the hefty suitcase with ease. She might well have had to use both her arms and all her resources to accomplish the same feat.

But then, he had always been strong. Although the faded blue sleeves of his waist-high jacket hid them from view at the moment, she had no trouble recalling the sight of solidly muscled, hair-darkened forearms. Lean and powerful.

“He seems to be the quiet sort,” Ethel remarked, still at Abby’s side.

Not hardly, was the first thought to surface. Then again, Abby told herself, maybe that was true now. Maybe partying well into the night no longer occupied a prominent place on his list of favorite things to do. Maybe.

One thing was for sure, as much as he’d once enjoyed a good party, how he earned his living had always been so high on his personal list that it regularly trounced everything else competing for his time and attention. It was difficult—almost impossible—to believe that would ever change, no matter what had happened to him since they’d parted ways.

As for the immediate future, Abby knew there was little she could do about the fact that they would be seeing each other frequently. She’d committed to remaining here until the end of May, which was still weeks away, and commitments were important enough to her to have her vowing to see this one through, regardless of how long a certain guest chose to stay.

“Such a nice name,” Ethel said. “Ryan Larabee.”

“I suppose so.” Abby’s tone was staunchly neutral.

Ethel sighed softly. “Has a romantic ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Hmm.” She’d once thought exactly that, Abby silently admitted. But that was before she’d firmly set romance aside, leaving it to those who were still starry-eyed. She valued other things in a relationship now, like mutual interests and comfortable companionship. Both of which she felt she’d found with—

Another sigh broke into that reflection, this one long and heartfelt. “Oh, if only I were forty years younger and fifty pounds lighter.”

Abby had to grin. “Oh, if only I could cook like you. I wouldn’t even mind gaining some weight in the effort.”

Ethel beamed. “Thank you, dear. Even though they’re mostly grown, my grandchildren still seem to favor my baking when I visit them in California. And speaking of children, what time is the little darling due up from her nap?”

Abby glanced at her thin gold wristwatch, a gift from her parents on her last birthday. It was elegant enough to win notice, yet in the best of conservative taste—much like the couple who had produced her. “The little dickens,” she said, “should be up soon enough that I’d better check on her. Yesterday afternoon, she was standing at the side of the crib, holding on to the railing for all she was worth and getting ready to let everyone within yelling distance know she was awake.”

This time, Ethel’s smile was fond. “You’re doing a good job in the mothering department, I have to say.”

“I’m going to give it everything I’ve got,” Abby replied, and fully meant it. Although the role had been thrust on her after the heartbreaking loss of two dear friends, she was determined to fill it to the best of her ability.

Years earlier she had very much wanted children. Then, when her life had been turned upside down while she was still in her early twenties, she had concentrated on building a career in Arizona’s flourishing resort industry. Now she was, in every sense other than having given birth, a mother. And motherhood, she’d already discovered, was as challenging as anything she’d tackled on the business front.

Abby tucked her ivory silk blouse more firmly into the waistband of her beige slacks and started for the stairs. She didn’t want to think about the man who had climbed them only moments ago, didn’t doubt for an instant that it would be far easier, and definitely more satisfying, to consider the child about to wake up, the one who had won a big chunk of her heart.

Then, too, she reflected, there was someone else who deserved consideration, a great deal of it. After all, not every woman had an attractive doctor in her life. She’d never expected to have one, either, until recently. Her parents had been heartily pleased by that development, her godmother unfortunately less so. But he was there, nonetheless.

Abby nodded. Yes, she had a lot to consider besides the one person in her past she’d be light years better off not wasting another thought on. Reason told her that, and being the sensible, practical woman she’d made of herself since they’d last seen each other, she fully agreed.

Trouble was, she still couldn’t block him out, not entirely. Especially when a niggling voice in the back of her mind kept repeating a silent question.

What in the world was wrong with him?

“THERE’S NOTHING WRONG with you, Larabee,” Ryan muttered to himself as he made his way down a long hall wallpapered in narrow raspberry-and-cream stripes. His booted feet made little noise on the chocolate-brown carpet.

Thankfully, he was moving more smoothly and with less effort after he’d judged the cozy bed in his room to be too tempting and had settled for an overstuffed chair as a good spot to rest his leg for a couple of hours. Even if he hadn’t managed to completely disguise a limp earlier, nobody in the gingerbread house knew his recent injuries went beyond a bum leg, and he planned to keep it that way.

The last thing he wanted was any more people aiming concerned looks his way and asking how he felt. He’d had enough of that to last him a long while. Maybe forever.

So, as far as the residents of Aunt Abigail’s were concerned, there was nothing wrong with him. Not a blasted thing. That was his story, and he was sticking to it.

Ryan reached an arched doorway, one he immediately took for his destination from the smells wafting toward him and tempting his appetite. He was hungry, and still tired from the drive that morning, he had to admit. He stepped into the room, thinking that it wouldn’t be much of a problem to make small talk during dinner and excuse himself as soon as courtesy allowed.

What he found waiting for him, though, had him coming to a halt long before he reached the round oak table covered with a lacy cloth and holding center stage under an antique brass chandelier.

“Pap!”

A baby, not a newborn but probably not more than a year old, either, as far as Ryan could judge—and a girl, he decided, based on the frilly pink headband restraining a riot of dusky curls—stared straight at him with wide dark eyes. “Pap!” she shouted again from her seat in a high chair painted snowy-white, holding her short, chubby arms out in greeting.

Obviously, Ryan thought, he was Pap. At least she figured he was. And how did he handle that?

The grandmotherly Ethel came to his rescue. “No, Cara,” she said gently from her chair set at one side of the baby’s place. “This is Mr. Larabee, but we’ve already agreed that he’ll be Ryan.” She leaned in and nudged back a tiny stuffed horse in grave danger of falling off the high chair’s tray. “Can you say Ryan?”

“Pap!” the small, sturdily built person named Cara didn’t hesitate to repeat, eyes still locked on him.

“I think she means Pops,” his flame-haired hostess remarked from the baby’s other side. “The woman who sometimes takes care of her has two young children of her own, and that’s what they call their grandfather. Pops.”

“Great. Just what I need,” Ryan mumbled under his breath. “Thirty-four years old and taken for somebody’s granddaddy.”

“I’m sorry. She’s just started talking enough to make out real words,” the redhead said, “and sometimes the strangest things come out.” Rather than look at him while offering that apology, she kept her gaze on the baby.

Her baby? He had to wonder. He might have easily assumed that was the case, except their coloring was so different.

And what about a husband? She wore no ring on the relevant finger; he’d already checked that out while she was checking him in.

Whatever the case, it was hardly his place to ask, and no further information was offered on either question. Instead, with the baby’s attention on the task of tearing a dinner roll apart, the conversation took a different turn altogether.

He’d taken a seat and a large china plate filled to the brim was set in front of him, when Ethel inquired politely, “What part of the country do you come from, Ryan? That is, if you don’t mind my asking.”

He didn’t mind. This was part of the small talk he’d anticipated, and that he could handle. Stick to the basics, Larabee, he told himself, and you’ll be okay.

“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.”

“That’s tough,” Ryan said soberly.

“Yes,” she agreed, her voice quiet. “Since then I’ve started formal adoption proceedings, which should go smoothly, given that her parents offered me that choice in their wills.”

Abby got up and rinsed her cup in the sink, then turned back to the man still seated at the table. A man who looked entirely too good with his shirt hanging open and his bare feet sticking out from the table. A man who had always looked too good for his own good. And hers.

“So you and the kid are going back to Phoenix?” Ryan said, echoing the casual tone she’d aimed for earlier. Something made her wonder if it was as bogus as hers had been.

“At the end of the month,” she replied.

“I suppose you have a job there?”

“I did until recently.” Abby leaned against the counter. “I was an assistant manager at a major resort hotel, but that didn’t leave enough time or energy to deal with my new responsibilities, and I decided Cara came first.”

He lifted his beer for another swallow. “So you plan on being a full-time mother?”

“For the moment. I can work part-time in a less demanding job when she’s a little older and I’m sure she’s settled.” Abby’s lips curved gently. “We had some hurdles to cross during our first months together, but we both came through fine.”

“Well, that baby may have me mixed up with somebody’s granddaddy, but she looks healthy enough,” Ryan allowed. “Maybe you should get her eyesight checked, though.”

Abby swallowed a laugh. “I think her eyes are fine. And as for the rest of her, she has a handsome pediatrician who plans to make sure she stays healthy.”

As if he’d sensed something in that last comment, Ryan slowly straightened in his chair. “Dedicated man?” he asked, lifting a brow.

“Definitely.”

Abby pushed away from the counter and started for the door to the hall. She knew she didn’t need to expand on that, knew it was none of Ryan Larabee’s business what she planned on doing with her life, knew she’d probably be better off just going back to bed and leaving him without another word. None of that stopped her from halting in the doorway and aiming a look over her shoulder. She simply couldn’t resist.

“Not only dedicated,” she added with determined good cheer, “but excellent father material. That’s why I had to seriously consider his offer when he asked me to marry him.”

Ryan stilled completely. His gaze locked with hers. “What,” he asked softly, “did you tell him?”

“I said yes.”

WELL, SO WHAT if she planned on marrying a baby doctor? It was none of his concern, Ryan reminded himself as he made his way back to the kitchen the following morning. He had plenty of his own concerns, the chief one being the need for something to jump-start his system before he did a round of the daily exercises the physical therapist had recommended.

Another damned doctor type.

Ryan passed the dining room, currently empty except for the gracefully aging furniture taking up most of it, and found Everyone’s Favorite Grandmother in the kitchen, wearing another ruffled apron and humming what sounded like a classic rock-and-roll tune as she stood at the stove. Rock and roll? Nah, he decided as he stopped in the doorway. “I know it’s not quite breakfast time, but do you think I could beg a cup of coffee?”

Ethel turned and beamed a smile his way. “Well, of course, Ryan. Have a seat and I’ll pour it for you.”

“I can get it,” he said, pleased to note that the coffeemaker on the counter had already done its job. “Just point me in the direction of the cups.”

Ethel did, and he soon found himself seated at the kitchen table for the second time in a matter of hours. Unfortunately, Ryan thought, he hadn’t managed to get much sleep after his ex-wife had waltzed out and left him with her cheerful announcement ringing in the air.

I said yes.

“Are you hungry?”

He blinked. “What?”

“I just put some buttermilk biscuits in the oven,” Ethel told him. “How about a couple of farm-fresh eggs and homemade sausage to go with them?”

His stomach answered with a growl. Food had been the last thing on his mind, but the smells drifting his way from the stove had apparently changed things. “Sounds good,” he had to admit.

“I do love to cook for a man with a hearty appetite.”

His stomach rumbled one more time. “As it happens, Ethel, I think I can oblige you.”

He was forking up a helping of eggs scrambled to perfection when Abby walked in and came to a dead halt at the sight of him. The baby she held immediately flung a sturdy little arm covered by stretchy pink terry cloth in his direction.

“Pap!”

Ryan managed not to wince, barely. “Definitely need to get those eyes checked out,” he muttered under his breath.

“I think she has a crush on you,” Ethel teased.

“I think she has to eat her cereal,” Abby tossed in even as she resisted the urge to sigh, thinking that this man still looked entirely too good, even with his shirt buttoned and a full night’s growth of beard shading his jaw. She was thankful she had traded her nightgown and robe for a sage camp shirt and khaki slacks—not exactly business attire, but, nevertheless, far from intimate.

Right now, she didn’t need intimate.

“The little darling’s appetite is as hearty as our guest’s.” That was Ethel’s contention.

Abby could hardly disagree, since food was undeniably one of Cara’s priorities. With that in mind, it didn’t take her long to seat herself at the table with the baby in her lap. Then she settled into the job of feeding the small bundle of curiosity who, dark eyes wide with wonder, divided her attention between a quickly diminishing bowl of cereal and the man tackling his own meal with obvious enthusiasm.

Not that it was strictly routine for a visitor to be enjoying his breakfast in the kitchen, Abby reflected. Ordinarily guests were welcome to serve themselves in the dining room, where Ethel kept a lengthy oak sideboard well stocked with a variety of hot and cold dishes along with a generous supply of Aunt Abigail’s special sugar-and-spice cookies.

Then again, Ryan Larabee was no ordinary guest. Abby knew that full well—and so did he, she imagined, judging by the thoughtful cast of the looks he ventured her way between bites of food and sips of coffee, as if he were wondering just what kind of wife she’d made. Or maybe, getting down to sheer basics, how she’d been as a bed partner.

Goodness knows, she had no trouble remembering how he’d been in that area. In fact, seeing him again had brought back several details she could have done without recalling. Oh, yes.

“Ma!” Cara suddenly prodded, as though reminding the woman who held her to get back to the business at hand.

Abby’s heart warmed at the sound of a word she was still far from used to hearing. “Well, you got that one right, little dickens,” she said, summoning a smile as she slid another spoonful into an eagerly waiting mouth. “I am your mama now, and I’m sorry I slacked off on the job.”

“I think her appetite is better than mine.” Ryan lifted a brow as he leaned back in his chair, coffee cup in hand, and studied the baby.

“Pap!” was Cara’s response just as the kitchen phone rang.

“Aunt Abigail’s,” Ethel answered with brimming good cheer. “All right,” she went on after a brief pause. “See you then.” She hung up and looked at Abby. “The newlyweds made it back to Phoenix late last night, right on schedule. They’ll be checking out of the airport hotel after breakfast and should be here in a few hours. I can’t wait to hear about their cruise.”

“Mmm. Me, too,” Abby said, even though she wouldn’t have minded waiting for something else she knew was on today’s agenda. Too bad she didn’t have that option, not when it came to breaking some news about the reappearance of a particular man.

Ethel had no idea who Ryan Larabee was, not really. Neither would the happy groom. But the bride was another matter. The mere mention of his name would have her godmother’s ears perking up in recognition. And no more than a glimpse of him would have memories of the times they’d met flooding back. Of that Abby was positive.

Women didn’t forget a man like Ryan. Even women who were old enough to be his mother. Or grandmother.

So when the newlyweds returned, she had to be ready not only to tell them that her one-time spouse had unexpectedly arrived in Harmony, but also to explain why his own past was currently a mystery to him. And then she’d probably have to explain to Ethel, who’d have to be told as well, under the circumstances, why she hadn’t said something before.

Abby sighed. That was a lot of explaining.

What she didn’t plan on so much as mentioning, though, was the fact that the sight of this particular male still had the power to flutter her pulse, and more than a bit. She had no intention of letting anyone in on that little secret.

Especially him.

RYAN EYED the woman with salt-and-pepper hair cut stylishly short standing in the bedroom doorway. The stranger dressed in a copper-colored pantsuit and built along slender lines had summoned him with a brisk knock seconds earlier. He couldn’t help but be glad that he’d already shaved, showered and pulled on a clean shirt and jeans, because it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was being sized up by a pair of amber eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

“Good morning,” he said, when she offered no greeting of her own. He held the gaze he’d had to dip his chin a sharp notch to meet, given that she was nowhere near his height. The top of her head would scarcely reach halfway up his chest. And she was probably half his weight, as well. Nevertheless, formidable was the first word that came to mind to describe her.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked abruptly, her voice soft, the question blunt.

“No,” he said.

Her gaze didn’t falter. “May I come in?”

He stepped back from the doorway. “Why not?”

“I suppose I should introduce myself,” she told him as he shut the door behind her. “I’m Abigail Stockton, though I prefer to be called Gail.” She held out a small hand. “I’m also your ex-wife’s godmother.”

He studied her for a moment. “It seems you’ve got my number,” he said, keeping his tone mild as they shook hands.

“We met a long time ago,” she informed him. “I wasn’t a Stockton back then. I just recently became one.”

“So I heard. How was the honeymoon?”

She arched a well-shaped brow. “Too short. But that’s not what I came to talk about.”

“Somehow I didn’t think it was,” he murmured dryly.

“Hmm. Why don’t we sit down?”

He agreed with a nod and seated himself on the teak double bed while she sank into a leather chair set under a window flanked by ivory drapes. He’d already noted that the room where he’d spent the last half of the night bore little resemblance to the other parts of the house he’d seen so far. Heartily Homey, as he’d come to think of the cozy style, didn’t rule here. He had to wonder if that was the case with all of the bedrooms on the family side of the house, including the one occupied by the woman who had once shared his name. Briefly.

“As I said,” his visitor continued, “we met years ago, not long after my goddaughter began dating you.”

“But before we got married,” he tacked on.

“Yes.” She sat back and gracefully crossed one leg over the other. “Actually, I was the one who advised her to listen to her heart, rather than to her parents’ doubts about the wisdom of getting seriously involved with you.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “I take it they weren’t thrilled with me.”

“Not much,” his visitor acknowledged. “Abby’s parents already had two sons well on the way to being teenagers when she was born. I think she came as something of a surprise to them, and perhaps not an entirely welcome one at the time. By then, the country-club sort of lifestyle they had worked hard to achieve was on the horizon. Howard Prentice had become a senior executive. Lillian, one of my longtime and very good friends, was busy making a place for herself and her family in Tucson society. A new baby didn’t precisely fit into their plans. Nevertheless, they loved their daughter and wanted the best for her, which certainly applied to a husband.”

She pursed her lips. “I have to confess it seems strange to be telling you all this. You were probably well aware of how they felt back then.”

“Trust me, if I was, I don’t recall it. Or anything else,” he added grimly.

Her gaze darkened. “Abby told us about the accident,” she said, her tone gentler.

“Us?”

“My husband. And Ethel. We don’t plan on spreading it around, if you’re worried about that.”

He blew out a breath. “It’s not much of a secret, anyway.” He had no desire to dwell on the subject, though, so he said, “Exactly where did we meet?”

“At a large party Abby’s parents hosted one evening in their backyard. They were celebrating the fact that they had just moved into the house of their dreams. I drove down from Harmony for the occasion, and to see Abby, as well. Unfortunately, I never had any children of my own. Which made my godchild even more special to me, I suppose.” She paused for a beat. “And there you were when I arrived, grinning a wide grin at something someone had said, every inch the dashing pilot. You were quite a sight, I must admit. And not only dashing, I soon discovered, but charming, as well.”

“But not charming enough to win over the folks, huh?”

“No.” Her eyes took on a twinkle. “They had someone far more conservative in mind, a corporate type complete with three-piece suit. Which you definitely were not. You won me over, however, if that’s any consolation. It wasn’t the easy charm that did it, though. It was the way you and Abby looked at each other when you called her…”

“When I called her what?” Ryan prompted at the hesitation, his curiosity stirred.

She shook her head. “It’s not important—and not strictly my place to tell you, when you come right down to it. The main thing is, there was the kind of spark between you two that not every couple experiences, not by any means. I felt it once when I was a much younger woman, but I married someone else, because my parents begged me to be sensible, and I listened. I’m not saying I wasn’t content with my late husband. He was a good person. But contentment is no substitute for love.” A soft smile curved her mouth. “Luckily the man I gave up came back into my life recently and swept me off my feet.”

“That would be the cowboy Ethel mentioned.”

“Yes. His name is Bill.” Gail’s expression sobered. “Bill and I planned to work full-time fixing up the place he bought on the outskirts of the city. Right up to the day before the wedding, that was our intention. And then everything changed.”

“Mind expanding on that?” Ryan asked when she halted.

She ran her tongue over her lips, as if debating whether to say more before she shrugged and went on. “My goddaughter, having already resigned from her job in Phoenix, had agreed to come up for the wedding in late April, help look after things in my absence, and then spend the rest of May here in order to give herself time to decide on becoming partners with me and managing the bed and breakfast. It would have been perfect for her. For all of us, in fact. Bill and I would be free to live out at his place, while Ethel, who needs a job, since her late husband didn’t leave her much, stayed on here. And Abby would have an ideal spot in a friendly family neighborhood to raise Cara.”

Ryan nodded to himself, thinking that he now had a good hunch what had scuttled the whole thing. “And then a certain doctor entered the picture.”

Gail’s gaze sharpened. “So she told you about—”

“The new fiancé? Uh-huh.” She had, in fact, Ryan thought, relished telling him about it.

“Well, that’s what happened the day before the wedding,” Gail continued. “Abby phoned and asked if she could bring a guest, and then broke the news that she had just become engaged.”

“Which put a huge damper on your plans,” Ryan summed up.

She sighed a long sigh. “Lord, I wish it were that simple. I’d give up whatever plans I had in a heartbeat if they stood in the way of her happiness, believe me. The problem is that this man is all wrong for her.”

Ryan felt his brows make a fast climb. “You mean the good doctor isn’t so good?” For some reason it pleased him, more than a little, to think that the guy was a jerk.

Gail squashed that notion in the next breath. “I mean that he’s as handsome as sin and has a list of virtues an angel might well envy. Abby’s parents gushed all over him at my wedding. But, as far as I’m concerned, he’s still not right for her. There’s no…spark.”

As there had been with him. At least he had that satisfaction, Ryan told himself, aiming his gaze past the window to look out at bright sunlight. Not that it should make any difference to him. And not that it apparently did to Abby. Whether she was engaged to the right guy or not, husband number one no longer seemed to be striking any sparks.

Or she’d gone out of her way to give that impression.

“Do you still care about her?” Gail asked quietly, regaining his attention.

“I don’t know.” It was all he could say. “Hell, I don’t even know who I am, not really.”

But he wanted her. That much he recognized full well, especially after spending the last half of the night in a room only steps from hers and wondering how it had felt to have her stretched out under him. His body wouldn’t have objected to finding out, that was certain. His brain, on the other hand, wasn’t flat-out sure of anything. “Right now, I only know who other people tell me I am—or was. Can you understand that?”

Gail shook her head. “I don’t suppose anyone could who hasn’t been in your situation. I do understand, though, that I care deeply about my goddaughter. I am thankful that she’s agreed to spend the rest of the month here, as planned. I can only hope she’ll think long and hard about this engagement, because I would hate to see her make another mistake.” She released another sigh. “I was once so sure you were the right man for her.”

His sudden smile was wry. “Someone told me coming here would make a new man of me.”

Gail rose to her feet and studied him for a long moment. “Maybe it will,” she said at last with a thoughtful frown.




Chapter Three


“You ran into who?”

“My ex-wife,” Ryan repeated to the man seated beside him on a short stack of back-porch stairs. The small two-story frame home rising behind them came complete with grassy yard and white picket fence.

“Jeez,” Jordan Trask said with feeling, his hazel eyes wide. As tall as his visitor and even broader through the shoulders, he was a powerfully built man in his midthirties, and currently a stunned one.

“Came as something of a shock to me, too,” Ryan slid in dryly.

Jordan blew out a breath. “I can well believe it. And you ran into her at Aunt Abigail’s?”

“Actually she met me at the front door.”

Ryan went on to bring his former co-worker up to speed on what had happened during his first day in Harmony, as well as the first night. Although a smile crossed the other man’s face at the mention of the feather-bed episode, he listened without comment. A short time later, Ryan summed up the situation. “So I not only have a former wife who just got engaged, I have even more questions about the past than I did before I knew she existed—and not one blasted thing has come back to me since the accident.” Including our friendship, he thought to himself.

As though fully conscious of what hadn’t been said, Jordan’s expression sobered. “That’s a damn shame.”

Ryan found himself appreciating the forthright tone of that statement more than he could say. The last thing he wanted was any more coddling. Apparently this man knew him at least well enough to know that.

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed, slapping his palms on his denim-clad knees. “It hasn’t exactly been a picnic. What really sticks in my craw, though, is that some of the people we both worked for at one time have been looking at me sideways, as if they’re not too sure I can be trusted at the moment—even though, from what I understand, I was a damn good pilot before this whole thing happened.”

“Better than good,” his companion readily conceded. “What you could do when it came to handling a piece of aviation equipment was downright amazing sometimes. Then again, that might be part of the problem.”

Ryan frowned. “How’s that?”

“You liked to take risks, especially in the air. Although you never said as much, I got the feeling that was at least part of why you joined the agency. Guarding the border can be a dangerous proposition just from the standpoint that no one’s ever sure what’s going to come down next. Some people thrive on that kind of thing. I have to say you seemed to be one of them.”

Ryan’s frowned deepened. “Do you mean I got off on putting my butt on the line?”

The question won him a low chuckle. “Let’s just say you didn’t consider your own health and wellbeing as much as you might have. You took chances—big ones, on occasion—and I’m fairly certain the top brass didn’t always appreciate that fact. You volunteered for some of the toughest assignments and got the job done, but it wasn’t always done exactly their way.”

“Hmm. I suppose my last day on the job didn’t earn me any points. I not only crashed the copter, but I was apparently already off course when the storm hit.”

Jordan raised a large hand and ran it through dark hair worn just long enough to brush the collar of his black polo shirt. “My guess would be that you were checking something out without bothering to let headquarters know first.”

Put that way, his actions didn’t sound totally responsible, Ryan had to admit, if that had indeed been the case. Maybe he’d brought some of those sidelong looks on himself. It wasn’t what he wanted to believe, yet he couldn’t deny it made sense.

“Anyway,” Jordan said, “I can see why what happened that day might have upset a few folks.” His grin was rueful. “Following the rules was never your strong suit, flyboy.”

Flyboy. Despite everything, Ryan had to grin. “Did I have a nickname for you, too?”

The other man chuckled again. “Well, I can recall your calling me a wily bastard a few times when a card game went my way instead of yours.”

Ryan’s grin faded. As far as his character was concerned, he was sounding like less of a Boy Scout by the minute. “I take it I was partial to gambling even when I wasn’t flying.”

“Not any more than most guys with a little time on their hands,” Jordan assured him. “Lady Luck was usually with you, though, even on the ground.”

And then my luck ran out, Ryan thought. These days, he couldn’t dredge up a single memory of the man at his side. The truth was, the only person he felt any real connection with was the woman he’d been married to, who now planned to marry someone else. The woman who still slept just steps from him, thanks to her godmother’s oh-so-casual departing comment before leaving his room that he might as well continue to use the spare bedroom on the family side of the house.

Gail Stockton had made herself scarce ever since. Ryan hadn’t even got a look at her new husband yet. But something was up, he figured, because Ethel had continued to invite him to share in all of the meals she fixed, despite the fact that several other guests had arrived for the weekend.

For some reason, the decision had been made to throw him and his ex-wife together. That was the only conclusion he could come to. Not that he was complaining. He had no problem with getting more than glimpses of a certain redhead.

No, she was the one who looked a long way from pleased by the latest developments.

“I want you to know that I’d have asked you to stay with us,” Jordan said, regaining his visitor’s attention, “but I thought you’d need some space.”

“You were right,” Ryan told him, answering with the same simple directness. He wouldn’t have felt comfortable, he knew, staying at the Trask home. Aunt Abigail’s was a better bet.

“Which isn’t to say you’re not welcome to stop by at any time,” Jordan added. “And I mean that.”

“Thanks,” Ryan replied.

“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” a soft voice announced at that point. Jordan’s wife, Tess, poked her head out the back door, her wide smile as bright as the flower-print maternity top she wore.

Her husband’s gaze was frankly possessive as it settled on the woman whose honey-brown curls topped clear blue eyes. “I hope we still have some ice cream left for dessert.”

She laughed. “I’ve been raiding the pickle jar instead.”

The door shut again and Jordan looked at his guest. “We just found out that we’re going to have a boy.”

Ryan extended his right arm. “Congratulations,” he said as they shook hands. “We’ve been talking so much about me that I haven’t had a chance to ask what you do for a living now.”

“Basically I dig in the dirt.”

“What?”

Jordan grinned one more time. “I’m in the landscaping business. I’ll explain how that happened over dinner.” Shifting, he called, “Ali, time to go in.”

A young girl Ryan had met on his arrival, Tess’s nine-year-old daughter from a prior marriage, came running around the side of the house with a full-grown basset hound hard on her heels. Dressed in a striped shirt and denim overalls, she made a beeline for the man seated at Ryan’s side and hopped straight into his lap, sending her brown braids swinging.

“I’m gonna eat lots tonight, Dad. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” he countered mildly, “just like your mother is these days.” Leaning in, he pressed a smacking kiss on the top of her head. “Go wash up for dinner.”

After she scrambled to her feet and went inside, the dog leading the way this time, Jordan looked at Ryan. “I’ve got to admit that I’m looking forward to having a son, but I still can’t believe it gets any better for a man than to have a little girl around to call him Dad.”

“POOP!”

Ryan came to a swift halt in the hall leading to his bedroom just as Abby appeared in the open doorway to her own room, steps behind a rapidly crawling Cara. Dressed in cartoon-character pajamas, the baby was wasting no time in heading his way after stopping him cold with a single word.

He had to hope she meant she had…pooped. And not that he was—

“Poop!” Cara repeated as she reached him. She used a tiny handful of his jeans to pull herself to a standing position, then craned her neck back as far as it would go and gazed up at him.

Cripes, she meant him.

“I thought I was Pap,” he said, frowning down into a chubby-cheeked face that looked freshly scrubbed. It wasn’t what he would have chosen to be called, not by a long shot, but it was better than—

“Poop!”

A muffled laugh had Ryan’s gaze shifting. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” he grumbled to the woman whose green eyes sparkled with amusement.

Abby caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. But her eyes still gleamed as she walked over to scoop up the baby.

“How did dinner with your friend go?” she asked, taking a quick step back from him.

“Fine,” Ryan replied, and left it at that. What he didn’t add was that he hadn’t exactly been thrilled with everything he’d learned about himself during the visit.

Abby hitched Cara higher on one hip. “Ethel saved some dessert for you,” she told him, the sparkle rapidly disappearing from her gaze. “She said you can have apple strudel with your breakfast, if you don’t want it tonight.”

It was his turn to be amused. “She likes me.” And that clearly doesn’t thrill you.

“Mmm,” Abby returned in a totally neutral response as the baby babbled softly and fingered the gold-tone buttons on her silky blouse.

He’d be a lot better off keeping his mind from imagining his own fingers toying with those buttons, Ryan told himself. Which, he had to admit, might be easier to do if he wasn’t positive he’d made quick work of undoing other buttons in the past. Unfortunately he was dead sure on that score, even minus his memory.

As if she might have guessed the direction of his thoughts, Abby cleared her throat. “You’ll have to excuse us,” she said. “It’s past Cara’s bedtime. We were on our way downstairs so she could say good-night to everyone.”

He arched a brow. “Everyone?”

“My godmother and her husband brought over a bunch of pictures from their cruise and decided to stay for dinner. They’re helping Ethel clean up.”

Maybe he’d finally get to meet the new hubby, Ryan mused. It would be interesting to see what kind of man had swept such an independent woman off her feet. “Do they still plan on staying out at the groom’s place?”

Abby nodded. “Until the end of the month, anyway. When I leave,” she added, her voice taking on more than a hint of calm determination, “I suppose other arrangements will have to be made. Ethel can’t handle everything here alone.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe not, but she can sure handle things in the kitchen.” He paused for a deliberate beat. “I’m looking forward to eating lots of home-cooked meals.”

She shot him a look. “Maybe we should charge you extra.”

Ryan kept his expression bland, just as if he hadn’t heard the irritation underscoring that statement. “Fine with me. Ethel’s cooking is more than worth it. My only complaint about the food here is that I haven’t had a cookie placed on my pillow since the first night.”

“That’s because you’re sleeping in the family area now.” Her thin smile held little humor. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do without.” And with those words she left him to make her way toward the center of the house.

Ryan kept going and entered his bedroom, planning to hang up his jacket and head downstairs himself. Instead, he crossed the room and found himself stopping by the phone on the nightstand as the urge hit to call his sister in Wyoming, something he hadn’t yet done. Something he needed to do. Now. He had to wonder if she’d tell him a few other things about his character that he could have done without hearing, but whether he liked what he heard or not, he needed to find out more about the man he’d been.

The man whose wife had asked for a divorce.

A YOUNG COUPLE held hands as they walked up the steep oak staircase. Ryan nodded to them on his way down. The woman’s soft laugh followed by her escort’s low chuckle had him rolling his eyes. More weekend guests, he decided. And guess what they were headed upstairs to do on this Saturday night—probably in a feather bed complete with pillows sporting homemade cookies?

Sure of the answer to that one, Ryan continued on his way, thinking that Aunt Abigail’s was doing a brisk business. He’d already met two other couples, both from the Phoenix area, and a retired military man from back East. All had seemed more than ready to chat. Plenty of opportunities for conversation existed, too; in addition to the dining room during breakfast hours, visitors were welcome to make themselves at home in the large living room, the adjoining library or the wide, cobblestone patio by the side flower garden.

The kitchen, located next to a downstairs bedroom that Ethel used, together with a long, glassed-in back porch were reserved for the home’s permanent occupants and their personal guests. Which, Ryan reflected as he made his way down the hall toward the rear of the house, seemed to include him at the moment.

Voices drifted to him from the kitchen before he reached the doorway. Figuring the dishes had been dealt with, he expected to find a small group seated at the butcher-block table, maybe sharing another round of after-dinner coffee.

What he didn’t expect to see was a deck of cards and a mound of silver coins resting in the middle of that table. Or the sight of Ethel lounging in a kitchen chair with her back to a tall curtained window, wearing what looked like baggy black sweatpants topped by a white T-shirt with bold letters slashed across the front declaring Elvis Rocks!

He had to blink before his widening gaze took in her two companions, who sat at opposite ends of the table. As though they sensed his presence, all three glanced his way.

“Oh, you’re back.” Ethel beamed as the man sitting on one side of her rose.

“I’d like to introduce my husband, Bill,” Gail said. “Bill, this is Ryan Larabee.”

Ryan walked forward and caught the hand extended toward him in a firm handshake. Bill Stockton, he noted with surprise, was only slightly taller than his bride. Still, Ryan would never have considered using the word small to describe the wiry-built man who seemed to be all muscle, even at the age of probably sixty. No, this guy, with his thick graying hair and assessing, whiskey-brown eyes, looked as formidable as the woman he’d swept to the altar. His scarred boots, ancient Wranglers and Western-style checked shirt that fit his lean torso like a glove only added to the image.

“Pleased to meet you,” Bill offered in a low, craggy voice.

So you say, Ryan thought, probing the older man’s gaze, but you’re not exactly sure of that yet. “Like-wise,” he replied mildly, figuring it could work both ways.

“How about joining us for a little poker?” Ethel asked. “We’re just getting started.”

Poker? In this place? He had to blink again as he shifted his gaze to hers.

“We only play for nickels,” she assured him, “so you can’t lose too much.”

That had a grin flirting with his mouth. He didn’t think he’d lose at all. Lady Luck, he remembered being told earlier that evening, had usually been with him in the past. Trouble was, he was bound to feel like a jerk if he won any of this woman’s hard-earned money.

While he debated the issue, Bill sat back down at the table. “I’ll take five dollars’ worth,” he told Ethel, who was apparently acting as banker. She counted out a bunch of coins and slid them his way.

“Okay, I’m in,” Ryan said, deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to play a few hands just to be sociable. He couldn’t walk away with too much in a short time. Not with nickels being used for chips.

Ethel shot him another glowing smile. “Do you want to start with five dollars, too?”

His grin broke through. “Might as well.”

But he wasn’t grinning an hour and a bottle of cold beer later as he watched the last of his nickels make their way into Ethel’s growing stack. So much for luck, he reflected ruefully. And he hadn’t been the only one adding to her pile.

“What are you, a riverboat gambler in disguise?” he asked, addressing the woman seated across from him.

Ethel chuckled. “I suppose you could view this as a lesson in the fact that appearances can be deceiving.”

“I’ll say,” Ryan muttered. “Elvis should’ve tipped me off.”

Gail joined her friend in another light chuckle as Bill got up and pulled two more beers from the refrigerator. He plunked one down beside Ryan. “Bet you figured she was most folks’ version of World’s Greatest Grandma come to life. Straight out of a fairy tale,” he said, his own thin lips twitching. “Sugar and spice and everything nice.”

It was so in tune with what he had thought on his arrival, Ryan gave his head a wry shake. “I guess I fell for that one.”

Ethel leaned in and patted his hand. “No more than any other visitor. The apron seems to get them every time.”

“It goes along with the rest of the place,” Gail explained. Her gaze still held an amused glint. “What was your impression when you first saw it from the street?”

“A gingerbread house,” he said slowly.

“Gets them every time,” Ethel repeated before lifting her wineglass for a short swallow.

“Keeps them coming back, too,” Gail said. “That’s part of what makes this operation successful. People like returning to a simpler era, if only for a few days. We provide the fantasy, along with good food and a friendly atmosphere.”

Ryan ran his tongue around his teeth. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll blow your cover?”

“No.” Gail folded her arms across the front of her stylish khaki jumpsuit. “While you’re here, we consider you one of us.” She looked him straight in the eye. “You were, after all, related to my goddaughter at one time.”

“And all of that makes you eligible for our occasional poker games.” Ethel rounded up the scattered cards and started to shuffle them. “Want some more nickels?”

Ryan shrugged and reached into a jeans pocket. “I suppose I can risk another five dollars’ worth.”

ABBY GAVE UP on the thick novel she’d been attempting to read and rose from the wicker sofa that sported well-padded, sunflower-strewn cushions. She switched off the brass floor lamp, walked over to a wide window, and looked out at the night. The view from the back porch was one of the features she liked most about the house. Even in the near-darkness, she had little trouble making out the round stone fountain set in the center of the yard, or the tall row of pines that backed it at the far rear, their branches waving in the cool, late-spring breeze drifting down from the mountains.

She’d found herself retreating to this spot on a regular basis since her arrival in Harmony, often with a book in hand. She enjoyed a good mystery. She’d once favored stories of dashing heroes saving the day to ensure a happy ending, until she’d discovered firsthand that happy endings didn’t come with lifetime guarantees. Or even one-year guarantees.

She no longer sought a dashing hero. She hadn’t even been seeking a husband before she’d found herself agreeing to marry someone who seemed to share her views on romantic fantasies. Certainly neither of them had been in a hurry to explore the more intimate side of their relationship. They’d sealed their engagement with a kiss. The rest, they’d both agreed, could wait. Their trip to the altar would be slow and steady.

It would be nothing, Abby thought with satisfaction, like the last time she’d wound up there.

Nevertheless, although the subject matter had changed, reading remained one of her favorite hobbies, and she’d come to relish the challenge of figuring out who dunnit, despite the fact that tonight she hadn’t been able to concentrate on the unfolding plot. Tonight, another puzzle kept nagging at her, and it all had to do with the word fine.




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