Kitabı oku: «Husbands, Husbands...Everywhere!», sayfa 3

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.

“Fine,” Ryan Larabee had said when she’d asked him how dinner with his friend had gone. Why did she suspect he hadn’t really meant that, not entirely?

And why couldn’t she let it go? she asked herself just as the door to the house creaked open. Abby angled a glance over her shoulder and found the man she knew she shouldn’t be sparing a thought for snapping it shut behind him. The man she’d deliberately avoided earlier by not stopping in the kitchen on her path to the porch after putting Cara to bed. Even with his back to the hall doorway when she’d glanced in, he’d looked all too chummy playing cards with the rest of the group.

A short study of his expression as he walked toward her, clearly visible in the moonlight slanting through the windows spanning three sides of the room, gave her a good hunch as to what had happened at the card table.

“How much did Ethel take you for?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

He stopped a few steps away and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Ten bucks. I called it quits at that point.”

A brief smile tugged at her lips. “Smart move. I lost more than that my first weekend here. Ethel kept saying, ‘I’m sure your luck will change, dear.”’

“Right before she batted those grandmotherly gray eyes,” he added in what was clearly the voice of experience.

“Did she offer a sympathetic ‘It’s only money,’ in the sweetest way, when you finally threw in the towel?”

“Oh, yeah.” He paused for a beat. “And speaking of money, I owe you for a long-distance call to Wyoming.”

Abby raised an eyebrow. “You phoned your sister?”

He nodded, his expression switching to something she couldn’t quite decipher.

“How is she?” Abby had to ask.

“Fine.”

There was that word again. And again, Abby suspected there was far more to it. This time, though, she had an inkling of how that conversation might have gone. “I suppose you talked about the ranch?”

“The one I grew up on? Yes. That and…other things.” Ryan slowly shifted his gaze and stared out at the yard. “It seems I didn’t want to hang on to my share of the place after both our parents were gone. My sister and her husband bought me out.”

Abby already knew as much—it had happened before she’d met him—but she offered no comment. Instead she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and kept silent, suspecting from the thoughtful tone of his last words that he was talking at least as much to himself as to her.

“I apparently didn’t have much interest in the ranch,” he said, “not after I took my first flying lesson, at any rate—which disappointed my father, since I was the only son.” He paused, let out a quiet breath. “I wasn’t there when he had the heart attack. I’d already left to take a job as a pilot with a small air cargo company.”

Yes, his sister had told it like it was, Abby reflected. At least it fit with the information Ryan had passed along to her after they were married. His mother had died when he was still a young boy, leaving her teenage daughter to care for him while their father worked to provide a living for his family.

“Now I know why I have a hefty balance in my bank account,” the man at her side continued. “It came from my half of the ranch.” All at once his gaze deserted the yard and shifted back to her. “At least I didn’t party it all away,” he added in a voice ripe with sarcasm.

“I never said you squandered your money,” she countered as mildly as she could, well aware of the sudden tension ruffling the air between them. Something was bothering him, and she didn’t think her earlier comments had much to do with it. No, the recent phone call was a far more likely cause.

But why was it bothering him now? she wondered. Years ago, when Ryan had shared his family history, he’d simply stated the facts and left it at that. Why did he now seem to regret the strained relationship with his father? Or at least the way the relationship had ended, with him far from home when his father had died? Maybe regrets had always dogged him, she mused, but he’d never displayed them. Not to her.