Читать онлайн книгу «My Favorite Husband» автора Sally Carleen
My Favorite Husband
Sally Carleen
HOW TO FIND A MAKE-BELIEVE HUSBANDby Katie LoganDon't: Ask the private detective who is trying to prove you are not married.Do: Whack him over the head with a frying pan when you catch him spying on you!Don't: Notice how sexy he is as you're soothing the bump on his head.Do: Tell him he's your husband once you realize he has amnesia.But whatever you do,Don't: Check into a motel room while he's convinced you're married–especially if the detective is Travis Ryder, a real hunk whose kisses make you forget this marriage is only make-believe!
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u731142c1-e13e-584c-a0af-7c4a5dc08264)
Excerpt (#ud72133a4-6ff4-5194-9bfe-6fd4e3e1e012)
Dear Reader (#u5e7f2214-0ccd-5fa6-82fb-db08d4eaf493)
Title Page (#u76e1ecb1-c5b4-5bf4-be41-0791e2da3782)
Dedication (#ue0e71e8c-2aa5-5d4b-8d86-a34e2569efeb)
About the Author (#u01cbdf00-58bd-55d6-8d46-44e50b4a18d3)
Chapter One (#uc33e0034-f0b7-52bd-992e-5fd5d5f05de3)
Chapter Two (#ue784c3b0-d9c4-5c11-9cea-632c941acb0e)
Chapter Three (#u6aa2ff0b-ae9d-575e-946e-6501cd0847b7)
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)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“We just got married and already we have a son?”
Travis asked Katie with a nervous laugh. “Did I know about this?”
Katie swallowed hard before nodding. She’d become so engrossed in making Travis understand about her nephew’s custody hearing that telling a lie—even in a just cause and after she’d told so many tonight—suddenly didn’t feel right.
“Katie…” He sounded oddly tentative. “Did we get married just for this hearing?” “I’d never marry for that reason,” she said. “I’m glad to hear that.” Travis lifted his hand to her cheek, then let his fingers trail down her neck. She didn’t flinch, enjoying the sensation and wanting more.
How was that possible? How could she enjoy the touch of a man who worked for her parents, a man who would ruin everything when he regained his memory?
Dear Reader,
What makes a man a Fabulous Father? For me, he’s the man who married my single mother when she had three little kids (who all needed braces) and raised us as his own. And, to celebrate an upcoming anniversary of the Romance line’s FABULOUS FATHERS series, I’d like to know your thoughts on what makes a man a Fabulous Father. Send me a brief (50 words) note with your name, city and state, giving me permission to publish all or portions of your note, and you just might see it printed on a special page. Blessed with a baby—and a second chance at marriage—this month’s FABULOUS FATHER also has to become a fabulous husband to his estranged wife in Introducing Daddy by Alaina Hawthorne.
“Will you marry me, in name only?” That’s a woman’s desperate question to the last of THE BEST MEN, Karen Rose Smith’s miniseries, in A Groom and a Promise. He drops her like a hot potato, then comes back with babies and wants her to be his nanny! Or so he says…in Babies and a Blue—Eyed Man by Myrna Mackenzie. When a man has no memory and a woman needs an instant husband, she tells him a little white lie and presto! in My Favorite Husband by Sally Carleen. She’s a waitress who needs etiquette lessons in becoming a lady; he’s a millionaire who likes her just the way she is in Wife in Training by Susan Meier. Finally, Robin Wells is one of Silhouette’s WOMEN TO WATCH—a new author debuting in the Romance line with The Wedding Kiss.
I hope you enjoy all our books this month—and every month! Regards,
Melissa Senate,
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
My Favorite Husband
Sally Carleen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Teri Frailey and to John Dunn, whoever he may be
SALLY CARLEEN
For as long as she can remember, Sally planned to be a writer when she grew up. Finally, one day, after more years than she cares to admit, she realized she was as grown up as she was likely to become, and began to write romance novels. In the years prior to her epiphany, Sally supported her writing habit by working as a legal secretary, a real estate agent, a legal assistant, a leasing agent, an executive secretary and in various other occupations.
She now writes full—time, and looks upon her previous careers as research and/or torture. A native of McAlester, Oklahoma, and naturalized citizen of Dallas, Texas, Sally now lives in Lee’s Summit, Missouri, with her husband, Max, their very large cat, Leo, and a very small dog, Cricket. Her interests, besides writing, are chocolate and Classic Coke.
Readers can write to Sally at P.O. Box 6614, Lee’s Summit, MO 64086.
Chapter One (#ulink_4f2f9566-f878-5466-997e-f1d6826052e4)
“Oh, no!” In the stillness of the Dallas summer night, Katie Logan’s exclamation carried quite clearly through the open window to where Travis Rider crouched in the overgrown shrubbery. “John, this is terrible. Isn’t there any way you can get the next two days off?”
“I’m sorry, Katie, but you know how strict the hospital is about these schedules. I’d do it for you if I could.”
“I know you would. I just don’t have a clue what to do now. The custody hearing starts tomorrow. I’ve already told the social worker we’re married. How am I ever going to find somebody to be my husband by then?”
In spite of his cynical nature, Travis couldn’t sup press a brief flash of disappointment at those words. Katie Logan was bright, charming and witty, not to mention that she had long, slinky legs, a nicely rounded rear that matched her higher endowments and big blue eyes in the face of an angel. He hadn’t wanted to believe she was completely irresponsible, a total flake, but this conversation destroyed any vestige of doubt.
Holding the directional microphone of his tape re corder as close as possible to the open window, he shifted from his uncomfortable position and eased another couple of inches through the scratchy but concealing foliage. After years of detective work, Travis had developed an almost photographic memory for conversations, but it never hurt to have a backup recording, especially of something as important as this dialogue.
“Katie, I’m sorry,” the would—be husband said. “I was all ready to go when I got the new schedule. My bags are packed and in the car. I tried every way I could to get out of it, but I’m just an intern. I don’t have much say in scheduling.”
“Didn’t you tell them how important this is?”
She sounded devastated. If Travis hadn’t known better, he could almost feel sorry for her. But he did know better. He knew Katie’s type.
“What was I going to tell them? That I had to have the next couple of days off so I could pretend to be your husband? That’d look real good on my record.”
Travis smiled grimly into the darkness. This would be just the evidence his clients needed to insure that Katie didn’t get custody of her eight-year-old nephew. He hadn’t been overly impressed with the Logans when he’d talked to them on the phone, but thank goodness he’d taken the job anyway. Thank goodness he’d kept after Katie until he uncovered the truth. He knew he shouldn’t get personally involved in his work, but in this instance, it was impossible not to.
Katie Logan had no business raising her nephew…no more than his own equally irresponsible mother had raising him. From the age of six, when his parents were divorced, he had gone through five stepfa thers and probably twenty schools across the country. If he could stop that from happening to another child, then his own experience would have been worth it.
Travis realized he was gritting his teeth…and not listening closely to the conversation inside the house. He consciously loosened his jaw and focused on what Katie’s friend was saying.
“It’ll be all right. Just show them the marriage license. It looks like the real thing. How can they doubt you? Besides, you’ve shown your stability with this house and your job, and the caseworker told you her report would be favorable. You have nothing to worry about. You’re a terrific person. I can’t imagine why your parents are trying to do this.”
As Travis scanned the scene inside the house, he realized he could no longer see Katie. She must be there, however, since her friend continued to talk and gesticulate—nervously and nonstop—and Travis was getting every word of it on the tape recorder in his hand as well as the one in his head.
Though the late May night was warm, especially since he was wearing a leather jacket for protection against the bushes, an inexplicable chill darted down his spine, a warning that all wasn’t right. He shook off the sensation. Things couldn’t possibly be any more right.
Before this night was over, he’d have all the evidence the Logans would need to get custody of their grandson. Maybe they weren’t bubbling and effusive, but they’d give the boy a good, stable home. Tomorrow he’d file his report and make plans to testify at the hearing, if necessary. Katie Logan would never be able to ruin her nephew’s childhood the way his mother had ruined his.
While John kept talking as though she were still in the room, Katie took her iron skillet from the top of the stove and crept stealthily out the back door. During the year she’d spent assisting a study group in the Amazon rain forest, she’d learned to listen and ob serve. For the past couple of weeks she’d had the ee rie feeling she was being followed, though until tonight she’d never seen any hard evidence. But now she was pretty sure some pervert was hiding in the shrubbery outside her living room window.
Moving as quietly as possible, she circled around behind the bushes. Her heart rate went up dramatically as she saw the crouching figure. Knowing somebody was out there was one thing; actually seeing that somebody was quite another.
She stood paralyzed, rooted to the spot by shock, not daring to breathe lest the person turn and see her. The cool handle of the skillet suddenly burned her fingers, and she could feel the perspiration making it slippery. This time her impetuosity had gotten her into a real jam. Whatever had possessed her to come outside alone in the first place?
Then she noticed a hand extending from the shrubbery toward the window, a hand holding a gun pointed at John. Adrenaline surged through her, fear and anger releasing her from shock, sending her forward in
a mad rush, her iron skillet swinging wildly.
The prowler turned toward her, eyes widening in surprise, just as her weapon connected with the side of his head. His eyes closed, and with a groan, he crumpled to the ground.
Katie dropped her skillet in horror and sank to the ground beside the prowler.
“Katie!” John called from the window. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“No! Oh, John, I just killed a man! Call an ambulance! Come do CPR!”
She lifted the man’s wrist and felt for a pulse, but all she could feel was her own heart pounding.
The front door slammed, and John ran up beside her.
“He had a gun,” she said. “He was going to shoot you.” Then she groaned more loudly and more painfully than the man had when she’d whacked him. “This isn’t going to look so good at the custody hearing, is it? Being a murderer probably won’t help establish my stability.”
Nathan needed her to look stable. Her nephew was counting on her. If she let him down, he’d have to live with her father. She shivered. No, that was unthinkable. She wouldn’t let him down in spite of this sudden catastrophe. Somehow she’d save him.
John knelt beside the man and pressed his fingers to his neck.. “You didn’t kill him. He’s still very much alive. A good strong heartbeat. Probably works out regularly. Where’d you hit him?”
“On the left side, kind of in front, I think. I don’t know. It happened so fast. I was aiming for the back of his head, and he turned around.”
John pushed the man’s hair off his face, then ran his fingers over the scalp. “I can’t tell for sure in the dark, but I don’t think you did much damage. I can’t feel any bleeding. He should be coming around any minute. You go call the police while I stay here and watch him.”
Katie closed her eyes for a second, daring to take a deep breath of relief. When she’d left home ten years ago, her stated goal in life had been to experience everything at least once, but that everything hadn’t included murder. She started to get up and follow John’s directions, then stopped and knelt back down.
“What’s this?” A small tape recorder lay beside the man. “The pervert was going to record your murder!” She snatched up the machine and stood. A wire with a small cylindrical object on the end dangled from it.
John looked up at her uncertainly. “A murderer with a tape recorder? Katie, I don’t see a gun. Are you sure he had one? Are you sure you didn’t maybe see that microphone?”
Katie reeled up the microphone and studied it closely. “No,” she said quietly, “I guess I’m not sure. In the dark, I could’ve been mistaken. He could’ve been holding this thing. Even so, he had no business prowling around my house and recording our conversation. I’m going to call the police.”
But she didn’t move. The temperature seemed to rise ten degrees. The air pressed heavily against her chest, making it hard to breathe. In the quiet night—far, far away, it seemed, in a world where normal people lived—a dog barked.
“Prowlers don’t usually have tape recorders, do they?” she said after a long moment.
“How would I know? I haven’t had much experience with prowlers. I once took a bullet out of one in ER, but that’s about the extent of my knowledge.”
Katie turned the recorder over, studying it as closely as possible in the faint light from the living room window and from the street lamp. Oddly, in the summer heat the object felt cold. “This thing’s got some kind of a plate on it, maybe a nameplate, but I can’t read what it says. Would a prowler put his name on his equipment?”
“I don’t know. Maybe this guy stole it.”
“Maybe.” There it was again, that niggling feeling she’d been trying to discount for the past week, that sixth sense that things were out of kilter. A horrible suspicion—a fear greater than when she’d thought herself faced with a. man holding a gun—darted around the edges of her thoughts.
Tossing the recorder aside, she once again knelt beside the prone man. “Help me roll him over.”
“Are you nuts?” John protested, leaning back on his heels. “We’ve got to call the police. Knocking him out is one thing, but rolling him around afterward just won’t do.”
“I need to find his wallet. I’ve got to know who he is.”
“What on earth for? Katie, I’ve gone along with a couple of your schemes that sounded pretty crazy, including pretending to be your husband, but I draw the line at this. If you’re not going to call the police, I will, and I’ll leave you alone with this guy who could wake up at any minute.”
John started to stand, but Katie grabbed his arm. “Please. Just this one more favor.”
He sighed, but he grasped the man’s shoulders and heaved. Katie jumped as the man moaned when John eased him up onto his side.
“He’s still out,” John assured her. “Go on. Do whatever demented thing you think you have to do and get this over with before one of your neighbors sees us and thinks we’re all perverts.”
With two fingers, Katie reached inside the hip pocket of the man’s black jeans and tentatively withdrew his wallet. The soft leather was warm from his body, and she felt as though she were touching him intimately. Swallowing hard, she gathered her courage.
She stood and moved closer to the window to take advantage of the light, then opened the wallet. Her heart plummeted as her blackest fears were confirmed. “He’s a private detective,” she said, forcing the words from her suddenly dry throat.
“What!”
“My parents must have hired him to spy on me. I knew it! They’ve been too quiet lately. It’s not like them to stop harassing me all of a sudden. For the past week, I’ve had the feeling that somebody was following me, watching me, and I was right. Damn his sorry, rotten hide!”
She stomped back to where John still knelt beside the man—beside Travis Rider, Private Investigator. Laying the wallet on the ground, she bent over him and steeled herself to touch him again, to reach inside his black leather jacket and search his pockets.
The action stirred the masculine scents of leather and after-shave-pleasant, compelling scents in the midst of an ominous, distasteful situation. A soft
T—shirt stretched over hard, well—developed muscles that threatened to distract her from her quest.
Reaching into an inner jacket pocket, she withdrew a comb, a gold pen and an envelope with a canceled postage stamp in one corner. Even in the near darkness she could make out the bold, stern strokes of her father’s handwriting in the address that covered most of the envelope.
With numb fingers, she opened it and extracted a single sheet of paper, a form with TRAVIS RIDER, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR, in block letters at the top, CONTRACT on the next line and Ralph Logan’s imperious signature at the bottom. The printing in be tween was too small to make out in the dim light, but she didn’t need to know the particulars.
This man was helping her parents get custody of her orphaned nephew. This man would doom Nathan to grow up in the repressed, restricted, nightmarish way she’d had to grow up. She considered kicking him, but wasn’t sure he’d feel it while he was unconscious. Maybe after he woke up.
John retrieved the tape recorder and stood, offering it to her. “Katie, he probably recorded our conversation. He must know what you were planning to do. Do you want to take the tape and destroy it?”
Katie sagged back down with a muttered curse. “It won’t matter. He’s bound to have heard it all.”
She shoved at the man’s shoulder, eliciting another groan, but she didn’t care. Let him groan. Let him feel a small portion of the pain his actions would cause.
“Why’d you have to do it? Maybe I haven’t had the same job or the same address for twenty years, but I love my nephew. That’s more than my parents can say. They’ll crush the life out of him the same way they did Becky and me. Damn you, Travis Rider.” She shoved again. “May your wife run off with your best friend and all your hair fall out.”
“Jeez, I can’t believe you conked the detective who’s out to get you,” John said. “That probably won’t help your case any.”
“Probably not. Though I can’t imagine it could make things any worse.” She sighed, then cursed again. “Well, we can’t give up. I owe it to my sister. I owe it to Nathan. We have to figure a way out of this.”
“Katie, you’re licked. I tried to tell you from the beginning you’d never get away with this. Even if it worked, your parents would get visitation, and they’d find out from Nathan that we weren’t really married, then you’d be in a real mess.”
“I told you, Nathan’s a cool kid. He’d never tell those people anything. Besides, with the hours you work, even if we were married, I’d never see you.”
“Well, it’s a moot point now. You might as well give it up.”
Katie slammed her fists onto her hips. “No way. I will not let Becky’s son be raised by those cold, hard people. Help me get this guy inside the house. Maybe we can talk some sense into him when he comes around. Maybe if he understands the situation, he won’t testify against me. Or maybe we can just tie him up and lock him in the closet until after the hearing. You could come over and throw him a raw egg or a mouse now and then. That’s what snakes eat, isn’t it?”
“If the hospital finds out about this, I’m dead.”
“If this doesn’t work, an innocent child is doomed.”
“Have you been reading Charles Dickens again?”
Katie leaned over, picked up the wallet and stuffed it into her own pocket rather than have to touch the detective again, then lifted his legs. “Get his arms,” she instructed, “and stop worrying. All you’re doing is helping to get this injured man inside where you can examine him in your medical capacity. The rest is en tirely on my shoulders. So quit complaining. Where’s your sense of honor?” She wasn’t sure what type of honor she was challenging him about, but it seemed a good thing to appeal to at the time.
John grabbed Rider’s shoulders and lifted.
Travis Rider was tall and heavy. He wasn’t fat; Katie suspected the weight was almost all muscle. John had said his heartbeat suggested he worked out regularly, and she’d felt his solid chest. If they couldn’t reach him through reason, they had no chance of overpowering him physically. Unless they tied him up before he regained consciousness.
Together she and John dragged him along the rough earth, across the stubbles of grass she hadn’t been able to make grow, over to the front porch, up the steps and into Katie’s living room.
As soon as the screen door slammed behind her, Katie dropped her share of the burden unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor. John flinched as he let the man’s shoulders and head down a little more easily. “I don’t think torturing this guy is a good start toward making him listen to your side of the story.”
Rider lifted a shaky hand to his head and rolled to his side.
“Are you awake?” Katie demanded, arms crossed over her chest as she glared down at the creature on the floor.
John shook his head in consternation as he knelt beside Rider and lifted one eyelid, then the other, then examined his head. When he touched the top left side, Rider flinched and grunted.
“He’s coming around,” John said. “His pupils look okay. I don’t think you did any permanent damage.”
“Too bad,” Katie mumbled.
“You better be glad. I absolutely draw the line at helping you hide bodies.”
Katie heaved a giant sigh. “I know, I know. I’m re lieved I didn’t kill the vermin. I just don’t know what to do now. I’ve tried so hard to fix everything so the judge would see how stable I’ve become—this house, my job at the hospital, even a husband. Sort of a husband anyway. And now this jerk’s going to ruin everything.”
Rider opened his eyes and looked directly into hers. He was a good—looking specimen of vermin, she had to admit, with his chiseled features, too—long, shaggy brown hair and, she now saw, striking hazel eyes. It was too bad Mother Nature had squandered her artistic ability on someone like him.
He blinked, clutched his head and tried to sit up. John took his arm to help him.
“My head hurts,” Rider complained.
“You bad an accident.” Katie sat on the floor be side him, her tone sarcastic. The accident was that she hadn’t killed him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She looked questioningly at John. He shrugged. “A little confusion isn’t uncommon after a head injury.”
Rider turned to look at John. “Who are you?”
“Do you know your name?” John asked.
Rider frowned. “No,” he said after a moment of thought. “What’s my name? Why can’t I remember?”
“Just relax. Minor trauma to the head. In layman’s terms, your brains are a little scrambled. It’ll all come back soon.”
“Do you know where you are?” Katie asked, drawing his attention to her again. Could she be so lucky that he had forgotten what he was here for? Dared she tempt fate and hope that his memory loss would last until after the hearing?
He looked around, then shook his head slowly. “No. Where am I?”
“Do you know what the date is?” John queried.
Rider drew a hand over his eyes and shook his head. “It’s nineteen ninety something. I’m not sure.”
“Do you know what city you’re in?”
“No! Damn it, what’s going on here? What’s happened? Who are you? Who am I?”
“Who are you?” Katie considered the question, wondering if she had the guts to carry out the daring idea that had just popped into her head.
Yes, she decided. She could and would do whatever had to be done.
She cupped his chin gently in her hand, turned his face toward hers and smiled benignly. “Who are you? Why, you’re my husband.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_d367ca30-437c-5db2-8d26-b7a9b0cf6dc4)
John made a choking sound.
“Come on, Fred,” she said to him. “Let’s help my husband, John, up off the floor, and then we can get him something for his headache.” John’s—the real John’s—eyes widened. Actually, Katie reflected, popped would be a better description.
“I can get up by myself,” Rider protested, pushing the two of them away.
John jerked his head toward the kitchen, his expression frantic.
“Okay, dear,” Katie said to Rider. “You get up by yourself, and we’ll go find some water and an aspirin for you.” She left the room with John close behind.
“Why on earth did you tell him he’s your husband?” John demanded in hushed tones as soon as she had closed the door to the living room.
“Shhh!” She led him to the far corner of the big, old—fashioned kitchen. “This is my chance,” she whispered. “I can talk to the enemy, explain the story, let him see that I’m really a good person, let him know what an injustice he’ll be doing to Nathan if he sides with my parents. If I get him in the car and on the road, I’ll have a captive audience even after he regains his memory.”
“You’re going to take him to Oklahoma with you? You can’t do that! What if somebody’s looking for him? What if he has a wife?”
“He doesn’t have on a ring, so he probably doesn’t. But what difference would that make? I don’t want to marry him. I just want to borrow him for a little while. I imagine he’d planned to go up there for the hearing anyway, so it’s not like he’ll be going out of his way because of me. And by the time we get there, he’ll be ready to help me, not my parents.”
“You’ll never get away with this. Memory loss like this is usually very temporary.”
“How temporary?”
“Could be fifteen minutes, could be twenty—four hours.”
“Twenty—four hours?”
“Maybe. It could be longer, but the point is, he could regain his memory any minute now. Maybe by the time we walk back out there. Maybe halfway across the Red River. A captive audience, yes, but a hostile one. Katie, you can’t do this!”
Katie hesitated. Everything John said was true. But the alternative was even riskier. “I don’t see that I have much choice. What do you want me to do? Go out there and tell him who he is and why he was peeking in my window and how I whacked him with a skillet, then give him back his tape recorder and let him ruin Nathan’s life?”
John ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I guess not.”
“Good. I knew I could count on you. Now first, do we need to take this creep to the emergency room? Not that I have much sympathy for him, but I’d hate to end up a murderer after all. Not to mention how inconvenient it’d be if he croaked in my car halfway to Oklahoma.”
“I don’t think he’s going to die any time soon. If you take him to emergency, they’ll check his pupils, which I already did, and tell him to take aspirin if his head continues to hurt. You do need to keep an eye on him, and if he passes out or you can’t wake him up, get him to a hospital ASAP. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Great. Now while I take him a glass of water and some aspirin, you go outside and get the tape re corder, that blasted contract and my skillet and take them with you.” Thinking about the contract with its revelations reminded her of Rider’s wallet. She pulled it from her pocket. “Put this in my glove compartment. No, wait.”
She flipped it open and thumbed through.
“Katie, you shouldn’t be going through his personal things,” John protested.
“I almost killed the man. Going through his wallet can’t be more personal than that. No pictures of a wife or kids. In case of emergency notify…Gary Rider. His father. And he lives in Austin. That’s good. Here’s my new husband’s business card with his phone number.” She picked up the telephone and dialed. After two rings, his answering machine picked up.
“This is Travis Rider. I’m not home. Leave a message.”
“He’s not married,” Katie reported, hanging up the phone. “He said, ‘I’m not home.’ If he was married, his wife would have made him say we. So that takes care of that worry.” She handed him the wallet. “Put this in my glove compartment, then load your luggage into the back seat of my car.”
“My luggage? Why do you want my luggage?”
“You’re pretty close to his size. Your clothes should fit. Can I borrow your identification, too, just in case?”
“No, you can’t borrow my identification! And you can’t have my clothes, either.”
“I only want to borrow them. You packed for a couple of days, right? So you have plenty more at home. If I’m going to convince Travis Rider he’s my husband, how am I going to explain to him why he doesn’t have any clothes here? And what’ll he do for clothes once we get up there? He can’t go to court in that outfit he’s wearing. At least, not if he switches to my side. If he won’t listen to reason, he can go naked for all I care.”
John expelled a long sigh. “All right. You can have the clothes, but not the identification.”
It was more than she’d hoped for. “Deal. I’ll figure out something on the ID if it comes up.”
“Don’t forget the ring.”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Katie reached into her purse, took out the imitation—gold wedding band and slipped it onto her finger.
John shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m helping you.”
“I’ll do the same for you.”
“I know. You’ve always been there when I needed you. I just hope you never have occasion to repay this kind of a favor!”
“Relax. Everything’s going to be fine. You go on out the back door and take care of things, and I’ll get this cad a glass of water and two aspirin. And if he’s remembered who he is, I’ll pour the water over his head. With plenty of ice. It can’t hurt matters at this point.”
John. Somehow the name didn’t seem to fit, but that was what the woman—his wife—had called him. He settled on the sofa, leaning back to ease the throbbing in his head.
Why the hell couldn’t he remember who he was? The sensation of being lost in his own body was strange and awful. He couldn’t remember who he was, couldn’t remember his wife, couldn’t remember his home…and he didn’t particularly like his home now that he looked around.
The house itself was small and old while the furni ture, pictures and area rugs appeared new though inexpensive. He must not make very much money as a…well, as whatever he did. And his wife wasn’t much of a housekeeper. The place definitely had a lived—in look with its books, magazines, a pair of running shoes, a suitcase and garment bag—were they taking a trip?—a pencil and notepad…
“Here, John. Aspirin.” His wife approached, tentatively holding a glass of ice water in one hand and two white pills in the other, both at arm’s length.
Maybe she wasn’t such a good housekeeper, but he could certainly see why he’d married her. She was a looker. Short, honey—colored hair, big eyes the shade of bluebonnets, full pink lips, fair skin with a golden glow as if she spent a lot of time in the sun, thin cotton shirt outlining round breasts that would just fit in a man’s hand, and faded blue jeans wrapped snugly around a rear to match those breasts. Damn! How could a man forget a woman like that?
He couldn’t keep the smile from his lips as he accepted the water and the pills. “Thanks, uh, honey.” Her enormous eyes got even bigger. Had he said something wrong? Maybe he didn’t normally call her honey. But he didn’t know her name.
He tossed the aspirins into his mouth, washing them down with the cold water. The sensation of a cool liquid trickling down his throat was real and tangible and familiar in this strange, unreal, out-of-focus world.
She sat beside him. “How do you feel?”
“Weird,” he said. “But much better with you here.” He did sense some sort of connection between the two of them, but it was only a feeling. He couldn’t pull the facts out of the mist of his memory. He moved closer, wanting to strengthen that connection. “You smell good. Kind of like…uh…”
“Honeysuckle,” she supplied, inching away from him as if frightened. “You still don’t know who you are, do you?”
“No, I’m sorry.” He couldn’t blame her for being a little freaked out with the whole thing; he certainly was. “I know there’s something between us, but I still don’t remember you. I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Katie Logan. Katie Logan Dunn. That’s your name. Dunn. John Dunn. We’re married. Two days ago.” She held out her left hand to show him the plain gold band. A pretty cheap—looking gold band. Was that the best he could afford?
“Katie.” He tried the name, rolling it off his tongue. “John Dunn. Katie Dunn.” Neither name rang any bells. In fact, they both sounded kind of flat to his ears. Oh, well. Most people disliked their names.
He brightened at that thought. At least he remembered generalizations. Things could be worse.
He smiled, his gaze sweeping from her shiny blond hair down the length of her slim body. “I certainly do have good taste, wife.”
She fidgeted nervously for a moment, staring at her hands in her lap, then took a deep breath. “Look, maybe we better take you to emergency and get an X ray or brain scan or something.”
“For a little bump on the head like this? No way.” He couldn’t remember any details, but he sensed that his experiences with hospitals hadn’t been pleasant. He definitely had no desire to go to one for something as minor as this injury. “Don’t worry. Like that other guy said, I’m just a little confused after the accident. I’ll be all right in a few minutes.”
He reached to take her slim hand in his. Her fingers were as icy as the water he’d just drunk. Could be from carrying the glass. Or could be from concern about him. He kind of liked that.
The screen door opened. Katie jerked her hand away as the other guy—Fred, she’d called him—charged in, his face flushed. “Okay, Katie, you’re all set.”
John frowned. Was his injured mind playing more tricks? “Didn’t you go through there a few minutes ago?” He jerked his thumb toward the rear of the house.
“Back door,” Katie supplied. “He went out the back door and came in the front.”
“Why?”
“He was…putting up the ladder. The one you fell off of.”
“I fell off a ladder? At night? What was I doing on a ladder in the dark?”
“You were…” She hesitated, giving Fred a desperate look. What the hell could he have been doing on a ladder that she didn’t want to tell him about? “Rescuing the cat,” she finished. “He got stuck on the roof.”
“We have a cat?” The very thought made him want to sneeze.
“I have a cat. I had it before we got married.”
“So where is he now?”
“He ran off when you fell. But he’ll be back. You know what they say about the cat always coming back.”
He lifted a hand to the lump that was forming on his head and frowned. She sounded a little off, her words too bright, out of sync…he wasn’t sure. Something was wrong, though he couldn’t say exactly what.
Well, hell, losing his memory was wrong. What more did he want? Katie was doing the best she could. He had no reason to be suspicious of her.
Katie cast Fred a worried look. “Maybe we ought to get him to a doctor after all.”
“I may not remember my name right now, but I’m pretty sure I’m an adult male of legal age and capable of making my own decisions, and I said I don’t need to go to a doctor.” The very idea set his teeth on edge. “I’ll let you know if I change my mind. And don’t talk about me as if I weren’t here.”
Fred shrugged. “There’s not much they could do anyway. If the pain gets worse, you probably ought to see a doctor, but you seem to be doing okay.”
“Fred’s a doctor,” Katie explained. “So are you. You and Fred work together. You’re residents at Springcreek General Hospital.”
“I’m a doctor?” That surprised him. More strongly than ever, he felt an instinctive aversion to hospitals. But maybe that was why—working with sick people all the time. “Do I like being a doctor?”
“You love it,” Katie declared. “Except the long hours you put in as a resident.”
He supposed that would explain the aversion. Still…
Fred shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I need to go, Katie. I’ve got to get back on duty at the hospital.”
“Don’t worry about me,” John assured him. “I’m feeling better already.”
Katie bounced to her feet. “Great. Then we can get started. We’ve got a three—hour drive tonight, and it’s already nearly ten. Bye, Fred.”
“Bye, Katie. Bye, uh, John.” Fred left in a hurry.
“I hope he doesn’t get to work late because he stayed to take care of me.”
“He’ll be okay. Well, are you about ready to hit the road?” She stooped and picked up the suitcase and garment bag.
John rose, too, and took them from her. “Where are we going?”
“Hillsdale, Oklahoma. We’re in Dallas now. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the way up there.”
He followed her out to the small blue car parked on the street in front of the house—a new car. If he was only a resident, probably with a heavy debt load, and they’d just gotten married, he could understand why they couldn’t afford the best. But why was everything so new? Hadn’t either of them had a life until re cently?
Again he had that nagging sensation that things were just a little awry, like a jigsaw puzzle with the pieces forced in where they didn’t fit.
“You can throw my bags in the back seat with yours,” Katie instructed. He started toward the driver’s side, but she laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Under the circumstances, I think I’d better drive.”
He didn’t much like the idea of someone else driving, but he had to admit she was right. He nodded and tossed her bags into the back, then climbed in beside her.
Katie held her breath as she watched Rider squeez ing his big frame into the passenger seat of her car. Was she really going to be lucky enough to get away with this? If it worked, she’d know for sure Becky had sent down a guardian angel to protect her son. Any other explanation was too far out to believe.
“This car wasn’t made for people my size,” he observed, one leg still outside the door.
“I know. I bought it before we got married.”
“Where’s my car? Is it bigger?”
“Yes.” That was a safe answer. Most cars were. As to where it was, that was a good question. Parked up the block, hidden from view of her house? “It’s…it’s in the shop.”
“Oh.” He flinched as he tugged his second leg into the car, drawing the knee up fairly close to his chin.
“You’re really uncomfortable, aren’t you? Maybe you should ride in the back. Sit sideways.” Much as he deserved to be uncomfortable, she wanted him to be receptive to what she had to tell him.
“I’m okay. It’s just that I seem to have some bruises on my, uh, backside, too. I must have taken a heck of a fall.”
With only the barest trace of guilt, Katie remembered the way she’d lugged him across the ground before dropping him onto the floor. “I’ll drive fast, get there as quickly as possible.” Even in the faint glow from the streetlight, she could see the disapproval on his face. “Just kidding.” She hadn’t been, but she supposed stable people drove the speed limit. “Just relax and lean back. Everything’s under control.” For the moment.
She started the car and headed down the deserted street toward Highway 75. This was her chance. Even if he regained his memory in the next five minutes, he was now trapped with her inside a moving car.
“We’re going to a custody hearing,” she began. “For my orphaned nephew, Nathan Anderson. It’s critical that I win and not my parents.”
“Whew. We just got married and already we’re going to have a son.” He laughed nervously. “I suppose we talked about this before we got married.”
She cast a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. Obviously, the role of father wasn’t comfortable for him. Thank goodness he wasn’t going to be Nathan’s father for real! “Oh, yes. You knew all about Nathan.”
“How old is our potential child?”
“He’s eight, and he’s a sweetie. Let me tell you the story from the beginning, so you’ll understand why this is so important.”
“Fire away. Maybe when I hear familiar stuff, my memory will start coming back.”
That might be, but she’d be willing to bet Travis Rider wasn’t familiar with anything she was about to tell him.
Katie wheeled around a corner, and Rider grunted. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll try to be more careful.” Though he couldn’t have been slung around too much the way he was wedged in. “Okay,” she began. “Twenty—eight years ago, I was born to Ralph and Nadine Logan in Hillsdale, Oklahoma. My impending birth was the reason they got married. I’m not quite sure how I happened. I know they don’t believe in birth control, but I’d have sworn they didn’t believe in sex, either. Anyway, they must have lost control a couple of times because I had a sister three years later. Katherine and Rebecca, they named us, though we go by Katie and Becky. At least, she went by Becky until she died three months ago.”
Katie bit her lip. It was still hard to talk about Becky without crying. Too bad she hadn’t inherited her parents’ stoic control.
No, she corrected herself, it wasn’t too bad. She’d rather cry her eyes out than be like them.
“How’d Becky die?” Rider asked softly.
“Defective space heater. She and her husband, Darryl, died in their sleep. Nathan was spending the night with one of his friends. But I’m getting ahead of my story.”
She checked the traffic, then accelerated up the entrance ramp onto Highway 75.
“Central Expressway’s always busy,” she grumbled. “If you’ve forgotten the traffic jams on this highway, you’re really in bad shape!”
He laughed. It was a nice laugh. Without his mem ory, Travis Rider seemed to be a decent fellow. “I guess I’m in bad shape, then. I don’t remember. So tell me the rest of your story.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m sure my parents loved us in their own way.” Actually, she wasn’t at all sure of that fact, but it might be true. “However, neither of them ever forgave the other or me for what happened. The humiliation of having to get married and then the arrival of a seven-month-old baby.”
“Your parents must be pretty old—fashioned. Even as little as I remember, that doesn’t matter to most people anymore.”
“My parents are old—fashioned, stern, rigid people, especially my father. And Mother goes along with anything he says. They were both determined that neither of their children would make the same mistake they made. We worked hard, studied hard, came straight home from school, had no friends, ate everything on our plates, didn’t talk at meals, or between meals for that matter, didn’t make any decisions, not even what to wear to school or how to wear our hair. We had no affection, only rules.”
She paused, wondering if she was saying the right words to make him understand the cold, lonely world she’d grown up in.
Rider laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she flashed him a quick smile.
“How did you ever get the courage to escape?” he asked.
“I wasn’t very old when I figured out that the way we lived wasn’t normal. I saw how other kids lived, and I wanted to be like that. At night, Becky and I would huddle under the covers and talk. I became pretty rebellious. As soon as I graduated from high school, I ran away from home. I promised Becky I’d make enough money to send for her.”
“And did you?”
“Yeah, kind of. I made my way to Dallas and worked as a waitress, two jobs at a time, and by the end of a year I had a tiny apartment, a car with four bald tires and no heater and a little money in the bank. But by then Becky was pregnant. How she ever managed to accomplish that while living in the same house with Mother and Father is beyond me! But she did, and she and Darryl ran away and got married and moved in with Darryl’s parents until he graduated from high school.”
“Nathan,” Rider guessed.
Katie smiled, her eyes on the yellow line of the highway, but her thoughts going back to the first time she’d seen the wrinkled red baby. “Yep. Nathan came into the world. They let Darryl and me both be there for his birth. Becky said she wouldn’t go through with it if they didn’t.” She blinked back the sudden mist that threatened her vision. “You never saw three prouder parents! All the time she was pregnant, Becky swore she’d see to it that her baby always felt loved. After he got there, it wasn’t even a matter of choice. Nobody can help but love a baby. Well, nobody but my parents.”
“Who love in their own way,” Rider reminded her.
“Yeah, well, sort of, I guess. Anyway, Becky was happy, and I decided I would be, too. I made up my mind to do everything I’d always thought about doing, to live life with no restraints and no one telling me I couldn’t do something. I got a job as a flight attendant and flew around the world for a couple of years.
That was fun. Then I spent a year in the Amazon rain forest with a study group. After that, I backpacked across Europe, went on a fossil dig in Africa, helped with a housing project for the poor in Mexico, learned to ski in Colorado and to surf in California, and anything else I took a notion to do. It was great. Whenever I got bored or started feeling hemmed in, I’d just go on to something else. And in between, I worked at odd jobs in Dallas and always managed to make time to spend with Nathan.”
“Sounds like you and Nathan are pretty tight.”
“Yeah. He kinda likes his Aunt Katie.”
“So what’s the custody deal about? Wouldn’t your sister have wanted you to have custody?”
“She and Darryl always said if anything happened to them, I should take Nathan.” Her hands gripped the steering wheel convulsively, hanging on. “But they were so young, they thought they were invulnerable. They never got around to putting it in writing. Darryl’s parents know, and they’re going to testify for me.”
“That should work, shouldn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. My parents are determined to get custody so they can correct the frivolous, permissive way Becky was raising their grandchild. They’re pillars of the community. My father’s a vice president at the bank and a deacon in the church. I wasn’t there when Becky and Darryl died, and my parents snatched Nathan up and filed a motion for temporary then permanent custody. Darryl’s parents heard about it in time and intervened to at least get visitation for me and for themselves.”
“Are they trying to get custody, too?”
“No, they’re testifying for me and they don’t want to muddy the waters. Anyway, they’re in their sixties, retired, and they’d never say they’re too old, but they did say they thought Nathan needed a younger parent. So my father managed to snare temporary custody, and then he refused to let me see Nathan.”
“How could he refuse if the court gave you the right?”
He really did have amnesia, she thought wryly. “Men like my father have no problem defying court orders. He didn’t bring Nathan to Becky and Darryl’s funeral, and every time I drove up there, he wouldn’t open the door. The permanent custody hearing was scheduled for sooner than 1 could have gotten a contempt motion on the docket. Tomorrow the judge decides the permanent custody. And my parents are saying my life—style shows I’m flaky, irresponsible and not stable enough to raise a child.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Rider said carefully, “but I have to admit, it doesn’t sound as if you could ever be a member of the PTA and coach the soccer team.”
Katie clenched her teeth. He might have amnesia, but he was still a jerk.
“I can do whatever it takes to make sure Nathan is happy. Since Becky and Darryl died at the same time and I was secondary beneficiary on both policies, I had enough money to buy a house.”
“So if they made you secondary beneficiary, doesn’t that prove they intended for you to take care of their son?”
“My lawyer says it shows intent, but it’s still not legal proof.” Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, squeezing the hard surface in frustration.
“They thought they were being so careful. They were worried that if they made Nathan the beneficiary, if anything happened while he was a minor, our parents might somehow get control of the money as courtappointed trustees or something.”
“If they were worried enough to take out insurance policies and think it through to that extent, why didn’t they make a will?”
“They didn’t take out the insurance policies. They both worked at the same plant, and the insurance came with the job. They thought it all out because it was right in front of them, a choice they had to make. Writing a will, finding a lawyer, getting an appointment—that’s different. That’s something you have to think about and plan, and they weren’t planning to die.” Flooring the accelerator, she swung around a car that was going entirely too slow.
Rider touched her forearm. “Easy, honey,” he said. “I don’t plan to die any time soon, either.”
“Sorry.” She raised her foot a good quarter inch, forcibly reminding herself that speed for fun was one thing, but speed to release anger wasn’t very smart. “Anyway, to continue with my respectability saga, I’d been friends with Jo—with Fred for years, and he helped me arrange to take a crash course in being a medical transcriptionist, then he helped me get a job at Springcreek General Hospital.”
“Where I’m a resident. Is that where we met?”
Katie swallowed hard and kept her eyes riveted on the road ahead. She’d become so engrossed in making Travis Rider understand and believe the truth, that telling a lie—even in a just cause and even after she’d told so many tonight—suddenly didn’t feel right.
“If not for this custody thing, I’d never have met you.” That was true enough.
“Katie…” He sounded oddly tentative. “Did we get married just for this hearing? Is this a marriage of convenience?”
“I’d never marry anyone for that kind of a reason.” In fact, she’d never actually marry anyone—give up control of her own life—for any kind of a reason. When the caseworker had admitted that being single would be a strike against her, she’d impulsively told the woman she was engaged, knowing she’d have to lie because it would never happen for real.
“I sure am glad to hear that.” Rider lifted his hand to her cheek, stroking gently with his knuckles, then letting his fingers trail lazily down her neck, over her shoulder and along her arm. To her surprise and chagrin, she didn’t flinch from his touch. Instead, she found herself enjoying it, wanting more, her breath coming a little faster as currents of electricity zigzagged through her body. The sensation was insane and wonderful. She could only compare it to the first time she’d caught the crest of a wave and surfed in to shore.
How was that possible? How could she enjoy the touch of a man who worked for her parents, a man who’d set out to ruin everything?
Travis Rider might give her the same sensations as surfing, but she suspected these feelings were a lot more dangerous.
“Where are we spending the night?” he asked.
“In the Sleepy Time Motel.” She was barely able to squeeze the words up through her throat. She’d made reservations for John—the real John—and herself. She had a sleeping bag in the trunk of the car, which John had gallantly offered to use. No problem. He was like a brother. They’d gone camping and shared the same tent before.
But this wasn’t the real John Dunn. This was a man who believed he was her husband. This was a man she feared and disliked. This was a man to whom, it seemed, she was as strongly drawn as she was to speeding around a sharp curve so fast she could feel two wheels lift off the ground.
Okay, Becky, she thought frantically, call off the angel. I got our message across. Give him back his memory. Fast. Sometime before we reach Hillsdale. And that motel.
Chapter Three (#ulink_c4b95bd1-ee17-5519-8318-645a6d80b974)
Even before he’d asked the question about their marriage, John had felt on an instinctive level that Katie hadn’t married him just to get custody of her nephew. She was a good person, an honorable person; he knew that from listening to her, being with her, even though right now he had nothing concrete in his memory on which to base that judgment.
Not to mention that she was a damned attractive woman. He was definitely looking forward to getting to that motel. His head still ached a little and his brain still refused to cough up his memories, but the rest of his body was in perfect working order.
“Want me to drive for a while?” he offered. “You can tell me where to turn.”
“We’re almost there. Thanks anyway. You ought to try to get some rest after your accident. Tomorrow’s a big day, and with this late start, tonight’s going to be a short night. Just lie back. Take a nap.”
She seemed a little nervous. Of course, having your husband of only two days fall off a ladder and forget all about you was probably enough to make anybody nervous.
“I’m not tired,” he assured her. “Tell me more about us, about me. This is really weird, being a stranger to myself. How old am I? Where’d I go to school? Was I born in Dallas?”
“Is anybody born in Dallas? You know, I hate to tell you everything because then when your memory starts coming back, how will you know what you’ve remembered and what I’ve told you? Why don’t we listen to some music?” She turned on the radio and tuned in an oldies station.
“Katie,” he said impatiently, “I need to know at least a little bit about myself to be able to function. What if I still don’t remember everything by tomorrow? How am I going to be able to deal with your family if I don’t know who I am?”
“You won’t be able to deal with my family no matter what. Anyway, all the medical journals recommend that you tell an amnesia patient as little as possible. You should know that. You’re a doctor.”
“Well, I don’t know that. I don’t know anything, and I don’t like the feeling.” He sighed in resignation. “All right. But I’d just as soon we kept this problem to ourselves. I don’t want the whole world to know I can’t even remember my name.”
“Good idea.” She sounded relieved.
He leaned back to the extent the miniature car would allow and let the music flow over him as he studied her profile and drank in the closeness of her presence. Outside, the dark world flew past them—she might be going a little over the speed limit—as they drove into the night, the only two people in the world so far as he could tell.
He was a doctor with a beautiful, exciting wife. He felt a little shaky about the kid they were going to ac quire, but he must have known about Nathan before he married Katie. He must have thought it was a workable deal. It would be again as soon as he re membered everything.
Yeah, it appeared he had a life worth remembering, his aversion to hospitals notwithstanding. Surely when he got his memory back, he’d be okay with that part, too—even if the idea still sent shudders through him right now.
As they drove on through the darkness, the little car seemed to become smaller, squeezing John’s frame more and more tightly. If they had to take any more trips, it would have to be in his car.
Finally, Katie exited the highway. “Here we are,” she said, sounding bright and perky, though he knew she must be exhausted. “The big city of Hillsdale, population ten thousand or thereabouts. How are you feeling? Any change?” Her voice became tentative.
“I feel all right. Headache’s practically gone.” Or maybe it was just obscured by the pains in the rest of his cramped body. “Is that our motel up ahead?”
“That’s it. The Sleepy Time Motel.” Her voice squeaked slightly. She pulled into the parking lot and stopped. “Well, here we are.” She drew one finger slowly around the steering wheel, her attention focused on the movement. “I already said that, didn’t I?”
He caught her hand in his. “Relax, babe. Everything’s going to work out just fine tomorrow.”
She looked at him then, her eyes desperately searching his face. He tucked one finger under her chin and smiled at her. “I may not have any control over the judge, but I can promise I’ll be the ideal picture of a husband. By morning, I’ll be myself again anyway.” Oddly, that didn’t seem to comfort her. “But if I’m not, I’ll fake it,” he reassured her. “We’ll be perfect parents. You don’t have a thing to worry about. Okay?”
She nodded, though the worried expression on her face didn’t change.
John opened his door, expecting his restricted body to burst into the sudden freedom, but his limbs had stiffened in place. As he carefully stretched out his legs, the release felt excruciatingly wonderful. “I’ll go check us in,” he said, reveling in the open expanse of balmy night air around him as he crawled from the enclosure.
“No!”
Her urgent tone pulled his attention back to her. She gazed at him from wide, uncertain eyes, and she hadn’t moved from her position behind the steering wheel.
“I’ll go,” she said. “You stay here and rest.”
“Katie, I don’t need to rest, and if I did, this car would be the last place in the world I could do it. If you’re worried about me, come on. We’ll both go in.”
As she preceded him to the office, he placed a hand at her waist, an affectionate, proprietary gesture. Nice. Walking through the warm summer night behind his wife with his hand on her waist. But she could have . been a stranger until three hours ago for all the familiarity the act stirred.
Katie pushed the buzzer to summon the night clerk, and John reached into his back pocket for his wallet.
His pocket was empty.
He tried the other one, then both front pockets.
“What’s the matter?” Katie asked.
“I can’t find my wallet.” He checked his jacket.
“What do you need with your wallet?”
“To pay for the room, just for starters,” he said irritably. “Surely I have a wallet with credit cards and driver’s license. It’s a good thing I didn’t drive on the way up here. Do you have any idea what could have happened to it?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
He looked at her expectantly, but she didn’t continue. She had that cornered—rabbit look again, just like before she got out of the car. What the devil was going on? “And do you want to share that information with me?” he encouraged.
“Your wallet…is gone.”
“I noticed.” What could have happened to make her so reluctant to tell him? Had she hidden his wallet for some reason? Maybe to keep him from driving up here with his injury?
“Someone took it out of your pocket.”
“A pickpocket lifted my wallet?” For some rea son, he found that hard to believe. But he supposed everyone assumed they were too clever, too alert, to fall victim to a crime like that.
“I can see you’ve forgotten the incident.”
“I’ve forgotten everything,” he said wryly. “Remember?”
A small white—haired man wearing a plaid robe and still rubbing sleep from his eyes entered from the back room and unlocked the door to admit them into the office. “You folks need a room?”
“Yes. I have reservations for Mr. and Mrs. John Dunn.”
“Oh, yeah. I’d about give you folks up.”
“We had a long trip getting here.” Katie handed the man a credit card.
“This here says ‘Katherine Logan,’“ the man protested, eyeing the card as well as the two of them suspiciously.
Katie moved closer to John and took his arm. He covered her hand with his and smiled down at her. “We just got married,” she explained, flashing the ring on her left hand, then releasing him to reach inside her purse. “Here’s a copy of the marriage license.” She handed him a folded piece of paper.
She carried a copy of their license with her? That was odd.
To John’s surprise, instead of returning it at once, the man unfolded the paper, fitted glasses onto his nose and examined it. John couldn’t remember much about his own life, but he was pretty sure society no longer cared if a man and woman spending the night together in a motel were married or not. Except this was a small town. Maybe things were different here.
“Newlyweds, huh?” He handed Katie the paper and John a key. “One thirty—three. Around back. Don’t be burning no holes in my sheets.” He grinned and winked.
Katie cringed and blushed.
Resenting the old man’s sleazy attitude, John wrapped a protective arm around Katie’s slim, rigid shoulders. How dare the man embarrass someone as obviously innocent as his Katie?
“Come on, honey,” he said gently. Maybe he couldn’t recall what he ate for breakfast this morning, but he could still take care of his wife.
Katie walked woodenly through the door of room 133 of the Sleepy Time Motel. The place could have been carpeted in rainbow colors with neon signs on the walls for all she knew. Her field of vision encompassed nothing except that double bed. That tiny rectangle.
Her logic in requesting the one double had been that a newly married couple sleeping in two beds might have aroused suspicion, but why hadn’t she asked for king—size?
Rider walked around her and dropped their luggage to the floor. She could see that he’d take up at least two—thirds of the bed. There’d be nowhere to get away from him.
He turned and smiled at her, then walked around to close the door behind her. She stood motionless, paralyzed. Not that there would be anywhere to go if she decided to move.
She jumped at the feel of warm fingers on her shoulders. “You’re really tense,” Rider said. “Come sit down and let me rub your neck.”
He strode across the room and pulled down the covers.
“Come on.” He patted the white sheet. “You did all the driving. Now it’s your turn to relax. After all, you’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”
The air—conditioning unit whirred beside her, but the refrigerated breeze didn’t make a dent in the heat that started somewhere inside and worked its way to her skin. “Uh, John…” Maybe she ought to tell him the truth. She’d had her opportunity to plead her side of the case. Her original idea had been a good one. She still believed that. She just hadn’t planned beyond the pleading part of things. And now they were beyond it. Way beyond.
He took her hand and drew her to the bed, then gently pushed her down. She popped up again.
“We need to…” She didn’t have a clue what they needed to do. If she’d known before, the act of standing so close to Travis Rider in the tiny motel room, next to the tiny bed, had driven the thought right out of her mind.
“We need to what?”
She sank back onto the bed. At least that way she wasn’t so close to him.
He knelt in front of her and began to untie the laces of one canvas shoe.
“Talk!” she exclaimed. “We need to talk.”
“Okay. Talk.” He removed her shoes and lifted her legs onto the bed.
She watched like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake as he tossed his leather jacket onto a chair, then took off his own shoes and socks and slid in behind her, leaning against the headboard and wrapping his long legs around her.
Talk. They needed to talk.
Expertly he began to massage her neck, his strong fingers picking out spots she hadn’t even realized were tense. The corners of the room softened and rounded as did the sharp edges and corners of her mind. She was tired, so tired, and not just from the drive. The past three months had been frenzied, hectic, nerveracking.
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Sally Carleen
HOW TO FIND A MAKE-BELIEVE HUSBANDby Katie LoganDon't: Ask the private detective who is trying to prove you are not married.Do: Whack him over the head with a frying pan when you catch him spying on you!Don't: Notice how sexy he is as you're soothing the bump on his head.Do: Tell him he's your husband once you realize he has amnesia.But whatever you do,Don't: Check into a motel room while he's convinced you're married–especially if the detective is Travis Ryder, a real hunk whose kisses make you forget this marriage is only make-believe!
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u731142c1-e13e-584c-a0af-7c4a5dc08264)
Excerpt (#ud72133a4-6ff4-5194-9bfe-6fd4e3e1e012)
Dear Reader (#u5e7f2214-0ccd-5fa6-82fb-db08d4eaf493)
Title Page (#u76e1ecb1-c5b4-5bf4-be41-0791e2da3782)
Dedication (#ue0e71e8c-2aa5-5d4b-8d86-a34e2569efeb)
About the Author (#u01cbdf00-58bd-55d6-8d46-44e50b4a18d3)
Chapter One (#uc33e0034-f0b7-52bd-992e-5fd5d5f05de3)
Chapter Two (#ue784c3b0-d9c4-5c11-9cea-632c941acb0e)
Chapter Three (#u6aa2ff0b-ae9d-575e-946e-6501cd0847b7)
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)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“We just got married and already we have a son?”
Travis asked Katie with a nervous laugh. “Did I know about this?”
Katie swallowed hard before nodding. She’d become so engrossed in making Travis understand about her nephew’s custody hearing that telling a lie—even in a just cause and after she’d told so many tonight—suddenly didn’t feel right.
“Katie…” He sounded oddly tentative. “Did we get married just for this hearing?” “I’d never marry for that reason,” she said. “I’m glad to hear that.” Travis lifted his hand to her cheek, then let his fingers trail down her neck. She didn’t flinch, enjoying the sensation and wanting more.
How was that possible? How could she enjoy the touch of a man who worked for her parents, a man who would ruin everything when he regained his memory?
Dear Reader,
What makes a man a Fabulous Father? For me, he’s the man who married my single mother when she had three little kids (who all needed braces) and raised us as his own. And, to celebrate an upcoming anniversary of the Romance line’s FABULOUS FATHERS series, I’d like to know your thoughts on what makes a man a Fabulous Father. Send me a brief (50 words) note with your name, city and state, giving me permission to publish all or portions of your note, and you just might see it printed on a special page. Blessed with a baby—and a second chance at marriage—this month’s FABULOUS FATHER also has to become a fabulous husband to his estranged wife in Introducing Daddy by Alaina Hawthorne.
“Will you marry me, in name only?” That’s a woman’s desperate question to the last of THE BEST MEN, Karen Rose Smith’s miniseries, in A Groom and a Promise. He drops her like a hot potato, then comes back with babies and wants her to be his nanny! Or so he says…in Babies and a Blue—Eyed Man by Myrna Mackenzie. When a man has no memory and a woman needs an instant husband, she tells him a little white lie and presto! in My Favorite Husband by Sally Carleen. She’s a waitress who needs etiquette lessons in becoming a lady; he’s a millionaire who likes her just the way she is in Wife in Training by Susan Meier. Finally, Robin Wells is one of Silhouette’s WOMEN TO WATCH—a new author debuting in the Romance line with The Wedding Kiss.
I hope you enjoy all our books this month—and every month! Regards,
Melissa Senate,
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
My Favorite Husband
Sally Carleen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Teri Frailey and to John Dunn, whoever he may be
SALLY CARLEEN
For as long as she can remember, Sally planned to be a writer when she grew up. Finally, one day, after more years than she cares to admit, she realized she was as grown up as she was likely to become, and began to write romance novels. In the years prior to her epiphany, Sally supported her writing habit by working as a legal secretary, a real estate agent, a legal assistant, a leasing agent, an executive secretary and in various other occupations.
She now writes full—time, and looks upon her previous careers as research and/or torture. A native of McAlester, Oklahoma, and naturalized citizen of Dallas, Texas, Sally now lives in Lee’s Summit, Missouri, with her husband, Max, their very large cat, Leo, and a very small dog, Cricket. Her interests, besides writing, are chocolate and Classic Coke.
Readers can write to Sally at P.O. Box 6614, Lee’s Summit, MO 64086.
Chapter One (#ulink_4f2f9566-f878-5466-997e-f1d6826052e4)
“Oh, no!” In the stillness of the Dallas summer night, Katie Logan’s exclamation carried quite clearly through the open window to where Travis Rider crouched in the overgrown shrubbery. “John, this is terrible. Isn’t there any way you can get the next two days off?”
“I’m sorry, Katie, but you know how strict the hospital is about these schedules. I’d do it for you if I could.”
“I know you would. I just don’t have a clue what to do now. The custody hearing starts tomorrow. I’ve already told the social worker we’re married. How am I ever going to find somebody to be my husband by then?”
In spite of his cynical nature, Travis couldn’t sup press a brief flash of disappointment at those words. Katie Logan was bright, charming and witty, not to mention that she had long, slinky legs, a nicely rounded rear that matched her higher endowments and big blue eyes in the face of an angel. He hadn’t wanted to believe she was completely irresponsible, a total flake, but this conversation destroyed any vestige of doubt.
Holding the directional microphone of his tape re corder as close as possible to the open window, he shifted from his uncomfortable position and eased another couple of inches through the scratchy but concealing foliage. After years of detective work, Travis had developed an almost photographic memory for conversations, but it never hurt to have a backup recording, especially of something as important as this dialogue.
“Katie, I’m sorry,” the would—be husband said. “I was all ready to go when I got the new schedule. My bags are packed and in the car. I tried every way I could to get out of it, but I’m just an intern. I don’t have much say in scheduling.”
“Didn’t you tell them how important this is?”
She sounded devastated. If Travis hadn’t known better, he could almost feel sorry for her. But he did know better. He knew Katie’s type.
“What was I going to tell them? That I had to have the next couple of days off so I could pretend to be your husband? That’d look real good on my record.”
Travis smiled grimly into the darkness. This would be just the evidence his clients needed to insure that Katie didn’t get custody of her eight-year-old nephew. He hadn’t been overly impressed with the Logans when he’d talked to them on the phone, but thank goodness he’d taken the job anyway. Thank goodness he’d kept after Katie until he uncovered the truth. He knew he shouldn’t get personally involved in his work, but in this instance, it was impossible not to.
Katie Logan had no business raising her nephew…no more than his own equally irresponsible mother had raising him. From the age of six, when his parents were divorced, he had gone through five stepfa thers and probably twenty schools across the country. If he could stop that from happening to another child, then his own experience would have been worth it.
Travis realized he was gritting his teeth…and not listening closely to the conversation inside the house. He consciously loosened his jaw and focused on what Katie’s friend was saying.
“It’ll be all right. Just show them the marriage license. It looks like the real thing. How can they doubt you? Besides, you’ve shown your stability with this house and your job, and the caseworker told you her report would be favorable. You have nothing to worry about. You’re a terrific person. I can’t imagine why your parents are trying to do this.”
As Travis scanned the scene inside the house, he realized he could no longer see Katie. She must be there, however, since her friend continued to talk and gesticulate—nervously and nonstop—and Travis was getting every word of it on the tape recorder in his hand as well as the one in his head.
Though the late May night was warm, especially since he was wearing a leather jacket for protection against the bushes, an inexplicable chill darted down his spine, a warning that all wasn’t right. He shook off the sensation. Things couldn’t possibly be any more right.
Before this night was over, he’d have all the evidence the Logans would need to get custody of their grandson. Maybe they weren’t bubbling and effusive, but they’d give the boy a good, stable home. Tomorrow he’d file his report and make plans to testify at the hearing, if necessary. Katie Logan would never be able to ruin her nephew’s childhood the way his mother had ruined his.
While John kept talking as though she were still in the room, Katie took her iron skillet from the top of the stove and crept stealthily out the back door. During the year she’d spent assisting a study group in the Amazon rain forest, she’d learned to listen and ob serve. For the past couple of weeks she’d had the ee rie feeling she was being followed, though until tonight she’d never seen any hard evidence. But now she was pretty sure some pervert was hiding in the shrubbery outside her living room window.
Moving as quietly as possible, she circled around behind the bushes. Her heart rate went up dramatically as she saw the crouching figure. Knowing somebody was out there was one thing; actually seeing that somebody was quite another.
She stood paralyzed, rooted to the spot by shock, not daring to breathe lest the person turn and see her. The cool handle of the skillet suddenly burned her fingers, and she could feel the perspiration making it slippery. This time her impetuosity had gotten her into a real jam. Whatever had possessed her to come outside alone in the first place?
Then she noticed a hand extending from the shrubbery toward the window, a hand holding a gun pointed at John. Adrenaline surged through her, fear and anger releasing her from shock, sending her forward in
a mad rush, her iron skillet swinging wildly.
The prowler turned toward her, eyes widening in surprise, just as her weapon connected with the side of his head. His eyes closed, and with a groan, he crumpled to the ground.
Katie dropped her skillet in horror and sank to the ground beside the prowler.
“Katie!” John called from the window. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”
“No! Oh, John, I just killed a man! Call an ambulance! Come do CPR!”
She lifted the man’s wrist and felt for a pulse, but all she could feel was her own heart pounding.
The front door slammed, and John ran up beside her.
“He had a gun,” she said. “He was going to shoot you.” Then she groaned more loudly and more painfully than the man had when she’d whacked him. “This isn’t going to look so good at the custody hearing, is it? Being a murderer probably won’t help establish my stability.”
Nathan needed her to look stable. Her nephew was counting on her. If she let him down, he’d have to live with her father. She shivered. No, that was unthinkable. She wouldn’t let him down in spite of this sudden catastrophe. Somehow she’d save him.
John knelt beside the man and pressed his fingers to his neck.. “You didn’t kill him. He’s still very much alive. A good strong heartbeat. Probably works out regularly. Where’d you hit him?”
“On the left side, kind of in front, I think. I don’t know. It happened so fast. I was aiming for the back of his head, and he turned around.”
John pushed the man’s hair off his face, then ran his fingers over the scalp. “I can’t tell for sure in the dark, but I don’t think you did much damage. I can’t feel any bleeding. He should be coming around any minute. You go call the police while I stay here and watch him.”
Katie closed her eyes for a second, daring to take a deep breath of relief. When she’d left home ten years ago, her stated goal in life had been to experience everything at least once, but that everything hadn’t included murder. She started to get up and follow John’s directions, then stopped and knelt back down.
“What’s this?” A small tape recorder lay beside the man. “The pervert was going to record your murder!” She snatched up the machine and stood. A wire with a small cylindrical object on the end dangled from it.
John looked up at her uncertainly. “A murderer with a tape recorder? Katie, I don’t see a gun. Are you sure he had one? Are you sure you didn’t maybe see that microphone?”
Katie reeled up the microphone and studied it closely. “No,” she said quietly, “I guess I’m not sure. In the dark, I could’ve been mistaken. He could’ve been holding this thing. Even so, he had no business prowling around my house and recording our conversation. I’m going to call the police.”
But she didn’t move. The temperature seemed to rise ten degrees. The air pressed heavily against her chest, making it hard to breathe. In the quiet night—far, far away, it seemed, in a world where normal people lived—a dog barked.
“Prowlers don’t usually have tape recorders, do they?” she said after a long moment.
“How would I know? I haven’t had much experience with prowlers. I once took a bullet out of one in ER, but that’s about the extent of my knowledge.”
Katie turned the recorder over, studying it as closely as possible in the faint light from the living room window and from the street lamp. Oddly, in the summer heat the object felt cold. “This thing’s got some kind of a plate on it, maybe a nameplate, but I can’t read what it says. Would a prowler put his name on his equipment?”
“I don’t know. Maybe this guy stole it.”
“Maybe.” There it was again, that niggling feeling she’d been trying to discount for the past week, that sixth sense that things were out of kilter. A horrible suspicion—a fear greater than when she’d thought herself faced with a. man holding a gun—darted around the edges of her thoughts.
Tossing the recorder aside, she once again knelt beside the prone man. “Help me roll him over.”
“Are you nuts?” John protested, leaning back on his heels. “We’ve got to call the police. Knocking him out is one thing, but rolling him around afterward just won’t do.”
“I need to find his wallet. I’ve got to know who he is.”
“What on earth for? Katie, I’ve gone along with a couple of your schemes that sounded pretty crazy, including pretending to be your husband, but I draw the line at this. If you’re not going to call the police, I will, and I’ll leave you alone with this guy who could wake up at any minute.”
John started to stand, but Katie grabbed his arm. “Please. Just this one more favor.”
He sighed, but he grasped the man’s shoulders and heaved. Katie jumped as the man moaned when John eased him up onto his side.
“He’s still out,” John assured her. “Go on. Do whatever demented thing you think you have to do and get this over with before one of your neighbors sees us and thinks we’re all perverts.”
With two fingers, Katie reached inside the hip pocket of the man’s black jeans and tentatively withdrew his wallet. The soft leather was warm from his body, and she felt as though she were touching him intimately. Swallowing hard, she gathered her courage.
She stood and moved closer to the window to take advantage of the light, then opened the wallet. Her heart plummeted as her blackest fears were confirmed. “He’s a private detective,” she said, forcing the words from her suddenly dry throat.
“What!”
“My parents must have hired him to spy on me. I knew it! They’ve been too quiet lately. It’s not like them to stop harassing me all of a sudden. For the past week, I’ve had the feeling that somebody was following me, watching me, and I was right. Damn his sorry, rotten hide!”
She stomped back to where John still knelt beside the man—beside Travis Rider, Private Investigator. Laying the wallet on the ground, she bent over him and steeled herself to touch him again, to reach inside his black leather jacket and search his pockets.
The action stirred the masculine scents of leather and after-shave-pleasant, compelling scents in the midst of an ominous, distasteful situation. A soft
T—shirt stretched over hard, well—developed muscles that threatened to distract her from her quest.
Reaching into an inner jacket pocket, she withdrew a comb, a gold pen and an envelope with a canceled postage stamp in one corner. Even in the near darkness she could make out the bold, stern strokes of her father’s handwriting in the address that covered most of the envelope.
With numb fingers, she opened it and extracted a single sheet of paper, a form with TRAVIS RIDER, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR, in block letters at the top, CONTRACT on the next line and Ralph Logan’s imperious signature at the bottom. The printing in be tween was too small to make out in the dim light, but she didn’t need to know the particulars.
This man was helping her parents get custody of her orphaned nephew. This man would doom Nathan to grow up in the repressed, restricted, nightmarish way she’d had to grow up. She considered kicking him, but wasn’t sure he’d feel it while he was unconscious. Maybe after he woke up.
John retrieved the tape recorder and stood, offering it to her. “Katie, he probably recorded our conversation. He must know what you were planning to do. Do you want to take the tape and destroy it?”
Katie sagged back down with a muttered curse. “It won’t matter. He’s bound to have heard it all.”
She shoved at the man’s shoulder, eliciting another groan, but she didn’t care. Let him groan. Let him feel a small portion of the pain his actions would cause.
“Why’d you have to do it? Maybe I haven’t had the same job or the same address for twenty years, but I love my nephew. That’s more than my parents can say. They’ll crush the life out of him the same way they did Becky and me. Damn you, Travis Rider.” She shoved again. “May your wife run off with your best friend and all your hair fall out.”
“Jeez, I can’t believe you conked the detective who’s out to get you,” John said. “That probably won’t help your case any.”
“Probably not. Though I can’t imagine it could make things any worse.” She sighed, then cursed again. “Well, we can’t give up. I owe it to my sister. I owe it to Nathan. We have to figure a way out of this.”
“Katie, you’re licked. I tried to tell you from the beginning you’d never get away with this. Even if it worked, your parents would get visitation, and they’d find out from Nathan that we weren’t really married, then you’d be in a real mess.”
“I told you, Nathan’s a cool kid. He’d never tell those people anything. Besides, with the hours you work, even if we were married, I’d never see you.”
“Well, it’s a moot point now. You might as well give it up.”
Katie slammed her fists onto her hips. “No way. I will not let Becky’s son be raised by those cold, hard people. Help me get this guy inside the house. Maybe we can talk some sense into him when he comes around. Maybe if he understands the situation, he won’t testify against me. Or maybe we can just tie him up and lock him in the closet until after the hearing. You could come over and throw him a raw egg or a mouse now and then. That’s what snakes eat, isn’t it?”
“If the hospital finds out about this, I’m dead.”
“If this doesn’t work, an innocent child is doomed.”
“Have you been reading Charles Dickens again?”
Katie leaned over, picked up the wallet and stuffed it into her own pocket rather than have to touch the detective again, then lifted his legs. “Get his arms,” she instructed, “and stop worrying. All you’re doing is helping to get this injured man inside where you can examine him in your medical capacity. The rest is en tirely on my shoulders. So quit complaining. Where’s your sense of honor?” She wasn’t sure what type of honor she was challenging him about, but it seemed a good thing to appeal to at the time.
John grabbed Rider’s shoulders and lifted.
Travis Rider was tall and heavy. He wasn’t fat; Katie suspected the weight was almost all muscle. John had said his heartbeat suggested he worked out regularly, and she’d felt his solid chest. If they couldn’t reach him through reason, they had no chance of overpowering him physically. Unless they tied him up before he regained consciousness.
Together she and John dragged him along the rough earth, across the stubbles of grass she hadn’t been able to make grow, over to the front porch, up the steps and into Katie’s living room.
As soon as the screen door slammed behind her, Katie dropped her share of the burden unceremoniously onto the hardwood floor. John flinched as he let the man’s shoulders and head down a little more easily. “I don’t think torturing this guy is a good start toward making him listen to your side of the story.”
Rider lifted a shaky hand to his head and rolled to his side.
“Are you awake?” Katie demanded, arms crossed over her chest as she glared down at the creature on the floor.
John shook his head in consternation as he knelt beside Rider and lifted one eyelid, then the other, then examined his head. When he touched the top left side, Rider flinched and grunted.
“He’s coming around,” John said. “His pupils look okay. I don’t think you did any permanent damage.”
“Too bad,” Katie mumbled.
“You better be glad. I absolutely draw the line at helping you hide bodies.”
Katie heaved a giant sigh. “I know, I know. I’m re lieved I didn’t kill the vermin. I just don’t know what to do now. I’ve tried so hard to fix everything so the judge would see how stable I’ve become—this house, my job at the hospital, even a husband. Sort of a husband anyway. And now this jerk’s going to ruin everything.”
Rider opened his eyes and looked directly into hers. He was a good—looking specimen of vermin, she had to admit, with his chiseled features, too—long, shaggy brown hair and, she now saw, striking hazel eyes. It was too bad Mother Nature had squandered her artistic ability on someone like him.
He blinked, clutched his head and tried to sit up. John took his arm to help him.
“My head hurts,” Rider complained.
“You bad an accident.” Katie sat on the floor be side him, her tone sarcastic. The accident was that she hadn’t killed him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She looked questioningly at John. He shrugged. “A little confusion isn’t uncommon after a head injury.”
Rider turned to look at John. “Who are you?”
“Do you know your name?” John asked.
Rider frowned. “No,” he said after a moment of thought. “What’s my name? Why can’t I remember?”
“Just relax. Minor trauma to the head. In layman’s terms, your brains are a little scrambled. It’ll all come back soon.”
“Do you know where you are?” Katie asked, drawing his attention to her again. Could she be so lucky that he had forgotten what he was here for? Dared she tempt fate and hope that his memory loss would last until after the hearing?
He looked around, then shook his head slowly. “No. Where am I?”
“Do you know what the date is?” John queried.
Rider drew a hand over his eyes and shook his head. “It’s nineteen ninety something. I’m not sure.”
“Do you know what city you’re in?”
“No! Damn it, what’s going on here? What’s happened? Who are you? Who am I?”
“Who are you?” Katie considered the question, wondering if she had the guts to carry out the daring idea that had just popped into her head.
Yes, she decided. She could and would do whatever had to be done.
She cupped his chin gently in her hand, turned his face toward hers and smiled benignly. “Who are you? Why, you’re my husband.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_d367ca30-437c-5db2-8d26-b7a9b0cf6dc4)
John made a choking sound.
“Come on, Fred,” she said to him. “Let’s help my husband, John, up off the floor, and then we can get him something for his headache.” John’s—the real John’s—eyes widened. Actually, Katie reflected, popped would be a better description.
“I can get up by myself,” Rider protested, pushing the two of them away.
John jerked his head toward the kitchen, his expression frantic.
“Okay, dear,” Katie said to Rider. “You get up by yourself, and we’ll go find some water and an aspirin for you.” She left the room with John close behind.
“Why on earth did you tell him he’s your husband?” John demanded in hushed tones as soon as she had closed the door to the living room.
“Shhh!” She led him to the far corner of the big, old—fashioned kitchen. “This is my chance,” she whispered. “I can talk to the enemy, explain the story, let him see that I’m really a good person, let him know what an injustice he’ll be doing to Nathan if he sides with my parents. If I get him in the car and on the road, I’ll have a captive audience even after he regains his memory.”
“You’re going to take him to Oklahoma with you? You can’t do that! What if somebody’s looking for him? What if he has a wife?”
“He doesn’t have on a ring, so he probably doesn’t. But what difference would that make? I don’t want to marry him. I just want to borrow him for a little while. I imagine he’d planned to go up there for the hearing anyway, so it’s not like he’ll be going out of his way because of me. And by the time we get there, he’ll be ready to help me, not my parents.”
“You’ll never get away with this. Memory loss like this is usually very temporary.”
“How temporary?”
“Could be fifteen minutes, could be twenty—four hours.”
“Twenty—four hours?”
“Maybe. It could be longer, but the point is, he could regain his memory any minute now. Maybe by the time we walk back out there. Maybe halfway across the Red River. A captive audience, yes, but a hostile one. Katie, you can’t do this!”
Katie hesitated. Everything John said was true. But the alternative was even riskier. “I don’t see that I have much choice. What do you want me to do? Go out there and tell him who he is and why he was peeking in my window and how I whacked him with a skillet, then give him back his tape recorder and let him ruin Nathan’s life?”
John ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I guess not.”
“Good. I knew I could count on you. Now first, do we need to take this creep to the emergency room? Not that I have much sympathy for him, but I’d hate to end up a murderer after all. Not to mention how inconvenient it’d be if he croaked in my car halfway to Oklahoma.”
“I don’t think he’s going to die any time soon. If you take him to emergency, they’ll check his pupils, which I already did, and tell him to take aspirin if his head continues to hurt. You do need to keep an eye on him, and if he passes out or you can’t wake him up, get him to a hospital ASAP. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Great. Now while I take him a glass of water and some aspirin, you go outside and get the tape re corder, that blasted contract and my skillet and take them with you.” Thinking about the contract with its revelations reminded her of Rider’s wallet. She pulled it from her pocket. “Put this in my glove compartment. No, wait.”
She flipped it open and thumbed through.
“Katie, you shouldn’t be going through his personal things,” John protested.
“I almost killed the man. Going through his wallet can’t be more personal than that. No pictures of a wife or kids. In case of emergency notify…Gary Rider. His father. And he lives in Austin. That’s good. Here’s my new husband’s business card with his phone number.” She picked up the telephone and dialed. After two rings, his answering machine picked up.
“This is Travis Rider. I’m not home. Leave a message.”
“He’s not married,” Katie reported, hanging up the phone. “He said, ‘I’m not home.’ If he was married, his wife would have made him say we. So that takes care of that worry.” She handed him the wallet. “Put this in my glove compartment, then load your luggage into the back seat of my car.”
“My luggage? Why do you want my luggage?”
“You’re pretty close to his size. Your clothes should fit. Can I borrow your identification, too, just in case?”
“No, you can’t borrow my identification! And you can’t have my clothes, either.”
“I only want to borrow them. You packed for a couple of days, right? So you have plenty more at home. If I’m going to convince Travis Rider he’s my husband, how am I going to explain to him why he doesn’t have any clothes here? And what’ll he do for clothes once we get up there? He can’t go to court in that outfit he’s wearing. At least, not if he switches to my side. If he won’t listen to reason, he can go naked for all I care.”
John expelled a long sigh. “All right. You can have the clothes, but not the identification.”
It was more than she’d hoped for. “Deal. I’ll figure out something on the ID if it comes up.”
“Don’t forget the ring.”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Katie reached into her purse, took out the imitation—gold wedding band and slipped it onto her finger.
John shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m helping you.”
“I’ll do the same for you.”
“I know. You’ve always been there when I needed you. I just hope you never have occasion to repay this kind of a favor!”
“Relax. Everything’s going to be fine. You go on out the back door and take care of things, and I’ll get this cad a glass of water and two aspirin. And if he’s remembered who he is, I’ll pour the water over his head. With plenty of ice. It can’t hurt matters at this point.”
John. Somehow the name didn’t seem to fit, but that was what the woman—his wife—had called him. He settled on the sofa, leaning back to ease the throbbing in his head.
Why the hell couldn’t he remember who he was? The sensation of being lost in his own body was strange and awful. He couldn’t remember who he was, couldn’t remember his wife, couldn’t remember his home…and he didn’t particularly like his home now that he looked around.
The house itself was small and old while the furni ture, pictures and area rugs appeared new though inexpensive. He must not make very much money as a…well, as whatever he did. And his wife wasn’t much of a housekeeper. The place definitely had a lived—in look with its books, magazines, a pair of running shoes, a suitcase and garment bag—were they taking a trip?—a pencil and notepad…
“Here, John. Aspirin.” His wife approached, tentatively holding a glass of ice water in one hand and two white pills in the other, both at arm’s length.
Maybe she wasn’t such a good housekeeper, but he could certainly see why he’d married her. She was a looker. Short, honey—colored hair, big eyes the shade of bluebonnets, full pink lips, fair skin with a golden glow as if she spent a lot of time in the sun, thin cotton shirt outlining round breasts that would just fit in a man’s hand, and faded blue jeans wrapped snugly around a rear to match those breasts. Damn! How could a man forget a woman like that?
He couldn’t keep the smile from his lips as he accepted the water and the pills. “Thanks, uh, honey.” Her enormous eyes got even bigger. Had he said something wrong? Maybe he didn’t normally call her honey. But he didn’t know her name.
He tossed the aspirins into his mouth, washing them down with the cold water. The sensation of a cool liquid trickling down his throat was real and tangible and familiar in this strange, unreal, out-of-focus world.
She sat beside him. “How do you feel?”
“Weird,” he said. “But much better with you here.” He did sense some sort of connection between the two of them, but it was only a feeling. He couldn’t pull the facts out of the mist of his memory. He moved closer, wanting to strengthen that connection. “You smell good. Kind of like…uh…”
“Honeysuckle,” she supplied, inching away from him as if frightened. “You still don’t know who you are, do you?”
“No, I’m sorry.” He couldn’t blame her for being a little freaked out with the whole thing; he certainly was. “I know there’s something between us, but I still don’t remember you. I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Katie Logan. Katie Logan Dunn. That’s your name. Dunn. John Dunn. We’re married. Two days ago.” She held out her left hand to show him the plain gold band. A pretty cheap—looking gold band. Was that the best he could afford?
“Katie.” He tried the name, rolling it off his tongue. “John Dunn. Katie Dunn.” Neither name rang any bells. In fact, they both sounded kind of flat to his ears. Oh, well. Most people disliked their names.
He brightened at that thought. At least he remembered generalizations. Things could be worse.
He smiled, his gaze sweeping from her shiny blond hair down the length of her slim body. “I certainly do have good taste, wife.”
She fidgeted nervously for a moment, staring at her hands in her lap, then took a deep breath. “Look, maybe we better take you to emergency and get an X ray or brain scan or something.”
“For a little bump on the head like this? No way.” He couldn’t remember any details, but he sensed that his experiences with hospitals hadn’t been pleasant. He definitely had no desire to go to one for something as minor as this injury. “Don’t worry. Like that other guy said, I’m just a little confused after the accident. I’ll be all right in a few minutes.”
He reached to take her slim hand in his. Her fingers were as icy as the water he’d just drunk. Could be from carrying the glass. Or could be from concern about him. He kind of liked that.
The screen door opened. Katie jerked her hand away as the other guy—Fred, she’d called him—charged in, his face flushed. “Okay, Katie, you’re all set.”
John frowned. Was his injured mind playing more tricks? “Didn’t you go through there a few minutes ago?” He jerked his thumb toward the rear of the house.
“Back door,” Katie supplied. “He went out the back door and came in the front.”
“Why?”
“He was…putting up the ladder. The one you fell off of.”
“I fell off a ladder? At night? What was I doing on a ladder in the dark?”
“You were…” She hesitated, giving Fred a desperate look. What the hell could he have been doing on a ladder that she didn’t want to tell him about? “Rescuing the cat,” she finished. “He got stuck on the roof.”
“We have a cat?” The very thought made him want to sneeze.
“I have a cat. I had it before we got married.”
“So where is he now?”
“He ran off when you fell. But he’ll be back. You know what they say about the cat always coming back.”
He lifted a hand to the lump that was forming on his head and frowned. She sounded a little off, her words too bright, out of sync…he wasn’t sure. Something was wrong, though he couldn’t say exactly what.
Well, hell, losing his memory was wrong. What more did he want? Katie was doing the best she could. He had no reason to be suspicious of her.
Katie cast Fred a worried look. “Maybe we ought to get him to a doctor after all.”
“I may not remember my name right now, but I’m pretty sure I’m an adult male of legal age and capable of making my own decisions, and I said I don’t need to go to a doctor.” The very idea set his teeth on edge. “I’ll let you know if I change my mind. And don’t talk about me as if I weren’t here.”
Fred shrugged. “There’s not much they could do anyway. If the pain gets worse, you probably ought to see a doctor, but you seem to be doing okay.”
“Fred’s a doctor,” Katie explained. “So are you. You and Fred work together. You’re residents at Springcreek General Hospital.”
“I’m a doctor?” That surprised him. More strongly than ever, he felt an instinctive aversion to hospitals. But maybe that was why—working with sick people all the time. “Do I like being a doctor?”
“You love it,” Katie declared. “Except the long hours you put in as a resident.”
He supposed that would explain the aversion. Still…
Fred shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I need to go, Katie. I’ve got to get back on duty at the hospital.”
“Don’t worry about me,” John assured him. “I’m feeling better already.”
Katie bounced to her feet. “Great. Then we can get started. We’ve got a three—hour drive tonight, and it’s already nearly ten. Bye, Fred.”
“Bye, Katie. Bye, uh, John.” Fred left in a hurry.
“I hope he doesn’t get to work late because he stayed to take care of me.”
“He’ll be okay. Well, are you about ready to hit the road?” She stooped and picked up the suitcase and garment bag.
John rose, too, and took them from her. “Where are we going?”
“Hillsdale, Oklahoma. We’re in Dallas now. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the way up there.”
He followed her out to the small blue car parked on the street in front of the house—a new car. If he was only a resident, probably with a heavy debt load, and they’d just gotten married, he could understand why they couldn’t afford the best. But why was everything so new? Hadn’t either of them had a life until re cently?
Again he had that nagging sensation that things were just a little awry, like a jigsaw puzzle with the pieces forced in where they didn’t fit.
“You can throw my bags in the back seat with yours,” Katie instructed. He started toward the driver’s side, but she laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Under the circumstances, I think I’d better drive.”
He didn’t much like the idea of someone else driving, but he had to admit she was right. He nodded and tossed her bags into the back, then climbed in beside her.
Katie held her breath as she watched Rider squeez ing his big frame into the passenger seat of her car. Was she really going to be lucky enough to get away with this? If it worked, she’d know for sure Becky had sent down a guardian angel to protect her son. Any other explanation was too far out to believe.
“This car wasn’t made for people my size,” he observed, one leg still outside the door.
“I know. I bought it before we got married.”
“Where’s my car? Is it bigger?”
“Yes.” That was a safe answer. Most cars were. As to where it was, that was a good question. Parked up the block, hidden from view of her house? “It’s…it’s in the shop.”
“Oh.” He flinched as he tugged his second leg into the car, drawing the knee up fairly close to his chin.
“You’re really uncomfortable, aren’t you? Maybe you should ride in the back. Sit sideways.” Much as he deserved to be uncomfortable, she wanted him to be receptive to what she had to tell him.
“I’m okay. It’s just that I seem to have some bruises on my, uh, backside, too. I must have taken a heck of a fall.”
With only the barest trace of guilt, Katie remembered the way she’d lugged him across the ground before dropping him onto the floor. “I’ll drive fast, get there as quickly as possible.” Even in the faint glow from the streetlight, she could see the disapproval on his face. “Just kidding.” She hadn’t been, but she supposed stable people drove the speed limit. “Just relax and lean back. Everything’s under control.” For the moment.
She started the car and headed down the deserted street toward Highway 75. This was her chance. Even if he regained his memory in the next five minutes, he was now trapped with her inside a moving car.
“We’re going to a custody hearing,” she began. “For my orphaned nephew, Nathan Anderson. It’s critical that I win and not my parents.”
“Whew. We just got married and already we’re going to have a son.” He laughed nervously. “I suppose we talked about this before we got married.”
She cast a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. Obviously, the role of father wasn’t comfortable for him. Thank goodness he wasn’t going to be Nathan’s father for real! “Oh, yes. You knew all about Nathan.”
“How old is our potential child?”
“He’s eight, and he’s a sweetie. Let me tell you the story from the beginning, so you’ll understand why this is so important.”
“Fire away. Maybe when I hear familiar stuff, my memory will start coming back.”
That might be, but she’d be willing to bet Travis Rider wasn’t familiar with anything she was about to tell him.
Katie wheeled around a corner, and Rider grunted. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll try to be more careful.” Though he couldn’t have been slung around too much the way he was wedged in. “Okay,” she began. “Twenty—eight years ago, I was born to Ralph and Nadine Logan in Hillsdale, Oklahoma. My impending birth was the reason they got married. I’m not quite sure how I happened. I know they don’t believe in birth control, but I’d have sworn they didn’t believe in sex, either. Anyway, they must have lost control a couple of times because I had a sister three years later. Katherine and Rebecca, they named us, though we go by Katie and Becky. At least, she went by Becky until she died three months ago.”
Katie bit her lip. It was still hard to talk about Becky without crying. Too bad she hadn’t inherited her parents’ stoic control.
No, she corrected herself, it wasn’t too bad. She’d rather cry her eyes out than be like them.
“How’d Becky die?” Rider asked softly.
“Defective space heater. She and her husband, Darryl, died in their sleep. Nathan was spending the night with one of his friends. But I’m getting ahead of my story.”
She checked the traffic, then accelerated up the entrance ramp onto Highway 75.
“Central Expressway’s always busy,” she grumbled. “If you’ve forgotten the traffic jams on this highway, you’re really in bad shape!”
He laughed. It was a nice laugh. Without his mem ory, Travis Rider seemed to be a decent fellow. “I guess I’m in bad shape, then. I don’t remember. So tell me the rest of your story.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m sure my parents loved us in their own way.” Actually, she wasn’t at all sure of that fact, but it might be true. “However, neither of them ever forgave the other or me for what happened. The humiliation of having to get married and then the arrival of a seven-month-old baby.”
“Your parents must be pretty old—fashioned. Even as little as I remember, that doesn’t matter to most people anymore.”
“My parents are old—fashioned, stern, rigid people, especially my father. And Mother goes along with anything he says. They were both determined that neither of their children would make the same mistake they made. We worked hard, studied hard, came straight home from school, had no friends, ate everything on our plates, didn’t talk at meals, or between meals for that matter, didn’t make any decisions, not even what to wear to school or how to wear our hair. We had no affection, only rules.”
She paused, wondering if she was saying the right words to make him understand the cold, lonely world she’d grown up in.
Rider laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she flashed him a quick smile.
“How did you ever get the courage to escape?” he asked.
“I wasn’t very old when I figured out that the way we lived wasn’t normal. I saw how other kids lived, and I wanted to be like that. At night, Becky and I would huddle under the covers and talk. I became pretty rebellious. As soon as I graduated from high school, I ran away from home. I promised Becky I’d make enough money to send for her.”
“And did you?”
“Yeah, kind of. I made my way to Dallas and worked as a waitress, two jobs at a time, and by the end of a year I had a tiny apartment, a car with four bald tires and no heater and a little money in the bank. But by then Becky was pregnant. How she ever managed to accomplish that while living in the same house with Mother and Father is beyond me! But she did, and she and Darryl ran away and got married and moved in with Darryl’s parents until he graduated from high school.”
“Nathan,” Rider guessed.
Katie smiled, her eyes on the yellow line of the highway, but her thoughts going back to the first time she’d seen the wrinkled red baby. “Yep. Nathan came into the world. They let Darryl and me both be there for his birth. Becky said she wouldn’t go through with it if they didn’t.” She blinked back the sudden mist that threatened her vision. “You never saw three prouder parents! All the time she was pregnant, Becky swore she’d see to it that her baby always felt loved. After he got there, it wasn’t even a matter of choice. Nobody can help but love a baby. Well, nobody but my parents.”
“Who love in their own way,” Rider reminded her.
“Yeah, well, sort of, I guess. Anyway, Becky was happy, and I decided I would be, too. I made up my mind to do everything I’d always thought about doing, to live life with no restraints and no one telling me I couldn’t do something. I got a job as a flight attendant and flew around the world for a couple of years.
That was fun. Then I spent a year in the Amazon rain forest with a study group. After that, I backpacked across Europe, went on a fossil dig in Africa, helped with a housing project for the poor in Mexico, learned to ski in Colorado and to surf in California, and anything else I took a notion to do. It was great. Whenever I got bored or started feeling hemmed in, I’d just go on to something else. And in between, I worked at odd jobs in Dallas and always managed to make time to spend with Nathan.”
“Sounds like you and Nathan are pretty tight.”
“Yeah. He kinda likes his Aunt Katie.”
“So what’s the custody deal about? Wouldn’t your sister have wanted you to have custody?”
“She and Darryl always said if anything happened to them, I should take Nathan.” Her hands gripped the steering wheel convulsively, hanging on. “But they were so young, they thought they were invulnerable. They never got around to putting it in writing. Darryl’s parents know, and they’re going to testify for me.”
“That should work, shouldn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. My parents are determined to get custody so they can correct the frivolous, permissive way Becky was raising their grandchild. They’re pillars of the community. My father’s a vice president at the bank and a deacon in the church. I wasn’t there when Becky and Darryl died, and my parents snatched Nathan up and filed a motion for temporary then permanent custody. Darryl’s parents heard about it in time and intervened to at least get visitation for me and for themselves.”
“Are they trying to get custody, too?”
“No, they’re testifying for me and they don’t want to muddy the waters. Anyway, they’re in their sixties, retired, and they’d never say they’re too old, but they did say they thought Nathan needed a younger parent. So my father managed to snare temporary custody, and then he refused to let me see Nathan.”
“How could he refuse if the court gave you the right?”
He really did have amnesia, she thought wryly. “Men like my father have no problem defying court orders. He didn’t bring Nathan to Becky and Darryl’s funeral, and every time I drove up there, he wouldn’t open the door. The permanent custody hearing was scheduled for sooner than 1 could have gotten a contempt motion on the docket. Tomorrow the judge decides the permanent custody. And my parents are saying my life—style shows I’m flaky, irresponsible and not stable enough to raise a child.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Rider said carefully, “but I have to admit, it doesn’t sound as if you could ever be a member of the PTA and coach the soccer team.”
Katie clenched her teeth. He might have amnesia, but he was still a jerk.
“I can do whatever it takes to make sure Nathan is happy. Since Becky and Darryl died at the same time and I was secondary beneficiary on both policies, I had enough money to buy a house.”
“So if they made you secondary beneficiary, doesn’t that prove they intended for you to take care of their son?”
“My lawyer says it shows intent, but it’s still not legal proof.” Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, squeezing the hard surface in frustration.
“They thought they were being so careful. They were worried that if they made Nathan the beneficiary, if anything happened while he was a minor, our parents might somehow get control of the money as courtappointed trustees or something.”
“If they were worried enough to take out insurance policies and think it through to that extent, why didn’t they make a will?”
“They didn’t take out the insurance policies. They both worked at the same plant, and the insurance came with the job. They thought it all out because it was right in front of them, a choice they had to make. Writing a will, finding a lawyer, getting an appointment—that’s different. That’s something you have to think about and plan, and they weren’t planning to die.” Flooring the accelerator, she swung around a car that was going entirely too slow.
Rider touched her forearm. “Easy, honey,” he said. “I don’t plan to die any time soon, either.”
“Sorry.” She raised her foot a good quarter inch, forcibly reminding herself that speed for fun was one thing, but speed to release anger wasn’t very smart. “Anyway, to continue with my respectability saga, I’d been friends with Jo—with Fred for years, and he helped me arrange to take a crash course in being a medical transcriptionist, then he helped me get a job at Springcreek General Hospital.”
“Where I’m a resident. Is that where we met?”
Katie swallowed hard and kept her eyes riveted on the road ahead. She’d become so engrossed in making Travis Rider understand and believe the truth, that telling a lie—even in a just cause and even after she’d told so many tonight—suddenly didn’t feel right.
“If not for this custody thing, I’d never have met you.” That was true enough.
“Katie…” He sounded oddly tentative. “Did we get married just for this hearing? Is this a marriage of convenience?”
“I’d never marry anyone for that kind of a reason.” In fact, she’d never actually marry anyone—give up control of her own life—for any kind of a reason. When the caseworker had admitted that being single would be a strike against her, she’d impulsively told the woman she was engaged, knowing she’d have to lie because it would never happen for real.
“I sure am glad to hear that.” Rider lifted his hand to her cheek, stroking gently with his knuckles, then letting his fingers trail lazily down her neck, over her shoulder and along her arm. To her surprise and chagrin, she didn’t flinch from his touch. Instead, she found herself enjoying it, wanting more, her breath coming a little faster as currents of electricity zigzagged through her body. The sensation was insane and wonderful. She could only compare it to the first time she’d caught the crest of a wave and surfed in to shore.
How was that possible? How could she enjoy the touch of a man who worked for her parents, a man who’d set out to ruin everything?
Travis Rider might give her the same sensations as surfing, but she suspected these feelings were a lot more dangerous.
“Where are we spending the night?” he asked.
“In the Sleepy Time Motel.” She was barely able to squeeze the words up through her throat. She’d made reservations for John—the real John—and herself. She had a sleeping bag in the trunk of the car, which John had gallantly offered to use. No problem. He was like a brother. They’d gone camping and shared the same tent before.
But this wasn’t the real John Dunn. This was a man who believed he was her husband. This was a man she feared and disliked. This was a man to whom, it seemed, she was as strongly drawn as she was to speeding around a sharp curve so fast she could feel two wheels lift off the ground.
Okay, Becky, she thought frantically, call off the angel. I got our message across. Give him back his memory. Fast. Sometime before we reach Hillsdale. And that motel.
Chapter Three (#ulink_c4b95bd1-ee17-5519-8318-645a6d80b974)
Even before he’d asked the question about their marriage, John had felt on an instinctive level that Katie hadn’t married him just to get custody of her nephew. She was a good person, an honorable person; he knew that from listening to her, being with her, even though right now he had nothing concrete in his memory on which to base that judgment.
Not to mention that she was a damned attractive woman. He was definitely looking forward to getting to that motel. His head still ached a little and his brain still refused to cough up his memories, but the rest of his body was in perfect working order.
“Want me to drive for a while?” he offered. “You can tell me where to turn.”
“We’re almost there. Thanks anyway. You ought to try to get some rest after your accident. Tomorrow’s a big day, and with this late start, tonight’s going to be a short night. Just lie back. Take a nap.”
She seemed a little nervous. Of course, having your husband of only two days fall off a ladder and forget all about you was probably enough to make anybody nervous.
“I’m not tired,” he assured her. “Tell me more about us, about me. This is really weird, being a stranger to myself. How old am I? Where’d I go to school? Was I born in Dallas?”
“Is anybody born in Dallas? You know, I hate to tell you everything because then when your memory starts coming back, how will you know what you’ve remembered and what I’ve told you? Why don’t we listen to some music?” She turned on the radio and tuned in an oldies station.
“Katie,” he said impatiently, “I need to know at least a little bit about myself to be able to function. What if I still don’t remember everything by tomorrow? How am I going to be able to deal with your family if I don’t know who I am?”
“You won’t be able to deal with my family no matter what. Anyway, all the medical journals recommend that you tell an amnesia patient as little as possible. You should know that. You’re a doctor.”
“Well, I don’t know that. I don’t know anything, and I don’t like the feeling.” He sighed in resignation. “All right. But I’d just as soon we kept this problem to ourselves. I don’t want the whole world to know I can’t even remember my name.”
“Good idea.” She sounded relieved.
He leaned back to the extent the miniature car would allow and let the music flow over him as he studied her profile and drank in the closeness of her presence. Outside, the dark world flew past them—she might be going a little over the speed limit—as they drove into the night, the only two people in the world so far as he could tell.
He was a doctor with a beautiful, exciting wife. He felt a little shaky about the kid they were going to ac quire, but he must have known about Nathan before he married Katie. He must have thought it was a workable deal. It would be again as soon as he re membered everything.
Yeah, it appeared he had a life worth remembering, his aversion to hospitals notwithstanding. Surely when he got his memory back, he’d be okay with that part, too—even if the idea still sent shudders through him right now.
As they drove on through the darkness, the little car seemed to become smaller, squeezing John’s frame more and more tightly. If they had to take any more trips, it would have to be in his car.
Finally, Katie exited the highway. “Here we are,” she said, sounding bright and perky, though he knew she must be exhausted. “The big city of Hillsdale, population ten thousand or thereabouts. How are you feeling? Any change?” Her voice became tentative.
“I feel all right. Headache’s practically gone.” Or maybe it was just obscured by the pains in the rest of his cramped body. “Is that our motel up ahead?”
“That’s it. The Sleepy Time Motel.” Her voice squeaked slightly. She pulled into the parking lot and stopped. “Well, here we are.” She drew one finger slowly around the steering wheel, her attention focused on the movement. “I already said that, didn’t I?”
He caught her hand in his. “Relax, babe. Everything’s going to work out just fine tomorrow.”
She looked at him then, her eyes desperately searching his face. He tucked one finger under her chin and smiled at her. “I may not have any control over the judge, but I can promise I’ll be the ideal picture of a husband. By morning, I’ll be myself again anyway.” Oddly, that didn’t seem to comfort her. “But if I’m not, I’ll fake it,” he reassured her. “We’ll be perfect parents. You don’t have a thing to worry about. Okay?”
She nodded, though the worried expression on her face didn’t change.
John opened his door, expecting his restricted body to burst into the sudden freedom, but his limbs had stiffened in place. As he carefully stretched out his legs, the release felt excruciatingly wonderful. “I’ll go check us in,” he said, reveling in the open expanse of balmy night air around him as he crawled from the enclosure.
“No!”
Her urgent tone pulled his attention back to her. She gazed at him from wide, uncertain eyes, and she hadn’t moved from her position behind the steering wheel.
“I’ll go,” she said. “You stay here and rest.”
“Katie, I don’t need to rest, and if I did, this car would be the last place in the world I could do it. If you’re worried about me, come on. We’ll both go in.”
As she preceded him to the office, he placed a hand at her waist, an affectionate, proprietary gesture. Nice. Walking through the warm summer night behind his wife with his hand on her waist. But she could have . been a stranger until three hours ago for all the familiarity the act stirred.
Katie pushed the buzzer to summon the night clerk, and John reached into his back pocket for his wallet.
His pocket was empty.
He tried the other one, then both front pockets.
“What’s the matter?” Katie asked.
“I can’t find my wallet.” He checked his jacket.
“What do you need with your wallet?”
“To pay for the room, just for starters,” he said irritably. “Surely I have a wallet with credit cards and driver’s license. It’s a good thing I didn’t drive on the way up here. Do you have any idea what could have happened to it?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
He looked at her expectantly, but she didn’t continue. She had that cornered—rabbit look again, just like before she got out of the car. What the devil was going on? “And do you want to share that information with me?” he encouraged.
“Your wallet…is gone.”
“I noticed.” What could have happened to make her so reluctant to tell him? Had she hidden his wallet for some reason? Maybe to keep him from driving up here with his injury?
“Someone took it out of your pocket.”
“A pickpocket lifted my wallet?” For some rea son, he found that hard to believe. But he supposed everyone assumed they were too clever, too alert, to fall victim to a crime like that.
“I can see you’ve forgotten the incident.”
“I’ve forgotten everything,” he said wryly. “Remember?”
A small white—haired man wearing a plaid robe and still rubbing sleep from his eyes entered from the back room and unlocked the door to admit them into the office. “You folks need a room?”
“Yes. I have reservations for Mr. and Mrs. John Dunn.”
“Oh, yeah. I’d about give you folks up.”
“We had a long trip getting here.” Katie handed the man a credit card.
“This here says ‘Katherine Logan,’“ the man protested, eyeing the card as well as the two of them suspiciously.
Katie moved closer to John and took his arm. He covered her hand with his and smiled down at her. “We just got married,” she explained, flashing the ring on her left hand, then releasing him to reach inside her purse. “Here’s a copy of the marriage license.” She handed him a folded piece of paper.
She carried a copy of their license with her? That was odd.
To John’s surprise, instead of returning it at once, the man unfolded the paper, fitted glasses onto his nose and examined it. John couldn’t remember much about his own life, but he was pretty sure society no longer cared if a man and woman spending the night together in a motel were married or not. Except this was a small town. Maybe things were different here.
“Newlyweds, huh?” He handed Katie the paper and John a key. “One thirty—three. Around back. Don’t be burning no holes in my sheets.” He grinned and winked.
Katie cringed and blushed.
Resenting the old man’s sleazy attitude, John wrapped a protective arm around Katie’s slim, rigid shoulders. How dare the man embarrass someone as obviously innocent as his Katie?
“Come on, honey,” he said gently. Maybe he couldn’t recall what he ate for breakfast this morning, but he could still take care of his wife.
Katie walked woodenly through the door of room 133 of the Sleepy Time Motel. The place could have been carpeted in rainbow colors with neon signs on the walls for all she knew. Her field of vision encompassed nothing except that double bed. That tiny rectangle.
Her logic in requesting the one double had been that a newly married couple sleeping in two beds might have aroused suspicion, but why hadn’t she asked for king—size?
Rider walked around her and dropped their luggage to the floor. She could see that he’d take up at least two—thirds of the bed. There’d be nowhere to get away from him.
He turned and smiled at her, then walked around to close the door behind her. She stood motionless, paralyzed. Not that there would be anywhere to go if she decided to move.
She jumped at the feel of warm fingers on her shoulders. “You’re really tense,” Rider said. “Come sit down and let me rub your neck.”
He strode across the room and pulled down the covers.
“Come on.” He patted the white sheet. “You did all the driving. Now it’s your turn to relax. After all, you’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”
The air—conditioning unit whirred beside her, but the refrigerated breeze didn’t make a dent in the heat that started somewhere inside and worked its way to her skin. “Uh, John…” Maybe she ought to tell him the truth. She’d had her opportunity to plead her side of the case. Her original idea had been a good one. She still believed that. She just hadn’t planned beyond the pleading part of things. And now they were beyond it. Way beyond.
He took her hand and drew her to the bed, then gently pushed her down. She popped up again.
“We need to…” She didn’t have a clue what they needed to do. If she’d known before, the act of standing so close to Travis Rider in the tiny motel room, next to the tiny bed, had driven the thought right out of her mind.
“We need to what?”
She sank back onto the bed. At least that way she wasn’t so close to him.
He knelt in front of her and began to untie the laces of one canvas shoe.
“Talk!” she exclaimed. “We need to talk.”
“Okay. Talk.” He removed her shoes and lifted her legs onto the bed.
She watched like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake as he tossed his leather jacket onto a chair, then took off his own shoes and socks and slid in behind her, leaning against the headboard and wrapping his long legs around her.
Talk. They needed to talk.
Expertly he began to massage her neck, his strong fingers picking out spots she hadn’t even realized were tense. The corners of the room softened and rounded as did the sharp edges and corners of her mind. She was tired, so tired, and not just from the drive. The past three months had been frenzied, hectic, nerveracking.
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