My Favorite Husband

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)