My Favorite Husband

“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?”