My Favorite Husband

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“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.