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Husbands, Husbands...Everywhere!
Husbands, Husbands...Everywhere!
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Husbands, Husbands...Everywhere!
Sharon Swan

The Husband Next Door!The first time Abby Prentice saw Ryan Larabee…she fell head over heels into a broken heart. Now he was back on her doorstep with no memory of their marriage–or their divorce.As manager of Harmony's bed-and-breakfast, Abby had her hands full. Add a handsome fiance in Phoenix and a toddler downstairs, and the last thing she needed was her sexy ex sleeping in the room next door! The flyboy's wicked grin and kiss-stealing ways tempted her to drop everything for a second chance at love. But with his memory and forgotten feelings bound to return at any moment, did Abby dare risk falling for her husband one more time?

“Why didn’t we stay together?”

She should have expected it. In a way, it was surprising that he hadn’t asked before. “I don’t see any need to go into it,” she said, folding her arms. She saw no need to open old wounds—mostly hers.

His jaw set in a stubborn line. “It was because of my job, wasn’t it?”

Abby drew in a breath, and let it out slowly. “Whatever happened back then, those days are over, Ryan.”

“And what about the nights?” With that quiet question he stepped forward to close the gap between them. “Did I leave you alone then, too?”

He’d moved too close to let her feign indifference. Close enough to have certain memories flaring to life. Much too close for her comfort. She saw the challenge in his eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that if I kissed you right this minute, you wouldn’t feel anything?”

“You’re not kissing me,” she informed him in no uncertain terms.

And then he was.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Harlequin American Romance, where you’re guaranteed heartwarming, emotional and deeply romantic stories set in the backyards, big cities and wide-open spaces of America. Kick starting the month is Cathy Gillen Thacker’s Her Bachelor Challenge, which launches her brand-new family-connected miniseries THE DEVERAUX LEGACY. In this wonderful story, a night of passion between old acquaintances has a sought-after playboy businessman questioning his bachelor status.

Next, Mollie Molay premieres her new GROOMS IN UNIFORM miniseries. In The Duchess & Her Bodyguard, protecting a royal beauty was easy for a by-the-book bodyguard, but falling in love wasn’t part of the plan! Don’t miss Husbands, Husbands…Everywhere! by Sharon Swan, in which a lovely B & B owner’s ex-husband shows up on her doorstep with amnesia, giving her the chance to rediscover the man he’d once been. This poignant reunion romance story is the latest installment in the WELCOME TO HARMONY miniseries. Laura Marie Altom makes her Harlequin American Romance debut with Blind Luck Bride, which pairs a jilted groom with a pregnant heroine in a marriage meant to satisfy the terms of a bet.

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

Husbands, Husbands…Everywhere!

Sharon Swan

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

For all my great friends in Illinois

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Born and raised in Chicago, Sharon Swan once dreamed of dancing for a living. Instead, she surrendered to life’s more practical aspects, settled for an office job, concentrated on typing and being a Chicago Bears fan. Sharon never seriously considered writing a career until she moved to the Phoenix area and met Pierce Brosnan at a local shopping mall. It was a chance meeting that changed her life, because she found herself thinking, what if? What if two fictional characters had met the same way? That formed the basis for her next novel, and she’s now cheerfully addicted to writing contemporary romance and playing what if?

Books by Sharon Swan

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

912—COWBOYS AND CRADLES

928—HOME-GROWN HUSBAND* (#litres_trial_promo)

939—HUSBAND, HUSBANDS…EVERYWHERE!* (#litres_trial_promo)

Contents

Chapter One (#u65f15602-7a0e-5c10-a146-869d610ceb66)

Chapter Two (#u17113543-f364-5c12-8374-8a476f4f1e47)

Chapter Three (#u4358dcb2-cfd2-536b-99b2-46a7ea62be5b)

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)

Chapter One

A man who once had sworn he would never forget her looked her straight in the eye with a blank expression, as if he’d never seen her before in his life.

Abby couldn’t help but stare herself, thinking that unless Ryan Larabee had an identical twin with the same brilliantly blue gaze, it had to be him. And since she recalled quite well that his only sibling was an older sister, it was definitely Ryan.

She knew that. She was just having trouble convincing her vocal cords to say something to him, which was understandable. After all, it wasn’t every day that a woman met a dangerously attractive male from her past, one she’d never expected to see again, even if she hadn’t managed to block out all thoughts of him. To find that very male calmly standing on the doorstep, looking at her as though she were a complete stranger, was a startling experience, enough to leave anyone’s throat frozen.

And Abby could only produce one hard swallow.

It was the tall and lanky man facing her who finally broke the silence. “Are you, ah, by any chance Aunt Abigail?” he asked in a deep voice tinged with a Western drawl that she remembered all too well. His halting tone seemed to indicate he’d been anticipating someone older.

“No, I’m not,” she got out at last after another swallow.

He reached up and thumbed his black Stetson back from his forehead, revealing short, thick strands of dark brown hair. “I called earlier about a room. Someone said there were plenty available.”

She cleared her still-tight throat. “That would have been one of my godmother’s friends who helps out here. My godmother, who’s out of town at the moment, owns this house and runs Aunt Abigail’s Bed and Breakfast. As it happens,” she added very deliberately, “I was named after her.”

“I see,” was his reply.

She didn’t doubt he would have more to say shortly, when total recall hit, which was bound to occur after she told him what she was about to tell him. Her appearance had changed over the years, she had to concede. Certainly she was no longer a starry-eyed twenty-three. But despite the fact that she now wore her hair in a neat chin-length style rather than down past her shoulders, and favored tailored blouses and slacks over more casual tops and jeans, this had to jar his memory in a big way.

Bracing herself, she said, “I’m Abby Prentice.”

All he did was continue to gaze down at her blandly. “I’m Ryan Larabee. If there does happen to be a room available, do you suppose I could come in?”

For a stark second she still couldn’t move, and then she stepped back carefully, opening the front door wide. He entered, holding the sturdy handle of a large black suitcase in one long-fingered hand. The lightly scuffed leather matched his stack-heeled boots, while the rest of him was clad in faded denim.

Still trying to get her bearings, Abby closed the rust-colored door behind him. She would have liked to lean against it, at least long enough to shut her eyes for an instant and draw in a steadying breath. Instead, she squared her shoulders, knowing full well that she had to deal with her visitor—good Lord, he was about to become a guest!—and her nerves would have to wait. Ready or not, it was time to assume her hostess duties, and she could only hope this particular visit would be short.

“Welcome to Harmony, Arizona,” she said, calling up the most politely offhand tone she could muster.

“Thanks.” He left it at that before he followed her toward a makeshift front desk to one side of the center oak staircase. No trivial conversation, she couldn’t help but note. No easy chuckles, either. Not the barest hint of the breezy charm that had seemed almost second nature to the man she’d known.

Abby groped to take in those facts and found herself frowning as the smarts she usually put to good use finally kicked in. Although she remained more than a little at sea after the shock she’d just been treated to, it was becoming increasingly clear, at least to her way of reasoning, that no one could appear so entirely indifferent to another person they had shared so much with.

It wasn’t normal. And neither, she was more than beginning to suspect, was this situation.

Abby’s frown deepened with each step forward. The man who had just arrived, the same one currently following hard on her heels, wasn’t putting on an act and pretending not to recognize her. She was all but positive of that now, mainly because there wasn’t the slightest reason to believe otherwise. In any case, it would have taken a world-class actor to pull it off. And since there was also no way she could have slipped his mind, surely not after their joint and hardly casual history, she was left to come to one conclusion.

Ryan Larabee honestly and truly didn’t have a clue as to who she was. As far as he was concerned, she was a stranger. Which could only mean that something was wrong, Abby told herself as she made her way around the small butterscotch-colored desk standing on thin, gracefully curved legs.

Yes, something had to be very wrong.

RYAN GLANCED AROUND HIM as his hostess completed the necessary paperwork to check him in, wondering if he’d ever been in a place like this before. A gingerbread house—that had been his first impression as he’d stood on a narrow sidewalk backed by a tree-lined street and viewed the large, frame home painted a bright cinnamon with rusty-red trim around gleaming windows. Strange, he knew what a gingerbread house was, could even picture a layer of white frosting decorating a pitched roof, but whether he had ever taken a bite out of one was a total mystery.

He could only damn well hope that situation would change, and soon.

“Your room is at the top of the stairs to the right, first door on the left.”

Ryan nodded in response to the soft yet briskly issued statement. He had to admit he’d expected at least a slightly warmer and less strictly business-like welcome than he’d gotten so far at Aunt Abigail’s. He’d been told that Harmony, set in a valley rimmed by low, pine-dotted mountains northeast of Phoenix and offering plenty of crisp sunshine, wasn’t just a great spot to visit location-wise, it was also a place that prided itself on its friendliness.

Friendly? For a minute there, waiting on the threshold, he’d discovered himself questioning whether the woman answering the merry doorbell would let him in at all.

Not that it had been a hardship to watch her do a decent job of staring him down with a smoky-green gaze. She was easy on the eyes, no doubt about it. If a man were partial to redheads of the tall and willowy variety, not precisely beautiful yet with skin that looked as smooth as cream, she’d fit the bill.

Something told him he was that kind of man, and it wasn’t his brain talking. No, it was his body that was letting him know in no uncertain terms exactly what sort of woman attracted him.

“A buffet breakfast is available between seven and nine-thirty, and the front door is locked for the night at ten o’clock. If you plan to be out later than that—”

“Why, of course, he plans to be out later, at least on occasion,” another soft voice, this one bubbling with good cheer, offered just then. The well-rounded woman it belonged to, one currently bustling her way down the hall from the rear of the house, might have had Everyone’s Favorite Grandmother stitched across the ruffled top of her pearly white apron. Silvery hair caught up in a high bun and sparkling gray eyes only enhanced the image.

“If this is Mr. Larabee,” she added, “which I assume it is, he’ll be here for a while. Too long for a young man to go to bed with the birds every night, I’m sure.”

His hostess hesitated a second before countering that statement with her own, one issued in a tone more blunt than cheerful. “You only wrote tonight’s date down in the register.”

“With a little dash after it, dear.” Standing at one side of the desk, the older woman pointed with a short and what seemed to be flour-dusted finger. “That means this particular guest wasn’t certain about the length of his visit.”

“Hmm.”

She wasn’t overjoyed at that news, Ryan noted. But if the redhead’s companion noticed it as well, she ignored the evidence and fixed him with a sunny smile. “I’m Ethel Freeman, and I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay here, Mr. Larabee.”

“I answer to Ryan,” he said, dredging up a smile of his own. He doubted it was half as effective as hers, but he hadn’t had much practice smiling lately.

“Yes, of course,” she continued, barely missing a beat. “Please call me Ethel. I’m sure Abby will want to be on a first-name basis, too. It’s always so much more comfortable.”

Comfortable was the last thing the woman with the deep russet hair appeared to be at the moment, but Ryan decided to do some ignoring himself. Could be that something about him bothered her, or maybe it was just men in general. Either way, hanging around right now probably wouldn’t win him any points.

He took a quick step back from the desk, grateful that his muscles readily responded even though a tight group stretching down one of his thighs was starting to give him hell. “I’ll take up my bag,” he said, “and get settled in. Can you recommend a place for dinner tonight?”

Abby, as he guessed he should call her, opened her mouth, only to snap it shut again when Ethel wasted no time in saying, “Since it’s your first night here and you’re the only guest, weekdays in spring usually being a slower time, why don’t you have dinner with us? I’m making one of my favorites—chicken and dumplings.”

He had no idea if he shared a fondness for that dish, but it sounded good. And, although he was well aware that Abby hadn’t hurried to second the invitation, not by any means, he was tired enough to give in without hesitation. “Sounds terrific. What time do we eat?”

“Six o’clock,” Ethel promptly informed him. “The dining room is off the hall toward the back of the house, on the left.”

“I’ll be there.” And with that he picked up his luggage and started toward the stairs, doing his damnedest not to limp, not while an audience was around. A man had his pride, after all, and he didn’t care what the doctors said about mustering some patience for the healing process.

At least certain other parts of him appeared to be in full working order. Ryan smiled again, this time to himself. He’d been worried on that score, he had to admit. But not any longer. All it had taken was the sight of one particular long-legged, green-eyed, smooth-skinned female to have him dead sure that he was in top-notch shape in one very important area. No matter what, he was still a red-blooded male.

From a short distance below him, the woman in his thoughts watched him climb the steps. She didn’t miss the way he seemed to favor one leg over the other, but probably only because her currently heightened senses were so attuned to his every move. Whatever the case, there was no denying the strength of the arm carrying the hefty suitcase with ease. She might well have had to use both her arms and all her resources to accomplish the same feat.

But then, he had always been strong. Although the faded blue sleeves of his waist-high jacket hid them from view at the moment, she had no trouble recalling the sight of solidly muscled, hair-darkened forearms. Lean and powerful.

“He seems to be the quiet sort,” Ethel remarked, still at Abby’s side.

Not hardly, was the first thought to surface. Then again, Abby told herself, maybe that was true now. Maybe partying well into the night no longer occupied a prominent place on his list of favorite things to do. Maybe.

One thing was for sure, as much as he’d once enjoyed a good party, how he earned his living had always been so high on his personal list that it regularly trounced everything else competing for his time and attention. It was difficult—almost impossible—to believe that would ever change, no matter what had happened to him since they’d parted ways.

As for the immediate future, Abby knew there was little she could do about the fact that they would be seeing each other frequently. She’d committed to remaining here until the end of May, which was still weeks away, and commitments were important enough to her to have her vowing to see this one through, regardless of how long a certain guest chose to stay.

“Such a nice name,” Ethel said. “Ryan Larabee.”

“I suppose so.” Abby’s tone was staunchly neutral.

Ethel sighed softly. “Has a romantic ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Hmm.” She’d once thought exactly that, Abby silently admitted. But that was before she’d firmly set romance aside, leaving it to those who were still starry-eyed. She valued other things in a relationship now, like mutual interests and comfortable companionship. Both of which she felt she’d found with—

Another sigh broke into that reflection, this one long and heartfelt. “Oh, if only I were forty years younger and fifty pounds lighter.”

Abby had to grin. “Oh, if only I could cook like you. I wouldn’t even mind gaining some weight in the effort.”

Ethel beamed. “Thank you, dear. Even though they’re mostly grown, my grandchildren still seem to favor my baking when I visit them in California. And speaking of children, what time is the little darling due up from her nap?”

Abby glanced at her thin gold wristwatch, a gift from her parents on her last birthday. It was elegant enough to win notice, yet in the best of conservative taste—much like the couple who had produced her. “The little dickens,” she said, “should be up soon enough that I’d better check on her. Yesterday afternoon, she was standing at the side of the crib, holding on to the railing for all she was worth and getting ready to let everyone within yelling distance know she was awake.”