Not that it was strictly routine for a visitor to be enjoying his breakfast in the kitchen, Abby reflected. Ordinarily guests were welcome to serve themselves in the dining room, where Ethel kept a lengthy oak sideboard well stocked with a variety of hot and cold dishes along with a generous supply of Aunt Abigail’s special sugar-and-spice cookies.
Then again, Ryan Larabee was no ordinary guest. Abby knew that full well—and so did he, she imagined, judging by the thoughtful cast of the looks he ventured her way between bites of food and sips of coffee, as if he were wondering just what kind of wife she’d made. Or maybe, getting down to sheer basics, how she’d been as a bed partner.
Goodness knows, she had no trouble remembering how he’d been in that area. In fact, seeing him again had brought back several details she could have done without recalling. Oh, yes.
“Ma!” Cara suddenly prodded, as though reminding the woman who held her to get back to the business at hand.
Abby’s heart warmed at the sound of a word she was still far from used to hearing. “Well, you got that one right, little dickens,” she said, summoning a smile as she slid another spoonful into an eagerly waiting mouth. “I am your mama now, and I’m sorry I slacked off on the job.”
“I think her appetite is better than mine.” Ryan lifted a brow as he leaned back in his chair, coffee cup in hand, and studied the baby.
“Pap!” was Cara’s response just as the kitchen phone rang.
“Aunt Abigail’s,” Ethel answered with brimming good cheer. “All right,” she went on after a brief pause. “See you then.” She hung up and looked at Abby. “The newlyweds made it back to Phoenix late last night, right on schedule. They’ll be checking out of the airport hotel after breakfast and should be here in a few hours. I can’t wait to hear about their cruise.”
“Mmm. Me, too,” Abby said, even though she wouldn’t have minded waiting for something else she knew was on today’s agenda. Too bad she didn’t have that option, not when it came to breaking some news about the reappearance of a particular man.
Ethel had no idea who Ryan Larabee was, not really. Neither would the happy groom. But the bride was another matter. The mere mention of his name would have her godmother’s ears perking up in recognition. And no more than a glimpse of him would have memories of the times they’d met flooding back. Of that Abby was positive.
Women didn’t forget a man like Ryan. Even women who were old enough to be his mother. Or grandmother.
So when the newlyweds returned, she had to be ready not only to tell them that her one-time spouse had unexpectedly arrived in Harmony, but also to explain why his own past was currently a mystery to him. And then she’d probably have to explain to Ethel, who’d have to be told as well, under the circumstances, why she hadn’t said something before.
Abby sighed. That was a lot of explaining.
What she didn’t plan on so much as mentioning, though, was the fact that the sight of this particular male still had the power to flutter her pulse, and more than a bit. She had no intention of letting anyone in on that little secret.
Especially him.
RYAN EYED the woman with salt-and-pepper hair cut stylishly short standing in the bedroom doorway. The stranger dressed in a copper-colored pantsuit and built along slender lines had summoned him with a brisk knock seconds earlier. He couldn’t help but be glad that he’d already shaved, showered and pulled on a clean shirt and jeans, because it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was being sized up by a pair of amber eyes that seemed to miss nothing.
“Good morning,” he said, when she offered no greeting of her own. He held the gaze he’d had to dip his chin a sharp notch to meet, given that she was nowhere near his height. The top of her head would scarcely reach halfway up his chest. And she was probably half his weight, as well. Nevertheless, formidable was the first word that came to mind to describe her.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked abruptly, her voice soft, the question blunt.
“No,” he said.
Her gaze didn’t falter. “May I come in?”
He stepped back from the doorway. “Why not?”
“I suppose I should introduce myself,” she told him as he shut the door behind her. “I’m Abigail Stockton, though I prefer to be called Gail.” She held out a small hand. “I’m also your ex-wife’s godmother.”
He studied her for a moment. “It seems you’ve got my number,” he said, keeping his tone mild as they shook hands.
“We met a long time ago,” she informed him. “I wasn’t a Stockton back then. I just recently became one.”
“So I heard. How was the honeymoon?”
She arched a well-shaped brow. “Too short. But that’s not what I came to talk about.”
“Somehow I didn’t think it was,” he murmured dryly.
“Hmm. Why don’t we sit down?”
He agreed with a nod and seated himself on the teak double bed while she sank into a leather chair set under a window flanked by ivory drapes. He’d already noted that the room where he’d spent the last half of the night bore little resemblance to the other parts of the house he’d seen so far. Heartily Homey, as he’d come to think of the cozy style, didn’t rule here. He had to wonder if that was the case with all of the bedrooms on the family side of the house, including the one occupied by the woman who had once shared his name. Briefly.
“As I said,” his visitor continued, “we met years ago, not long after my goddaughter began dating you.”
“But before we got married,” he tacked on.
“Yes.” She sat back and gracefully crossed one leg over the other. “Actually, I was the one who advised her to listen to her heart, rather than to her parents’ doubts about the wisdom of getting seriously involved with you.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “I take it they weren’t thrilled with me.”
“Not much,” his visitor acknowledged. “Abby’s parents already had two sons well on the way to being teenagers when she was born. I think she came as something of a surprise to them, and perhaps not an entirely welcome one at the time. By then, the country-club sort of lifestyle they had worked hard to achieve was on the horizon. Howard Prentice had become a senior executive. Lillian, one of my longtime and very good friends, was busy making a place for herself and her family in Tucson society. A new baby didn’t precisely fit into their plans. Nevertheless, they loved their daughter and wanted the best for her, which certainly applied to a husband.”
She pursed her lips. “I have to confess it seems strange to be telling you all this. You were probably well aware of how they felt back then.”
“Trust me, if I was, I don’t recall it. Or anything else,” he added grimly.
Her gaze darkened. “Abby told us about the accident,” she said, her tone gentler.
“Us?”
“My husband. And Ethel. We don’t plan on spreading it around, if you’re worried about that.”
He blew out a breath. “It’s not much of a secret, anyway.” He had no desire to dwell on the subject, though, so he said, “Exactly where did we meet?”
“At a large party Abby’s parents hosted one evening in their backyard. They were celebrating the fact that they