Husbands, Husbands...Everywhere!. Sharon SwanЧитать онлайн книгу.
of her own, and that’s what they call their grandfather. Pops.”
“Great. Just what I need,” Ryan mumbled under his breath. “Thirty-four years old and taken for somebody’s granddaddy.”
“I’m sorry. She’s just started talking enough to make out real words,” the redhead said, “and sometimes the strangest things come out.” Rather than look at him while offering that apology, she kept her gaze on the baby.
Her baby? He had to wonder. He might have easily assumed that was the case, except their coloring was so different.
And what about a husband? She wore no ring on the relevant finger; he’d already checked that out while she was checking him in.
Whatever the case, it was hardly his place to ask, and no further information was offered on either question. Instead, with the baby’s attention on the task of tearing a dinner roll apart, the conversation took a different turn altogether.
He’d taken a seat and a large china plate filled to the brim was set in front of him, when Ethel inquired politely, “What part of the country do you come from, Ryan? That is, if you don’t mind my asking.”
He didn’t mind. This was part of the small talk he’d anticipated, and that he could handle. Stick to the basics, Larabee, he told himself, and you’ll be okay.
“Wyoming, originally,” he replied, grateful to be sure on that score. Studying a copy of his personnel file while he was still laid up in the hospital had provided some essential information. “More recently, I’ve been living in southern Arizona.”
Ethel’s mouth curved up at the tips. “Why am I getting the feeling that you’re a cowboy?”
A cowboy? On the outside, maybe. The clothes in his closet said he favored the trappings. But in practice? He knew the answer to that one.
Ryan shook his head. “Actually, I’m a pilot.” He hesitated before deciding it wouldn’t hurt to add, “For the past few years, I’ve flown a helicopter for the Border Patrol.”
Abby blinked at that news. She set her fork down carefully and reached for her water glass, hoping she didn’t look as interested as she couldn’t help being.
He’d flown freelance for a living during the time she’d known him. That he’d gone to work for a government agency surprised her a little. He hadn’t been fond of structure of any type. But it didn’t surprise her, not a whit, that he’d continued to fly.
If he had quit, she would have been stunned.
“Land sakes,” Ethel replied, eyes widening. “The Border Patrol. That must be exciting.”
“I suppose you could say so,” Ryan said.
And that was all he said, although Abby waited, ears alert, for more. This was something new, she couldn’t deny. He’d never been reluctant to talk about his work. In fact, it had been much the opposite.
She was still mulling that over when he shifted in his seat and directed a comment squarely at her. “You said this was your godmother’s place.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She left it at that, deciding he wasn’t the only one who could be tightfisted when it came to handing out information. After all, she didn’t owe him any explanations. She didn’t, in fact, owe him anything.
“Are you helping her run things around here?” he went on in the next breath.
“At the moment.”
“Because she’s away,” he added, a reference to her earlier disclosure when he’d first appeared on the doorstep. “Will she be gone long?”
“No.”
“Vacation?” A probing glint lit in his gaze with that last question. Plainly her brief replies had roused his curiosity.
“Something like that,” she said mildly.
And now Ethel’s bright voice broke in. “Goodness gracious, dear, it’s no secret that she’s on her honeymoon.”
Ryan’s brows climbed. “Your godmother just got married?”
Abby nodded. “For a second time.”
Ethel chuckled. “And for her second trip to the altar, she picked an old cowboy.”
“Pap!” Cara suddenly exclaimed, again fixing the man across the table from her with a firm stare.
This time a wince crossed his face. Abby caught it and almost laughed out loud, despite everything.
“The darling reminds me of my first and so far only little great-granddaughter,” Ethel said. “Gets something in her head and just won’t give it up.”
“Terrific,” Ryan muttered, and went back to his dinner.
ABBY FOUND HERSELF tossing and turning in the middle of the night, which hardly amazed her. The day had, without a doubt, provided her nerves with a challenge, although at least dinner had gone easily enough once Ethel began to do most of the talking, treating her companions to a short history lesson on Harmony’s early beginnings when, as Ethel had put it, “a group of settlers from back East got as far as this valley in their horse-drawn wagons, took a long look around them and were smart enough to dig in their heels.”
Meanwhile their guest had concentrated on his meal, doing justice to it before leaving them to head back to his room—a room Abby couldn’t help but be grateful was nowhere near hers. Thank goodness for big houses.
Abby released a lengthy breath and listened to an owl hoot somewhere in the distance as she turned on her side. In contrast, not a whisper of sound came through the connecting door to the smaller room next to hers. Cara at least, snug in her crib, was getting a good night’s rest. Which hadn’t always been the case. Their first months together had left them both heavy-eyed in the mornings more often than not, but that seemed to be behind them. One more thing to be grateful for, Abby reflected.
Actually her blessings were many. If they didn’t include getting a single wink of sleep tonight, she would still count herself fortunate.
Was he getting any sleep?
The question slipped into her mind as she closed her eyes and settled deeper into the pillow. The answer shouldn’t matter to her one way or the other. And it didn’t, she assured herself. But she couldn’t help wondering.
As far as the accommodations went, she knew that any guest at Aunt Abigail’s should find a peaceful night’s rest easy to achieve. The rooms, although not especially large by conventional hotel standards, had nevertheless been furnished with care. Dotted-swiss curtains, bright ceramic lamps and chintz-covered lounging chairs provided a homey touch. Plus, to make things even more comfy, most of the rooms on the guest half of the second floor featured the coziest of feather—
Abby’s eyes popped open to stare up into the darkness as another memory surfaced, one she’d totally forgotten. Until now.
Ryan Larabee was allergic to certain types of feathers, particularly those often used in bedding material. And the room she’d given him had all of the comforts many visitors found so much to their liking…including a plump feather bed.
In the normal course of events, he would have immediately said something about it. Instead he’d said not one word—because he didn’t remember that allergy any more than he remembered her. It was the only conclusion she could come to, and now knowing full well what he apparently didn’t, she supposed she had to do something.
Of course, you have to, her conscience said, in no uncertain terms.
Abby swallowed a sigh, tossed back the covers and got to her feet, sending the long skirt of her emerald silk nightgown plunging to her ankles. She pulled on a matching robe, belted it tightly around her waist, and shoved her toes into ivory satin slippers. Making a midnight visit to a certain man’s room was the last thing—the very last thing—she wanted to do.
Having