Husbands, Husbands...Everywhere!. Sharon SwanЧитать онлайн книгу.
from one side of the house to the other, opened the door that divided the family area from the guest quarters, and had scarcely reached the first room past the center staircase when a muffled sneeze shattered the silence.
Now she absolutely had to go through with it.
She drew in a breath and knocked softly on a creamy-white door, telling herself that she was prepared for whatever greeted her. Seconds later she stood facing a bare-chested male wearing nothing more than hip-hugging denim, and for the second time in less than twenty-four hours she could only stare. No matter what her brain had to say on the subject, her eyes were determined to look their fill. And they did.
It took another sneeze to jolt her back to the matter at hand and have her gaze quickly rising to meet red-rimmed eyes that were still amazingly blue.
“Sorry if my hacking woke you,” he said in a voice not only low but hoarse as he raised a hand and brushed back strands of dark hair hanging down his forehead. “I must have caught a cold or something.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that,” she told him. “We have to change your room. You’re having an allergic reaction.”
A puzzled frown formed as she watched. “I’m allergic to the room?”
“To the feather bed, actually.” She cleared her throat delicately. “I mean, that might well be the case,” she added as reasonably as she could manage. “Some people do have an allergy to certain types of feathers.”
It was his turn to stare for a silent moment before his frown deepened. “You didn’t say I might be allergic a second ago. You said I was.” His eyes narrowed. “How the devil would you know that?”
His tone was terse enough to have her chin lifting. Not only had she been trying to help him, she’d also been attempting to do it as tactfully as possible, for all the good it had done her. Well, so much for that effort, she decided, squaring her shoulders. She was through tiptoeing around something they probably should have gotten straight hours earlier.
“I know,” she said very deliberately, “because I remembered just minutes ago your mentioning the allergy in question when we encountered a couple of down-filled pillows during our honeymoon.”
His jaw dropped like a stone before he snapped it shut and opened it again. “Our honeymoon.”
She nodded just once, and kept it brisk. “That’s right. Maybe you don’t recall me, but I happen to be your ex-wife.”
Chapter Two
His wife. Ryan stood stock-still while his mind groped to take it in. His first thought was that it couldn’t be. His personnel file had indicated nothing about a wife. No one he’d talked to since the accident had so much as mentioned a wife. For God’s sake, he couldn’t have a wife!
Then again, she’d said ex-wife, he reminded himself. At least he could remember that much. Belatedly, at any rate.
“When exactly were we on this honeymoon?” he managed to get out before another huge sneeze racked him.
His companion arched a tawny brow. “I think we’d better continue this discussion elsewhere, after we find you another room.”
“Right.” He reached up and rubbed an eye, damn thankful that his hand was still steady.
She started to turn, then swung back to him, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Uh, now that I think about it, none of the other rooms on this side of the house is available at the moment. Ethel’s got them torn apart for the cleaning service to do their thing tomorrow so we can have them ready for more guests due to arrive this weekend.” She hesitated. “There is a spare room available in the family area that I suppose you could use. It’s at the other end of the hall.”
Probably close to her own, he couldn’t help thinking. Maybe that was why she seemed far from pleased at the prospect of letting him sleep there. Whatever the case, right now he didn’t care whether she was thrilled or not. He wanted to get going and get some answers.
Ryan crossed the room in his bare feet, snatched the shirt he’d worn earlier from the chair and pulled it on, leaving it to hang open, then grabbed his wallet from an old dresser painted sunny yellow and stuffed it in a back jeans pocket. Since he’d been sleeping in no more than his skin, he figured he was set for the night. “Let’s get out of here.”
After another second’s pause, she dipped her head in a nod. “Okay. I’ll show you where the spare room is, and then we can talk downstairs. I could use a cup of tea.”
“I could use a stiff drink,” he didn’t hesitate to counter as he shut the door behind him with a soft thud and followed her down the hall.
“Well then, you’re in luck. My godmother’s new groom keeps a small stock of beer that’s touted to be Colorado’s finest in the refrigerator.”
“Sounds good,” he had to admit.
“I thought it would,” she told him, tossing the words over her shoulder. “Especially to you.”
He frowned. “Why especially to me?”
She marched ahead, spine ramrod straight, her robe swishing as she walked. “Because you were partial to that brand of beer at one time, particularly when you were in the mood to throw a party. Which, trust me, was often.”
He didn’t take that as a compliment. “How often?”
“Often enough to have the neighbors longing for some peace and quiet.”
HE WAS STILL mulling over that zinger when they faced each other across a butcher-block table set at one side of a large kitchen that was a study in contrasts, the chief of them being an old-fashioned black stove that stood next to a modern stainless-steel refrigerator. The red-and-white checkered floor looked to be far from new despite a waxy sheen, but the gleaming dishwasher set under the cocoa-colored counter and beside a porcelain sink was another story.
Ryan took a lengthy swallow from an ice-cold bottle and placed it on the table. He was more than ready for some firm facts, ones that went beyond his past partying habits. Now that the shock had worn off enough to consider a few things, he found he had no doubt about his having once been intimately involved with the woman sitting across from him sipping her tea. His body, he thought, had recognized her right off and responded accordingly. At this very moment, he knew his eyes would have found it no hardship to wander over the silky green fabric covering her breasts. Breasts that he must once have done more than look at. Yes, indeed. He had no doubt about that, either. He’d have done a lot more than look.
Haul in your libido, Larabee. It’s past time to get a few answers.
Ryan reclined in the ladder-back chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “As I asked between sneezes upstairs, exactly when were we on this honeymoon?”
Abby set her delicate china cup down on a matching saucer. “You’re not questioning that we did in fact have one?”
“Not at the moment,” he replied, and left it at that.
“Well then, whether you choose to believe it happened or not, we met in Tucson nearly seven years ago, in the lounge area of a restaurant near the University of Arizona where some of my friends and I were celebrating the fact that we’d graduated from U of A earlier that day. You asked me to dance. I accepted. It was pretty much a whirlwind courtship. We eloped on a scorching hot day in July, got married at a small wedding chapel on our way south, and honeymooned in Mexico.”
He didn’t move a muscle as he absorbed that information. “And when did we part company?”
“Barely a year later.”
“Not one of the longest marriages on record,” he said.
Her lips, moistly pink despite no trace of makeup, twisted. “I suppose that sums it up.”
“Who wanted the