Husbands, Husbands...Everywhere!. Sharon Swan

Jordan said, “I can see why what happened that day might have upset a few folks.” His grin was rueful. “Following the rules was never your strong suit, flyboy.”

      Flyboy. Despite everything, Ryan had to grin. “Did I have a nickname for you, too?”

      The other man chuckled again. “Well, I can recall your calling me a wily bastard a few times when a card game went my way instead of yours.”

      Ryan’s grin faded. As far as his character was concerned, he was sounding like less of a Boy Scout by the minute. “I take it I was partial to gambling even when I wasn’t flying.”

      “Not any more than most guys with a little time on their hands,” Jordan assured him. “Lady Luck was usually with you, though, even on the ground.”

      And then my luck ran out, Ryan thought. These days, he couldn’t dredge up a single memory of the man at his side. The truth was, the only person he felt any real connection with was the woman he’d been married to, who now planned to marry someone else. The woman who still slept just steps from him, thanks to her godmother’s oh-so-casual departing comment before leaving his room that he might as well continue to use the spare bedroom on the family side of the house.

      Gail Stockton had made herself scarce ever since. Ryan hadn’t even got a look at her new husband yet. But something was up, he figured, because Ethel had continued to invite him to share in all of the meals she fixed, despite the fact that several other guests had arrived for the weekend.

      For some reason, the decision had been made to throw him and his ex-wife together. That was the only conclusion he could come to. Not that he was complaining. He had no problem with getting more than glimpses of a certain redhead.

      No, she was the one who looked a long way from pleased by the latest developments.

      “I want you to know that I’d have asked you to stay with us,” Jordan said, regaining his visitor’s attention, “but I thought you’d need some space.”

      “You were right,” Ryan told him, answering with the same simple directness. He wouldn’t have felt comfortable, he knew, staying at the Trask home. Aunt Abigail’s was a better bet.

      “Which isn’t to say you’re not welcome to stop by at any time,” Jordan added. “And I mean that.”

      “Thanks,” Ryan replied.

      “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” a soft voice announced at that point. Jordan’s wife, Tess, poked her head out the back door, her wide smile as bright as the flower-print maternity top she wore.

      Her husband’s gaze was frankly possessive as it settled on the woman whose honey-brown curls topped clear blue eyes. “I hope we still have some ice cream left for dessert.”

      She laughed. “I’ve been raiding the pickle jar instead.”

      The door shut again and Jordan looked at his guest. “We just found out that we’re going to have a boy.”

      Ryan extended his right arm. “Congratulations,” he said as they shook hands. “We’ve been talking so much about me that I haven’t had a chance to ask what you do for a living now.”

      “Basically I dig in the dirt.”

      “What?”

      Jordan grinned one more time. “I’m in the landscaping business. I’ll explain how that happened over dinner.” Shifting, he called, “Ali, time to go in.”

      A young girl Ryan had met on his arrival, Tess’s nine-year-old daughter from a prior marriage, came running around the side of the house with a full-grown basset hound hard on her heels. Dressed in a striped shirt and denim overalls, she made a beeline for the man seated at Ryan’s side and hopped straight into his lap, sending her brown braids swinging.

      “I’m gonna eat lots tonight, Dad. I’m hungry.”

      “You’re always hungry,” he countered mildly, “just like your mother is these days.” Leaning in, he pressed a smacking kiss on the top of her head. “Go wash up for dinner.”

      After she scrambled to her feet and went inside, the dog leading the way this time, Jordan looked at Ryan. “I’ve got to admit that I’m looking forward to having a son, but I still can’t believe it gets any better for a man than to have a little girl around to call him Dad.”

      “POOP!”

      Ryan came to a swift halt in the hall leading to his bedroom just as Abby appeared in the open doorway to her own room, steps behind a rapidly crawling Cara. Dressed in cartoon-character pajamas, the baby was wasting no time in heading his way after stopping him cold with a single word.

      He had to hope she meant she had…pooped. And not that he was—

      “Poop!” Cara repeated as she reached him. She used a tiny handful of his jeans to pull herself to a standing position, then craned her neck back as far as it would go and gazed up at him.

      Cripes, she meant him.

      “I thought I was Pap,” he said, frowning down into a chubby-cheeked face that looked freshly scrubbed. It wasn’t what he would have chosen to be called, not by a long shot, but it was better than—

      “Poop!”

      A muffled laugh had Ryan’s gaze shifting. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” he grumbled to the woman whose green eyes sparkled with amusement.

      Abby caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. But her eyes still gleamed as she walked over to scoop up the baby.

      “How did dinner with your friend go?” she asked, taking a quick step back from him.

      “Fine,” Ryan replied, and left it at that. What he didn’t add was that he hadn’t exactly been thrilled with everything he’d learned about himself during the visit.

      Abby hitched Cara higher on one hip. “Ethel saved some dessert for you,” she told him, the sparkle rapidly disappearing from her gaze. “She said you can have apple strudel with your breakfast, if you don’t want it tonight.”

      It was his turn to be amused. “She likes me.” And that clearly doesn’t thrill you.

      “Mmm,” Abby returned in a totally neutral response as the baby babbled softly and fingered the gold-tone buttons on her silky blouse.

      He’d be a lot better off keeping his mind from imagining his own fingers toying with those buttons, Ryan told himself. Which, he had to admit, might be easier to do if he wasn’t positive he’d made quick work of undoing other buttons in the past. Unfortunately he was dead sure on that score, even minus his memory.

      As if she might have guessed the direction of his thoughts, Abby cleared her throat. “You’ll have to excuse us,” she said. “It’s past Cara’s bedtime. We were on our way downstairs so she could say good-night to everyone.”

      He arched a brow. “Everyone?”

      “My godmother and her husband brought over a bunch of pictures from their cruise and decided to stay for dinner. They’re helping Ethel clean up.”

      Maybe he’d finally get to meet the new hubby, Ryan mused. It would be interesting to see what kind of man had swept such an independent woman off her feet. “Do they still plan on staying out at the groom’s place?”

      Abby nodded. “Until the end of the month, anyway. When I leave,” she added, her voice taking on more than a hint of calm determination, “I suppose other arrangements will have to be made. Ethel can’t handle everything here alone.”

      He crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe not, but she can sure handle things in the kitchen.” He paused for a deliberate beat. “I’m looking forward to eating lots of home-cooked meals.”

      She shot him a look. “Maybe we should charge you extra.”

      Ryan