Husbands, Husbands...Everywhere!. Sharon Swan
had a cookie placed on my pillow since the first night.”
“That’s because you’re sleeping in the family area now.” Her thin smile held little humor. “I’m afraid you’ll have to do without.” And with those words she left him to make her way toward the center of the house.
Ryan kept going and entered his bedroom, planning to hang up his jacket and head downstairs himself. Instead, he crossed the room and found himself stopping by the phone on the nightstand as the urge hit to call his sister in Wyoming, something he hadn’t yet done. Something he needed to do. Now. He had to wonder if she’d tell him a few other things about his character that he could have done without hearing, but whether he liked what he heard or not, he needed to find out more about the man he’d been.
The man whose wife had asked for a divorce.
A YOUNG COUPLE held hands as they walked up the steep oak staircase. Ryan nodded to them on his way down. The woman’s soft laugh followed by her escort’s low chuckle had him rolling his eyes. More weekend guests, he decided. And guess what they were headed upstairs to do on this Saturday night—probably in a feather bed complete with pillows sporting homemade cookies?
Sure of the answer to that one, Ryan continued on his way, thinking that Aunt Abigail’s was doing a brisk business. He’d already met two other couples, both from the Phoenix area, and a retired military man from back East. All had seemed more than ready to chat. Plenty of opportunities for conversation existed, too; in addition to the dining room during breakfast hours, visitors were welcome to make themselves at home in the large living room, the adjoining library or the wide, cobblestone patio by the side flower garden.
The kitchen, located next to a downstairs bedroom that Ethel used, together with a long, glassed-in back porch were reserved for the home’s permanent occupants and their personal guests. Which, Ryan reflected as he made his way down the hall toward the rear of the house, seemed to include him at the moment.
Voices drifted to him from the kitchen before he reached the doorway. Figuring the dishes had been dealt with, he expected to find a small group seated at the butcher-block table, maybe sharing another round of after-dinner coffee.
What he didn’t expect to see was a deck of cards and a mound of silver coins resting in the middle of that table. Or the sight of Ethel lounging in a kitchen chair with her back to a tall curtained window, wearing what looked like baggy black sweatpants topped by a white T-shirt with bold letters slashed across the front declaring Elvis Rocks!
He had to blink before his widening gaze took in her two companions, who sat at opposite ends of the table. As though they sensed his presence, all three glanced his way.
“Oh, you’re back.” Ethel beamed as the man sitting on one side of her rose.
“I’d like to introduce my husband, Bill,” Gail said. “Bill, this is Ryan Larabee.”
Ryan walked forward and caught the hand extended toward him in a firm handshake. Bill Stockton, he noted with surprise, was only slightly taller than his bride. Still, Ryan would never have considered using the word small to describe the wiry-built man who seemed to be all muscle, even at the age of probably sixty. No, this guy, with his thick graying hair and assessing, whiskey-brown eyes, looked as formidable as the woman he’d swept to the altar. His scarred boots, ancient Wranglers and Western-style checked shirt that fit his lean torso like a glove only added to the image.
“Pleased to meet you,” Bill offered in a low, craggy voice.
So you say, Ryan thought, probing the older man’s gaze, but you’re not exactly sure of that yet. “Like-wise,” he replied mildly, figuring it could work both ways.
“How about joining us for a little poker?” Ethel asked. “We’re just getting started.”
Poker? In this place? He had to blink again as he shifted his gaze to hers.
“We only play for nickels,” she assured him, “so you can’t lose too much.”
That had a grin flirting with his mouth. He didn’t think he’d lose at all. Lady Luck, he remembered being told earlier that evening, had usually been with him in the past. Trouble was, he was bound to feel like a jerk if he won any of this woman’s hard-earned money.
While he debated the issue, Bill sat back down at the table. “I’ll take five dollars’ worth,” he told Ethel, who was apparently acting as banker. She counted out a bunch of coins and slid them his way.
“Okay, I’m in,” Ryan said, deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to play a few hands just to be sociable. He couldn’t walk away with too much in a short time. Not with nickels being used for chips.
Ethel shot him another glowing smile. “Do you want to start with five dollars, too?”
His grin broke through. “Might as well.”
But he wasn’t grinning an hour and a bottle of cold beer later as he watched the last of his nickels make their way into Ethel’s growing stack. So much for luck, he reflected ruefully. And he hadn’t been the only one adding to her pile.
“What are you, a riverboat gambler in disguise?” he asked, addressing the woman seated across from him.
Ethel chuckled. “I suppose you could view this as a lesson in the fact that appearances can be deceiving.”
“I’ll say,” Ryan muttered. “Elvis should’ve tipped me off.”
Gail joined her friend in another light chuckle as Bill got up and pulled two more beers from the refrigerator. He plunked one down beside Ryan. “Bet you figured she was most folks’ version of World’s Greatest Grandma come to life. Straight out of a fairy tale,” he said, his own thin lips twitching. “Sugar and spice and everything nice.”
It was so in tune with what he had thought on his arrival, Ryan gave his head a wry shake. “I guess I fell for that one.”
Ethel leaned in and patted his hand. “No more than any other visitor. The apron seems to get them every time.”
“It goes along with the rest of the place,” Gail explained. Her gaze still held an amused glint. “What was your impression when you first saw it from the street?”
“A gingerbread house,” he said slowly.
“Gets them every time,” Ethel repeated before lifting her wineglass for a short swallow.
“Keeps them coming back, too,” Gail said. “That’s part of what makes this operation successful. People like returning to a simpler era, if only for a few days. We provide the fantasy, along with good food and a friendly atmosphere.”
Ryan ran his tongue around his teeth. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll blow your cover?”
“No.” Gail folded her arms across the front of her stylish khaki jumpsuit. “While you’re here, we consider you one of us.” She looked him straight in the eye. “You were, after all, related to my goddaughter at one time.”
“And all of that makes you eligible for our occasional poker games.” Ethel rounded up the scattered cards and started to shuffle them. “Want some more nickels?”
Ryan shrugged and reached into a jeans pocket. “I suppose I can risk another five dollars’ worth.”
ABBY GAVE UP on the thick novel she’d been attempting to read and rose from the wicker sofa that sported well-padded, sunflower-strewn cushions. She switched off the brass floor lamp, walked over to a wide window, and looked out at the night. The view from the back porch was one of the features she liked most about the house. Even in the near-darkness, she had little trouble making out the round stone fountain set in the center of the yard, or the tall row of pines that backed it at the far rear, their branches waving in the cool, late-spring breeze drifting down from the mountains.
She’d found herself retreating to this spot on a regular basis since her arrival in Harmony, often with a book in hand. She enjoyed a good mystery. She’d once favored