My Favorite Husband. Sally Carleen
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I absolutely draw the line at helping you hide bodies.”
Katie heaved a giant sigh. “I know, I know. I’m re lieved I didn’t kill the vermin. I just don’t know what to do now. I’ve tried so hard to fix everything so the judge would see how stable I’ve become—this house, my job at the hospital, even a husband. Sort of a husband anyway. And now this jerk’s going to ruin everything.”
Rider opened his eyes and looked directly into hers. He was a good—looking specimen of vermin, she had to admit, with his chiseled features, too—long, shaggy brown hair and, she now saw, striking hazel eyes. It was too bad Mother Nature had squandered her artistic ability on someone like him.
He blinked, clutched his head and tried to sit up. John took his arm to help him.
“My head hurts,” Rider complained.
“You bad an accident.” Katie sat on the floor be side him, her tone sarcastic. The accident was that she hadn’t killed him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She looked questioningly at John. He shrugged. “A little confusion isn’t uncommon after a head injury.”
Rider turned to look at John. “Who are you?”
“Do you know your name?” John asked.
Rider frowned. “No,” he said after a moment of thought. “What’s my name? Why can’t I remember?”
“Just relax. Minor trauma to the head. In layman’s terms, your brains are a little scrambled. It’ll all come back soon.”
“Do you know where you are?” Katie asked, drawing his attention to her again. Could she be so lucky that he had forgotten what he was here for? Dared she tempt fate and hope that his memory loss would last until after the hearing?
He looked around, then shook his head slowly. “No. Where am I?”
“Do you know what the date is?” John queried.
Rider drew a hand over his eyes and shook his head. “It’s nineteen ninety something. I’m not sure.”
“Do you know what city you’re in?”
“No! Damn it, what’s going on here? What’s happened? Who are you? Who am I?”
“Who are you?” Katie considered the question, wondering if she had the guts to carry out the daring idea that had just popped into her head.
Yes, she decided. She could and would do whatever had to be done.
She cupped his chin gently in her hand, turned his face toward hers and smiled benignly. “Who are you? Why, you’re my husband.”
John made a choking sound.
“Come on, Fred,” she said to him. “Let’s help my husband, John, up off the floor, and then we can get him something for his headache.” John’s—the real John’s—eyes widened. Actually, Katie reflected, popped would be a better description.
“I can get up by myself,” Rider protested, pushing the two of them away.
John jerked his head toward the kitchen, his expression frantic.
“Okay, dear,” Katie said to Rider. “You get up by yourself, and we’ll go find some water and an aspirin for you.” She left the room with John close behind.
“Why on earth did you tell him he’s your husband?” John demanded in hushed tones as soon as she had closed the door to the living room.
“Shhh!” She led him to the far corner of the big, old—fashioned kitchen. “This is my chance,” she whispered. “I can talk to the enemy, explain the story, let him see that I’m really a good person, let him know what an injustice he’ll be doing to Nathan if he sides with my parents. If I get him in the car and on the road, I’ll have a captive audience even after he regains his memory.”
“You’re going to take him to Oklahoma with you? You can’t do that! What if somebody’s looking for him? What if he has a wife?”
“He doesn’t have on a ring, so he probably doesn’t. But what difference would that make? I don’t want to marry him. I just want to borrow him for a little while. I imagine he’d planned to go up there for the hearing anyway, so it’s not like he’ll be going out of his way because of me. And by the time we get there, he’ll be ready to help me, not my parents.”
“You’ll never get away with this. Memory loss like this is usually very temporary.”
“How temporary?”
“Could be fifteen minutes, could be twenty—four hours.”
“Twenty—four hours?”
“Maybe. It could be longer, but the point is, he could regain his memory any minute now. Maybe by the time we walk back out there. Maybe halfway across the Red River. A captive audience, yes, but a hostile one. Katie, you can’t do this!”
Katie hesitated. Everything John said was true. But the alternative was even riskier. “I don’t see that I have much choice. What do you want me to do? Go out there and tell him who he is and why he was peeking in my window and how I whacked him with a skillet, then give him back his tape recorder and let him ruin Nathan’s life?”
John ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I guess not.”
“Good. I knew I could count on you. Now first, do we need to take this creep to the emergency room? Not that I have much sympathy for him, but I’d hate to end up a murderer after all. Not to mention how inconvenient it’d be if he croaked in my car halfway to Oklahoma.”
“I don’t think he’s going to die any time soon. If you take him to emergency, they’ll check his pupils, which I already did, and tell him to take aspirin if his head continues to hurt. You do need to keep an eye on him, and if he passes out or you can’t wake him up, get him to a hospital ASAP. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Great. Now while I take him a glass of water and some aspirin, you go outside and get the tape re corder, that blasted contract and my skillet and take them with you.” Thinking about the contract with its revelations reminded her of Rider’s wallet. She pulled it from her pocket. “Put this in my glove compartment. No, wait.”
She flipped it open and thumbed through.
“Katie, you shouldn’t be going through his personal things,” John protested.
“I almost killed the man. Going through his wallet can’t be more personal than that. No pictures of a wife or kids. In case of emergency notify…Gary Rider. His father. And he lives in Austin. That’s good. Here’s my new husband’s business card with his phone number.” She picked up the telephone and dialed. After two rings, his answering machine picked up.
“This is Travis Rider. I’m not home. Leave a message.”
“He’s not married,” Katie reported, hanging up the phone. “He said, ‘I’m not home.’ If he was married, his wife would have made him say we. So that takes care of that worry.” She handed him the wallet. “Put this in my glove compartment, then load your luggage into the back seat of my car.”
“My luggage? Why do you want my luggage?”
“You’re pretty close to his size. Your clothes should fit. Can I borrow your identification, too, just in case?”
“No, you can’t borrow my identification! And you can’t have my clothes, either.”
“I only want to borrow them. You packed for a couple of days, right? So you have plenty more at home. If I’m going