Husband Found

by Martha Shields

  Rafe and Mike stopped pounding each other. Rafe glanced at her. She held her hands against her cheeks. Her mouth was open, her eyes wide.

  Suddenly an uppercut clipped him on the jaw.

  Mike had sneaked in a hit.

  It wasn’t a fluke. Just as she’d been the key to regaining memories of her, Emma could give him back his past. All of it.

  “What? Oh. Goodbye... I love you, too... Yes. I’ll come when I can. Goodbye.”

  He hit the talk button on the phone and set it on the nearest surface. He grabbed Emma’s chair and spun her around to face him.

  “Gracious!”

  “Guess what?” he asked excitedly.

  She grabbed his shoulders for balance. “What?”

  His grin felt as if it was splitting his face. When he first began recalling his past, he thought he would retrieve it all, but he’d been disappointed. It seemed as if Emma could only give him the memories that concerned her. Now he knew he’d soon have his entire life back inside his head. He’d be whole again. Mentally, at least. “I just had some memories from when I was a kid.”

  She froze except for her green eyes widening. “What?”

  “I touched you when I was on the phone to my parents and poof! There they came. I remembered one time when my father put me on his shoulders and a dog we used to have and a fight I had with my brother.”

  “Oh.” She seemed stunned. “How...nice.”

  “Nice? It’s great! Stupendous. Miraculous.”

  “Okay, I get the picture. Calm down, Mr. Thesaurus.” Her frown deepened. “Are you sure they were memories?”

  “They have to be. They were just snippets, really. Not as full as the ones I get with you. But maybe that’s because it was over the phone. Maybe in person, they’d be longer, clearer.” He grabbed her hands in his. “Don’t you see what this means? If it’s really true, it means I’ll be whole again. I’ll be Rafe again.”

  She sucked in a quick breath, then pulled a hand from his and laid it on his cheek. “I don’t care about the old Rafe. I like this one. I want you just the way you are now.”

  His face softened, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You make me feel like I’m twelve feet tall.”

  “You don’t have to be twelve feet tall. The six feet you have is plenty. You’re enough, Rafe. Just the way you are.”

  Her face was so earnest, so pleading, so intensely focused on him.

  In a blinding flash, Rafe knew he loved her, had always loved her, even when he hadn’t known she existed. She was the other half of not just his soul, but his entire being. That’s why touching her made his memories return. She completed him.

  Kneeling, he drew her into his arms. “Emma. Mi vida.”

  My life. That’s what she was.

  She kissed him as if she wanted to brand herself on his soul. As if she wanted to burn every other thought from his mind.

  She nearly succeeded. He pulled his lips from hers only when he was ready to pick her up and carry her into the bedroom.

  As they caught their breath, he drew back to look at her. It was getting harder every day to deny her—and himself. He wanted her more than he wanted to see tomorrow. But if he gave in, there might not be any tomorrows with her.

  “What am I enough for, Emma?” he asked, needing to remind her of her distrust, to justify his own.

  She pressed her lips together, but didn’t look away. Her gaze delved deep into his own, as if searching his soul. Finally, she said, “To keep around.”

  Surprise shot through him. This wasn’t how the script had been reading. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean—” She ran a hand gently down the scar on his cheek “—I’m ready to tell Gabe you’re his father.”

  “What?” His surprise twisted into relief mixed with panic.

  “If you like, we can walk down to Randy’s now and get him. I’m sure he won’t be disappointed to miss the Braves game once he finds out what we want to tell him.”

  Rafe brushed a strand of blond hair from her cheek. “Are you sure? Are you doing this because you want me or because you trust me?”

  “Both,” she whispered. “And also because of Gabe. He loves you, and he needs to know his father. I’ve been wrong to keep the news from him.”

  “You’re not afraid I’m going to hurt you like I did before? Or like your father or Jerry?”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Maybe a little. But like you said, you can’t prove you won’t hurt me. Only time can do that. I believe you don’t want to. That’s enough for now.”

  Rafe was both awed by her confidence and frightened by its implications. She’d proven she could overcome her misgivings. Now she would expect him to do the same.

  “Do you want to go get Gabe?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Let him watch his game. Tomorrow will be soon enough to tell him.”

  She smiled sadly and bent to give him a solemn kiss. “All right, querido.”

  Her obvious disappointment brought his height from twelve feet to two inches.

  He was so close to trusting her. He wanted to trust her. But he couldn’t forget his niece’s screams when she saw his scars, or the way his mother cried every time she helped him change his bandages. They both loved him, and look at the way they’d reacted.

  No, he couldn’t give in now. A day or two more was all he asked. Time to prepare himself for the revulsion he’d see on the beautiful face he loved so much. Time to prepare arguments why she shouldn’t leave him.

  “We’ll tell him tomorrow,” he told her. “Together.”

  “Okay.” She gave him another kiss, then drew away and turned to the computer.

  The next evening Emma pulled into the driveway at sevenfifteen. A last-minute, bad-to-be-out project had come up at work, and she’d had to stay late.

  Rafe’s truck was not parked in its usual spot at the curb. Not that she’d expected it to be. This was Tuesday night, the last practice of the season for the T-Ball Tigers. She’d talked to Rafe that afternoon and told him to go ahead and take Gabe and Randy to practice. She’d make it if she could.

  Which, of course, she couldn’t. Practice would be over in fifteen minutes. So she gathered her things and got out of the car.

  She’d been worrying all day about what she had to tell Gabe tonight. Despite her claim to trust Rafe, she was more than a little concerned, especially since he recalled memories from his childhood yesterday. What if he got them all back? Would he still want his son and wife, or would he leave them behind to return to the newspaper? And what would happen to Southern Yesteryears?

  All she could do was trust him. All she had to do was put her welfare, her happiness, her life—and that of her son—into the hands of another man. The very thought terrified her.

  In the kitchen Emma found a note from her mother. Sylvia was attending a meeting of her garden club and would be home around eight-thirty. She’d left a plate for Emma in the refrigerator.

  Realizing Rafe and the boys would be home by the time she finished eating zapped her appetite, and she grabbed a soft drink instead. She downed it as she changed into shorts and a T-shirt so she could catch up on the dusting she hadn’t had time to do in the past few weeks.

  To keep herself from worrying, she thought about different ways to lay out the spread on the Hunt-Phelan House. Before she knew it, a car pulled into the driveway. She realized with surprise that it was nearly dark and glanced out the window to see her mother’s old Cadillac pull into the garage.

  Was it eight-thirty already? She looked at her watch to verify it. Eight twenty-six. Where were Rafe and the boys? They should’ve been home an hour ago.

  Striding down the hall, she threw open the back door as her mother made her way down the walk. “Rafe isn’t home with Gabe and Randy.”

  Sylvia shrugged as if unconcerned. “He just has Gabe. Randy’s father picked him up around three.”

  “So where’re Rafe and Gabe?”

  “Rafe told me he’s taking the t
eam out for ice cream after practice, since it’s the last one.”

  “What? Did he say where?”

  Sylvia climbed the steps and opened the door to the screened porch. “No. I don’t believe he told me that.”

  “Did he say when he’d be home?”

  Her mother shook her head as she stepped onto the porch. “I expect it’ll take an hour or so. Is something wrong?”

  “We were supposed to tell Gabe tonight about Rafe being his father. But he’s always so exhausted after practice he falls asleep right after his bath. Tonight we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t fall asleep in the tub.”

  Now Emma was really worried. Would Rafe take the opportunity to tell Gabe he was his father? He’d said they would tell him together. Would he remember that when he had his son all to himself for the first time?

  She headed for the front door and began pacing the hallway. Darkness had fallen beyond the glass security door when she finally saw Rafe’s truck pull up in front. It was after nine.

  She pushed the screen door open and stepped onto the porch.

  Rafe knew he was in trouble the minute he climbed out of the truck and saw Emma standing on the porch with her arms crossed over her stomach. Wondering what he’d done now, he walked around the cab to haul his sleeping son from the front seat.

  He hadn’t unbuckled the seat belt before Emma was at his side.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  Rafe released the catch, then turned to glare at her. “Nothing. He fell asleep on the way home.”

  She relaxed somewhat. “Oh.”

  Rafe reached for Gabe. “I am capable of taking my son out for an evening without hurting him.”

  “Where have you been? It’s after nine.”

  “Parry Jenkins and I took the kids out for ice cream after practice. I told Sylvia. Didn’t you get the message?”

  Emma closed the truck door and followed him up the walk to the house. “Not until she came in at eight-thirty. Why didn’t you leave me a note telling me where you were taking the kids so I could join you?”

  He waited for her to open the security door for him. “You mean so you could protect your son from his father?”

  Emma cast a frantic glance at Gabe. “Hush! He’ll hear you. I don’t want him to find out like this.”

  Rafe jiggled his son, who slept on. “He’s oblivious. A meteor could crash in the street, and he’d never wake up. Now, are we going to stand here and argue, or can I take him to bed?”

  She finally opened the door. “What about his bath?”

  “He can sleep dirty tonight,” Rafe said.

  “But—”

  “Everything all right?” Sylvia asked from the living room.

  “We’re fine, Momma,” Emma answered. “You watching your soaps?”

  “I just popped the first one in, but if you need me, I can—”

  “That’s all right, Sylvia.” Rafe headed up the stairs. “We’re fine.”

  Emma followed. She fussed over Gabe, brushing his hair from his face, tsking over the dirt as she undressed him. When she started toward the bathroom for a wet cloth, Rafe steered her toward the stairs instead.

  “He’s dirty,” she protested. “I need to—”

  “Let him sleep,” Rafe said. “You can wash the dirt off tomorrow.”

  She raised a brow. “Fine. That gives us a chance for a little talk.”

  Rafe rolled his eyes and started down the stairs. “I don’t need this right now, Emma. I looked at office locations all morning, fought with the computer all afternoon, then ran around the field tonight because you weren’t there to do it for me. My leg hurts like hell, and the only thing I want to do is fill that claw-foot bathtub in my apartment with hot water and soak for three days.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “In the morning.”

  “I have to go to work in the morning.”

  He sighed heavily. “Fine. But you’ll have to talk through the bathroom door. I can’t wait to get out of these sweaty clothes.” At the bottom of the stairs, he turned toward the back door. “Good night, Sylvia.”

  “Good night, Rafe,” she called. “Pleasant dreams.”

  “You wouldn’t get so sweaty if you’d wear shorts and a T-shirt like a normal person,” Emma told him.

  He glared as he held the back door open for her. “Very funny.”

  “You’re the only one who cares about your scars, Rafe. I don’t. And the kids sure don’t.”

  He paused on the walk. “I’m not in the mood for this conversation, Emma. If this is what you want to talk about, you might as well turn right back around and go to bed.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Fine.” He swept his arm toward the garage. “After you.” He frowned at her bottom as they walked up the stairs, amazed that his body could still react when he was tired, aching and cranky. He unlocked the apartment, then followed her in.

  “Did you tell Gabe?” she asked in an accusing voice as soon as he’d closed the door.

  “Did I tell Gabe what?” he returned.

  “About you being his father.”

  Leaning back against the door, Rafe closed his eyes and groaned. “Is that what this is about?”

  “Did you?”

  He straightened and gave her another glare. “No. But not because I didn’t want to.” He stomped into the bathroom and closed the door with a satisfying click.

  She opened it. “We can’t talk through the door.”

  “I thought we were finished.”

  She crossed her arms over her stomach. “What did you two talk about in the truck?”

  He pushed her out of the doorway. “I’ll leave the door open a few inches so you can yell at me.”

  “I’m not yelling.”

  “Whatever.” He pulled the door, but left a six-inch gap. Then he turned on the water, adjusting the flow until a satisfying steam rose from the tub.

  “What did you and Gabe talk about?” Emma called over the din.

  “What do you think? Baseball.” Glancing at the door to be certain he wasn’t in Emma’s line of sight, he unbuttoned his shirt. “He told me about the Braves game on TV last night. Then we talked about the different positions on the T-ball team.”

  “That’s it?”

  He yanked his shirt off and pulled his undershirt over his head. “It only takes twenty minutes to get to the park. Did you expect us to come up with a plan for world peace?”

  “I just—It’s the first time you and Gabe have been alone together for any length of time.”

  He twisted off his watch. “Yeah. I noticed.”

  “We were planning to tell him tonight,” she retorted. “I thought you might have decided to go ahead, seeing as it was so late.”

  He peeled off his socks and shoes. “I didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Did you want me to?” He’d never met a more stubborn woman in all his life. “I didn’t tell him because—silly me—I thought you were beginning to trust me, and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. I thought we were planning to tell him together.”

  He turned on the water in the sink to brush his teeth. The added noise drowned out her reply. “What?”

  “I said we were.” He could tell she’d leaned closer to the opening in the door.

  He squirted toothpaste onto his brush. “Then what’s your problem?”

  Again, her answer was lost Shrugging, Rafe popped the toothbrush into his mouth. He spent the recommended two minutes brushing his teeth, then bent over the sink to rinse. Straightening, he dropped the toothbrush into a slot in the ceramic holder, then caught a movement in the steamy mirror.

  Whirling abruptly, he froze, but inside his heart plummeted, bouncing hard as it hit the soles of his feet.

  Emma had pulled the door open. She stood swathed in steam, staring at his chest. Tears streamed down her face.

  Chapter Ten

  Emma stared without blinking at Rafe’s rough, battered body. The scars s
he’d pictured had been nothing like this. Puckered pink skin, evidence of second- and third-degree burns, reached diagonally down from his left shoulder to disappear into his jeans at his hip. Layered on top of that and scattered all over his chest, neck and arms, were so many ugly jagged slashes she couldn’t count them all. Among them were the clean, precise cuts of surgical scars.

  “Oh, my God, Rafe.” Her husky whisper sounded dead in the thickly humid air. “No wonder you forgot everything. It’s a miracle you survived at all.”

  He stood rigid, his face tight. “Get out.”

  His words brought her head up. “What?”

  “You’ve seen the freak show. Now leave.”

  Her eyes narrowed as the past faded away. If he thought he could get rid of her, he had about fifty more thinks coming. “So this is it? This is what you’ve been so careful to hide from me all this time?”

  “I told you it wasn’t a pretty sight.”

  “You’re right. It isn’t.”

  He turned away from her to grasp the sink with a whiteknuckled grip. If anything, his back was worse than his chest. “Just get out.”

  Anger wrapped around Emma like the steamy swirls of his bath. Anger that he thought she would run screaming from the sight. Anger that he hadn’t remembered her for six and a half years. Anger that she hadn’t been there to help him through the pain. Anger for all the time they’d lost.

  She knew part of her anger was irrational. He couldn’t help not remembering her. But being irrational just made her angrier.

  “The hell I will.”

  “Emma...”

  “How dare you!”

  He turned as she took a step toward him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Emma, you don’t—”

  “You’ve been making me feel guilty for weeks—weeks!—thinking my lack of trust was the reason we couldn’t settle our differences. But you’ve been worse than I ever thought about being. At least I had Gabe to think about. All you had was your stupid vanity.”

  “That’s not fair,” he growled.

  She threw her arms in the air. “You want to talk about fair? Was it fair of you to assume I’d run screaming at the sight of a few little scars?”

  “Few? Little?”