But they didn’t want to lie to him, either.
Emma avoided it by not answering his question directly. “Rafe and I are going to get married in a couple of weeks. Then your last name and mine will be Johnson, not Lockwood.”
“You’ll never have to worry about us getting divorced, son. Because we never will.” Rafe leaned over and kissed his wife, sealing the vow.
Gabe covered his eyes. “Eeewww! Mushy stuff!”
Laughing, Rafe bent his son back and tickled his stomach. “Get used to it. You’re going to be seeing a whole lot more mushy stuff from now on.” He pulled Gabe upright and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I love your mother very much, and I love you, too.”
With a beatific smile, Gabe slid one arm around Rafe’s neck, then reached over to wrap the other around Emma’s. “Now we’re a real fam’ly.”
Rafe and Emma added their own arms to the group hug, entwining each other and their son until Rafe couldn’t tell where one ended and the others began.
He wished it could last forever.
Chapter Eleven
Emma slipped her hand into Rafe’s as they walked out of the printer, located in an old refurbished warehouse along the bluffs south of downtown Memphis. The July air was thick with heat and humidity.
Rafe smiled down at her. “Well, for better or worse, our first baby has gone to bed.”
Emma squeezed his hand. “Our second baby.”
He bent and kissed her nose. “All right, our second. I keep forgetting, since I never saw Gabe as a baby.”
“And whose fault is that?” she asked with an arched brow.
Rafe rolled his eyes. “You’re never going to let me forget it, are you?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not playing fair. I had amnesia.”
“Of course it’s not fair.” She grinned playfully. “That’s what makes it so much fun.”
“Impudent woman. Why, I ought to—”
“Ought to what?” She walked her fingers up his chest. She didn’t have the slightest qualm that he would hurt her.
He backed her up against the hot truck and leaned into her. “I ought to kiss you silly.”
She wound her arms around his neck. “Oh, yes, please do.”
He grinned at her. “Flirt.”
“Anything that works,” she whispered, pulling his head down to hers.
He kissed her deeply, then drew away with a groan. “That’s it. Get me all hot and bothered in the middle of a parking lot.”
“Hey. You’re not the one sizzling against the hot metal of this truck.”
He kissed her again, briefly, then opened the passenger door. “Come on. I need to stop by the Commercial Appeal.”
Emma froze. “The Commercial Appeal? Why?”
“I’m placing a classified ad in Sunday’s edition for a business manager. If we’re going to put an issue out every month, I’ve got to have help. Are you sure you don’t—”
“You already talked me into giving my notice at Harrison. I don’t want you to spend more money than is absolutely necessary until we’re sure the magazine is going to be successful.” Relieved he wasn’t planning on visiting his friend, Jay Patten, she climbed onto the truck’s bench seat and let Rafe close the door. When he got in the other side, she continued, “Working full-time, I can handle the size it is now. We’ll talk about hiring someone to help me with layout when we add pages.”
“All right.” Rafe started the engine and turned the air conditioner on full blast, then reached for Emma’s hips and dragged her over.
“What are you—”
He covered her mouth with his.
Surprise was the only thing that made Emma hesitate an instant before she leaned into him with a sigh. She’d never get enough of kissing him, holding him. Not if they lived forever.
Finally, he drew away. “It’s been five whole hours since we made love.”
She shook her head in smiling disbelief. “We can’t do it here.”
“You started it.” He pulled her tighter against him. “Besides, there’s not much around here but some old warehouses.”
Emma rewarded him for his passion with another kiss. “People come and go all the time. What would they think if they saw a truck bouncing up and down?”
He trailed kisses down her throat. “Who cares?”
She leaned her head back to give him better access. She was caring less and less by the minute. But when he nibbled gently through the layers of her blouse and bra, she pushed at his shoulders. “I thought you needed to go by the Commercial Appeal.”
He raised his head, looking so adorably rumpled and heavylidded she almost pressed him back into her arms.
“You’re right. Damn. What am I thinking?”
She combed her fingers through his hair. “I don’t think you are. At least, not with your brain.”
“My brain loves you every bit as much as...another part of my anatomy.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Which happens to be cussing my brain at the moment.”
“We’d better go before your brain loses the argument.” She gave him a quick kiss and tried to scoot across the seat.
Rafe’s strong arms kept her in place. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my seat.”
He reached for the middle seat belt. “Your place is next to me.”
She let him buckle her in, then leaned against him, sliding her arm across his shoulders. “We look like a couple of teenagers.”
“Who cares?” He leaned down to give her a kiss, then straightened and put the truck in gear.
He showed her several century-old warehouses that were being refurbished into offices. He’d looked at them for when Southern Yesteryears outgrew the rooms over the garage. He’d already told her he expected that to be around six months, soon after the space would be available.
It only took a few minutes to reach the Commercial Appeal on Union Avenue. The counter handling classified ads was in the lobby, so it wouldn’t take long for Rafe to place the ad he’d already written. But the afternoon was so hot, Emma accompanied him inside.
She was glad she did because they had to wait in line. They hadn’t been standing there five minutes, however, when a loud voice caught their attention.
“Rafe? Rafe Johnson, is that you?”
“Ham Gordon,” Rafe said without hesitation. “Good to see you.”
Emma wondered how Rafe remembered the editor Jay had been trying to talk Rafe into working for—until she realized Rafe was holding her hand.
She should’ve waited in the truck.
Mr. Gordon shook Rafe’s other hand effusively. “It’s about time you came to see me.”
Rafe stared at the man a long second, then blinked hard. “Sorry I...” He shook his head as if clearing it. “I just came to place a classified.”
Rafe turned to her, his eyes dazed. His voice sounded like it was on automatic pilot as he introduced her. “Emma, this is Ham Gordon. He and I worked together years ago. He’s now the senior international editor here. Ham, this is my...fiancée, Emma Grey.”
Suddenly Emma knew what was happening. Rafe was remembering the years he worked for the newspaper. She felt as if some giant fist had grabbed her heart to stop it from beating. Yanking her hand from Rafe’s, she stepped away from him and offered it to Mr. Gordon. “Nice to meet you.”
“Well, well. A pleasure to meet you, too. When’s the happy event?”
“In two weeks,” she said, casting nervous glances at Rafe.
Mr. Gordon rolled onto his heels and returned his attention to Rafe. “So this is why you moved back to Memphis. You dog, you. Does Jay know? He didn’t mention anything about it.”
“He doesn’t know yet,” Emma said. “We’re having a quiet ceremony with just the family.”
Mr. Gordon nodded and swept his arm toward the carefully guarded entrance to the newspaper. “Would you like a tour? Rafe, I’m sure you’d like to see what’s changed since you left.”
“We need to
—” Emma choked up when she saw the excited anticipation in her husband’s eyes.
“I’d really like to see everything, if you’ve got time,” Rafe said.
“I sure do!” The editor rubbed his hands together. “Let me take care of that classified. You got it all written out?”
Rafe reached into his shirt for a folded sheet of paper while Emma glared at him.
When Mr. Gordon stepped behind the counter to pull his rank, she quietly but firmly said, “We need to get home.”
“Why?”
“Momma’s going out with friends tonight.”
“Not until after supper.” Rafe’s reply was distracted. He made no attempt to hide his excitement as he watched the editor go behind the counter to talk with the woman. He barely knew Emma was there. He certainly didn’t know she was upset—so upset, she wanted to drag him out of the building before the editor returned.
But the man rejoined them before she could. “Ready?”
Rafe nodded without even looking at her. He captured her hand and followed Mr. Gordon. The editor checked them in at the security desk, where they were given badges to wear as they toured the building.
She had to give Mr. Gordon an A for strategy. He began the tour with advertising, then took them through typesetting and printing, ending up in editorial—the floor Rafe was most familiar with.
Rafe kept a tight grip on Emma’s hand the whole time.
She watched him as they walked from place to place. She could almost see the synapses connecting in his brain, bringing him another link to his past. He remembered quite a few people, usually secretaries and union workers like film strippers and pressmen. Most of the reporters he’d known had moved on to other newspapers, but there were still a few left who knew him.
When Mr. Gordon took Rafe to his old desk, which sat against a wall in a room full of desks just like it, the look on her husband’s face made Emma suck in a quick breath. She remembered what he’d said.
Investigative reporting requires an excellent memory. Something I don’t have.
She pulled her hand from his, but she was too late. His memories had already surfaced.
Rafe ran his hands along the edge. “Whoever sits here now is a helluva lot neater than I ever was.”
“Nobody has it now,” the editor told him. “I’m looking for someone to fill the position you held, though. Interested?”
Rafe’s face held such nostalgia and longing, Emma had to press her lips together to keep from crying out.
Finally Rafe shook his head, but it was with obvious reluctance. “I’ve got a magazine to run.”
Was that just an excuse to avoiding telling Mr. Gordon about his amnesia? Or was he truly interested only in Southern Yesteryears?
“We need to get home.” Emma hoped her voice didn’t sound quite as choked to them as it did to her.
To her relief, Rafe nodded. Mr. Gordon showed them out, telling Rafe to come back and see him. Rafe gave him a noncommittal answer and walked her to the truck.
After she’d climbed into the seat, he leaned in and kissed her. “Thanks for being there.”
“Did you—” She cleared her throat “remember much?”
“So much I felt overwhelmed.”
Now that he had the memories from his reporting days, all that remained hidden from him were the ones from his childhood.
And his family would be here in two weeks for the wedding.
What the hell was she going to do?
She had to use these two weeks to bind him to her—with loving words, sweet kisses, hot sex, whatever worked—so that leaving her for any reason would be the last thing on his mind.
Rafe turned and looked longingly at the building. “I was a damn good reporter, and I had a lot of good times here.”
She turned his face back to her. “You’re a damn good editor, too. And we’ll have a lot of good times launching Southern Yesteryears .”
He smiled and gave her another kiss. “Yes, we will.”
But his heart wasn’t in his words.
She hoped two weeks would be long enough.
When Emma came in from work the next evening, Rafe’s truck wasn’t in its usual spot. She entered the house, placed her things on the chest in the hall, then found her mother stirring creamed corn. She walked over and kissed her cheek. “Hi, Momma. Where are our menfolk?”
Sylvia smiled indulgently at her daughter. “The boys went over to Randy’s to play on his computer. Audra got home early. I don’t know where Rafe went, but he said he’d be home for supper.”
Emma was struck by the easy way her mother said Rafe would be home for supper. Of course, Sylvia had been certain all along that Emma and Rafe would resume their marriage. When they’d told her about their plans for a small wedding, she’d approved wholeheartedly and insisted on helping plan it.
“Anything I can do to help supper along?” Emma asked.
Her mother shook her head. “All that needs doing is setting the table.”
Emma took the hint and fished out the silverware. At ten of six, Rafe’s truck pulled up at the curb. Emma watched him climb out and head toward the house.
“Dad! Wait!” The call came faintly through the windows.
Rafe stopped and turned toward the Jenkins’s house two doors down. Emma smiled at the grin on his face. He loved for Gabe to call him Dad.
Gabe scrambled up to sit on his father’s shoulders. Smiling, Emma stepped into the hall to open the door.
“Hi, guys.”
“Hi, Mom!”
Rafe kissed her. “Te querida.”
She smiled. “I love you, too. Y’all get washed up, okay? Supper’s about ready.”
Rafe caught Gabe at the waist and flipped him to the floor. Gabe landed on his feet and took off for the bathroom.
Rafe took the opportunity to give her another kiss. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” He patted his shirt pocket. “Damn. I must’ve left them in the truck.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “What did you buy this time?”
“I—”
“Dad? You coming?”
He gave her another kiss. “I’ll tell you later.”
Emma watched his uneven steps take him to the bathroom, then went to help her mother dish up supper. When they sat down to eat, Gabe was well launched into a detailed explanation of the baseball computer game he and Randy had been playing. So Emma forgot about Rafe’s surprise.
Rafe and Gabe pitched in to clear the table and clean the kitchen. The day after she and Rafe had rekindled their intimate relationship, Rafe told Emma that he didn’t want his son to grow up thinking that a woman’s place was in the kitchen. Their son’s future was in the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. He asked if it would be all right for him and Gabe to help with the kitchen chores from then on. He hadn’t brought it up before, he said, because he didn’t want to interfere with the way she was raising him. She was doing an excellent job, he insisted, but he really wanted to set a good example for his son.
How could Emma have argued with help cleaning the kitchen?
Sylvia pursed her lips the first couple of nights, of course, and Gabe had grumbled, but they soon realized Rafe meant what he said. Last night Rafe had insisted Sylvia take it easy while they did the work, and he did the same tonight.
Emma loved it, because it was that much more time she could spend with her husband and son. When they finished, Gabe took off to Randy’s. As she and Rafe stood on the porch watching him run down the street to the Jenkinses’, Emma finally remembered Rafe’s promise.
“So what’s this big surprise?” she asked.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
She grinned. “That bad, huh?”
“I’m not trying to soften you up,” he insisted. “I just wanted to kiss you.”
“Uh-huh. C’mon. Out with it.”
He smiled so proudly she thought he must’ve discovered a cure for the common cold. Then he said, “Tomorrow morning you, Gabe and I are flying
to Houston.”
Emma’s heart careened wildly, then came to a screeching halt. “What?”
“Just a quick trip,” he said, oblivious to her reaction. “We’ll come back Sunday.”
Feeling like the universe had suddenly collapsed, she stepped away and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Why?”
The question was more of a delaying tactic. She already knew the answer. He wanted to recover all his memories. The only ones missing were from his childhood.
This couldn’t be happening. Not now. She’d planned a carefully laid web of loving seduction which she hoped would bind him to her with unbreakable bonds. All she needed was more time.
Her reaction must’ve finally penetrated his excitement because his smile faded into a perplexed frown. He placed his hands on her arms. “My parents want to meet you and Gabe.”
She kept her arms crossed despite the gentle pressure he exerted to pull them away. “They’ll be here in two weeks for the wedding.”
“I know, but they—”
“You want to go so you can remember your childhood.” Her tone was accusing, but she couldn’t help it.
He searched her face. “What’s wrong, querida?”
“I...tomorrow’s Friday. I have to work. I still owe Harrison Printing another week on my notice.”
“Surely one day won’t—”
“No. I can’t go.”
His hands dropped away from her. “Why?”
“I told you—”
“Don’t give me that ‘I have to work’ stuff. If Gabe were sick, you’d miss tomorrow.”
She lifted her chin. “He isn’t.”
Rafe stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “You won’t go because I want memories from my childhood?”
Emma’s heart hung in her throat like a lead balloon. The way he put it made it sounded so callous, so uncaring. But it wasn’t that way at all. If anything, she cared too much.
He thrust a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand. You’ve been helping me get them back. The other day at the newspaper, you—”
“Why do you have to do this, Rafe?” Her hands abandoned her stomach to reach out to him. “Aren’t I enough for you?”
Husband Found Page 16
