A Husband By Any Other Name Read online

  He rose over her. “Let’s celebrate.”

  She welcomed him with a smile, sure that each time with Tom was a celebration. “I love you,” she said against his neck.

  He smiled in reply and met her eager motions with his own headlong passion. He knew just how to excite her to the very edge and hold her there in ecstasy for a lifetime. He pulled away completely, giving them both time, and knew just where to nip and suckle and kiss to keep her breath on her lips and her heart in her throat. He knew just when to swiftly unite them again and masterfully push her over the edge.

  Lorrie reveled in his strength, his scent. “Ahh-ah, Tom,” she cried. “Tom."

  Dan squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head into the hollow of her perspiring neck. His heart pounded against her crushed breasts. He kissed her ear, her neck, her collarbone and waited for his heart to resume its normal cadence.

  Easing his heavy body to her side, he framed her face with one hand and looked into her honey-warm eyes. “Lorraine,” he said softly.

  She smiled.

  If only he could hear her say his name one time.

  Just once.

  For fourteen years in the throes of passion while he pleasured her with his body, loved her with his heart and soul, gave her his seed and children, she’d cried out his brother’s name.

  “Happy anniversary,” he said.

  Dan pulled out his chair beside Autumn.

  “Morning, Daddy.”

  “Morning, munchkin.” He leaned over and kissed her baby-soft cheek.

  “Wish I was old enough to go to camp. Can I have Fun-pops ’stead of eggs?” Huge round eyes, the same warm caramel color as her mother’s turned, imploring. Her sun-streaked blond hair had been gathered back in a ponytail, and the curling tips trailed down the back of her Elsa and Anna T-shirt. “Please?”

  Dan reached into a cupboard for the box of her favorite cereal. He’d never been able to deny Autumn anything. Heaven help him when she grew into a teen. He placed a plastic bowl and a spoon in front of her.

  “That was my sock you took,” eight-year-old Bram said to his twin brother.

  Jori stuffed an orange slice into his mouth unconcernedly. “Didn’t have your name on it.”

  Juice dribbled down his chin.

  “Oh, gross!” Bram shouted. “Dad, Jori’s bein’ a hog again.”

  “Use some manners, Jori,” Dan said dutifully, slipping into his seat. The twins were frenetic bundles of energy, swooping, crashing, charging through life with more zest than the average person could muster in a year. Dark-haired, with honey-colored eyes, they were identical balls of fire.

  Dan figured that being a twin himself gave him the edge that no one else—except Lorraine—had to tell them apart. He couldn’t tell from a distance usually, and sometimes it took him a minute if they wore each other’s clothes deliberately, but there was something about the way Jori held his head... and the mannerism Bram had of holding his thumbs and forefingers together Dan could always figure out who was who, and prided himself on it.

  He loved them both so much. He couldn’t imagine spending more time with one—preferring one over the other. It hurt to imagine it. It hurt to have experienced it.

  Steps sounded on the stairs and Thad appeared, tucking in his black Nebraska Huskers T-shirt. “Hi.”

  Thad took his seat across from the twins. With his dark, dark hair, deep blue eyes with thick black lashes, and lean build, everyone commented that he was the spitting image of Dan. And he was.

  If you didn’t know.

  Dan knew. Usually he dismissed the fact, but some-times... like this morning…. Thad reminded him so sharply of Tom that the sight ripped open a wound that had never completely healed. He wondered if he’d live long enough for time to take such a toll on his memory that the pain went away.

  Already, Thad balked at restrictions. Maybe that was just normal teenage rebellion, but Dan was careful not to smother him with responsibilities or talk about him assuming the business. Gil was another matter.

  The aluminum door opened and Dan’s father appeared on cue. “Somethin’ smells good, Lorrie.”

  “Have a seat, Dad,” she said. “Toast and bacon are on the table. I’ll have the eggs there in a second.”

  Gil seated himself at the opposite end of the table from Dan, next to Thad. “All that spring rain didn’t hurt the Lodi,” he said.

  He had an irritating way of stating the obvious. “They look fine,” Dan replied.

  “All picked?”

  “Yup.”

  “What about the Paula Reds and the Wealthys?”

  “The crew got them in yesterday.”

  Gil leaned aside for Lorraine to place eggs on his plate. “Any fungus?”

  “Some.”

  “Crap!”

  “Weather’s out of my control, Dad.”

  “We’ll just have a bigger utility crop,” Lorraine said.

  “Cider doesn’t bring as much money,” Gil said. “Our baby-food account is our bread and butter.”

  “They’ll get the fall varieties,” Dan replied,

  “What about the Applejack Festival, Tom?” his father asked. “We usually save the fall crop for that.”

  “Well, this year we’ll just push the cider and jellies,” Dan replied.

  “And my aunts and sisters always want space to exhibit their quilts,” Lorraine suggested, sitting on Dan’s other side. "We’ll rent it to them.”

  Grateful for her positive support, Dan met her warm, earnest eyes. She’d gathered her silky hair into a braid that hung down her back. He gave her an appreciative smile.

  Beneath her light tan, she blushed. Picking up her fork, she looked away, and he knew she was remembering their time together that morning.

  “Better get used to dealing with the weather,” Gil said, leaning toward Thad and shaking his fork. “When the orchards are yours, you’ll face this year after year.”

  “Dad,” Dan chided gently. “Thad has plenty of time to decide what he wants to do with his life. He may not want to run the orchards."

  “Horsefeathers,” Gil grumbled.

  “I will, Grampa,” Autumn piped up.

  Gil scoffed and the twins jostled one another.

  Toast popped up in the toaster, and Dan stood to get it, slapping margarine on the slices. His phone rang. He slid it from his pocket, didn’t recognize the area code, and touched the screen. “Beckett Farms.”

  “Hello,” a male voice said. “May I ask who I’m speaking to?"

  Dan held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and placed the toast on the table. Three hands snatched the slices in a heartbeat. “Who’d you want?”

  “I’m not sure,” the man replied with a drawl. “I’m looking for someone named Beckett, and I assume you’re him?”

  Dan dropped more bread into the toaster and depressed the lever. “You’ve got Tom.”

  “Oh.”

  Dan frowned at the silence that followed. “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m trying to word this correctly. My name is Dr. Vance. I’m on staff at Sisters of Mercy Hospital in Trousdale, Tennessee. I’ve had a patient in my care for the past couple of weeks. The only link I have to finding a relative is an army duffel bag with a serial number. A friend of mine searched out the serial number. It belongs to a Gilbert Beckett.”

  Dan’s heart stopped. His father’s duffel bag.

  His pulse throbbed deafeningly in his ears and he turned away from his family at the table. He hadn’t seen the bag since the day Tom left all those years ago.

  “Mr. Beckett?”

  “Ye—” he cleared his throat “—yes.”

  “Does the bag sound familiar?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and deliberately stepped into the laundry room away from the family’s ears. “It’s my father’s. My brother had it with him the last time I saw him.” He bracketed his temples with the thumb and fingers of one hand. If the patient couldn’t tell the doctor who his family was, did tha
t mean he was unconscious or that——Dan’s mind stumbled over the thought—that he’d died? “What does your patient look like?”

  “He’s a little over six feet. Dark hair. Blue eyes.”

  Too many thoughts to deal with at once whirled in Dan’s head. “Dr. Vance... is he all right?”

  “He was in an automobile accident, Mr. Beckett. Physically, he’s coming along quite nicely. He was listed in fair condition originally and we monitored him round the clock. He’s in good condition now. Ready to be released, actually.”

  “Did he ask you to call here?” After all these years was Dan’s deception about to be revealed?

  “No, Mr. Beckett.”

  Dan waited expectantly, his heart pounding.

  “My patient has amnesia.”

  The blood pounding in his head must have affected his hearing. “What?”

  “My guess is it’s temporary, but we have no way of knowing when or how long it will take for him to regain his memory—or if he ever will. There’s no guarantee.”

  “You mean he can’t remember anything? Nothing?” Dan fought back a traitorous sense of relief. This was a terrible thing to have happened to his brother—if it was his brother. What kind of monster would be glad that he couldn’t remember?

  “Some things. The mind is a strange and complex machine. He knew how to dress and tie his shoes, how to do algebra problems, who the presidents of the United States were. He can sing commercial jingles, things like that. But he doesn’t know who he is, where he lives, or what he does for a living. He can’t remember friends, family, what kind of car he drives, if he likes baseball or what movies he’s seen.”

  “He doesn’t remember us?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Do you think he’s my brother? Anyone could have latched on to that duffel bag in all these years.”

  “That’s true,” Dr. Vance agreed. “But after hearing your voice, I tend to think he is your brother. I’m going to text you a photo, and if you think it’s him, I’d like you to come identify him in person. Could you do that?"

  Dan glanced back at his family finishing their breakfast. It was entirely possible that this wasn’t Tom at all. Dan would have to clear this situation up without upsetting the rest of the family. It would be a couple of weeks before the rest of the apples had to be harvested. “Yes, send the photo now. If I think it’s him I could get away in a day or two.”

  “That would be appreciated.”

  “Give me your address.” Back in the kitchen, he grabbed a pencil stub and scribbled on the back of an envelope.

  “By the way, Mr. Beckett, if this is your brother, what is his name?”

  Dan’s gaze bored into the back of Lorraine’s head. He stepped deliberately back into the laundry room and turned away. “Dan," he replied.

  He touched the screen to end the call, and waited the longest minute of his life. The text message alert sounded, kicking him in the chest with alarm. He drew the phone up, his hand trembling and opened the message.

  His brother’s image popped open on the screen.

  Chapter Two

  Dan barely noticed the postcard-perfect scenery of Missouri and lower Illinois. Once in Kentucky, he saw a coyote standing at the edge of the road, watching his red Dodge Ram speed by. When he reached Tennessee, he ran the air-conditioning and as night fell it began to rain.

  He stopped for gas and found a chain motel. He’d get up early and have about another hour-and-a-half drive in the morning. After two sleepless nights at home, another loomed before him. His thoughts battled and turned his stomach into a hard lump. Maybe the man he was going to see wasn’t Tom at all and only looked like him. It had been a hazy photo after all. He should want it to be Tom, shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he be pleased at the thought of finding his brother after all these years?

  He was kidding himself. The patient at Sisters of Mercy Hospital was his brother. And that’s what scared the hell out of him. He’d always known there was a chance—a very real possibility—that Tom would turn up. Somehow he’d managed to bury the idea so deep and so well that he’d never dug it up and examined it.

  But now reality slammed around inside his skull like a steel ball in a pinball machine. Dan lay on a bed in a room that smelled of stale cigarettes and listened to the pathetic hum of the overworked window air conditioner. What was he going to say to his brother? Would he tell him what he’d done? Tom hadn’t cared what happened after he left. All he’d cared about was getting as far away from Beckett Orchards as Dan’s Harley would carry him.

  Dan awoke feeling like he’d been on an all-night drunk. He had a text from Lorrie and answered it without his usual good humor. He showered and dressed and, with his cowboy hat still slightly damp from the previous night’s rain, grabbed coffee in a foam cup at a drive-through. Trousdale was a clean little city with friendly people at the gas station. His phone GPS led him directly to the hospital, where he parked and inquired at the information desk.

  “Dr. Vance told me to be expecting you,” said a matronly lady with a pronounced drawl. “I’ll page him right away.”

  Dan seated himself on a blue vinyl bench amidst a few sleepy men and women and thumbed distractedly through a sports magazine.

  “Mr. Beckett.”

  Dan glanced up. The man wore a gray suit and light blue shirt with a tie. He was younger than Dan had imagined, of medium build with thin blond hair and a ruddy complexion. He stared through gold-rimmed glasses with an expression of near awe.

  Dan laid the magazine down and stood, removing his black cowboy hat. The doctor’s pale eyes followed his moves, and finally he spoke again. “There’s obviously no need to have you identify my patient.”

  Dan’s heart thudded. “It’s him?”

  “I’ve never seen a more amazing likeness in my life.” Dr. Vance offered his hand. “At first I thought there was some mistake and that my patient had come down here to the waiting room.”

  Dan shook his hand. Well, that cinched it. The patient upstairs was Tom. He wiped his palms nervously on his jean-clad thighs. Now what?

  “I’ll fill you in on the specifics on the way up.” Dr. Vance led the way down a corridor to the elevators.

  Twenty minutes later, Dan waited outside Room 316 while Dr. Vance prepared Tom for his visit. A pair of young nurses did a double take when they passed him in the hall.

  Dr. Vance appeared again. “This may be the catalyst your brother needs to regain his memory. I’d like to stay to see his reaction.”

  “Sure.” Dan walked past an empty bed and around a curtain. Tom sat in a chair, one stockinged ankle crossed over the opposite knee. Beneath his hospital gown he wore a pair of jeans. His right arm lay against his chest in a blue fabric sling, a cast visible to his knuckles. With his left hand pushing against the arm of the chair, he stood and stared at Dan.

  A spontaneous reassurance he hadn’t been expecting suffused Dan. Tom was okay. Tom was safe and alive and looking just as Dan had imagined he would.

  Fourteen years had planted several gray hairs in Tom’s glossy dark head. A few spidery lines radiated from the corners of his eyes, and a fresh pink scar nicked the side of his chin.

  Tom was back.

  “I thought you were exaggeratin’, Doc,” Tom said with the same drawl the nurses used. He stepped around Dan hesitantly, flipped on the bathroom light and gaped at himself in the mirror. Then he stared back at Dan.

  ‘Does Mr. Beckett look familiar to you?” Dr. Vance asked.

  “Looks just like the face I shaved this morning. But then that’s not familiar to me either.”

  Dr. Vance glanced from one to the other. “I had hoped...” he said, and his voice trailed off. “So you don’t remember seeing this man before?”

  Tom turned off the bathroom light and stood in the doorway. “No. But, it’s pretty obvious that he’s my brother.”

  “I know it’s not going to be easy for you to leave with him,” the doctor said to Tom.

  The im
port of his words sank in. Dan stared at his twin.

  “It must feel like you’re trusting your welfare to total strangers,” Dr. Vance continued. “I’ll contact the Med Center in Omaha and get a recommendation for a doctor. It’s important that you continue counseling.”

  Tom nodded.

  “He says your name is Dan,” Dr. Vance told him.

  “Dan.” Tom tried the name out and shrugged. “Good as any, I guess.”

  The doctor turned to Dan. “There are some papers you’ll need to sign before you leave. Financial responsibility, since we have no record of insurance.”

  Dan nodded wordlessly. Tom was coming home with him.

  Tom handed Dan a folded slip of paper. “Got this notice from an impound lot today. Seems we have a wrecked motorcycle to pick up.’ ’

  Dan opened the paper and read the date of the accident and the serial number and description of his antique Harley. Tom still had the bike.

  “He needs a shirt,” Dr. Vance said.

  Dan tried to focus on the doctor’s words.

  “Dan’s shirt was ruined in the emergency room.”

  “Oh.” Dan’s limbs came to life and he returned. “I’ll get one out of my truck.”

  He escaped down the corridor and out into the humid sunshine. Tom was coming home with him. Home to their father. Home to Lorraine. Now what? What in blazes was he going to do now?

  Dan paid the impound lot for storing the mangled bike, loaded it into the bed of the Ram and drove out of the state. Occasionally he glanced over to find Tom staring. Couldn’t blame him. Must be a pretty scary feeling to wake up one day not knowing who you were, and then have a look-alike show up to haul you away.

  Tom had read the Beckett Orchards logo on the side of the truck as soon as they’d crossed the parking lot. “Is that what you do?”

  “Yeah.” Dan had tossed Tom’s duffel bag and plastic-handled sack of hospital toiletries behind the seat.

  “When was I born?”

  Dan told him.

  Tom nodded, probably tallying his age in his head. Intriguing how he knew math and algebra, but not his own birthday.