The Marriage Season Read online

  “And the snow.” He was baiting her now.

  She knew it, but at least had a sense of humor. “Thanks, and here I was rallying, just waiting for more fun.”

  “The boys are so excited. That’ll make it fun.” He got up and took her plate. “Same deal as last night? You wash, I dry and put away?”

  She didn’t budge from her chair. “I’m fine with the team effort if you’ll agree to deal with all the fish.”

  That sounded easy enough. “Of course.”

  Only then did she get up.

  An hour later, Tate found out exactly what he’d agreed to.

  Bex Stuart was like a fishing sorceress if there was such a thing. Once the five of them had piled into the fishing boat—a tight fit, with several seats shared—he set off. They weighed anchor in the middle of the lake, and she cast in the first line.

  Instant hit. She raised her brows at him and handed the pole to Ben. “Can you reel it in for me?”

  If she hadn’t already been the boys’ favorite, she sure was now.

  The boys caught on quickly. Aunt Bex tosses out the bait and lets you land the fish.

  They had a grand time, and Tate didn’t even get to dip a line in the water, he was so busy. There were some skillet-worthy catches, too, so he put them on a stringer and was glad he’d dug out his fillet knife.

  By midmorning they’d caught their limit and he was able to give Bex—and himself—a break, announcing that they needed to head back to town for more ice; they could have lunch there, too, he said—an idea that was generally endorsed.

  After he’d docked the boat and the boys raced up the steps, he had to ask her, “How the hell did you do that?”

  Her eyes were warm with laughter. “I warned you.”

  “I’d call you a witch,” he murmured, “but I think bewitching is more appropriate.”

  And then he caught her hand, pulled her toward him and kissed her.

  *

  HIS MOUTH WAS WARM, gentle but insistent, and his hands were firm on her shoulders. Bex relaxed into the kiss despite being cold and more than a little damp from the mist. The shiver she felt wasn’t related to the weather.

  The kiss was good.

  Too good.

  She was the one to finally break away. A potentially combustible situation was getting more and more volatile with each passing second, and there was nothing they could do about it. Not on this trip, and not when they were back in Mustang Creek, either. He’d always have the boys. She had not only Josh but Tara, too, on her hands. Plus, she had a growing business, and he was building a house, starting his own business, as well…

  It was just too complicated.

  “You kissed me the last time. My turn, I guess.” Tate’s smile was unapologetic. “I find women who can catch a fish every five seconds sexy, what can I say?” They were standing on the dock, visible from the windows if the boys were already inside.

  “I wasn’t aware that there’s a protocol about this. And maybe we should move apart before they see us.”

  “If you think they haven’t picked up on the fact that you and I have some chemistry, you’re wrong. I’ve learned the hard way that they may not say anything, but they know what’s going on. And now that we’re officially sleeping together, they’ll definitely notice.”

  “We aren’t really sleeping together.” She edged backward.

  He stepped forward, and since she had nowhere to go but the cold water, she stopped her retreat. He said, “I could swear that was you in the same bed.”

  “Where else was I going to sleep? I was tired.”

  “Bex, we’re two consenting adults, and this is our personal life. Yours and mine. Just you and me. No one else gets an opinion here, or even needs to know about it.”

  She looked into his dark eyes and tried to ignore the way his hair curled against his neck. “You’re the one who said even the boys know.”

  “Yeah, but all they’ve sensed so far is that we, uh, like each other.”

  Well, that was one way to put it.

  “And it’s not like it’s going to stay a secret, because you’ll tell Hadleigh and Melody. Tripp warned me that there’s no such thing as a secret among the three of you.”

  “Probably,” she admitted.

  “We’ve just kissed twice.” His smile was slow. “You’ve kissed me once, and now I’ve kissed you.”

  “You keeping some sort of ledger?”

  “Sure am. It’s your turn next. I’m looking forward to it. Now, I’m going to take the crew into town to do a few errands and grab them some lunch. You can come along, but if you don’t want to travel with hungry boys bragging about fish you caught, and would rather enjoy some peace and quiet, I understand. If you have a wish list for dinner ingredients, this is the time.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “What makes you think I’m making dinner?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Not in so many words.” She paused for a moment, one finger on her chin in exaggerated contemplation. “Oh, wait. You made breakfast and you’re taking care of lunch. So…I suppose in all fairness dinner is on me. What if I made tacos? I think the only thing we don’t have is tortillas. I assume everyone will eat those? What about Adam?”

  “Actually, yes. He loves them. Just leave the lettuce off his. See, you do understand the mysteries of small boys, after all.” He sighed philosophically. “There goes our deal. Except for the fish, you don’t really need me.”

  But she was afraid she did.

  Saying it out loud was a bad idea; instead she asked, “When are we going to eat the fish we caught?”

  “Breakfast tomorrow. And we is generous. I didn’t even touch my fishing pole.”

  “Breakfast, huh?” In every old Western she’d ever watched, she remembered the characters frying up trout for breakfast over a campfire. This cabin was an improvement—of sorts—over a bedroll on the ground and stars above, but they’d be having at least one true cowboy meal. “That’s definitely on you, then,” Bex told him. “Anyway, while you’re all gone, I’ll take a shower. Perfect timing. I noticed an outdoor one.”

  “Yeah.” He let her walk up the steps first. “I’m kinda sorry I’ll miss it, because I would’ve insisted on guarding you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “But yes, at least you wouldn’t have the boys running around. I don’t know about Josh, but my sons have no problem coming into the bathroom while I’m having a shower to ask me an important question like are we out of peanut butter. Privacy is still an abstract concept to them.”

  Before he left, she had a favor to ask him. She hesitated, but she trusted Tate, and he was right, there weren’t many secrets in her life, anyway. As they gained the top of the hill, she said, “Since there seems to be no signal here, would you mind taking my phone into town and downloading my messages? I don’t care about anything related to the business. I told you I’m worried about my sister’s meeting with Greg last night, and I want to see if she sent me anything.”

  “You said she seemed sincere about leaving him this time.” He frowned, hands in his jacket pockets as he stood tall in the morning light.

  “They have an…interesting relationship.”

  “What are you going to say to her if she decides not to go through with the divorce?”

  His wife had cheated, too, and he’d planned to leave her. Bex wasn’t sure how to respond. “It isn’t my life,” she said after a moment. “Maybe Greg, with all his flaws, is her one and only? I’d never put up with it, especially with Josh in the mix, but she’ll have to decide for herself.”

  “Excellent point. And based on that, the answer is no.” He opened the door to the cabin, motioning for her to go in first. “I will not take your phone and download the messages. I will take the boys into town, I will buy tortillas, but you need to let Tara’s mess go for two more days. She’s going to do what she’s going to do. You need some time off.”

  Once again, he was right, and it was exasperating.


  There were tough decisions to be made, and Tara wasn’t the only one making them.

  Take her, for instance. Bex was afraid she was falling in love with a man who had a complex past and two children.

  But it wasn’t a conscious choice. To quote him, she was going to do what she was going to do.

  Or it might be a done deal already.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THERE WEREN’T MANY places in Downright, Wyoming, to get something to eat. In the end, Tate took the boys to the local ice-cream parlor on the advice of a checker at the tiny grocery store. The ice-cream place served sandwiches, and…ice cream, which couldn’t be had at the cabin. It didn’t keep in a cooler, and he’d discovered the old fridge didn’t even turn on and was used for storage, undoubtedly against the mice.

  The boys raced through their ham-and-Swiss sandwiches to reach the finish line of a hot fudge sundae piled with whipped cream. Tate didn’t eat but had a cup of decent coffee, ordered two turkey wraps to go and got the boys into the truck, which wasn’t an easy task, due to an excess of energy. They were simply having too much fun.

  The hardware store was out of mousetraps.

  “The mice are bad this year,” the girl at the service desk informed him. “This is when the critters want to come in out of the cold, and we had a warm summer, so there’s lots of them. Check with us on Tuesday.”

  By then they’d be back in Mustang Creek.

  “Thanks.” So, no mousetraps, and he’d resolutely ignored the display of sleeping bags…

  It had turned out to be a sunny day, snow clouds clearing, no mist lingering, and when they pulled in at the cabin, he could hear that Bex had music playing. Something classical. Vivaldi. He recognized The Four Seasons, eminently suitable to this trip. The summer mice, the current fall, the approaching winter and the hope for spring. Four seasons, indeed. And he, too, liked Baroque music, especially Vivaldi, who’d always been his aunt Gina’s favorite classical composer. One more thing he and Bex had in common.

  “Vests on,” he said as the children clambered out. “Aunt Bex and I are going to have lunch, and until then you can run around all you want, but stay where we can see you. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Ben even helped the other two buckle on their life jackets without grumbling about it and was the first one to head for the steps, the six-year-olds close behind. Tate went inside and set the bags on the counter.

  “It was only a semisuccessful trip. I thought I’d get mousetraps, but the hardware store is out, believe it or not. Russ will have to take care of the mouse problems on his own. How was your shower?”

  Bex looked soft and fresh, her hair still damp, and although he supposed she might use cosmetics of some kind, he liked the fact that he really couldn’t tell. Maybe she darkened her eyelashes a touch, he thought as he watched her empty the grocery bags. She’d put on a pink hooded sweatshirt and her faded jeans and boots, and looked more like a pretty young college student than a professional businesswoman.

  She caught him studying her, but it wasn’t as though he’d bothered to hide his interest. A blush touched her smooth cheeks. “Even with the mice all gone, and who knows how long that would take, no one could sleep in there until the bedding’s all cleaned up. I’d vote for a new mattress myself. I don’t suppose you thought about buying another sleeping bag?”

  “I thought about it,” he said with a shrug, trying to appear bland. “But I kinda like the current arrangement.”

  “Tate Calder!”

  “What?” He winked, putting his best effort into a pirate leer, although he probably just ended up looking like an idiot. “Your virtue is safe with me, milady.” Then in his regular voice, he said, “Don’t think for one minute that I want to get caught doing anything but sleeping in that bunk with you. There’d be questions galore—awkward ones. I’ll have that talk with them someday. They’re too young right now. Switching to another kind of appetite… I brought our lunch. Shall we go outside and eat on the deck while we keep an eye on them? They’re wearing vests, but the potential for some sort of disaster always looms, at least in my experience. Unsupervised for ten minutes is the limit of my faith.”

  She laughed, which was a good sign. “Thank you for buying tomatoes and oranges. I’m going to get myself a bottled water. You?”

  “That would be great.”

  As he walked out on the deck, he remembered his earlier thought that this kind of comfort—easy and yet respectful, with a sense of humor thrown in—was exactly what marriage should be. What it should offer. Granted, because of the constant and unrequited sexual tension, he couldn’t say they were entirely comfortable with each other, but…

  Maybe he should quit analyzing and admire the blue skies with their hints of horsetail clouds, listen to the boys goofing off on the dock, feel the breeze moving the aspen leaves and forget about the rest of it.

  Good advice. Follow it.

  They each chose a deck chair and unwrapped their sandwiches. Not as tasty as Bad Billie’s—he was becoming a fan of BB’s—but delicious just the same. The wraps had survived the thirty-minute trip back and were tasty, and over the course of their lunch, Ben caught his first fish, removing it from the hook with a triumphant flourish of accomplishment. They both applauded, and Ben stood up and took a bow, which made them laugh. “Oh, there’s no stopping him now,” Tate groaned. “My purpose in this life is gone,” he said wryly. “One day, they’re sitting in a high chair eating regular food, then comes potty training, the first day of school, and suddenly, they can take their own fish off the hook. I’m a has-been.”

  “Don’t despair. There’s always driving, girls and college.”

  He shuddered. “You’re a sadist. Teaching them to drive I can do, college will be a rite of passage for all of us, but girls? I haven’t figured them out myself. The boys’ll be on their own.”

  “We aren’t that complicated.” Bex’s eyes sparkled. “Let us have our way, and everything’s good.”

  He observed the rippling water below. “Um, I do have to point out that you all seem to change your minds every five seconds. We need better signals from you—sort of like freeway signs and big arrows.”

  “Sexist.”

  “Not at all. Realist.”

  “I’ll consult Mel and Hadleigh and see how they feel about your answer.”

  “If that means Melody won’t make those potatoes for me again, don’t you dare. I take it back.”

  “You’re as bad as Tripp.”

  “Come on, no one’s that bad.”

  “True.”

  He hated to ruin their lighthearted mood, but he’d been thinking about something, trying to figure out his approach, and decided it would be easier just to ask. “You say you’re not that complicated,” he began. “Which I doubt. I have a simple question for you, although maybe the answer isn’t all that simple.”

  Bex immediately grew wary. He saw it in her eyes. “What?”

  “If things hadn’t turned out the way they did, if Will had lived, would you and he have been happy?”

  *

  OH, THE MAN definitely did not pull punches.

  Bex took a deep breath. “It’s so hard to say. That was a long time ago, and I was young.”

  “You still are.”

  “Sometimes I don’t feel like it.” She shut her eyes, because that felt less awkward. “I loved him at a different time in my life. I miss Will every single day, but I’m all right.” She opened her eyes. “If he’d lived, if we’d been married, I’d be a different person now. In some ways, not in others…” She paused. “We would’ve changed each other, brought out the best in each other. That’s how it’s supposed to be when you’re married, and that’s what I believe would have happened. Do you know what I mean?”

  He nodded.

  She felt she needed to reciprocate with the same kind of question—about happiness. She almost didn’t want to ask. “When you were married, were you happy?”

  “No.” His eyes were shadowed
and he stared out at the lake.

  “Not even at first?”

  “No. My disillusionment began pretty much the day we walked down that aisle.”

  She’d never claim to be clairvoyant, but she’d sensed there was more to the story than he’d told her before.

  Did he want to talk about it? Or not?

  She bit her lip then took the plunge. “How so?”

  He answered, his expression remote. “I discovered gradually that Sandra hadn’t told me the truth about her past in dozens of small ways and later in several very large ones, including the fact that she’d been married twice before and had a child. Her ex-husband had full custody and he was quite a font of information, none of it good, once he tracked her down for failed child-support payments. For one thing, she’d told me she had no family except an infirm grandmother in a nursing home. The truth turned out to be that she was estranged from all of them—parents, a brother and two sisters—after a series of debacles, including stealing credit cards and forging checks. I didn’t even know her real birth name. She’d been Michelle Grant and became Sandra Chase. She’d had it legally changed and moved away before they discovered the full extent of the damage.”

  That was a little startling. “Then why did you stay?”

  “She’d gotten pregnant with Ben almost right away, as insurance, I suspect,” he said cynically. “So we had a child. She was carrying Adam when it all came to light. I’m not going to divorce my pregnant wife, and besides, quite frankly, I needed someone to take care of the kids. I’d be gone for days and sometimes even weeks at a time.”

  In other words, he was trapped.

  “She doesn’t sound like she’d be a good child-care provider to me,” Bex muttered, watching the boys, her heart aching.

  “Actually, to her credit, in exchange for being able to sit around all day and have a housekeeper come in twice a week, Sandra did take decent care of Ben. To her, that was a fair trade. I did realize quickly enough that I needed to lower the credit limits on her cards and keep a separate household checking account. Everything else was in my name only. I had no idea the problem ran so deep. Some people just can’t handle money, or so I told myself over and over.”