The Marriage Season Page 12

  “Clear!”

  “Well, we’ll never see them again,” Bex observed drily as they ran for the bedroom. “So much for my favorite-person status. Show-off!”

  He leveled a look at her as he rejoined her at the table. “I wasn’t the one keeping a secret stash of popcorn in my back pocket.”

  “It was in my suitcase, actually.”

  “I was speaking figuratively, which you know, and it’s a damn good thing the mice didn’t figure it out.”

  “Why do you suppose I hauled my suitcase out of the bedroom so fast?”

  “Quick thinking on your part, and I’m impressed that you didn’t scream, by the way.”

  “I’m not the screaming type.”

  “Hey, now you ruined the surprise. I was hoping to find that out firsthand.”

  She choked on her drink, and he was probably lucky she didn’t toss the rest of it at him, but apparently she wasn’t the tossing type, either. She wiped her shirt with her napkin. “Damn you, Tate.”

  “I’m sorry. Who could resist that?”

  She didn’t respond, just rolled her eyes.

  “I was being sincere, but we’ve both determined it won’t be on this trip.” He tried to sound as casual as possible.

  “Don’t be too confident, flyboy.”

  “Isn’t that what everyone expects from a pilot? We know where we’re going—and how to get there?”

  Bex gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m done with the sexual innuendo. Want to play a card game?”

  “Strip poker?” He did his best to keep a straight face.

  “Watch it or I’ll kick your ass. At cards, I mean.”

  “I’m sorry. Okay, truce. Yes, to the cards. I feel like I’m at camp, anyway. The boys are hogging my computer, so we’ll have to entertain ourselves the old-tech way. Let me put another log in the woodstove first.”

  Before he returned, he got another beer from the cooler since he’d only had two the entire evening, and he wasn’t driving anywhere, so why not.

  She was sitting at the table, a battered pack of cards in front of her. Her eyes sparkled. “I found these in a drawer while looking for a potholder.”

  He sat down and inquired cautiously. “And?”

  “I used to play this with my grandmother when I was little.”

  He twisted the cap off his bottle. This was obviously not going to be any kind of poker. “Play what?”

  “Old Maid.”

  Tate registered that. “Old Maid?”

  She looked endearingly excited. “You know it.” She tapped the deck. “These are exactly like the cards she had.”

  “I actually don’t know that game. But enlighten me. What are the rules?”

  “We deal the cards and if you have a pair you lay it down. Otherwise you get to pick from the other person’s hand. The Old Maid’s in there and she doesn’t have a match. The trick is not to pick that one. If you’re stuck with her, you lose.”

  “So, if I don’t have that card, I know you do.”

  “That’s the beauty of it. I have it and want you to pick it, but you don’t want to end up with it. Then if you do pick it, I’ll know you have it and I don’t want it back.”

  “That sounds confusing.”

  “It’s not, but it is fun, trust me. Sort of a race against the clock.”

  Ben was, of course, the first one to come out of the bedroom, just in time to see him get the Old Maid card. Maybe he was drawn by Bex’s laughter. The other boys followed him minutes later.

  They’d abandoned the expensive video game, which was fine with Tate, and Aunt Bex once again ruled the day as all three boys joined in. The game really was simple, despite her convoluted explanation—simple enough that even Adam and Josh could play. Tate had to hand it to her; sitting around the table with all of them playing a game together was a lot better than having the boys glued to a video game.

  Ben grinned at him. “Dad, I think you’re going to be the Old Maid again.”

  “How do you know if I have it?”

  Bex was oh, so helpful. “I can tell from the look on your face.”

  “What kind of look?”

  “Like maybe you have the Old Maid card.”

  All the boys thought it was very funny. He did have it again, in fact, but that was beside the point. “I do not.”

  “He’s bluffing,” Bex told the crowd at the table. “Let’s take him down.”

  His turncoat sons had no problem with that, and as it turned out, he was as unlucky with Old Maid as Bex was lucky with fishing.

  Tate had the dismal feeling that he was going to walk away from this weekend with a new nickname and it was going to include the words old and maid. When all the tooth-brushing was done and the boys were settled in their bunks, he went back to the table, where Bex was sipping her wine and reading her book. He returned her mischievous smile with a sour one. “You must’ve cheated,” he told her.

  “Explain how.” She looked suspiciously innocent.

  She also looked too beautiful for his peace of mind. It didn’t help that the cabin was relatively dark, with just the lantern’s glow; outside, the lake shimmered with reflected moonlight. All of it the perfect atmosphere for a romantic moment.

  And speaking of romantic moments… It was his turn.

  “I think I need a consolation prize. Something to soothe my injured male pride.”

  Bex leaned her elbows on the table. “Is that so?”

  “Absolutely. My ego is very fragile.”

  She made a sound of derision that could even be described as a snort. “Yeah, there’s nothing like being good-looking and successful with two adorable kids to make a man feel bad about himself. And let’s not forget I know Tripp, so I’m well aware that pilots don’t have fragile egos.”

  “Good-looking, huh? Go on. I’m listening and starting to feel a little better.”

  “You’re impossible.” She shook her head but was laughing.

  Shared humor was part of the connection between them. Maybe another part was that they both had sorrow in their pasts, his from a marriage that had been based on deception, and hers from the destruction of her youthful dream and the grief of a catastrophic loss.

  But they did make each other laugh.

  He’d met women since he’d become single again, plenty of them, some of whom just liked the way he looked, some who found his job sexy, some who ran the other way when they discovered that he came with a built-in family. He’d slept with a few, but had always felt dissatisfied. Physical release did not equal emotional happiness, and he yearned for that.

  He asked her, “Would you mind coming over here? I think a kiss would lift my spirits.”

  *

  IT WAS A BAD IDEA, no question, but she wanted the same thing.

  Bex listened for a minute, realized the not-so-quiet whispering from the bedroom had died into silence, which meant the boys were probably asleep after a long day and a late night.

  Kissing Tate. Again. Oh, yeah. Bad idea.

  She decided that maybe bad was the new good.

  Tate had scooted back his chair, and she settled in his lap and put her hands on his shoulders.

  If he thought she was going to kiss him, he had another think coming. Earlier he’d insisted she do it, and turnabout was, as they said, fair play.

  He flashed that smile and she could tell that he knew exactly what it was doing to her. “Is there a rule in this game you invented that specifies where I can kiss you?” he asked.

  “I invented it?” She stroked the line of his jaw. He had a hint of beard already and she liked it. “What did you have in mind, cowboy?”

  He nuzzled her neck. “North of the border, since there are small children in the house. I’m fairly sure no one’s going to come out and want a drink of water, but I’ve been wrong before. South’s in our future, too. Not tonight, though. I was thinking here.” His thumb grazed her nipple, and even through her shirt and bra, it felt incredible.

  Tate was obviously aware o
f her reaction. “I won’t take off your shirt,” he promised, already undoing the buttons. “Someday, when we can catch some time alone… For now, I just want to give you a good-night kiss. I could easily explain that away, because it’s recorded history in their brains that I like to kiss you, but anything else might require a discussion I am not equipped to handle.”

  He unclasped her bra and the warm exhalation of his breath across her skin was enough to make her restlessly shift position. “Tate.”

  The path of his tongue downward over her collarbone and then the upper curve of her breast was so beguiling, she dropped her head and shut her eyes. When he gently kissed her nipple, she made a small sound of pleasure.

  He held her in place and continued what he was doing until she gasped and pushed at his shoulders. “I think this kiss is over.” A moment later she added, “My turn again.”

  It was probably ill advised but she kissed him hard and hot on the mouth, and he responded the same way, and they were both breathless when they were through. She immediately slid off his lap. Things were a little out of control and they still had to share a very narrow bunk.

  “We need some space.”

  He didn’t disagree. “I might go for a quick walk.”

  Bex laughed weakly. “It’s cold out.”

  “That might help.”

  “I’ll go put on my flannel pajamas.”

  He stood up. “Just button them all the way to the neck and be snoring when I get back. Some drool would be good, too.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Well, start, if you have any regard for me at all.”

  Once he’d stalked outside, she had to stifle a burst of laughter. He didn’t even take his coat, but she was a bit overheated, too.

  Bex changed her clothes and swiftly completed her own nightly ritual, then crawled into the bunk. Tate was gone for a decent interval and when he came in, she heard him check the woodstove and lock the front door, but he didn’t come to bed. Eventually she couldn’t stand it and went into the living room.

  Shirtless, he lay on the couch, his legs hanging over one end, and while the room wasn’t officially cold, it would be in another hour or so. “Tate, what are you doing?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “Obviously not. You’re going to freeze to death. Why—”

  “I’m in love with you.”

  Speechless, she stared at him. He had a very nice muscular chest, toned abs and she could tell he worked out because his biceps were defined… What did he just say?

  He kept his eyes closed. “I’ve been worried that this was going to happen ever since I met you. I had this bad feeling. You know, like when you think you’re getting food poisoning.”

  He really knew how to sweet-talk a girl.

  Bex wasn’t sure how to respond and came up with, “I thought love was supposed to be a good feeling. Where does food poisoning come into it?”

  “I mean that feverish, shaky…sense of foreboding. You’re right, love is a good feeling. It’s falling in love that’s the problem.”

  “You’re going to have to explain that one to me.” She sat down next to him, although there was barely enough room to keep her balance.

  “I love Ben and Adam.”

  “Of course. I love them, too.”

  He opened one eye. “Don’t make this worse, Bex.”

  She was starting to get annoyed. “You don’t want me to love your sons?”

  “Anyone would love them. Hmm, well, not all the time, I do have to say that. They have their moments. I’m just saying that falling in love is like plummeting off a cliff and not knowing what’s at the bottom. Could be a deep pool down there, but it could be jagged rocks. I’ve landed on those rocks before. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

  “You can drown in the pool, too.” She caressed his shoulder, and his muscles tensed. “There isn’t a safe way to fall.” She paused. “That’s why they call it falling.”

  His gaze was searching, holding hers, both his eyes open now. “I didn’t expect this, expect you.”

  “Don’t sound so resentful.”

  “How come I get the sense you’re laughing at me?”

  “Because I am.”

  He had the grace to laugh, too, and he grabbed her wrist to pull her on top of him. “There’ve been studies that prove sexual frustration makes adult males act like they have nonfunctioning brains. I’m not inventing that.”

  She kissed him lightly. “You don’t have to produce the literature. I believe you.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Get some sleep?”

  “In that little bunk next to you? Seems unlikely to me.”

  “You can keep me warm.”

  He said huskily, “You have no idea.”

  He was wrong; she certainly did have an idea.

  “Now, walk me to the outhouse?” She got to her feet.

  He grinned. “Okay, that’s it. Keep saying sexy things like that. Maybe it’ll work and I can catch a few winks, after all.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HOW HE EVEN got a lick of sleep was a mystery to him, but Tate managed to make it to dawn, coming awake with an acute awareness that Bex was spooned against him. He eased away, went outside to answer nature’s call, then came back in to wash up and start a pot of coffee.

  He was getting to know the ancient, grumpy pot. His coffee was decent this time, he decided later as he watched the sun rise over the lake, the water gilded to a dozen different shades. He could hear an elk bugle in the distance, and another returning the favor, and that made him smile. The trees gradually took shape and definition. He’d been able to stir the coals in the woodstove enough to get it going again without too much effort, so the cabin felt cozy.

  Life was good.

  Except for one little thing.

  No, one giant thing. He’d told Bex he loved her. Where did that leave him now? Leave them?

  Despite himself, he felt at peace with telling her about his feelings for her.

  He wouldn’t trade anything in his life—the boys, his new business, his new home—but he was used to being on his own, and Bex Stuart had changed all that.

  When he heard stirring in the bedroom, he went into the kitchen and got out the battered iron skillet he’d found in one of the cupboards. He got to work, dredging the trout in a light dusting of cornmeal and seasoned flour before heading to the grill on the deck to start frying it.

  Since he wasn’t positive the trout was going to go over with the young fishermen, no matter how eager they’d been to catch it, he also made toast.

  Bex emerged onto the deck, and he saw that she had a mug. “Morning,” he said. “I think the coffee’s okay this time.”

  “Thank you.” She took a sip and nodded. “Good, or maybe my standards have adjusted.”

  “I’ll accept the backhanded compliment and point out that big girls go to the bathroom by themselves when it’s light out.”

  “Like I need an Old Maid to protect me.”

  The boys thought the banter was pretty funny.

  “I hear the bears are hungry in the morning,” he shot back, but she blithely waved a hand as she walked down the steps.

  “If she screams, I’m not going after her,” he said to the group at large. No one believed him, since he wasn’t serious, anyway. If Bex needed him to rescue her, he’d be there with a knife clenched between his teeth, ready for battle.

  Ben muttered, “Yeah, right, Dad.”

  “Maybe if she screams loudly enough. Anyone want toast?”

  Two did, one didn’t. He also made some for the adults in the cabin, and tried to ignore that she’d been gone for at least fifteen minutes.

  When he went to the front door, he saw Bex at the top of the hill, checking her phone. He’d had a signal now and then, but service was notoriously unreliable; it was better to assume that you were simply out of range. She must’ve found a sweet spot. She was sitting at the old picnic table, sending a message, and she looked ups
et, but her issues with her sister weren’t his business. Still, he wanted to be the shoulder she could cry on—except he didn’t want her to cry at all.

  So he went to her. “I made toast,” he said, and once again felt like idiot.

  She gave a little hiccup of a laugh and responded, “Toast is exactly what I need. Toast and trout? That’s an interesting combo for sure.”

  “Bex.”

  She stood and practically flew into his arms. He almost staggered backward. “Tara’s going back to Greg. I knew it would happen.”

  He held her close, searching for the right thing to say. It was a special type of torture when someone you loved was making an obvious mistake and you couldn’t do anything about it. “So we circle the wagons and wait.”

  “I hate this. He makes her so unhappy.”

  “It’s a bad decision, you and I both know it. All we can do is wait for the next time she realizes it and be ready.”

  “Tate, she’s going to drag Josh back into that mess.”

  “And there’s nothing you can do about it,” he pointed out with a long sigh. “I know it’s hard, but Tara and Greg are Josh’s parents, and as long as he isn’t being abused or neglected, it isn’t your place—or mine—to get involved.”

  In typical Bex fashion, she took a deep breath, straightened her spine and stepped away from the rickety table. In the morning sunshine, wearing her plaid pajamas, hair still tousled, she looked about sixteen. “Okay, minibreakdown over. I’m not going to tell Josh and spoil this last day. Tara has to be the one to let him know.” She blinked a couple of times. “He doesn’t talk about whatever is going on—Josh, I mean. So maybe he’ll be perfectly happy to move home.”

  Tate doubted it. He’d seen the kid’s face when his father pulled up to the Galloway ranch. Not to mention that he preferred to have his aunt come along on the fishing trip rather than his dad. Nope, this probably wouldn’t make Josh happy. He sighed again. “For the moment the best thing you can do is try to act cheerful as you go back in to eat your gourmet toast or he’ll know something’s up.”