The Marriage Season Read online

  *

  BEX ADJUSTED THE HEM of her skirt, looked critically in the mirror and decided she was doing okay.

  Nice black-and-white dress, stylish but comfortable black suede shoes…

  Now she needed to get Josh ready.

  She was waiting for him to ask her about Tara, both dreading it and worried he wouldn’t ask.

  He seemed happy enough, and that was the most important thing, but surely a child should be eager to go home. Either he was and he was covering it up, or he wasn’t. Which was worse?

  Covering it up, she decided, looking at her image again but not really seeing it. Maybe she needed to talk to Ben and find out if Josh had said anything to him and Adam. She had no idea how to do that, though. He was only eight, and he shouldn’t have to deal with an adult question like that. Besides, he was Tate’s child, not hers. No, she couldn’t put Ben on the spot.

  One problem at a time. First step was to see if Josh had something decent to wear to dinner at Mustang Creek’s fanciest restaurant—and, if not, if he could borrow an outfit from Adam.

  She’d put a few of his clothes in her bag, but the choices had been limited; a lot of his stuff was still at Greg’s place. However, he had clean jeans, which would do, and a pullover shirt that would work. Okay, problem solved once she got hold of an iron. She let Tate supervise the baths, which meant he directed them into the bathroom in sequence, told them he expected shampoo and soap to be used and handed out towels.

  Very efficient.

  It was cute to see Josh respond to him in exactly the same way as Ben and Adam, and if she didn’t have Tate in her corner, she wasn’t sure quite what she’d be doing right now.

  Sitting in the living room on an outrageously large sofa, she tried calling Tara again.

  She’d had no success with the last few attempts, but this time her sister answered.

  Yes, she was in Denver.

  No, she hadn’t talked to Greg yet. She knew she was putting it off.

  What about Josh?

  “Greg won’t push for that.” Tara sounded confident. “He’ll let you keep him.”

  Good news and bad news for everyone involved. Bex hated the idea of letting Josh go with his father, but she was also trying to picture suddenly raising a six-year-old. Even though Tara was going through a rough time, her son should come first.

  “Everything okay?” Tate looked fantastic in dark slacks and a gray shirt, his brown hair still damp, since he’d gone last in the shower sequence.

  And yet…the concern in his eyes moved her more than anything else.

  “I just talked to my sister.” She dropped her phone in her purse. “I think Josh will be staying with me. She swears Greg won’t want to deal with him on his own.”

  Tate nodded. “Bex, I know you’re sitting there agonizing over how to tell him that, but if I had to call it, this is really what he wants. You’re safety and security to him, and he’s out of the war zone. He gets to play with Ben and Adam, go to school as usual, and not deal with all the acrimony.”

  “I have to talk to him about it.”

  One hip propped against the counter, Tate asked, “Has he given you any indication he’s ready for that?”

  “He’s six. He doesn’t know what he’s ready for.”

  “You want to fix his world, and I’d like to do the same, but we can’t, and he’ll deal with it.” His voice was calm and reassuring. “We all do at the end of the day. I guarantee that with you to support him, with me and all our friends, he’ll cope.” Then he grimaced. “Oh, man, we should probably go. My apologies if the conversation tonight gets uncomfortable. My father’s not renowned for his tact.”

  There spoke another abandoned boy. Maybe not in a factual sense, but his emotional distance from his father was very evident.

  A boy who’d definitely grown up into one hell of an attractive man. She moved closer. “Okay, I’ll forgive him in advance if you’ll kiss me. Do it now while we have two seconds of privacy.”

  He did a spectacular job of complying with that request, and his arms only loosened when they heard the boys laughing. “You just ruined my lip gloss.”

  “I hope so, or I didn’t do it right.”

  “Let me go repair the damage while you get the boys in order.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  The surreal quality of the weekend continued as they all got back in Tate’s truck. Bex felt as if she’d gone from independent businesswoman, single and busy with her life and friends, to being in a relationship and becoming surrogate mother to three small boys.

  After getting Josh dressed and ready, she’d helped the other two pick out shirts and tied their shoes. At least she could say they all looked clean and neat, hair combed. The usual wrangling over seats didn’t occur. Josh automatically climbed into the middle again.

  The lodge was a replica of the grand ski hotels but on a Mustang Creek scale, with a hint of Swiss chalet, and was definitely the most expensive place in the area. At this time of year, the parking lot was only half full, and when Tate parked next to a sleek vehicle with an impressive pedigree, he commented, “I see my father drove here. He must really have something to say. Let’s get this over with.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  TATE HAD TO ADMIT he was apprehensive about the evening. Ridiculous? Yep. He was a grown man, and he was hardly a failure.

  But Tripp was right; his father had some sort of agenda.

  They were seated at a big round table next to a window with a view of the Tetons. The boys sat there, feet dangling, remarkably subdued. His father, formal as always, wore the usual tailored suit, and Bex was stunning in her fitted dress. Even before the drinks were delivered—red wine for the adults, lemonade for the boys—his father hinted at why he’d decided to make the lengthy drive over.

  “I want to go look at the ranch tomorrow. How are you planning out this whole venture?”

  Yes, he definitely wanted to get a hands-on interest. The question was whether to decline or accept.

  “If you’d like to look it over, that’s fine.” Tate’s response was cautious. “I’m trying to decide on the size of the barn now that the house is close to completion.”

  A waitress came by to take their order. All three of the boys chose chicken fingers and french fries. Bex asked for the special, a duck breast with a red wine and plum sauce, and he did, too. His father predictably ordered a steak and then immediately returned to the conversation.

  “I suppose, since you’ve chosen to go in this direction, we should make sure it’s a success.”

  The hint of disapproval was still there, but Tate ignored it. When he’d elected to play soccer instead of football in high school, they’d had this same conversation. Switching from chemical engineering to aviation in college hadn’t met with approval at first, either, but few things did in his experience, so he’d found a balance between annoyance and amusement, and accepted that this was his father. It was how he operated, and Tate’s self-esteem no longer suffered when his judgment was questioned.

  He just hoped Bex could weather the storm known as Randolph Calder. There were times it required a life vest, a rain slicker and tying yourself to the mast.

  She said with endearing loyalty, “It’s a beautiful piece of property, and the house is going to be gorgeous. Plenty of room for the horses, and a great place to raise the boys.”

  His father transferred his attention to her. Tate took a hearty sip of wine—he was limiting himself to one glass—and braced himself for the coming lecture.

  “Breeding horses is not an occupation, it’s a lifestyle,” he began. “They require constant care. It’s not a matter of just showing up for work. The mares drop foals at all hours, and only some are viable as riding stock. There are stud fees and vet visits. A contagious illness, if it isn’t caught quickly, can wipe out a stable. I’m not even going to go into how often they need to be fed, have their stalls mucked out and so on. Plus, training needs to be done by someone who really has a handle
on it. You can’t sell an ill-mannered horse.”

  Bex didn’t blink. Her eyes, green in the restaurant’s lighting, shone. “Tate knows all that. He has the stud and the vet lined up, and his only concern is how much to put into building the stables and the barn. As he says, it’s so much more cost-effective to build what you need from the beginning rather than adding on later.”

  That was a challenge if he’d ever heard one. He didn’t need her to fight his battles for him. And yet, he was touched by the effort.

  He intervened before his father could respond. “I’ve done my homework, Dad,” he said mildly.

  “We’ll see.”

  Bex bristled, but then she must have noticed his half smile and relaxed. Their silent communication felt natural, and Tate hoped for a similar kind of physical communion later.

  She was the one who’d suggested they sleep in the same bed tonight, but this time in privacy, with a door that locked and no one else in the room. Very little, in his estimation, that could ruin this night.

  Wrong.

  “Bex Stuart.”

  The woman who stopped at their table was petite, gray haired and well dressed in a dark green suit that had not been purchased in Mustang Creek. New York City, more likely. She was in her late sixties, he guessed, and she had quite a commanding presence. She said very clearly, “I got your message. Is this the young man who needs an investor in his new business?”

  Tate rose politely. “Uh, Tate Calder, ma’am. You must be Mrs. Arbuckle.”

  Bex probably wondered how he’d known the name, but he assumed she’d figure it out. Good thing Tripp had warned him.

  The devil you know…

  His father rose, too, but Mrs. Arbuckle ignored him as she surveyed the table. “Those two must be yours. Handsome children. I’ll come by tomorrow and we can talk.”

  After she’d walked away to join a group of ladies at another table, Bex cleared her throat. “She’s actually very nice, but she’s always abrupt. I love Mrs. A. She can be an acquired taste, though.”

  “We’ve met before,” Tate’s father said in an acid tone.

  Of course they had. It made sense because they were probably both in the same tax bracket and same social level. And in the state of Wyoming, with its population of well under a million, that meant they occasionally bumped into each other. He refrained from pointing this out and said, “Bex knows her and thought she might be helpful.”

  “You wouldn’t ask me first?”

  Now, that was a volatile question. Tate strove for a politic answer that was also honest. “You seemed to disapprove of the idea in the first place. Why would I?”

  His frankness didn’t defuse the situation. The arrival of the bread, however, did help, providing a distraction; the basket was being passed around, butter distributed, and noises of appreciation resounded. Tate was aware that his father wasn’t mollified, but he didn’t care anymore.

  Oh, he cared about his father. Pleasing him was less important than it used to be, though. A lot less important.

  Now Bex’s eyes looked like warm gold. She handed him the basket. “Have a roll. Otherwise the sharks will come cruising in again and you’ll lose your chance.”

  If he wasn’t already in love with her, he would have tumbled off that cliff right then and there. It was clear that while she wanted to keep the peace, she was in his corner. Tate took a roll, and it was delicious.

  “You can’t let Lettie Arbuckle invest.”

  “Because?”

  “She’ll meddle.” His father was testy.

  So will you.

  Tate assumed that Bex wouldn’t have recommended Lettie if she’d experienced any problems or the woman had interfered in her business. He didn’t want to discuss it further, though, not over dinner. He was aware that, much as they might seem to ignore it, the children were aware of the subtle argument at the table, so this just wasn’t the time. “I’d like you to come tomorrow and tell me what you think.” And that was the end of the conversation.

  *

  DINNER WAS BOTH better and worse than Bex had expected it to be.

  She found Tate’s father an interesting combination of suave and overbearing. No question he thought he knew it all, but she sensed that he was decent underneath, and that mattered.

  A relief, really, since she’d been worried she wouldn’t like him.

  She answered all of Mr. Calder’s questions as candidly as possible. His father was interested in her business and that didn’t surprise her, because she’d dealt with dozens of people like him. It was the language he knew, and he spoke it well.

  He and Tate, on the other hand, might have been living on different planets.

  If Tate didn’t think he was sensitive, he was so wrong.

  She’d fallen for the way he loved his sons and the way he treated Josh.

  He’d have to stop arguing about the whole “sensitive” thing. There was nothing wrong with it, and she was exactly the woman to prove that to him.

  It was the magic of the marriage pact.

  Bex had never seen so clearly how this wasn’t just about her, Mel and Hadleigh; it was also about the men who needed them.

  “I’d ask why you’re staring at me,” he said in a low voice when their dinner was being served, “but I’m afraid the answer involves my father. Everything okay?”

  She jingled the little charms on her bracelet and said, her smile slow, “I think it is.”

  He saw the gesture, and his look was questioning, but at that moment Adam spilled ketchup on his shirt in one of the inevitable minor disasters associated with young boys. Tate needed to do cleanup and assure his son that accidents happened, so they trooped off to the bathroom. When they’d left, Tate’s father asked her, “So how did the two of you meet?”

  She thought about Tripp and Hadleigh’s wedding and the party they’d thrown when they got back from their honeymoon. “Through shameless matchmaking by one of my best friends.”

  He chuckled. “I see. Seems to be working.”

  Cautiously, because she wasn’t sure how Tate would feel about this conversation, she said, “We’re getting along so far.”

  Randolph Calder glanced at Ben and hesitated, as if he wanted to say something about Tate’s wife, but refrained. Instead he muttered, “Tate’s made a decision or two I haven’t agreed with, but I suppose that’s unavoidable. What do you think about this horse-breeding business? You’re from here, right? I don’t feel that Mustang Creek’s big enough to support it. Where’s the market?”

  All business, all the time was how Tate had described his father.

  At least she knew the answer. “There are a lot of ranchers who need working horses, but he mainly wants to target the tourism trade in this area. Trail rides and camping packages require good-natured, well-broken stock. There’s a market around here.”

  “That’s interesting. What about the property? Is there a place for a hotel like this place?”

  “A hotel?”

  “I assume if Lettie Arbuckle’s interested, there’s going to be a hotel. She owns half of them in the state. If he was planning to do that, he should’ve asked me.”

  Oh, no. Bex didn’t have the impression that was what Tate wanted at all.

  “I…I think he just wants to raise horses.”

  “A hotel would be more profitable. This was about my only choice of a place to stay around here. I’m not always on board with Lettie’s ideas, but I believe this one could be a success. A lodge on a working ranch with the view around here? That could be a solid decision.”

  With relief she saw Tate coming back with Adam, who seemed to feel the need to skip between the tables. “I’m not sure how many acres he bought,” she was able to say hastily. “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “Problem solved,” Tate informed them as he sat down, but his gaze went from her to his father and back to her. “What did I miss?”

  “Here’s the dessert menu.” Bex handed it over, evading the question.

 
He knew she was doing it, too; she could tell from his resigned expression.

  They split the chocolate-fudge tunnel cake. The boys had the usual ice cream, and Tate’s father drank coffee and a snifter of expensive cognac.

  It wasn’t until they were in the truck, driving back to his rental house, that he said, “Just tell me. What did he say?”

  “This could be my fault, Tate.”

  “What could be your fault? Now you’re making me nervous. You’ll have to clarify.”

  “Can I first say that I had no idea your father knew Mrs. A.?”

  “Okay, but that disclaimer does not fill me with joy, Bex. Why would it matter, other than that they seem to dislike each other and both might want to invest? Tripp already gave me a heads-up that Mrs. Arbuckle is a force to be reckoned with. I haven’t made a decision yet, but whatever I end up doing, I have to include Doc Cameron, since he’s part of this.”

  “Your father mentioned a hotel.”

  “No.”

  Unequivocal. Not up for discussion.

  “I’m just telling you what he said to me.” She sank a little lower in her seat. “You know, he has a point. We could use another nice hotel around here. Right now the pickin’s are sparse if you want to stay somewhere that isn’t a chain, and we don’t even have very many of those.”

  “I want my log house, my corral and pasture and a stable and barn. That’s it. I want to look at the Tetons, not the silhouette of a hotel.”

  Bex nodded. “I agree. But there’s no reason that either your father or Mrs A. couldn’t buy some land and put a lodge on it. That could help your business, because you could rent them the horses for trail rides and such. They might still invest in your stable and barn if you presented it that way. See which one makes the better offer. Both of them are coming over tomorrow.”

  It took a minute, but he grinned. “You’re very sexy when you move into business mode. But then, you’re sexy all the time, so it goes without saying.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, but…thoughts?”

  He checked the rearview mirror. “We have some sleepy boys on our hands, this dilemma will still be around tomorrow and right now I’m concentrating on the fact that you decided we should both sleep in the same bed.”