The Marriage Season Read online

  The boys had switched on a video in the backseat and were whooping it up. Tate said, “This is more peaceful?”

  She thought it over. “Um, equally chaotic, but better-quality chaos, let’s put it that way. So they’re a little loud. I don’t mind. If you think the sound of children laughing would ever put me off, you don’t know me.”

  “But I’m getting to know you.”

  He couldn’t have said anything more moving.

  Oops. Not quite, because he added, “Or should I say we’re getting to know each other.”

  They were, and if she had to guess, he wasn’t interested in a serious involvement, either.

  Bex lightened it up. “Well, I do know your favorite color is brown, so I suppose you’re right.”

  That won her a laugh. “I actually think my favorite color is somewhere between green and gold. You, by the way, have the most beautiful eyes.”

  She was in trouble, but she’d known that already. “Based on you and Tripp, I’m beginning to think all flyboys are smooth talkers. How he ever convinced Hadleigh to forgive him for hauling her out of the church at her first wedding is a mystery to me. He was right, mind you, but she was mad as a bee-stung bear at the time.”

  “Considering her current state, I’d say she forgave him and then some.” He signaled to pass a semi as they cleared the exit. “At least both she and Melody seem to be feeling well. It’s not like that for every woman when she’s carrying a baby.”

  Bex waited. She expected him to say something about his wife, but he didn’t.

  They were quite a pair. It wasn’t as though she’d talked about Will, either.

  The radio was playing quietly; Kenny Chesney, she thought, but the boys were so loud it was impossible to tell for sure. “I think we need a bullhorn to talk to each other,” Tate muttered then raised his voice. “Hey, guys, tone it down, please. You don’t have to whisper, but keep it under control.”

  “Sorry, Dad,” Adam said.

  The relative quiet lasted for about three seconds flat. Bex couldn’t help it; she started to laugh at Tate’s resigned expression when the volume went back up, and he grinned and shook his head. “My authority works like magic. All I have to do is speak, and they instantly obey, such is my power. There won’t be a fish within miles of our boat with this crew on board. Telling them to be quiet is like asking the crowd at a Mardi Gras party to behave.”

  Bex was just glad to hear Josh having fun. “There’s a reason the expression ‘boys will be boys’ exists.”

  “I hope you’re as cheerful about it on the way home. To change the topic for a minute—I can make hamburgers and spaghetti, but otherwise my cooking abilities aren’t impressive. I’m more than willing to prepare either of those difficult culinary delights. If you want anything else, feel free to step in when we pick up groceries. Adam would eat hot dogs three meals a day, but I’m the bad guy who won’t allow it. I think he might end up being a lawyer. He has a very compelling argument about potato chips being a viable food group.”

  “I guess duck confit with roasted pears, maybe an endive salad on the side, is out?” She said it with a straight face.

  “Sounds good to me, but I suspect it won’t get a lot of enthusiasm from the rest of this group.”

  “In that case, I’ll see what I can do.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE TRUCK BUMPED along a rutted lane that was barely serviceable, but the small faded sign near the entrance off a dirt road that said Granger told Tate he had the right place.

  The term “middle of nowhere” applied.

  Although he hadn’t really expected anything else, it was damned remote. Nothing but mountains, a lake and a Wyoming tree line with a scattering of ponderosa pines, Douglas fir and aspens. Reliable cell phone service was not an option and hadn’t been for about thirty miles.

  They bumped along until he was beginning to have his doubts that there even was a cabin until he finally spotted it.

  Naturally, the first thing they passed was the infamous outhouse. He parked in a relatively flat place near the woodpile, which, thankfully was more than ample. According to the thermostat in his truck, the temperature had dropped fifteen degrees since they’d begun to gain altitude. It was still a pleasant fall day, but he’d be cranking up the woodstove once the sun went down.

  “Looks like we’re here.” He switched off the engine. “You guys carry your own gear.”

  The cabin itself was modest and quaint, to say the least—log construction with a simple one-story roofline and plain walls. Two small square windows flanked a plain wooden door, and there was no front porch. The structure sat on a hill that plunged down to the crystal water. A series of steps that were really just flat stones embedded in the hillside led down to a small weathered dock, but fortunately there was a hand railing made of pine logs.

  The view was, in a word, spectacular.

  Even the boys were quiet when they got out of the car. The silence only lasted for a few minutes, but that it happened at all was telling. Bex looked at him, looked at the view again and said, “Okay, you win. I can deal with the outhouse.”

  Tate nodded. “Russ said it was nice up here. I don’t think eloquence is his strong suit. This is a lot better than nice. His grandfather built the place back in the forties as a fishing shack. He owned all the shoreline on this side. On the other side, the state bought the land from a logging company and declared it a state forest. When he said private, he meant it. In fact, I’d say we’re the only people around for miles.”

  Bex agreed. “I bet if you were here when winter decided to arrive, you’d be stuck until next spring.”

  The rippling water reflected the blue sky, the tree-lined perimeter, the soaring distant peaks already dusted with snow. Adam tugged at his sleeve. “Can we go down to the lake?”

  “No. Not until everyone has a life vest on. Give me a few minutes to unpack.” Tate ruffled his son’s hair. “I know you can swim, but that lake is cold and deep. It isn’t at all the same as the local swimming pool. Promise me you won’t fool around and try to push one another in. I want your word on it.”

  “I promise.”

  Her expression was stricken. “I didn’t even think about life jackets!”

  “I had an extra one. You’re covered.” He handed her the bag with the vests and towels. “I’ll carry in our gear and the groceries. Like I said, the boys can tote their own. This isn’t exactly camping, but if I were a betting man, I’d say it’s darned close.”

  “Is there electricity?” She glanced doubtfully at the cabin.

  “Generator. We’ll be doing our cooking on the gas grill out back. Russ keeps a backup propane tank, and it has a burner.”

  She wore a fluffy navy sweater with deep pockets, jeans and boots, and somehow managed to look sexier than a swimsuit model posing in the surf. “So everything will be fried or grilled. This is definitely a manly outing. Is it okay if I insist on napkins?”

  Tate grinned. “You can sauté stuff on the grill, right? I have a feeling it won’t be the same experience as that fancy stove you picked out for my house, but for three days, we’ll get along fine. Go ahead with the napkins. I hope you brought some, though, because it didn’t occur to me, even though we cavemen actually use them at home.”

  To his credit, he didn’t mention the weight of her suitcase again. He just took it out of the truck. The boys were already at the door, itching to get inside, don their vests and run down to the lake. He remembered being that age, although his father’s version of fishing was the deep-sea variety, with expensive guides and charted boats and people strapped into chairs.

  He would’ve preferred something like this a hundred times more.

  “I bought some paper napkins when we stopped for groceries in that little town. For tonight, I was thinking along the lines of tortellini soup and grilled garlic bread for dinner. Salad is optional for the boys, but I’ll make one and they can choose to eat it or not.”

  “You won’t get an
y argument from me.” He fished the keys out of his pocket. “Now, let’s go see just what we’re dealing with so we can get the boys on the lake before we have a riot on our hands.”

  The interior was a reflection of the exterior in that there was a table with two benches that had obviously been made from an old door, a single couch in one corner, and a sideboard that—he hoped—contained enough dishes for five people. The kitchen was so small it hardly fit two people. It had a refrigerator that had to be circa 1940 and also a sink and maybe two feet of counter space. There was a woodstove, of course, and two tiny bedrooms, both sparsely furnished. One with a full-size bed and one with two sets of bunk beds. Not exactly luxury, but better than a tent. The best part was the view from the back windows. They faced the lake, and the sun was setting, the sky growing indigo and crimson, and there was a door to a deck that overlooked the lake.

  The unprepossessing front didn’t matter. The outhouse really didn’t matter, either—to him, anyway. If he was going to spend money on this place, he’d do what Russ had done. Never mind a bathroom. Add a great spacious deck instead.

  “Look. Don’t miss this.”

  “Oh…wow.” Bex, who was kneeling by Josh, stopped abruptly in the act of buckling his vest.

  “I’ve seen a lot of sunsets in a lot of different places,” he said quietly. “Bali. Gibraltar. Greenland… But this is exceptional. I do love Wyoming. It feels like home.”

  “Aunt Bex, can you help me?” Adam was wrestling with the buckles, sunsets way down on his list of concerns when there was a perfectly good lake a few steps away.

  “Yep.” She finished with Josh and moved on to Adam. Before Tate could take a step, she shook her head. “I’m on it.”

  She did seem to have things under control, so Tate went to get her suitcase and the grocery bags. When he was carrying them in he was almost mowed down by three young boys on a mission, bursting out the door at full speed. He put the suitcase in the front bedroom and carried in the food, setting everything on the counter.

  Bex peered anxiously out the window. “They’ll be okay, right?”

  “They just want to look around. They’ve got life vests and orders not to push each other into the lake. They should be fine. You pour yourself a glass of wine and we’ll go sit out on the deck, keep an eye on them. In the next thirty minutes I’m going to fire up the woodstove—it’s bound to get a little chilly in here otherwise. I’ll start the generator, too.”

  “You do realize you have to go check and see if there is a rabid badger or something like that living in the outhouse. It looks prehistoric.”

  “I wasn’t aware there were badgers in Wyoming.” He said it with a muffled laugh.

  “I think they migrate this time of year. Do you suppose there are wineglasses anywhere?”

  Tate surveyed the bare-bones interior and wished he’d thought of that when Tripp suggested the wine. “I’m kind of doubting it.”

  Bex smiled. “Me, too, but quite frankly, despite the facilities and the fact that I might have to swill out of the bottle, I’m glad to be here.”

  *

  THERE WERE WORSE THINGS than sitting next to Tate Calder, sipping her favorite wine—Hadleigh had had a hand in that, Bex knew it—albeit from a plastic cup. Given how peaceful and pretty the setting was, the hardships were overwhelmed by the positives.

  A breeze scented with pine and water swept across the lake. The late afternoon was cool, but she’d dressed for it, and Tate had turned on the grill burner, so her soup was on a low simmer, ready for the pasta at the last minute.

  All systems go. Except for her personal life… Nothing organized about that.

  She knew one thing, though. They were going to sleep together.

  Yep, she knew it, and she knew he did, too. The awareness was there between them, much as she’d like to deny it.

  Or maybe she didn’t want to deny it at all.

  It wasn’t going to happen on this trip, not with three pairs of eyes watching their every move, but eventually. Unless he proved to be the worst frog when she kissed him, and she doubted it.

  Kissing. They hadn’t even done that yet.

  Josh started yelling and jumping up and down on the dock. He did have a fish at the end of his line, and obviously no idea what to do with it. But there was a great deal of excitement down below. He yelled, “Aunt Bex, look!”

  “I see it!”

  Tate got to his feet. “I’ll be back. You’re handling dinner, so taking fish off the hook can fall to me—with the warning that all three of them need to be doing it on their own by the end of this weekend.”

  Fine with her. As it was, she was trekking to an outhouse. It was hardly a new structure, but not too bad. Trade that for the view—and she still came out ahead.

  “Um, I hate to admit this, but I don’t take my fish off the hook. I believe I’ve mentioned that.” She took another sip of wine and watched him descend the steps, enjoying that view, too. There was something about a man in jeans and a flannel shirt…

  The lesson was brief, for the sake of the fish, but she watched as the boys nodded when Tate deftly slid his hand over the fins and extracted the hook, then gently placed the trout back in the water. From this distance, she couldn’t hear every word he said, but he did indicate a specific size by holding his palms apart, no doubt explaining how big the fish needed to be for them to keep it.

  This was so good for Josh.

  It was difficult to blame her brother-in-law for the whole mess when she knew it was her sister’s choice to be with him. And, of course, part of the problem was that he and Tara were a bad fit. Bex had really tried to be positive about the man, but her first impression of Greg had never improved.

  Tate came back and sat down next to her in a wooden chair. “Well, at least we can say that our fishing expedition included catching fish. One fish, anyway.”

  “Wait until tomorrow morning,” she said. “What time are we embarking on this expedition?”

  “Dawn.”

  “Dawn?” she repeated wryly. “Why? You need to tell me again.”

  “Ms. Stuart, that’s when the fish get up.”

  “Idiots. Why don’t they sleep in?”

  “I can’t answer that.” He stretched out his legs. “Why run a marathon?”

  He had a point.

  After a moment of introspection, she said, “A sense of accomplishment.”

  “I can only speak for myself, but I agree. I wanted to see if I could do it.” He tipped back his beer and took a gulp. “That soup smells fantastic. We need a ten-minute warning for hand-washing and vest removal. Just prying them off the dock could take that long. Hey, look at Ben. I know my son and he’ll be immovable until he catches one, too. This is a competition now.”

  Bex could sympathize. “I’m fairly competitive, too.”

  “You think?” Tate’s tone might have crossed over into irritating, if his smile wasn’t so attractive.

  There were some things best dealt with once and for all. Yes, she was competitive, and he wasn’t forthcoming about his wife, and there was a truckload of unresolved issues between them, but this didn’t have to be one of them.

  So she set aside her glass, got up and crossed the foot or so that separated their chairs.

  She leaned over and braced her hands on the arms of his chair, noting the startled expression on his face before she kissed him.

  She kissed him. Mel and Hadleigh would faint if they ever found out, and someday, they almost certainly would. In the end, she usually told them everything.

  It was the real deal. Her lips, his lips, and she wasn’t shy about the rest of it, either, but neither was he. By the time it was over, she was on his lap and he’d dropped his beer so he could put his arms around her. She’d vaguely heard the clunk as the bottle hit the deck when he pulled her close.

  It was the reaction she would’ve hoped for, if she’d rehearsed this moment in her mind. Which she hadn’t…

  If she’d thought about the imp
ulse at all, she would never have done it. She’d admit to being competitive, but impulsiveness wasn’t typically one of her faults.

  “I felt we should get that out of our way,” she said, eventually extricating herself from his embrace. Her voice was more than a little off-key. It had been a very nice kiss.

  His hold tightened, but then he let her go, although his dark eyes remained intent. “We might need more practice. Let’s call this a trial run.”

  More shouts from the dock. This time it was Adam dancing around. “I think your fish removal services are needed,” she said, pointing. “I’ll get the soup finished and the garlic bread on.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  DINNER WAS LOUD, but that wasn’t unusual. Tate found it reassuring the boys had so much energy; he tried to keep it in check when it really mattered, but he’d long ago come to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to be one of those parents ruling with an iron fist. He required order, not a dictatorship. Yes, they got a little rowdy, but that was part of being a kid. He was just grateful that while he was taking Adam’s fish off the hook, Ben caught one. All through the meal, his oldest son crowed about the fact that it was bigger than the fish the other two had caught. Adam and Josh didn’t argue or object, and peace was preserved.

  “Hey, carry your bowls and plates to the sink, please,” Tate said when dinner was finished.

  “’Kay.” Ben motioned to the younger boys. “Let’s go.” At the last second he remembered his manners—without prompting—and said politely, “Thanks, Aunt Bex. It was good.”

  The other two chimed in. “Thanks.”

  The soup was a major hit. Adam had declined salad, but didn’t say a word about the flecks of parsley in the broth, so Bex was a positive influence because anything green usually meant instant refusal. Oregano on pizza had been known to bring about an impasse. Hadleigh deserved credit for her lasagna, too.

  All three boys had taken second helpings, and he didn’t blame them. The soup was not only delicious, it was a smart choice, too, since ultimately it was glorified chicken noodle soup—always acceptable to kids.