Her life was turning into a nightmare of have-tos and I’m-too-busy-for-us all over again.
Trace shrugged, his assessment of the situation as matter-of-fact as his mood. “I figured it might help speed things up and cinch the deal with Farraday if you were along. You always were good at making people feel at ease,” he commented genially, one hand circling the wheel, the other reaching over to squeeze her knee companionably. “And with Sam Farraday flipflopping, ready to sell one minute, ready to call off the whole thing the next, I figured yours might be a reassuring presence.”
“I see,” Susannah said tightly, beginning to feel very much taken for granted. Worse, she had a premonition of many similar evenings ahead. Darn it all, anyway.
“Problem?” Trace said as he parked in front of the lodge and cut the engine.
Hell, yes, there was a problem. Susannah swiveled toward him furiously. “You might have gotten away with this in the past, Trace McKendrick,” she warned, slamming out of the Jeep. “Not anymore.”
Chapter Nine
“You can’t use our relationship as a tool to help you get ahead in business, Trace,” Susannah said as the two of them squared off in front of the Jeep. She’d known this wouldn’t work from the outset. Why hadn’t she listened to her gut feelings. Instead, she’d allowed herself to be seduced by their passion. “I want our second thirty-minute break apart, Trace. Now.” She held out her palm, expecting him to give her the keys to his vehicle.
Instead, he withheld them stubbornly. “I have a commitment to Sam Farraday in fifteen minutes,” he told her, as if that, and not their relationship, was the most important thing going.
She gave him an icy smile. “Then drive me over to the dining hall and drop me off there. You’ve got time to get there and back and still have five minutes to spare before Sam Farraday arrives. Meantime, it’ll give me a chance to pick up my Suburban.” And get hold of my skyrocketing temper, she thought defiantly.
Trace paused contemplatively. “You’ll meet me at the lodge in thirty minutes?” he specified bluntly.
“Yes,” Susannah replied impatiently. Max, darn his meddling soul, had given her no other choice.
The tense set of Trace’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “We’re going to talk about this, Susannah,” he warned officiously, opening the passenger door for her.
In the meantime, business was first, as always, Susannah thought resentfully as she climbed back into the Jeep. They drove over to the dining hall in tense silence. Susannah sensed Trace’s mind was already on the business ahead of him as she wordlessly slipped from the car and walked into the nearly empty hall. To her relief, only Gillian remained after the dinner shift.
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Gillian asked mildly, her surprise at seeing Susannah evident as she rearranged the cafeteria-size bottles of condiments on the supply shelves at one end of the kitchen.
Susannah fumed as she rolled up the sleeves on her cerulean blue knit dress and pitched in. “Men!”
“One in particular, I presume.”
Susannah jerked her head in the direction of Trace’s departing Jeep, unable to recall when she had been so angry in recent years. “Needless to say,” she complained hotly, “that ex-husband of mine hasn’t changed one bit.”
“Really?” Gillian grinned as she selected a place for the various kinds of steak sauce. “How so?”
“He can’t do anything without it somehow relating to business.”
“We’re talking about his remarriage to you?”
“And about tonight,” Susannah said hotly. “And our after-dinner date. At least what I first thought was supposed to be a date for just the two of us. Only now it turns out it’s more of a business thing, with me playing hostess to a difficult negotiator from whom he is trying to purchase some prime Montana timberland.” And that in turn had torn down the new bond building between them. She had hoped—thought—that the passage of time and the advent of his children had taught him to open up his life to more than just work. To learn to relax and enjoy his life, and those in it, if not every day then at least from time to time. They’d had such a wonderful afternoon, marred only by his desire for a marriage contract. The supper hour, spent together and surrounded by their sons, had been even better. She had loved the intimacy of sitting with him in the porch swing, rocking back and forth and talking quietly. Just as she loved making love with him. Only to discover his thoughts had not been focused on the two of them, after all. He had probably been secretly thinking about this business deal of his all day.
“You feel used, I take it?”
Susannah hated to admit it, but it was true. “Wouldn’t you?” she asked Gillian, noting the wind was beginning to whip up outside. When she and Trace had been married, the only time she’d seen him in the evening was when he’d been doing business with a client and needed her along. She had felt like an ornament on his arm then; she felt like one now.
“I don’t think that’s the question here,” Gillian said gently as she lined up ketchup bottles, one by one.
“Then what is?” Susannah snapped, her frustration and hurt momentarily getting the best of her.
Gillian smiled faintly. “Do you really want to walk away from the inheritance Max left you, not to mention Trace, and the chance to try again? I mean, from things you’ve said off and on over the years I’ve known you, I thought the abrupt end of your first marriage was one of the great regrets of your life.”
Susannah sighed heavily as she raked both hands through her hair. “It was.”
“So?” Gillian waited.
“It isn’t a question of what I want,” Susannah countered wearily. If only it was!
“Oh, I think it is,” Gillian disagreed, suddenly looking so much wiser than her years. “Take it from me. There are some things in life that can’t be fixed, and there are some that can, Susannah. When it comes to your failed marriage with Trace, you still have time to salvage the relationship.”
I AM NOT DOING this for me, I am doing it for my children, Susannah told herself firmly as she parked her Suburban in front of the hunting lodge, some twenty-nine and a half minutes after she and Trace had parted company. If she adhered to the terms of Max’s will, she could provide her two boys with a beautiful home—in this case, the hunting lodge—and the kind of financial security only a major publishing deal, like the kind Max was offering, could bring.
If providing for her sons meant she had to swallow her pride in the meantime, Susannah schooled herself fiercely as she pushed from her Suburban and walked past the white Jaguar in the driveway and Trace’s Jeep, then so be it.
Putting on the smile she reserved for the most difficult clients, she stepped inside the hunting lodge, and was hit with her second surprise of the night.
Trace was seated on the sofa, a lovely auburn-haired woman some ten years Susannah’s junior, beside him. They had a sheaf of papers spread across both their laps. So engrossed were they in the business before them, they didn’t even notice she had come in. Watching them together, Susannah felt a sharp stab of jealousy, one that was only partially related to Trace’s utter and complete devotion to his business.
“I don’t know, Trace.” The beautiful woman beside him toyed with the lapel on her striking black-and-white business suit. “I keep thinking maybe I should go into partnership with someone like you, instead of sell my land and timber outright.”
Trace frowned, his displeasure with that suggestion evident. “I’m not taking on any partners, Sam. I made that clear at the outset of our dealings.” Turning, Trace noticed Susannah had come in. He stood gracefully and made introductions to his guest. “Sam, Susannah Hart. Susannah, this is Sam Farraday.”
“Short for Samantha,” the lovely auburn-haired woman added with a smile as she stood. “Congratulations on your wedding. I’m very excited about attending.”
“Thank you.” Susannah shook Sam’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she told Sam. To Trace, she said as she backed u
p slightly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No problem. Sam and I were about finished.” Trace turned to Sam and gave her an uncompromising look. “Twenty-four hours, Sam. One way or another. If you don’t want to sell, fine. I’ll look for something else.”
“I understand. I’ll try to come to a decision before tomorrow morning.”
Trace showed Sam out. They talked a few minutes more on the front porch of the lodge, then Sam got in her car and sped off.
Trace returned to Susannah. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”
I wasn’t, either, she thought. Susannah shrugged, trying not to make too much of it, for fear she’d only be disappointed again. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”
Trace glanced at his watch, then began to pick up his copies of the sale contract. “I’m glad you made it within the allotted time,” he said as he slid the documents into a folder and back into his briefcase. “I was beginning to worry.”
“That we would be disqualified from the will?” Susannah asked casually.
“That something had happened to you,” he specified. “That you’d had a flat or something between here and the dining hall.” He inclined his head toward the way the wind was blowing through the trees. “It looks like it might rain.”
“I’ve driven in rain before, Trace, plenty of times,” Susannah retorted crisply. “And as you can see, I didn’t have a flat tire.”
He studied her as if wondering what tack to take. “As you can see, my business was concluded as quickly as I promised.”
Or was it? Susannah wondered, recalling that Sam Farraday had not seemed at all done with Trace. “Is she interested in you?” Susannah hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but now that she had…
Trace waved aside the question with an impatient gesture. “I’m not interested in her. Why?” He regarded Susannah steadily, looking just the tiniest bit pleased. “Are you jealous?”
Yes, embarrassingly enough, Susannah thought, she was, even though she could tell by the slightly annoyed look in Trace’s eyes that she had no reason to be. Experiencing a strong sense of relief, she continued curiously, “Is that why you wanted me here with you tonight, and talked up our wedding even as you ruled out any idea of a partnership with her, to discourage Sam Farraday?” If so, it made sense.
Trace shrugged, not above admitting casually, “I thought it might be a way to let her know there was no hope things were going to change, in that regard, or any other.”
“I see,” Susannah said coolly, beginning to feel used again.
Trace gave her a look. Do you? his expression said. I wonder. “Sam Farraday is without a doubt the most indecisive person I have ever known. I’m at my wit’s end, trying to wrap up this deal with her.”
“Then why persist, aside from the fact you want her timber?”
“Because the bottom line is, she has to sell. She’s living in Denver now. She can’t care for her family timber operation from there, although she’s tried mightily for the last four years or so. Nor is she willing to give up her dual positions with the Denver Symphony and the University of Colorado—she’s a violinist.”
“So one way or another, she has to sell eventually,” Susannah concluded, beginning to get the picture.
Trace nodded. “Or see what her family spent years building fall completely to ruin.”
Susannah paused thoughtfully, considering another option. “If a partnership is the only way she can assuage her conscience and still sell the land to you—” Why not?
“I’m not interested in a partnership with her or anyone else, Susannah,” Trace said flatly as he moved around the lodge, drawing the drapes against the encroaching darkness.
How well she knew that, Susannah thought.
“But enough about the Farraday deal.” He started toward her as the first sounds of rain pelted against the roof. “Whatever happens with it, happens. I’m more concerned about you and me,” he confessed, a glint of happiness coming into his blue eyes. “I’m glad you came back tonight.”
Oddly, now that she was here with him again, so was she.
Gillian had been right. Susannah knew she would regret it if she didn’t try everything possible to make this work, to at least find a way to be friends with Trace. Maybe the way to do that, she mused, was to concentrate on what they had in common, rather than their differences. “Have you spoken to the kids?” she asked as he gently clasped her wrist.
Trace shook his head as he kissed her palm. “I suppose it is time for a call,” he agreed. Releasing her reluctantly, he reached for the portable phone, handed it to her then watched as she dialed.
“Everything okay there?” Susannah asked her son Scott when he answered on the first ring. She wished she had a sweater. With the advent of the wind and the absence of the sun, the evening had taken on a definite chill.
“Not to worry, Mom,” Scott reported cheerfully. “Everything’s fine. We just made some popcorn We’re all watching Indiana Jones and Raiders of the Lost Ark. I’d forgotten what a cool movie it is. I’m glad Nate reminded me. Oh, and don’t worry about the windows,” he continued, automatically ticking off everything he knew she’d want to know. “We made sure they were all closed when it started to rain. You and Trace just take care of his business with that client and enjoy yourselves.”
Susannah could hear from the background noises that the boys were engrossed in the movie and enjoying themselves. Any guilt she felt at not being with them that evening faded. “Call if you need anything,” she urged.
“We will. Promise. Gotta get back to the movie.” The phone clicked a split second later as Scott hung up.
“All’s quiet on the home front?” Trace asked as Susannah shut off the phone.
Susannah shivered and nodded, feeling both amazed and pleased that her evening with Trace had been saved, after all. “In fact, they want us to take our time getting back,” she admitted, grinning at the unexpected but welcome reprieve from the twenty-four-hour-a-day duties of motherhood.
Trace grinned, too, as he knelt to build a fire in the grate. “Get the feeling our kids are matchmaking?”
“And then some,” Susannah conceded ruefully. As were Gillian, Uncle Max and Cisco.
“Does it bother you?” Trace lit the fire. He headed to the kitchen and returned with a bucket of champagne on ice.
“I admit there’s a part of me that doesn’t completely trust this newfound cooperation of theirs,” Susannah admitted, watching as Trace uncorked the bottle. “Twenty-four hours ago, they were ready to cheerfully demolish one another with water balloons. Now they’re going fishing and doing the dishes together.”
“I see your point. It was a fast turnaround. Then again—” Trace poured two glasses of champagne then tugged her onto the sofa to watch the flames “—getting in and out of trouble together gave them something in common, as did busing tables at the dining hall this morning.” He paused to hand her a glass of champagne then tucked her into the circle of his arm.
Susannah sighed as she sipped the sparkling wine. “I know it’s unwise to look a gift horse in the mouth, but Scott has never been this well-behaved for this long.”
Trace sipped his own champagne, as outside, the wind and rain picked up slightly in intensity. Susannah could tell by the look on Trace’s face that he was lamenting all the years he had missed, years that could never be made up. “You’re saying he gets in trouble a lot?”
“Mischief, and yes, he does.” Susannah released a sigh of regret, sorry she hadn’t been able to do more about that. For boys his age, she sensed it sometimes took a man to get the point across, which was something Trace understood. “He’s always out to explore something or test his limits in some way, so finding him suddenly so completely and energetically cooperative is just a little…unsettling.”
“Maybe being in Montana is testing him,” Trace said finally.
“That could be.” Or maybe he and the other boys just had something else up their sleeves
, Susannah thought. Usually, when the boys were this good for this long, it meant they were desirous of or up to something. With effort, Susannah shook off her uneasiness. The excessively good behaviour of all four boys the last twenty-four hours could be their way of making up for their misbehavior the evening before, she thought.
“It is very different here from California,” she continued pensively, giving Trace’s theory due consideration.
“Although I understand his need to prove his mettle in absolutely every way possible,” Trace continued casually, revealing more of himself than he had perhaps intended to, as he stroked her shoulder thoughtfully. “That’s a trait inherent to all McKendricks.”
Susannah settled more snugly in the curve of Trace’s body as they both propped up their feet on the coffee table. “You and Scott are a lot alike. I noticed that at dinner tonight when he was talking to you about the merits of various business schools.” She tilted her face to his, adding, “Which, by the way, is something he has never done. Usually when I try to talk to him about college, he refuses to engage in a real discussion.”
“That makes me doubly glad he came to me, then,” Trace said with paternal pride. “If he is going to try to get into investment banking, he needs to get into a top school from the outset.”
Susannah studied Trace with a racing heart. “You’ll help him?” For Scott, it would be a dream come true. For her, too.
“Of course,” Trace said with a warm, companionable smile. “In fact, I was thinking he might want to come to work for me for the rest of the summer, as sort of a junior administrative aide. I could teach him all about the lumber business that way, from the bottom up.”
That sounded great. Susannah knew there was a hitch. “Will Nate mind?” she asked worriedly. “I mean, I had the impression that Nate was already helping you out in that capacity.” No matter what happened, she didn’t want Trace’s children, or her own, to feel slighted.
The Maverick Marriage Page 14
