The Man She Married

by Muriel Jensen

  “Goodbye, Gideon,” she said. “I’ll file for divorce so you can get on with your new life in Alaska, and I can get on with my life.” Then she disappeared into the restaurant.

  Gideon stood for a few minutes, examining his options. The suitcase he’d brought with him was still in the trunk of the cab. He’d stay the night in Maple Hill and go back to Boston tomorrow. Then it was off to Glacier Bay and the Kenton Cove Lodge.

  Paris and Randy came out of the restaurant, Paris’s expression troubled, Randy’s sympathetic.

  “She wouldn’t listen?” Paris asked.

  “She listened,” Gideon replied. “She just refuses to believe me.”

  Randy nodded and offered his hand. “We have a lot in common,” he said as they shook hands. “We’re both in love with difficult women.”

  Gideon smiled grimly. “I can relate to the difficult part, but it’s all become too complicated to resolve. I’m just going to move on. Paris, you said there were a couple of inns in town?”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a loud group of men pushing their way out of the restaurant, talking and laughing. It was Hank Whitcomb and his friends, at whose table Randy had left Gideon when he’d run after Paris.

  Hank broke away from the crowd, waving them off, then came to join Paris, Randy and Gideon. He hugged Paris and clapped Randy on the back. “All right, you two. Glad to see you’ve patched it up. Makes me winner of the pool.”

  Paris raised an eyebrow. “The pool?”

  “They had bets on when we’d finally get together,” Randy explained, lifting both hands to deny responsibility when Paris looked dismayed. “I had nothing to do with it. Except in falling in love with you.”

  Paris leaned into Randy and wrapped an arm around his waist, a beatific smile on her face. “Well, that’s all right, then. Hank, you’ve met my brother-in-law?”

  Hank nodded. “We empathized about women while you and Randy were having it out.” He winced at Gideon. “I presume since Prue’s now inside with her mother and Jeffrey that you’re in the same situation Randy was in half an hour ago.”

  Gideon grinned mirthlessly. “No happy ending for us, though. I understand your wife has an inn?”

  “No, no,” Paris insisted. “If you’re staying the night, you can stay with us, or with Mom.”

  Gideon shook his head. “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but the two of you need private time, and frankly, so do I. I have some calls to make, some business to conduct that’d be best done without distractions.”

  “Jackie covered the desk at the inn this morning and I promised to take her a cinnamon roll.” Hank held up the to-go box in his hand. “Why don’t you just ride to the inn with me?”

  Paris looked worried. “So…you’re just going to take off for Alaska tomorrow?” she asked Gideon.

  He wrapped her in his arms. “There’s little point in me staying. What about if the three of us meet here for breakfast in the morning before I go?”

  “That’d be good.” She heaved a sigh. “She’s changed, you know. I’m sure if you two had some more time together, you might be surprised by how much more…real she’s become.”

  He nodded grimly. “She’s always been very real to me. The trouble is, what we had no longer exists for her. So there isn’t even a thread of the old life to hold on to and find our way back.”

  “Maybe the way isn’t back, but forward,” Randy suggested. “Approach it as two people without a past. Start over.”

  “That sounds good,” Hank offered, then added with a grin, “And I fully appreciate that this is none of my business, but I’ve inherited an unfortunate buttinsky nature from my mother.” Then he sobered and went on. “But as someone in love with a woman with whom I’d had a past, I know you can’t pretend it isn’t there. It’s always there. It affected you, it changed you, and it has to be resolved or there is no future.” He frowned at Gideon. “The bad news, Gideon, is that if it’s important to you, you have to hit it head-on. There’s no way around it.”

  Gideon spread both arms. “I understand that. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t really think we could repair the relationship, I just wanted to make sure she understood what had happened. But she’s not willing to listen and I’m tired of trying.”

  Randy shook his hand. “Maybe she’ll miss you while you’re in Alaska.”

  Gideon gave that suggestion the small, wry laugh it deserved. “I don’t think so. See you two here in the morning. Is eight too early?”

  “Eight’s good.”

  Gideon followed Hank to a dark green van, Whitcomb’s Wonders painted in white script on the side.

  “The men who work for you are called Whitcomb’s Wonders?” Gideon asked, climbing into the van. “That’s quite a claim.”

  “It is. And I can back it up. Like I told you over breakfast, clients love that they can call one number for almost any kind of service relating to a home or business.”

  “Do you have a good shrink on staff? I feel as though I could use one right about now.”

  Hank laughed. “No shrink, but my mother loves to dispense advice. I’ll spare you that.” He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. “I think I understand your frustration. My wife and I were high-school sweethearts. We were separated by a major breach in communication and finally got back together when I moved home a couple of years ago.”

  “How did you heal that breach?”

  “We fought a lot,” Hank said. “But at least we were talking.”

  That, Gideon thought, was the difference right there. Prue had a lot to say but wasn’t interested in listening.

  Well. That was fine. He was sure he’d like Alaska. Land of the Midnight Sun, of sled dogs and tales of the gold rush. Another adventure.

  He just wished he felt more enthusiastic about it. He had to do something completely different, and a partnership with an old college friend in a fishing lodge in the wilderness had seemed like a good place to relax, enjoy the outdoors and try to get a little spirit back into his life.

  He hated what had happened between him and Prue, but pleading with her to listen to the truth was as close as he intended to get to groveling.

  Hank pulled up to the Yankee Inn, a three-story colonial with green shutters and a vine-covered pergola at the side.

  Inside, as Hank leaned over the counter to embrace his wife and deliver the cinnamon roll, Gideon looked around. He saw worn wood floors, a cozy atmosphere provided by a fieldstone fireplace and a settee that was probably as old as the building.

  Hank introduced Jackie, a pretty woman with strawberry blond hair and welcoming gray eyes. Hank wished him good luck, while Jackie checked Gideon in and then led him upstairs to his room. It was remarkably quiet. He could see some roofs, the tops of trees and birds in flight. He went to the window and looked down on the bucolic setting stretched out before him. Drying grass, the beautiful Berkshires and the occasional home dotting the road that led to town. He felt something reach out to him and take hold.

  “One of my ancestors hid an injured redcoat in this room,” Jackie said, smoothing the quilt on the bed. “And nursed him back to health.”

  He put his bag down and opened the window. Cool fragrant air filled the room. It smelled of wood smoke, and he could hear the musical burble of a stream. He turned back to his hostess to grin. “That was probably a dangerous and unpopular thing for her to do.”

  Jackie nodded. “She was sixteen. Danger doesn’t always stop you at that age. Fortunately, he changed sides for her and survived the war. They raised eight children on this place.”

  “Courage deserves a happy ending.”

  “Yes, it does. And sometimes it takes time to get there.”

  She smiled pleasantly as she opened the door, a silent message in her manner that she understood his situation and sympathized with it. Of course. She’d dealt with and survived that major “communications breach” with Hank. And everyone in Maple Hill seemed to know and even care about everyone else’s busines
s.

  “Drinks in the lounge five-thirty to seven this evening,” she said. “And continental breakfast from seven to ten in the morning. Is there anything I can get you?”

  He looked around the cozy, comfortable room and shook his head. “No, thank you.”

  “Just press nine on the phone for the desk. Enjoy the day.”

  She stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.

  He didn’t think there was any way that was going to happen, but he could get himself organized for the trip to Alaska. He confirmed his reservations from Boston, verified his flight on the small plane scheduled to take him from Juneau to Gustavus, then tried to call Dean Kenton, his partner in the fishing lodge, but got no answer.

  He took a shower, closed the window in the room as the day wore on to early afternoon, then lay down on the bed, enjoying the unusual luxury of having the time and place for a nap.

  The bedding smelled fresh and vaguely herbal as he settled his head into the middle of a plump pillow and closed his eyes. His back and shoulders relaxed against the mattress.

  Peace, he thought, enjoying the moment. He was finally going to have peace. Loving Prue had been exciting, tempestuous and undeniably delicious when she was being sane and adult. But she’d displayed those qualities less often in the last year of their marriage, and he wouldn’t miss the tears and shouting on her part, the exasperation and anger on his. Refusing to see him when he’d followed her home had been unreasonable, even for her.

  Yes. Moving away was a good thing. Nothing like a clean break from the past, even though he couldn’t completely separate himself from it, as Hank had said. It was a part of him, had changed him. But he would take what he’d learned and move on.

  Somewhere there had to be a woman who was willing to give a man the benefit of the doubt.

  He was just drifting off, when his cell phone rang.

  “Hello?” he asked, sitting up, happy to put thoughts of Prue out of his mind.

  “Gideon? It’s Dean.”

  “Hi. I tried to call you earlier.”

  “Did you? Oh. Sorry.” Dean’s usually cheerful voice was grim and hesitant. “There’s been a lot going on here.”

  Gideon could hear a commotion in the background, people shouting. Then he heard a wail—like a siren. He sat up a little straighter. “What happened? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Dean replied. “But there’s been a fire at the lodge.”

  “A fire,” Gideon repeated, a sense of foreboding bumping along his spine.

  “Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “The kitchen and the whole guest wing burned to the ground.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE I named you Prudence,” Camille O’Hara said.

  Prue stared at her mother, a woman in her late forties who was a model and an actress. She’d had her two daughters very young and was still gorgeous. She wore her expertly colored platinum hair in trendy spikes and had an artistic flair for line and color in her clothes. The fact that she was small and slender contributed to her youthful appearance. Prue knew that she got her creative talent from her.

  Unfortunately, she’d inherited other things as well. Camille was charming and vivacious with a tendency toward theatrics—a quality probably well suited to her career. But those same qualities made Prue seem like the princess Gideon had often called her.

  “Camille, don’t be so hard on her.” Jeffrey St. John, an actor, musician and old friend of her mother’s who was recently rediscovered, had been visiting for a week and showed no signs of going home to Florida. He’d been a calming influence in the household. “She’s had a shock, and strong feelings are involved. What would be right for you isn’t necessarily right for her.”

  “How can a strong, dynamic man who loves her not be right for her?” Camille demanded.

  “He said he didn’t want me back,” Prue reminded her. Now that the initial shock of seeing Gideon in Maple Hill had passed, Prue was dealing with a sort of posttraumatic depression. The need to be cool and disdainful in the face of his pathetic explanation had disintegrated and now all she felt was loss for the magic they’d known. “Neither one of us wants to be married again. And that ridiculous explanation of what happened was enough to make the most trusting woman laugh.”

  “Sometimes,” her mother suggested more quietly after Jeffrey’s reprimand, “truth is stranger than fiction. Remember when you and Paris were little and the dog stole the cookie dough and I thought you’d done it?”

  It was a terrible time to confess to a twenty-year-old crime, but it did make Prue’s point. “We did do it, Mom. That’s what I mean. If you lie well enough, you can get away with murder—or infidelity.”

  “You did eat the cookie dough?” Camille asked in genuine surprise. She seemed to have missed the point.

  “My point, Mom,” Prue said patiently, “is that I once loved him very much. He cheated on me while I spent night after lonely night alone believing he was working, giving up my life so he could fulfill his noble calling. Now I don’t give a rip about him. He’s moving to Alaska to be a partner in a fishing lodge, and I’m going to see a lawyer and file for divorce so I can look for a new partnership. Someday. Right now I have too much to do.”

  “Okay,” Camille said. Prue was prepared for more argument. Her mother never gave up on anything. “But I think you’re making a big mistake. It isn’t easy for women like us to find the right man. They feel overwhelmed by us, even intimidated. We attract them all right, but holding them is harder because sometimes…we’re just too much.”

  “The right kind of man,” Prue repeated her words with a roll of her eyes, “wouldn’t be found in a compromising position with a stripper.”

  “I understand he had his clothes on,” Jeffrey said.

  Both women turned to him in surprise.

  “Well, Paris and Randy sat with us this morning while the two of you were in the cab, and she and your mother talked about it.” He shrugged. “I just think if a man’s as eager as all that to make love to a woman, he’s going to get naked, too.”

  Feeling besieged, Prue needed to get away. She snatched her jacket and purse off the arm of the sofa and drew a steadying breath. “I’m going to the studio,” she said politely, though her emotions were hot and turbulent. Anger and pain and bitter disappointment gave her a heartburn that had nothing to do with digestion. “I have a lot of orders to fill and I have to make a plan, try to hire some help.”

  Jeffrey stood. “Prue, I’m sorry if I…”

  She came back to give him a quick hug. “You didn’t do anything, Jeffrey. I just need to get to work and think about other things.” She went to her mother, who sat curled up in an overstuffed chair, and hugged her, too. “I know you have my best interests at heart, Mom. Don’t worry if I’m late. I have a lot to do.”

  Camille patted her cheek. “I’m so happy for you that the fashion show went well. Soon the whole world’s going to know you’re a brilliant designer.”

  That was a nice thought.

  Jeffrey tossed her his car keys. She tossed them back. “Thanks, but it’s a beautiful day and I’m going to walk.” She’d sold her Porsche when she’d moved back home to help contribute to the household. The fact that her sister owned a cab company had helped her get around, but after Paris and Randy were reconciled this morning, she imagined Paris would have better things to do than drive her to her studio.

  She blew a kiss into the room and walked out the door, breathing in the sharp, clear air. She set a steady pace and headed off toward town, thinking that the two-mile jaunt would probably take her half an hour or better.

  It was just after noon when she reached town. Colonial homes and small businesses stood in the sun-dappled early afternoon, Halloween decorations on the windows, a black cat–shaped windsock puffed out in front of the hardware store.

  Traffic picked up as she reached the square, groups of women and men from City Hall or businesses downtown hurrying to lunch appointments. The trees on
the common caught the sunlight that also glossed the curved lines on the statue of Caleb and Elizabeth Drake, a couple who’d fought off redcoats. Prettily painted two-hundred-year-old buildings framed the square.

  She tried hard to concentrate on her surroundings rather than think about Gideon and his sudden appearance this morning. Though everyone else seemed to think his visit was noble to try to clarify what had happened and an indicator that he still cared, she thought of it as just another attempt to convince her of a fiction she just couldn’t swallow.

  She didn’t think she was being difficult. She simply needed to hold on to her self-respect. What woman in her right mind would have believed him?

  She’d just reached the far side of the square, when a horn honked behind her. She turned to see Paris’s cab pull up to the curb. The station wagon had magnetic signs on the front doors that read Berkshire Cab in tall yellow letters. Her sister reached across the front seat to open the passenger door.

  “Where you going?” she asked.

  “To the studio.” Prue ducked down to reply. “Why aren’t you and Randy making out somewhere? What’s wrong with you?”

  “One of the other EMTs’ mother died and Randy was called in to cover for him.” Paris shrugged. “So, I thought I may as well drive. Get in.” She pulled a bottle of 7-Up and a package of saltines off the passenger seat.

  Prue complied, fastened her seat belt, then took the bottle and crackers from her. “How’s the nausea?”

  “Comes and goes,” Paris replied, watching her rearview mirror as she pulled out again. Taking her place in the busy traffic, she grinned at the windshield. “I’m feeling too obnoxiously happy to notice, really. Can you believe it? I’m in love! And I’m going to be a mother.”

  Prue patted her sister’s arm, sincerely pleased for her, while her own heart reacted with a silent whimper. “A lot’s changed since you woke up at five this morning, sick as a dog and determined to leave Maple Hill and Randy to go back to law school.”