The Marriage Season

by Linda Lael Miller

  “You are definitely the favorite,” he told her when the kids went off to watch a video on his laptop in the bedroom. “Dinner sealed the deal. I’m old news.”

  The moon had come out, shining on the water. While the generator ran the basic functions like the pump and water heater, he’d lit the kerosene lantern, and the flickering light showed off the golden streaks in Bex’s hair. She rested her elbows on the table, laughter in her eyes. “When it comes to dealing with kids, I’m taking lessons from a pro. You aren’t old news to me.”

  That kiss. He wished someone had been filming it, because he wanted to replay it, time and again. Hell, he wanted to relive it.

  “An amateur at best, but I’m trying.”

  “You seem to be doing a decent job. I wish my sister would, too. I wish she’d start making some important decisions, I mean.” Bex looked pensive. “I don’t even want to think about what she’s doing tonight. I swear Greg can talk her into anything. Josh does not need to be strapped into a roller coaster his entire childhood. Mel calls Greg The Manipulator, and I don’t disagree. He’s cheated on Tara so often, and she still takes him back. What’s wrong with her? How is that okay?”

  “My wife was unfaithful.”

  He hadn’t meant to let that slip. Maybe it was the cozy cabin; maybe it was the boys laughing in the other room. Or the uncertainty in his life. Or that memorable kiss. But he’d said it.

  Out loud. Even he was surprised.

  Bex’s initial silence was significant.

  Then she said, “Unfaithful…to you?”

  The incredulity was flattering, the memory painful. He weighed his response. “When I figured it out, she didn’t deny it. I’m partially to blame, I guess, since I was never home. If Adam didn’t look so much like me, I might have doubts that he’s mine. It wouldn’t matter, because I’d love him, anyway, but it’s part of the reason I walked away from my job. Tripp has exactly the right idea. Money isn’t everything. When he told me he was selling out, I really started to think about what I was going to do next.”

  “You’re not to blame.”

  Bex seemed outraged on his behalf.

  He didn’t talk about this with anyone. Why was he talking about it now? Tate sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “When something goes wrong, it’s impossible not to second-guess what you could have done differently. I was gone a lot. When Sandra got sick it was just a virus, or so we both thought. We were right, but it hit her hard. I can’t tell you how fast it happened. We’d agreed we were going to file for divorce two weeks before she died from the flu.”

  “From the flu?” Bex stared at him, disbelieving.

  He’d had the same reaction.

  “Influenza fatality rates are why they have the vaccines. She was a perfectly healthy adult. Never smoked, stayed fit, but it happened, anyway.” He’d had it explained to him at the hospital by sympathetic physicians with reasonable voices and a load of statistics. None of it had helped. “Her immune system just…didn’t handle it. They don’t know why but for some people it’s lethal.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  He was, too. Not only because he was suddenly widowed, but because his children had been perceptive enough to sense their parents’ unrest—and then they were faced with this catastrophic loss. He’d gone over and over in his head what he was going to say about splitting up their family, but he’d never rehearsed having to tell them their mother had died.

  “Despite everything, so was I.”

  “And so you turned down your father’s friend’s lucrative offer and moved to Mustang Creek instead.” Bex rested her chin on her fist.

  “There was some soul-searching involved. My sons had lost their mother. I was worried enough about how they’d handle us splitting up, and then…everything changed. I couldn’t leave, even with my aunt in charge, for what might be weeks at a time. Money is a necessity, we all know that, but I’d rather do with less and have peace of mind. The job would’ve entailed flying professionals all over the world. Try to picture me being far away somewhere and getting a message that either Ben or Adam had the slightest sign of a cold.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Those would be some stranded executives as I made new flight plans and took off at the first sniffle. So let’s say I chose my current path as much for me, as for my children. It also made me reassess whether they should grow up in a big city. There are advantages, but at the same time, the dangers are there.”

  “Spence makes sure Mustang Creek is as safe as any place can be. He can’t control people getting the flu, but he keeps the peace.”

  He didn’t doubt that. “Tripp agrees, and that’s part of why I moved there.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  He was, too, and it was starting to give him pause. He’d never sworn off women, but he’d decided that commitment was a bad idea. He needed to take into consideration that his sons might get too attached, and then suffer another loss if it didn’t work out. Tate stood and took both their bowls. “You cooked. I’ll clean up.”

  She shook her head. “Team effort. Do you want to wash or dry and put away?”

  “I’d better wash. You found the dishes and set the table. Nice touch with the leaf arrangement for a centerpiece, by the way. Thoughtful, but you do realize the boys probably didn’t even notice.”

  She’d picked up a few fall leaves and put them in a Mason jar, along with some pinecones and a sprig or two of greenery.

  “Mel would have whipped up something a lot more artistic, but I gave it a shot. No, the boys didn’t notice, but you did.”

  He didn’t really have a reply.

  *

  IN THE CORPORATE WORLD, her attempts at flirtation could be filed under: improvement needed.

  First she’d gone and planted one on Tate Calder without any warning—he’d warmed right up to it, but still… Her idea of a centerpiece had been a jar of leaves because that was romantic all right, and after they’d finished cleaning up, she’d asked him to walk her to the outhouse.

  Bex came to the conclusion that, oh, yeah, she was one sexy woman.

  In her defense, he’d looked deliciously kissable sitting there on the deck; the leaves were all she could come up with, since it was fall and all the wildflowers were gone; and she didn’t want to walk to the outhouse alone because there were bears and mountain lions, and if Mel and Hadleigh were to be believed, maybe even Bigfoot.

  The only hot water in the place was from the kitchen sink, so she washed her face there after slipping into her pajamas, which were of the flannel variety and not exactly enticing, but at least practical. The gold-and-green plaid had appealed to her, plus, she had a feeling that once they all fell asleep and the woodstove died down, it might get quite chilly.

  She slipped on wooly socks and was about to get into bed when she saw the first one. Yep, the first one. A mouse, not a small one, either, scampered across the bed and disappeared between the pillows, followed by a second. Bex was not a stand-on-a-chair kind of girl when it came to rodents, but she backed up about three feet just the same. To make matters worse, she could hear a lot of rustling, and it was definitely coming from the bed.

  Outhouse—not perfect. But she’d live. Fishing at dawn in the morning chill. Fine, she’d agreed to that.

  Bed filled with mice? No freaking way!

  She grabbed her suitcase and wheeled it out—she didn’t want mice in there, either—as usual almost slamming into Tate who was locking the front door.

  “Whoa, you planning on making a break for it? I warn you, I have the keys to the truck.” His gaze sharpened. “Is something wrong?”

  “Uh, we have a problem.”

  “Like what?” He peered down into her face. The moonlight coming through the tall windows was their only illumination. They were both whispering, since the boys had finally fallen asleep. It had taken no little effort to get them to settle down, and there’d been some bickering over who got which bunk until Tate st
epped in and assigned beds, telling them they could switch around the next night if they wanted.

  “There are mice in my room, that’s what,” she muttered.

  He swore softly. “Are you sure? I didn’t see any sign of them in the other bedroom. Or the kitchen.”

  She bristled. “I can recognize a mouse, thank you very much. I can also hear them, and the count is already up to two. Not on the floor, mind you, but on the bed. So, yeah, I’m pretty sure. But feel free to go have a look for yourself.”

  “Give me a minute.” He grabbed a flashlight from a shelf by the door. What he-man mouse-conquering feat he was going to perform, she had no idea, but Bex was 100 percent certain she wasn’t sleeping in that bed.

  He emerged about a minute later, a resigned expression on his face. “I can hear them, too. If you don’t object to bunking in with the boys, I’ll just sleep on the couch. I’ve already unrolled my sleeping bag on the lower bed, so you should be warm enough.”

  And he’d freeze his ass off, not to mention that he was a little tall for the couch. She’d offer to take the couch herself, but not with a rodent-tainted blanket on top of her. “We could share,” she suggested against all good judgment—not that anything would happen with three boys in the same room, so it was the practical choice. “I assume you can unzip the bag and we can both use it as a blanket. Mice carry all sorts of diseases and unless there’s a hidden cache of blankets somewhere, the only available ones are on that bed.”

  She couldn’t decide whether or not to be flattered at his brief hesitation, but he made up for it by saying, “I’m getting punished for all my past sins, aren’t I? My version of getting you into bed didn’t include three hooligan fishermen in the same room.”

  “I do hope you don’t snore,” she said.

  He grinned. “I’ve never had any complaints, but I suppose it’s possible. You?”

  She glared at him.

  “I’ll take that as a no. And I accept your very generous offer.” He pretended to ponder the situation. “Let’s see, beautiful woman or cold, hard couch? I’d like to think I’m not an idiot, but I occasionally prove myself wrong.”

  “You just did. Here’s some advice. Never ask a woman if she snores. And furthermore, don’t tell me if I do. I’d rather snooze in blissful ignorance. Can we go to bed now? I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long day for me.”

  “I’ll go to bed with you anytime. No need to ask twice.”

  “It isn’t that kind of offer.”

  “I’ll remain hopeful.”

  She glanced down at her pj’s. “You’ll be able to contain yourself, I’m sure.”

  He was wearing loose-fitting sweatpants and a gray T-shirt that had a faded Purdue University logo on the front—Tripp had mentioned once that their aviation program was top-notch and had produced a lot of talented pilots and some famous astronauts, as well. Tate had gotten his undergrad degree there. He still managed to look sexy. Meanwhile, she was completely without makeup and wearing an outfit the average grandmother might choose.

  That was attractive. “I’m picturing what’s underneath.”

  Whew, they needed to stop this kind of talk right now.

  “I’ll tell you what. If you meant what you said about fishing at dawn, I need some sleep.”

  “Me, too.”

  Was she really going to share a small bunk with him? Apparently so…

  The room was dark and quiet except for the boys’ breathing and the occasional movement—mice? Oh, surely not in this room! Infuriatingly, after Tate unzipped the sleeping bag and settled in, draping it over both them, she couldn’t fall asleep. Although, after the day she’d had, she was surprised she didn’t pass out in two seconds flat.

  Tate wasn’t sleeping, either.

  It was a small space for two adults, and Bex could tell his breathing hadn’t fallen into the rhythm of sleep yet, but the warmth of his body was pleasant, and as they adjusted positions, his arm came around her waist and settled her more firmly against him. He murmured in her ear, “In such close quarters, we’re inevitably going to touch each other. Can’t be helped. Relax.”

  He was probably right, but a night in his arms hadn’t been in her evening plans, especially with children sleeping peacefully close by. When she thought about being in bed with Tate Calder—and she’d had a fantasy or two—sleep hadn’t been part of it.

  The warmth of the sleeping bag was like a cocoon, so eventually she found herself drifting off. She vaguely heard one of the boys, probably Ben, since he was in the bunk above them, say something in his sleep.

  Even the thought of mice cavorting in the other room couldn’t keep her awake.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MIST ACROSS THE WATER.

  The sun was still just a faint glow in the sky, and there’d been a light snow overnight.

  As Tate had openly admitted, he wasn’t much of a cook, although he could scramble eggs and fry bacon with the best of them. He’d address his mostly sleepless night next to Bex later, but he’d already made coffee and toast when he heard the boys stirring.

  Fishing. Dawn. The horizon was lightening.

  He’d eased out of bed—at six, according to his waterproof watch—and she was still sound asleep.

  Josh was the first one out, wandering into the minuscule kitchen, sleepy-eyed, with his hair messy and, like all boys his age, hungry. Tate passed him a glass of juice, offered strawberry jam on a slice of toast and continued to scramble the eggs.

  Ben and Adam weren’t far behind, the smell of bacon a guaranteed lure, and they were almost done with breakfast by the time Bex emerged from the bedroom. She was deliciously disheveled—and she was wrong if she thought her plaid pajamas diminished her feminine appeal in any way.

  “Morning.”

  “To me this isn’t morning. Don’t sound so all-fired cheerful.” Bex squinted at the windows overlooking the lake. “You’re sure this is a good time to fish?”

  “I’m sure. Dawn and dusk is when they really bite. I hope you don’t mind your eggs scrambled. Coffee?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ll make it a double. Since you already have one and you made breakfast, point me in the right direction and I’ll get my own.”

  He waved the spatula to indicate the appropriate cupboard. He was one of those people who woke up ready to go, which had served him well as a pilot. Bex was evidently the kind of person who took some time to emerge from the sleep cave. As she fumbled for a mug, he prepared a plate for each of them, put in more toast and dismissed the boys. “Go ahead and get dressed. We’ll be finished in a few minutes. Jackets and life vests for everyone, got it?”

  There was something intimate about sitting across the breakfast table from a person—especially one he’d spent the night with. In a sense, anyway… He’d awakened with the soft weight of her breasts on his forearm and her hair under his cheek. It was part of the reason he’d made such a swift exit.

  “I have good news. You don’t snore,” he informed her as they sat down to their breakfast.

  Probably an ill-advised comment. She looked at him balefully over the rim of her mug. “That is so reassuring. Thank you. Is that snow I see on the trees and the ground?”

  “We’re in the mountains.” He munched on a piece of bacon. “Happens this time of year at this altitude. It’ll melt when the sun comes out.”

  “I’m hoping you’re right on that one.”

  He almost—almost—mentioned that after the first circle around the lake, he was taking the boys into town, buying mousetraps and more fish bait—and that there was also a sporting goods store so he could pick up an extra sleeping bag.

  But he kept his mouth shut, particularly about the sleeping bag. He’d spotted the store as they drove through but he wasn’t sure whether she’d seen it, too. While two adults sharing such a small bed wasn’t conducive to sleep, he wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. His wife, Sandra, had been enthusiastic enough about sex, but aside from that, she hadn’t liked being touc
hed, other than a perfunctory kiss hello or goodbye. But he and Bex had fit together easily, and even without intimate contact, it was far more like he’d imagined marriage.

  Two people comfortable with each other.

  Companionship and attraction, hand in hand.

  After his disillusionment, followed by the tragedy of his sons losing their mother, he’d vowed that he wasn’t getting married again. Ever.

  “Can you show me how to do this?” Josh, with perplexed irritation in his voice, came into the kitchen, struggling with the straps on his obligatory life vest. “Ben said I did it wrong.”

  Tate glanced at Bex, since she was still drinking that first cup of coffee, and decided he should handle it. “Here’s how it goes. Pay attention to how I fix it, okay? And ignore Ben when he acts all big-brother. It’s because he’s used to dealing with Adam.”

  “Okay.” Josh let him adjust the straps, watching avidly as he did, and went back into the one useable bedroom.

  Tate picked up his cup. Bex hadn’t even complained that the coffee was too strong. He’d been winging it; the cabin only had an ancient coffeepot, and he used those pre-measured cups at home, so he’d dumped in what he’d estimated was the correct amount. His estimate had been a little off.

  “Ben is nice to him.”

  He liked the way she defended his oldest. Still… “Ben’s enjoying his role as the Supreme Power a little too much. I love my son, but that’s just the truth. Besides, all kids need to learn to stand up for themselves. He isn’t a bully, but he’s aware that he’s top dog around here. I don’t want him to push either of the younger kids around.”

  “Here’s hoping Tara’s also come to the conclusion that she needs to stand up for herself.” She lifted her cup in a mock toast. “Unfortunately, she’s such a people pleaser. Greg homed in on that as soon as they met. I’m worried about what happens next, but for now I’m going to celebrate outhouses and enjoy worms.”

  “Don’t forget the mice.”

  “Oh, yeah. The mice.”