The Marriage Season

by Linda Lael Miller

  “No proposal,” Tate promised. “I gave my word, remember? But this is for us.”

  Bex relaxed. “Okay.”

  When he returned after looking in on the boys and the puppies, all asleep, he went over and grasped her hand, easing her from the chair. “Let’s go.”

  She set aside her teacup. “Go? Where?”

  “Outside.”

  “Seriously? I don’t even have my coat.”

  “Yep. Seriously. You don’t need a coat.” He led her through the kitchen to the French doors onto the back porch.

  Tripp was one hell of a good friend. Hadleigh and Mel, too.

  He’d had part of the porch screened because Wyoming had its share of insects; he’d intended to put a couple of chairs there and a table. But then another idea had surfaced. The chairs and table would move to the open section of porch. He’d let Bex pick them out later.

  There’d previously been drop cloths draped over everything, so she’d just assumed it wasn’t finished yet. Thanks to the expanded stable plans, the contractor had done the labor on this project free of charge.

  The hot tub was sunk into the deck, and Tripp had come over to open the lid and put the lights on while they were at dinner. Someone else, Hadleigh probably, had set out champagne in an ice bucket and crystal flutes, two plush towels and a plate of those lemon-filled pastries Bex claimed she never got to eat. Everything was arranged on a small ornate table that had, no doubt, been designed by Mel. He’d have to look more closely, but it seemed to echo the background she’d created for the clock.

  Star-studded sky and snow-capped mountains as a setting. He couldn’t have ordered it and have it turn out better.

  “I thought we might need a chance to sit and relax and talk now and then,” he explained in a voice that was thick with emotion. “Just you and me, without all the crazy stuff. This isn’t an easy gig for either of us. Kids and animals and your work and mine… Like I said, I thought we needed a place for us. If you get pregnant, we can’t use it for a while, but—”

  “I love it.” Bex interrupted him by pressing a finger to his lips. “I run marathons, remember? I exercise every single day. This is perfect. I’ve always wanted one but couldn’t imagine using it alone.”

  Her response was what he wanted, right down to the hitch in her voice.

  “You’re hardly alone. Not around here, anyway. Ready to get in?”

  “I don’t have a swimsuit. They’re all at my house.”

  He gave a classic male response. “No need for one. I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “I should go in naked?”

  “I like the sound of that.” He was opening the champagne, turning the bottle after twisting off the metal cage. “The beauty of this is if any kids come out looking for us, we can just turn on the jets. Besides, they’re fast asleep. So, Becca Stuart, no need to be shy.”

  He’d prefer to call her Becca Calder. The cork popped in his hand and he reminded himself that it was all he’d be allowed to pop. Not the question.

  But he was tempted.

  Instead he poured the bubbly into the glasses and felt grateful for good friends. He felt grateful for even more than that as Bex turned her back and started to take off her clothes. She said over her bare shoulder, “I will if you will.”

  That alone made the rest of the day worth it.

  *

  BEX DIPPED A TOE in the warm water, and then slid in. She was going to change her mind about surprises if they were all like this. It felt divine.

  “Oh, this is lovely.” She murmured the words as she smiled at Tate. “Now I can take boys and dogs and even you in stride.”

  “Even me? I’m feeling pretty special at the moment. Champagne?”

  He’d poured it, so why not? She wasn’t going anywhere, and he looked so enticing, naked as she was, with his bare chest directly in her line of sight.

  This was not the Bex Stuart she knew. That Bex did not get into hot tubs with a naked man.

  She didn’t move in with a father who had two children, either.

  She didn’t agree to have his baby.

  She didn’t go on fishing trips to remote cabins. She didn’t do a lot of the things she’d been doing lately, but life changed and you adjusted, and she asked herself, What am I going to do next that I haven’t done before?

  She wasn’t going to budge on letting Tate ask her to marry him.

  On the other hand, she thought as she accepted the glass he handed her, maybe it would be different if she proposed to him.

  “Okay?” he asked, probably because she was staring at him as though she’d never seen him before.

  Bex realized he meant the champagne. She took a sip. “Really nice.”

  It was. Clean and crisp.

  The question was, would he say yes if she did ask? Oh, he wanted to live together and have a baby, but he’d never actually talked about marriage. She was the one who’d requested there be no proposal, no discussion. She had good reasons for that, but he had his own motives for not wanting to travel that path again.

  She pondered their bad luck, karma, whatever you wanted to call it, as she sat there admiring the male scenery. Yeah, they both had some issues.

  She cleared her throat. “Being out here like this is fabulous.”

  “Look at the stars.” He tilted back his head.

  She looked at him instead. “Will you marry me?”

  He dumped half a glass of champagne in the tub before he caught himself and sat up. “What?”

  “If you don’t want to, fine, but living together and babies—they do seem to go with…marriage. With commitment.”

  “I’m not saying no, but if I recall correctly, and I’m sure I do, I wasn’t allowed to ask you that question.”

  “You still aren’t. It’s different if I ask you.”

  “Why is that?” he asked in a hesitant voice.

  “Well, it’s a reversal of what happened before, when Will asked me. Do you know what I mean? I realize I’m being superstitious but it just feels right, as though I’m in control this time. As though I’m sending a message to the universe.”

  “I guess I understand. For me, being married to you would be completely different from my first marriage because you’re different.”

  From his first wife, he meant. She nodded and went on. “I bet Mel could make you a ring in a few days.”

  “I’m supposed to wear an engagement ring?”

  “I’ll have her make something simple, don’t worry.”

  His chest gleamed in the reflected light. “Bex, I do understand what you’re saying, but traditionally I’m supposed to be the one asking.”

  “Don’t do it,” she warned. “And since when is tradition everything it’s cracked up to be?”

  He laughed. “I won’t, I won’t. I promise. Can she do a ring for you, too, or is that against the rules?”

  Good question. The warm water felt fabulous. Bex sighed. “I know I’m being unreasonable, but I love you. Really love you. That’s what scares me and has always scared me, ever since Will. The risk.”

  “To share my life with you, I’d take just about any risk.”

  Now she might cry, and she never cried. Those words were better than a proposal. Her eyes stung.

  She choked out, “Is that a yes?”

  “I don’t know how else you’d take it. Yes!”

  “Then yes to the engagement ring, too. For me, I mean. Mel can pick it out.”

  Tate chortled. “Oh, great, so my taste is in question now.”

  “Well, yeah. Here’s an example—that big couch. Half a football team could fit on it.”

  He poured her more champagne. “That’s the beauty of it. Being able to sprawl out, watch sports, spill your beer on it if you doze off…”

  “I think it might become a casualty of our prenup agreement.”

  “I haven’t said word one about that!”

  “Do you have to? I’ve met your very businesslike father. In fact, I had dinner with
him just tonight.”

  “I’m never going to ask you to sign anything.” He sounded sincere and emphatic.

  “Tate, it’s okay.”

  He looked dangerously serious, the steam from the water rising around him, his arms on the side of the tub. “I’m not going to. No. I refuse. You told me I couldn’t propose and I went along with that, so it’s my turn. I am not going to ask you to sign a piece of paper that essentially says, I don’t trust you. That I don’t trust us. I did it once and the marriage didn’t work out.” He held up one hand to forestall her protest. “Yes, I know what you’re going to say—it wouldn’t have worked out, anyway, and you’re right. But you aren’t the only one with a superstition or two.”

  She set her glass aside and moved across the tub to wind her arms around his neck. Their lips were a whisper apart. “I’d sign it.”

  “Not an issue.” He kissed her. “There isn’t going to be one.”

  “What if I asked you to give up the couch? Would you sign an agreement?”

  “Do you have a pen? Wait, I can see you don’t.” His hands slid along her bare skin. “My answer is, of course I would if you really wanted me to. But my point is that a marriage should be two people loving each other and not a business arrangement.”

  “No argument there.” She grinned as she told him, “You can keep the couch. Puppies and young boys love it. Magnanimous of me, huh?”

  Tate grinned in return, a grin that said he was happy with her concession. “They can’t hurt it, anyway. You get to pick out the next one. Redecorate the whole house once the monsters, both kids and dogs, stop defiling everything we own with sticky fingerprints and muddy paws and a few other things I won’t mention. I’m only going to admit this to you—it’s a hot-tub secret—but I walked around for the better part of one day last week before I discovered I had a jellybean stuck to the back of my jeans, courtesy of the giant couch. I know for a fact that you or I didn’t leave it there. It was a somewhat emasculating experience. I don’t mind having a nickname, but I don’t want it to be Jellybean Pants.”

  “Or even worse, Jelly Butt.” Bex was laughing so hard she had to wipe her eyes. “I wish I’d seen that.”

  “I’m fairly sure some of the construction crew did, but my sensitivity to humiliating situations has decreased quite a bit since becoming a parent.”

  “By the way, you’ll rue the day you made that offer about redecorating, Mr. Calder. I usually shop with Hadleigh and Melody. They tend to go top-shelf. Maybe you should talk to Spence and Tripp before giving me carte blanche.”

  “I should start saving my pennies now?”

  “I’d say that’s an excellent idea.”

  “Speaking of excellent ideas…” He moved against her. “Have you ever made love in a hot tub?”

  “No. You?”

  His mouth caressed her neck. “I haven’t, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

  She was, too.

  Bex ran her fingers through his hair. “Did you really accept my proposal?”

  “I think the real question should be, did you ask a man with two kids, three enormous puppies and no real job at the moment to marry you?”

  “I might have.”

  “No going back now.”

  Making love in a hot tub under a brilliant vista of stars was, she discovered, another great surprise.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “YOU’RE ENGAGED?”

  “I just said that, Dad,” Tate repeated patiently.

  “Officially?”

  “Would I say so otherwise?”

  He was glad to see that his father looked pleased. “Bex is smart and successful. Congratulations.”

  With a warm sense of humor. And kind. And beautiful and sexy, Tate thought. But all he said was, “Thanks.”

  “When is the wedding?”

  That was something they hadn’t decided on yet.

  He and Randolph were walking over to the construction site, hands in pockets, collars flipped up against a stiff breeze that had decided to sweep down from the north. Snowlakes floated through the air. Tate shook his head. “I have no idea. Her call. Whenever she wants.”

  “Your mother was hell-bent on June,” his father remarked. “The marriage season, she called it. She got her way, of course. I would’ve given her anything.”

  It wasn’t a subtle hint, but then, his father wasn’t a subtle man.

  Tate didn’t remember his mother very well. She died when he was about Adam’s age, of kidney failure caused by a rare infection, so he and his sons had that in common. His father didn’t talk about it, and maybe that was why he so rarely mentioned Sandra in front of Ben and Adam.

  “I didn’t know that.”

  Walking next to him, his father glanced over. “Didn’t know what? Our anniversary?”

  “No. That you loved her so much.”

  That was taking a chance. His father did not use the word love.

  “Your mother? Of course I did.” It was said gruffly.

  There was no of course about it. “Things between Sandra and me didn’t work out. Just because you decide to get married doesn’t mean it’s a match made in heaven—if you’ll forgive the cliché. Ask all the people who file for divorce. Tripp is about the nicest guy I know and he got divorced from his first wife. He and Hadleigh genuinely are a good match, though.”

  “You and Bex. It’s different from before?”

  At least he could answer honestly. “Yes. Definitely.”

  “The first time you swing a bat doesn’t mean you’ll hit it out of the park.”

  He could come up with a lot of responses to that tired cliché, but Tate didn’t bother. “I’m very happy about this.”

  “Seems to me you should be.”

  He might as well tell his father straight out. “I’m not asking for a prenup agreement. Just leave the money to the boys. That’s fine with me.”

  Silence except for a raptor screaming in the distance, circling in the sky, the keening sound punctuating the moment. Their boots scraped the gravel as they continued down the drive. Grudgingly, his father said. “You’ve done okay on your own.”

  “We’ve never gone hungry.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass, son.” Ex-military, his dad never skirted around expressing exactly what he thought.

  So Tate modified his remarks. “All I’m saying is that Bex is more important to me than the trust fund. You worked hard for it and I admire you for that, but I’ll never ask her to sign a piece of paper that says I’m worried this marriage might fail. Maybe I’m being impractical. I don’t think so. I freely admit you were right about Sandra. So do whatever you want. There you have it.”

  “Becca Stuart is nothing like your first wife.”

  “No, she isn’t.”

  “Glad we can agree on something.”

  Tate nodded. It was an infrequent occurrence—infrequent enough to deserve comment. Obviously, Aunt Gina was a terrific mediator or the butting of heads through the years would’ve been that much worse.

  “We altered the stable plans a bit,” his father said next.

  Tate was pleased to see the sides framed in but even without the blueprints in his hands, it did seem to be bigger than he’d expected.

  He stopped walking. “You what?”

  His father shrugged. “If we gave the structure a second story, it would’ve blocked your view from some parts of the house, so we decided to extend it at the north end to include bigger living quarters for the hands, and a separate office with a reception area for your buyers.”

  No wonder his contractor had moved the finish date. Being without all the hammering and the noise of saws and nail guns was going to be a gift on its own. The construction crews were great guys, but he’d be happy when the constant racket was over, and there weren’t vehicles coming and going at all hours.

  It took him a moment to respond, because he was still in shock at his father’s audacity, but he finally said, “Is there some reason that I, the owner of thi
s property, wasn’t consulted on this?”

  “Yep. Early wedding present.”

  Why was it that every conversation he had with Randolph felt surreal? “I only told you a few minutes ago that I’m getting married. And who is we?”

  “Lettie told me it was a done deal, so we decided this made sense.” His father gestured at the stables.

  That statement took surreal to bizarre. “Lettie, meaning Mrs. A.? You agreed on something?”

  “We’re both reasonable people. She’s just overbearing at times. Always wants her way.”

  It was all Tate could do not to drop to the ground laughing. “She’s overbearing? Dad, I love you, but reality check.”

  His father gestured at the expanded structure again. “That isn’t a good present?” he asked defensively.

  Tate wasn’t ungrateful, just bemused at their presumption. “Of course it is,” he replied. “And we appreciate it,” he added in a soothing voice. Not to mention that Nate Cameron would be hopping up and down with joy. “It’s generous and then some. How did Mrs. A. know it was a, uh, done deal?”

  “She knows Bex and I know you. We talked it over and came to the conclusion that you’d get married, so we went forward.”

  They’d talked? Never in his presence.

  He asked wryly, “Have you named our first child yet?”

  “I’m thinking Randolph for a boy, and she suggested Leticia for a girl.”

  At least he and his dad were joking with each other. That didn’t happen often.

  His father turned then and gazed up at the mountains. “I like it here. How would you feel if I moved closer?”

  *

  GIRLS’ NIGHT OUT.

  Bex needed one. And after all, she had two designated drivers. The three of them agreed on appetizers and salads they could split, and she ordered a fruity rum drink with pineapple and cherries on a long toothpick before she broke the news.

  “I believe the pact worked for all of us. Tate and I are engaged,” she announced.

  Hadleigh and Melody looked at each other, and Hadleigh extended her hand across the table, palm up. “Pay up, Melody Hogan.”

  “You got the date wrong,” Mel argued. “You said they’d make the big decision before Columbus Day.”

  “I was off by a week. Sue me.”