“Yeah! A ride in Cisco’s Jeep sounds fun!” eight-year-old Mickey enthused.
“As long as we get to go fishing later this afternoon, like you promised, I’m in,” Nate agreed, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.
“Me, too. Can we go, Dad? Can we?” Jason asked, bending down to tie his sneaker.
“After all, there’s no time like the present to enjoy today,” Scott drawled with a look in his mom’s direction, as the boys waited simultaneously and impatiently for permission.
Trace looked at Susannah. To his relief, it was easy to see she hadn’t the heart to deny them, either. “All right, but only on the stipulation that you boys behave. No fighting and no shenanigans of any kind,” she declared, pausing to look all four of them in the eye. “Promise us?”
Promise us, Trace thought. He liked the sound of that…and the vision of the two of them parenting the boys together…
“We promise,” the boys told Susannah in unison.
“I’ll have them back to the lake house by lunchtime,” Cisco said.
Susannah smiled, her expression a mixture of pleasure and relief. “Thanks, Cisco,” she said gently.
The guys trooped out.
Susannah and Trace faced each other. Suddenly, it felt a little awkward, to them both. Trace decided to put her at ease. Although there was a part of him that very much would’ve liked to, he wasn’t going to make a pass at her the second they were alone. The physical side of their relationship could wait until they had some of the other details of their union worked out, he told himself practically. But before he could do even that, Trace knew, he had to finish what he had started this morning.
He stood, grabbing his suit coat and shrugged it on. “I’ve got to call my attorney about the Farraday deal.” He paused a moment, aware once again that the terms of Max’s will demanded the two of them stick to each other like glue. “It’d be better if I could make the call at home,” he said, hoping she would agree to leave the dining hall after an almost five-hour stint.
Was it his imagination or did she seem to deflate a little at his request?
“No problem,” Susannah said softly, turning away as she reached for her briefcase and purse. “I’ve got some work to do, too.”
29:12
“YOUR SOFTWARE is out-of-date.” Trace came up behind Susannah a long while later in a drift of brisk, masculine cologne. Palms flat on the kitchen table, he leaned over her. As he continued to invade her space in a completely maddening, utterly natural way, he told her, “You wouldn’t have to keep scrolling from screen to screen if you had a program that allowed you to view and input data on several screens simultaneously.”
Aware they were far too close for comfort, Susannah slipped out from underneath his flexed arm. “I know.” As she slipped past him, she lost her footing for a second and her nose brushed the solid curve of his bicep.
“But?” Trace reached out and steadied her, with his hand on her upper arm, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Susannah inhaled sharply and stepped back, away from him, not stopping until she collided with the counter behind her. “It takes time to shop for software, install it and learn to use it.”
Trace had his sleeves rolled up, his tie undone. Nevertheless, opposite him, in tailored pale yellow slacks and a matching sleeveless summer sweater, she felt almost underdressed.
“Not that long,” Trace disagreed, his ocean blue eyes lasering in on hers with vexing practicality.
Susannah turned away from him and looked out the window at the sunshine shimmering off the deep blue surface of the lake. “Maybe not for a highly computer-literate person like you, Trace, but for someone like me who has just recently started to use computers, it is a big deal. Besides, I promised Max and Gillian that I would have the new menus from the dining hall worked out, the budget set and the supplies ordered by summer’s end, and I’ve really got my work cut out for me if I want to meet that deadline, and I do.”
Trace moved behind her, and looked out at the lake, too. “What do you have left to do?” He ran his palms over her shoulders, down her arms.
Susannah swung around to face him. “I have to finish going through the satisfaction surveys and request forms the loggers filled out for me this morning. From there, I need to decide how much variety is necessary at each meal. In other words, do I want one entree or two or three.”
Trace nodded, looking very serious. “How will you determine that?”
“The survey results,” Susannah explained, smiling tremulously. “If everyone has requested chicken-fried steak, then I’ll know it’s safe to serve that and only that. If, on the other hand, two-thirds of the men have stated they absolutely loath chicken-fried steak, and the other third can’t live without it at least once a week, then I’ll know I have to serve it frequently as an alternate, instead of a primary entree. Our goal is to make everyone reasonably happy, because as Max used to say, ‘A well-fed logger is a happy logger. Ain’t no one gonna work their best with a stomach full of somethin’ he dislikes.’ “
“That’s true. We get more compliments and complaints about food than anything else at my camp, too.” Trace paused and stepped back. “Once you’ve input all that into your computer, what next?”
“Then I have to make up a month of menus. Search out the recipes and adjust the components accordingly. Give them to Gillian, because she is, after all, the one who is going to be running the camp dining hall on a daily basis. If we’re in budget, we’ll figure out the supplies that need to be ordered, and do that. Once she’s all set, and my consulting work is done, I’ll return to work on my cookbook series.”
Trace blinked in surprise. “You’ve already started on it?”
“I’ve been working on it off and on for the last seventeen years. I don’t want to write just one volume. I want to do a ten-book series on the food of the West, including the history of each dish wherever possible, and suggestions on entertaining. I’ll have more success if I can release the books all at once, as a set, rather than in piecemeal fashion.”
“How many books have you finished so far?”
“Two. I’m still testing recipes in my spare time on the third.”
“How long do you think it’ll take you to finish?”
Susannah shrugged, wondering if it was her imagination, or was the kitchen a little smaller than she had originally thought? “Maybe a year or two, if I can hire a secretary and work on it full-time.”
Trace paused, taking that in. Susannah saw the respect in his deep blue eyes, and knew it was because of the depth of her ambition, which in this one case, matched his own. The only difference, she supposed, was that she was able to keep her life in better balance while still going about the process of achieving her goals. Whereas Trace had to go at everything full-tilt, including her.
“In that case, new software is going to be a must,” Trace said, glancing back at her computer.
Susannah sighed and tucked the bobbed ends of her hair behind her ears. “I’ll get to that when I can, but it’s not the first priority on my list.” The first priority was trying to straighten out this situation with Trace so she could meet what she realized now was her commitment to him regarding their son, and still emerge from the effort with her heart intact. “And speaking of business, how did your call to your attorney go?” She knew there had been several after that.
“Fine.” Trace gave her a satisfied smile, adding, “It took some doing, but I finally got Sam Farraday to agree to at least meet with me later this evening.”
They were to be married tomorrow. Their personal lives were in what could only be called crisis. And he was still scheduling business meetings right and left, Susannah thought with a sharp stab of disappointment.
Reminding herself it was essential for her emotional well-being to not go into this with any unrealistic expectations, where Trace and his complete devotion to business were concerned, Susannah forced herself to maintain a carefree demeanor
as she smiled. “No rest for the weary, is there?” she commented dryly.
Trance slanted her an unreadable glance. “It would appear not.”
An abrupt silence fell between them. Trace kept his eyes on hers. A veil of intimacy began to descend around them. Susannah pushed it away as her eyes dropped to her watch. She noted that Cisco and the boys had been gone for nearly two hours. Trace had been doing business for most of that. It was just as she thought. Some things didn’t change. They could have spent this time together, maybe worked a few more things out. He’d had to tend to business first, last and always.
She swallowed around the knot of hurt gathering in her throat. “The boys should be returning soon.” Sensing he wanted her to look into his eyes, she studied the loosened knot of his tie instead.
“I know they will.” His hands on her shoulders, Trace edged closer. He looked impatient again, desirous. “And I’m sorry my business took so long, but this is something that had to be worked out—”
“I know.”
“—immediately if we’re to get married tomorrow, as planned.”
Susannah was not so sure she agreed with that.
“But now that that’s taken care of, before the boys get here, Susannah, I want to—”
Trace’s words, the intimacy of the moment, were cut off as their four boys came tromping into the kitchen, Cisco on their heels. “See!” eight-year-old Mickey drawled with all the subtlety of a town crier. “I told you they’d be together.”
“No surprise there,” Scott said, rolling his eyes in exasperation and elbowing Nate in the ribs.
Nate elbowed Scott back. “I know what you mean,” Nate murmured congenially, sizing up Susannah and Trace from behind the lenses of his glasses. “They can’t seem to take their eyes off each other.”
“Hey, Cisco. Does this mean they’re gonna fall in love again?” Jason demanded, smoothing his cowlick with the back of his hand.
Cisco shrugged as he studied Susannah and Trace in equal measure. “It’s what Max wanted,” Cisco said.
But Susannah knew she did not want to be with Trace for that reason alone, because it was what Max had wanted, and she warned herself to be even more cautious.
The phone rang. Jason grabbed it off the wall, listened a moment. “Dad, it’s for you,” he reported. “Your office.”
Again? Susannah thought, more than a little annoyed.
Trace did not look surprised. “I’ll take it in the den.”
Cisco consulted his watch. “I need to be going, too. I have to go check on Cody and Callie and Patience and Josh.”
Reminded that Cisco was doing triple duty, carrying out the terms of Max’s will, Susannah walked Cisco to the door. She paused in the portal, basking in the late-morning sunshine. “Thanks for taking the boys this morning. It gave me a chance to get a lot of work done.”
“No problem. They’re great kids. I enjoyed it.”
No sooner had Cisco left than Jason came down the stairs, carrying a wadded-up T-shirt in his hand. “Susannah, do you know anything about getting stains out of shirts?” Jason asked.
Susannah smiled. When it came to running a household and mothering teenage boys, she was really in her element. “Quite a lot, as it happens,” she told him warmly. “What have you got there?”
Jason held up a Hootie and The Blowfish 1996 concert T-shirt for her examination. “It’s ketchup and when Dad washed it, it didn’t come out. He said I should pitch it in the rag bag and not worry about it because I’ve got plenty of other shirts.”
“But you like this one,” Susannah guessed, wishing all of life’s problems were this easy to solve.
“Yeah. And I’ll never find another one like it, ‘cause I already tried, so…do you think you can help me?”
Susannah figured this was the easiest problem to come her way in days. “We can give it a shot.” She laced a maternal arm around his shoulders. “Where do you keep the laundry supplies?”
TRACE HEARD Jason’s corny jokes and Susannah’s laughter long before he hung up the phone. It brought a smile to his face. How long, he wondered, had it been since a woman’s laughter had filled his home and his heart? Too long, he knew.
Mickey slipped into the den and hovered close to Trace’s desk. Hand on his chin, he reported, “The guys say we’re gonna go fly-fishing this afternoon.”
Trace nodded. “That was the deal if you helped out in the dining hall this morning,” he agreed, wondering what was up.
“There’s just one problem with that,” Mickey confessed gravely, edging a little closer. “I don’t know how to go fishing. I’ve never been.”
“So you probably want some instruction?”
Mickey nodded swiftly. Then apparently thinking better of it, he paused, saying politely, “Unless you’re too busy.”
Trace smiled. It felt good to be needed for something other than business, for a change. These days, more often than not, his two boys felt they didn’t need him for anything anymore. “I’ve got time,” Trace said with a smile. He stood and circled his desk.
Mickey fell into step beside him. As usual, half of his T-shirt was tucked into the waistband of his shorts, the other half was falling out. “Can you teach me how to throw the thing over my head?”
“You mean cast a fly?”
“Yeah,” Mickey asked, his freckled face lighting up anxiously. “Can you?”
“Sure.” Trace headed for the storage room adjacent to the garage, where all the recreational gear was kept. “But we’ll have to go outside to practice. We can’t exactly do that in the house.”
Trace swiftly found a rod and reel similar to the one his two sons had learned on, and took Mickey out on the front lawn. Half an hour later, Trace noted with satisfaction, Mickey was remarkably proficient, for a beginner.
SUSANNAH FOLLOWED the trail of exultant male voices and walked outside to see what was going on. “So this is where everyone disappeared,” she said, surveying Trace and their four boys, all in various stages of practicing their fly-casting.
Jason put down his rod and reel and hurried over to see the damp shirt in her hand. “Did it come out?” he demanded.
She held up the concert T-shirt for him to examine. “No, not yet. But there’s one more trick we can try, if you’re game.”
Jason stared at his T-shirt as if it were a long-lost friend, then shrugged. “It’s not like we have anything to lose at this point,” he told her.
Together, they went back inside, Susannah explaining all the while, “The bad news is, the stain appears to be set in the fabric. The good news is, the stain is on the plain white part of the T-shirt.”
Jason studied the array of laundry products on the table. “So we can bleach it?”
“Not all of it, ‘cause if we did that it might mess up the color blocking on the rest of your shirt.” Like a science teacher explaining the ins and outs of an experiment, Susannah continued, “Since the stain is on the white part, we can make up a solution of chlorine bleach and cold water, knot up the stained part, like this, and very carefully dip the stain into the bleachand-water solution. Of course, we’ve got to be careful not to get any bleach on our clothes or in our face or eyes or anything.”
Jason nodded formally. “Gotcha.”
“You want to try it?”
He drew in a jerky breath and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “How ‘bout I just watch you, since this is my first time out with this kind of stuff?”
“Okay. Here goes.” She dipped the small area of stained fabric into the solution and held it there. They waited for the results with bated breath. “Hey,” Jason said after about three excruciatingly long minutes had passed. “The stain isn’t red anymore. It’s pink!”
“Yep. It sure is.”
Two more minutes passed. “Now it’s light pink!”
And then another. “It’s white.”
Not wanting anything to go wrong at this late stage, Susannah carefully transferred the shirt and soaking
bowl to the laundry room sink. She cautiously disposed of the bleach-and-water solution, being careful not to splash, then rinsed the formerly stained fabric. “Now do we put it in the dryer?” Jason asked.
Susannah shook her head, correcting, “We wash it again first. But don’t worry about that. I’ll do it.”
Jason reached forward impulsively and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Susannah. You’re a lifesaver.”
“I quite agree.”
Susannah looked up to see Trace standing in the doorway. He nodded in the direction of the backyard. “The guys are still practicing their casting out there on the lawn if you want to join them,” he told Jason.
“Yep, I do. Look, Dad! Susannah got the ketchup stain out of my T-shirt.” He darted off to join the other guys, banging the door shut behind him.
Acutely aware of the way Trace was studying her, Susannah put Jason’s T-shirt in the washer, along with a load of white towels.
Arms folded in front of him, Trace lounged in the doorway. Though he still had on his suit pants and dress shoes, as if he expected to be called to attend a business meeting at any moment, he had taken off his tie and rolled up his sleeves past the elbows. A wealth of crisp curling dark brown hair and suntanned skin was visible in the open neck of his shirt.
“Jason thinks you’re a miracle worker.”
Susannah flushed self-consciously. She wished she didn’t want Trace to admire her, but she did. “Mickey thinks the same of you.”
The full impact of his ocean blue gaze was focused on her face. “Seems both our kids have missed having a parent of the opposite sex,” he said softly.
She knew it was true. More, she had missed having a man in her life. She had missed Trace…
“You’re great with them,” she told him softly, meaning it.
He acknowledged her compliment with his eyes. “So are you,” he replied softly.
The moment drew out. He began to reach for her. She felt herself moving nearer, too.
The Maverick Marriage Page 10