The Maverick Marriage

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The Maverick Marriage Page 13

by Cathy Gillen Thacker


  “From scratch?”

  “From scratch.” Susannah chopped parsley, too.

  Nate continued to watch, looking fascinated as Susannah added peanut oil to a large cast-iron skillet. “What about apple fritters?”

  “Those, too.”

  Nate rested his elbow on the table. A dreamy expression came into his eyes as he reminisced, “My mom used to make apple fritters, sprinkled with powdered sugar. It was one of her specialties and they were so good.” Nate made a comical face. “Dad tried to make ‘em once, but they were a disaster. All gummy and chewy and icky.”

  “He probably forgot an ingredient or didn’t get the oil temperature right before he fried them.” Susannah studied Nate’s wistful expression. She knew what it was like to be a kid and not have your needs met. “Do you know what recipe your mom used?” she asked.

  “No.” Nate gulped the rest of his milk, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “She had her recipes written down somewhere. I don’t know what happened to them.” He frowned, some of the light going out of his eyes. “Does this mean you can’t do it?”

  “Nope. It means it’s just going to be a little harder, and I’m going to need your help.” Susannah brought cabbage and freshly shucked corn out of the fridge. “You said something yesterday that makes me think you know a lot about computers. Is that true?”

  Nate nodded. “I can work my way around the Internet.”

  “What I want you to do for me isn’t nearly as hard. I’ve got a great data base on my computer that draws recipes from all sorts of cookbooks. So, if we type in fritters, and then type in apples, we’ll get a mix of different recipes. If you’ll take my laptop and hook it up to a printer, I’ll get the rest of dinner going, and then we can do some detective work on the fritters.”

  Nate bounded out of his seat. “You really mean it?”

  “Sure. If you don’t mind taste-testing a variety of apple-fritter recipes.”

  Nate grinned from ear to ear. “It sounds like a tough job, but I think I can handle it.”

  Susannah was elbow-deep in potatoes, when the heavy tread of footsteps sounded on the stairs. Trace strode into the kitchen, looking incredibly handsome, in navy blue Dockers and a short-sleeve madras sport shirt. It was the first time she had seen him in anything other than an ultraconservative business suit and tie since she’d been back. Susannah felt a thrill sweep through her. Was she responsible for his time-out from work? Or would it have happened anyway? The clothes looked brand-new, or at the very least, barely worn…

  Knowing they only had a few minutes alone—if that much—and that she needed to talk to him alone, without Nate or any of the other boys overhearing, Susannah dried her hands on a dish towel, gripped Trace’s forearm and tugged him into the pantry.

  “I don’t know what’s happening, but I like it,” he drawled.

  Susannah placed her index finger against his lips. “I have something to tell you,” she whispered. And she didn’t know how he was going to feel about it. She hoped that what she was about to say wouldn’t rock the boat. “Nate asked me if I could make apple fritters for dinner, the way his mom used to make them. He’s hunting up recipes for me now.”

  Trace shook his head, recollecting humorously, “The ones I made were pretty bad.”

  Susannah breathed a sigh of relief. “Then you don’t mind?”

  He shook his head as his hands tightened around her waist, sending ribbons of warmth up and down her spine. “I think it’s great. I want my boys to remember Natalie every bit as much as I want them to get to know you.”

  “Well, it’s good there’s room for both of us in their lives, ‘cause I think it’s important that our kids keep their other parents close to their hearts, too,” Susannah said.

  “Agreed.” When she moved to step past, Trace moved with her, smoothly barring her way. His blue eyes twinkled with mischief as he studied her. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he drawled in a low, sexy voice that intensified the shivers of awareness ghosting up and down her spine.

  “What?”

  “This,” he said softly. Their lips met with lightning quickness and summer heat. Susannah was filled with wonder—that the attraction between them could be so powerful and intense. He made her want him, want this. He made her feel alive. And she hadn’t felt any of those things, she thought, as she kissed him back fervently, for so damn long. Too long.

  Trace knew he was taking advantage of the moment as he crowded her against the pantry wall and continued to kiss her with all the hot-blooded finesse he possessed. He didn’t care. Susannah was back in his life again, he thought as his hands swept over her and he left a string of kisses down her jaw, before he once again returned to a slow, sensual exploration of her lips. With Max’s help, she would stay. And, he thought, still kissing her madly, he would give her reason to never want to leave him again.

  The sound of footsteps tromping down the stairs forced them apart. Susannah muttered her frustration at having gotten caught again. Trace muttered his frustration at having to stop.

  Blushing fiercely, Susannah vaulted into action, shoving bags of potatoes and onions into his arms while she gathered up the powdered sugar and cinnamon. Together, they emerged from the pantry just as the boys marched in.

  Susannah knew her hair was mussed, her lipstick gone. To her chagrin, it quickly became apparent that not only had their four boys noticed her disheveled appearance, they knew why she looked that way.

  Mickey remarked with a cheeky grin. “They’re at it again.”

  Jason nodded with exaggerated solemnness. “Can’t keep their hands off each other.”

  Scott drawled, “Worse than teenagers, if you ask me.

  “Found ‘em!” Having missed the commotion, Nate came in waving a sheaf of papers.

  “Found what?” Scott asked curiously.

  “The fritter recipes,” Nate announced.

  “Susannah’s making fritters?” Jason asked excitedly.

  “For dessert,” Nate confirmed happily as commotion swirled all around.

  “Hey, Trace. Can I ask you something about business schools?” Scott said, pulling a chair up to the kitchen table.

  “Sure.” Trace sat opposite him, his attention focused solely on their son.

  “Do you think it’s worth it, going Ivy League?” Scott continued. “Or dollar for dollar, are state schools a better buy?”

  “YOU’VE BEEN SMILING all evening,” Trace said hours later as the two of them settled on the chain-hung porch swing overlooking the lake.

  “What’s not to smile about?” Susannah replied happily, tucking her hand in his. “Nate and Jason were deliriously happy to have the apple fritters they so fondly remember and very appreciative of my culinary efforts. Scott listened carefully to all you had to say this evening and is actually starting to think about his future. Mickey learned how to cast a fly rod and caught a fish. Add to that, the boys are not only all getting along and bonding well, they actually volunteered to do the dishes.” It seemed miracles would never cease.

  “It feels good, doesn’t it?” Trace stretched an arm along the back of the swing.

  “What?” Susannah moved into the warm cradle of his arm.

  “The two of us coming together again, blending our two single-parent units into one family,” Trace said.

  “My boys have missed having a dad around.”

  “Mine have missed having a mom.”

  Which was yet another reason they should stay together, Susannah thought contentedly as Trace sifted the soft curling ends of her hair through his fingers. “So, how is it that you turned out to love cooking so much?” he asked softly, reminding her that she hadn’t taken it up until well after they’d divorced.

  Susannah sighed, knowing she had come to her career as a chef in a roundabout way. “It’s a long story.”

  Trace moved the swing back and forth in a slow, soothing way. He shifted inexorably closer, tucking her into the curve of his arm. “I’d like to
hear it, anyway.”

  Susannah leaned her head on Trace’s shoulder, realizing all over again how much she enjoyed just being with him at quiet times like these. The problem was, they had never had enough of them. “It all goes back to when I was a kid,” she confided, “and the fact my parents’ work schedules were very different. Because my dad was a schoolteacher, he had all the holidays and summers off, whereas my mother’s medical practice kept her working six and seven days a week, twelve to eighteen hours at a clip.” Susannah shook her head, recalling, “My dad used to get so upset when he would go to the trouble to make dinner and then my mom wouldn’t show up to eat with us. My cooking the evening meal was a simple way to make peace. Somehow, it wasn’t so bad that my mother missed dinner if my father hadn’t been the one spending a couple of hours in the kitchen preparing it. So, as I was able, I gradually took over cooking dinner. It gave us a measure of peace, and eventually led to my habit of cooking whenever I was under stress, period.”

  “I seem to recall you doing a lot of baking in the early days of our marriage.”

  The proceeds of which, Susannah thought with fleeting irony, Trace had never been around to eat. “The reasons for that were twofold. One, I was frustrated at not being able to get a job in my chosen field, which was teaching home economics, since most of those classes were being systematically phased out of the schools, not expanded. Two, baking helped relieve the stress I felt at the way our marriage seemed to be falling apart day by day.” And it had given her some sense of trying to be a good wife.

  “When we divorced, did you teach then?”

  “No. I still couldn’t get a job. So, rather than get certified to teach something else like history or math, I picked up some work as a chef, and liked it so much I decided to make it my vocation instead. I did that for about ten years, working at several different restaurants and even a catering business, then finally entered the consulting field, and worked with restaurants on revamping their menus, largely because I liked the more flexible hours and the creativity that led to my current career as consultant slash cookbook author.” Susannah paused, as she lifted her face to his.

  “You love your work, don’t you?” Trace observed.

  Susannah nodded, proud of all she had accomplished. “Very much. Cooking well is a real art.”

  “Your parents must be very proud of you.”

  “They are. Although initially my mother accused me of choosing a career in home economics precisely because she was so very bad at it.” They laughed together, knowing beneath the facetious statement there was a grain of truth.

  She paused, wondering suddenly if she knew everything about his past. “What about your parents?” she asked Trace curiously. “Your father was a surgeon, too. Did your mother ever mind his frequent absences?” That was a common complaint of doctors’ families, she knew.

  “No.” Trace pressed a kiss on her forehead. “That was never a cause for tension in our house, it was just the way things were,” he confided acceptingly. “Of course, since my mother was a nurse and had often worked on his surgical team both before and after their marriage, she understood full well the demands of his job at the time they married.”

  “Your life was just about perfect when your parents were alive, wasn’t it?” Susannah guessed, knowing she would always envy him that.

  Trace nodded as he caressed the soft inside of her wrist. This was familiar ground, as he had often talked to her about his family in general and his parents in particular when they were together, but it felt good to be covering it again, to be picking up where they’d left off. He had loved and admired his parents in the same way he had wanted to be loved and admired by his sons. “I know it sounds like a cliche, but life with my folks was like a Disney movie. Everyone was happy and safe and loved.”

  Trace frowned, his own insecurity coming to the fore. “After the earthquake, when Patience and Cody and I went to live with Uncle Max, things changed. Cody was always an unusually quiet kid, even at six, but he withdrew something fierce after Mom and Dad died. I thought then he just needed more time alone, to sort things out. Now I think maybe he needed just the opposite. But I was so busy tending to Patience, who was always a lot more vocal about her needs, that I didn’t see it,” he said sadly.

  Susannah was sure Trace was being too hard on himself. “You think you failed him?”

  Regret flashed in Trace’s blue eyes. “Sometimes … when I see what a hermit he’s become in recent years…I think so, yeah.”

  “And maybe that would have happened, anyway,” she said tranquilly as dusk fell and the crickets cranked up their chirping. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, Trace, it’s that there’s no predicting in this life. Things happen. And when they do, we go on as best we can.”

  “No do-overs?”

  “Not in this life,” Susannah affirmed. Much as they might want to, they simply couldn’t turn back the hands of time. “But that’s not all bad,” she continued softly, anticipation for the future—their future—racing through her as she held his eyes, “as long as we learn from our mistakes.”

  From the steady way Trace looked at her then, Susannah knew he wanted to kiss her again. Not to prove a point, not for revenge, or to seduce. But because he felt the connection between them, too. The connection that was growing with every second they spent together.

  “So what next, in your view?” Trace asked huskily.

  “We concentrate on doing better in the future,” she told him in a low, serious tone. “Luckily for us, this setup Max engineered really seems to be working,” Susannah reflected happily, thinking once again how well everything suddenly seemed to be going, despite the odds to the contrary.

  “I’ll second that,” Trace murmured with obvious satisfaction as the boys trooped out to join them.

  “Here you go. You’re all set,” Scott and Nate said, handing over a wicker picnic basket. “Don’t worry about us. We older brothers’ll hold down the fort at home,” they vowed earnestly.

  “And we younger brothers promise to behave,” Jason and Mickey said in unison.

  Susannah glanced at the faces of all four boys. Clearly, all five males were in cahoots about this, and had been for some time. “What’s going on?” she demanded, pretending to be a lot more incensed than she really was about this latest surprise.

  “You and I are going over to the hunting lodge for the evening,” Trace informed her magnanimously.

  Susannah blinked, struggling to determine what that meant. “On a date?” Was Trace getting romantic on her? And what exactly was in that picnic basket?

  To her disappointment, Trace tensed in a very unchivalrous way. “Actually, I’ve got a business meeting,” he said.

  “With Sam Farraday,” Susannah recalled reluctantly, something he had told her much earlier in the day, and she had promptly—purposefully—forgotten. And because of the will, I have to go with you.

  “Why not hold the meeting here?” she asked Trace, surprised he wasn’t wearing a suit again. At least then, she could busy herself spending time with the boys.

  Trace shrugged. “The lodge is a lot closer to the main highway.”

  The lodge was also filled with all sorts of memories, Susannah thought, both good and bad. Plus, it was an ideal place to be alone and to make love, as they had passionately proved that very afternoon. Did Trace plan for them to put business first, and their relationship a distant second, as always? Or was this evening to be business only? she wondered, feeling a little crushed. Maybe, she thought uncertainly, despite evidence to the contrary, things weren’t going so well, after all….

  “It’s okay, Mom, really it is. We’ll be fine,” Scott told Susannah, totally misreading the reason behind her visible apprehension. “We want you to go and have a good time,” he insisted.

  “Yeah, make a date of it,” Jason suggested, already waving them off.

  “We promise we won’t wait up, if you decide to be late,” Nate teased.

  “Yeah.” Mic
key high-fived them both. “Go for it, Mom!”

  Go for it.

  Indeed.

  Trace waited for her to decide. It was clear what he wanted to do, what they all wanted her to do. “I’m beginning to feel outnumbered,” Susannah teased with a levity she didn’t really feel.

  Yet, the alternative—to show how incredibly vulnerable she was feeling at just the prospect of giving her heart to Trace all over again—was equally unthinkable. The will, the knowledge of his son, had given Trace enough of an edge over her already.

  “As well you should,” Trace agreed with a mock gravity that amused their rambunctious boys all the more. He stood and helped her to her feet. “Thanks, guys. As always, you can telephone me on the cellular phone if there are any problems.”

  “Will do,” Jason promised.

  Susannah and Trace headed toward his dark green Jeep.

  He sent her several cautious glances but did not speak until they were well on their way. “You seem upset,” Trace noted after a while as he picked up the Jeep’s speed slightly.

  Susannah folded her arms in front of her and looked at the trees whizzing by her window. That was the understatement of the century. “Should I be?” she queried coolly.

  “Suppose you tell me,” Trace drawled.

  He really didn’t know why she was so upset, Susannah thought incredulously. “I take it you think there shouldn’t be a problem if we combine business and pleasure?” she guessed dryly. She was upset that the evening seemed slated mostly for business.

  “Anything that gives us a chance to be alone that the boys will buy works for me.”

  But did it work for her? Susannah wondered emotionally. “Is that the only reason you want me along on this business meeting?” Susannah demanded. She tensed, reluctantly recalling how many evenings during their newlywed days she and Trace had planned just for themselves had ended up being geared toward his business dealings instead. It wasn’t a practice she wanted to reinstate. “So we’ll have a chance to be alone later, to make love again?” So he could cement the business of their getting back together, for Scott’s sake, the same way he was cementing this business deal with Sam Farraday tonight? So he could, heaven forbid, talk her into signing some sort of marriage contract that spelled out their various duties and obligations in very unromantic detail?

 

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