But what if he fell for Becca—Bex, as the others called her—and his young sons got their hopes up, let down their guard, started to believe they might have a mother again, only to see the whole thing crash and burn? Would there be survivors?
He had no choice but to be philosophical.
Like it or not—Tate both did and didn’t like it—he and Bex were face-to-face again.
The boys had both scrambled out of the truck the minute he pulled to a stop. He was grateful that they enjoyed visiting the ranch so much, and were distracted, as always, by the dogs and horses and all that space to run wild in. It meant the kids probably hadn’t noticed that their dad had been flash frozen before their very eyes.
Tate worked up a smile, acknowledging Tripp and Hadleigh and Melody and Spence’s existence with a slight wave of one hand as he approached them. Odd, how, just a moment before, he’d been so focused on Bex that she might’ve been standing all alone on the ranch house porch.
In fact, she might have been the only other human being on the planet.
Still, he was nothing if not a left-brained realist, and his attention had slowly widened, after that first weird instant, to include the others.
The cognitive dials in his head began to click, registering further details. Construction had started on the new house, for one thing.
Tripp and Spence looked like what they were—happily married men. Satisfied men, maybe even a little smug.
Their wives, he noted, were downright radiant, the way women tended to be when they were not only cherished by their husbands, but gloriously pregnant, too.
And all the time he was formulating these observations, his sons were tearing around the yard with the dogs, overjoyed, high on blue skies and green grass and every blessing in between.
Of course, part of this boyish exuberance was for his benefit; Ben and Adam had been actively engaged in a campaign for a furry friend of their own for quite a while now. Although Tate wasn’t averse to the idea—he’d always loved animals himself—they lived in a rented house, and the landlord didn’t allow pets. So for the time being, anyway, adopting a critter was out of the question.
In the meanwhile, Muggles and Ridley filled the canine-companion bill.
Tate shifted mental gears, centering himself in the now. It was a beautiful afternoon, Ben and Adam were healthy, balanced kids and they were having fun.
Plus, they had a decent meal to look forward to. Tate’s version of Saturday lunch was usually something along the lines of canned tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. He had the feeling that they’d get something a little more appealing from Hadleigh Galloway.
Inevitably, since Tate was flesh and blood, reasonably young and completely normal, his gaze strayed back to Bex. Ms. Stuart had looked two notches above terrific in her jogging clothes. Now, in a pair of well-cut jeans and a red sweater that showed off her feminine figure, she was downright distracting.
Just a few yards from the casual gathering on the porch, Tate almost froze again—so much for getting centered—but an amused, all-too-knowing glance from Tripp kept him moving forward.
“Hello again,” he heard himself say, his voice suddenly husky.
Damned if the Galloways and Hogans hadn’t evaporated once more, leaving him and Bex alone on the planet. He gravitated toward her, like a passing asteroid yanked into the orbit of some strange new sun, and then—then he literally collided with the woman, for God’s sake, right there at the top of the porch steps.
What the hell? he thought, but what he said was, “Sorry. I was thinking about the boys.”
Fool.
Flustered, Tate looked back over one shoulder, trying to lend some credence to his fib, and saw no sign of the kids or the dogs.
Bex pointed in the direction of the barn and said, “They went thataway.”
He gave a muffled laugh, realized he’d gripped Bex’s shoulders at some point, and that he was still holding her, as though he’d expected her to fall. He let go. “Thanks.”
After that brief expansion, the universe zoomed in again, with a swiftness that left Tate’s head spinning.
She smiled, which only increased the sensation, and her voice seemed far away. “Good luck catching up with them, though. All parties were moving fast. They could be in Canada by now.”
Tate struggled to regain his equilibrium. “That’s a definite possibility,” he agreed. “They’re both a little hyper.”
This was a routine, even mundane, conversation. So why did everything seem so awkward?
Bex appeared to be at ease, but that could’ve been an act, he supposed. The air around them practically pulsed with electricity, and if Tate knew one thing, it was that the invisible charge was flowing both ways. “Don’t worry about the kids,” she said lightly. “Mel and Hadleigh are both in mama-tiger mode, which means nothing bad would dare happen—not on their watch.”
Mel and Hadleigh? Oh. Yeah. He remembered who they were now. Two of the other people populating the earth, in addition to him and Bex and, somewhere in the immediate vicinity, his children.
Get a grip, Calder.
But a light breeze lifted Bex’s hair just then, and she had beautiful hair. It seemed to curl naturally as it fell past her shoulders, emphasizing her graceful neck.
She was right, of course. The boys were okay. The ranch was as safe as anyplace else, safer than many, and besides, the dogs would raise hell if they sensed danger.
“So, how was the run?” he asked.
He’d meant to sound simply polite, asking a casual question that didn’t reveal too much interest. The truth was, he wanted to know everything there was to know about Bex Stuart—which movies she liked, what kinds of books she read, the shape of her dreams, both waking and sleeping.
As she answered, something along the lines of, “Oh, it was fine,” he found himself wondering about her favorite colors, songs, scents, memories.
Was she a morning person or a night owl?
Did she talk in her sleep?
Despite all that, another part of Tate warned him to keep his distance, circumvent whatever emotional minefield might be lying in wait.
He was not, never had been, the impulsive type.
And yet…
And yet.
He sighed. Shook his head, hoping to break whatever spell he was under.
Trying to act like a grown man instead of a teenager on hormone overload.
How’s that workin’ for ya? he chided himself.
Not worth a damn, that was how.
Okay, yes, he reasoned doggedly, Bex was beyond hot, and it had been a while since—well, it had been a while. Still, the world was full of attractive, available females, and Mustang Creek, small as it was, had more than its share of them. He got lonely sometimes, and he’d planned on remarrying at some point, but he’d been in no particular rush.
After all, he was busy, raising two kids on his own, starting a business, not to mention building a house. In other words, life was already complicated enough without throwing a relationship into the mix. And he knew instinctively that, with Bex, there would be no half measures, no holding back, no taking things slowly.
And then there was the color of her eyes. Hard to describe, even if he’d had his wits about him, which he clearly didn’t.
Before now he would’ve said they were green, but in the slanting sunlight of early afternoon, they looked more gold. He noticed threads of gold in her hair, too, maybe artificial highlights, although he didn’t think so. There was a natural quality about her, a lack of artifice in both her manner and her appearance.
She was one of the only women he’d ever met that he would describe as striking. Hadleigh was very pretty, it went without saying, and Melody Hogan was truly beautiful. But Becca Stuart was more than pretty, more than beautiful.
He’d heard her story, or some of it, anyway. Tripp had told him about his best friend, Hadleigh’s older brother, Will. Bex had loved Will from the time she was young, and when he was killed
in Afghanistan, she’d been understandably devastated. As far as Tripp knew, she’d been guarding her heart ever since.
Tate knew the feeling.
The best thing he could do now, he figured, was keep his mouth shut. Trouble was, he couldn’t seem to do that. “Rumor has it we’re going to have real food today,” he said, just to end the silence. “The boys won’t know how to act.”
“Yep. Hadleigh makes the world’s best spinach lasagna.” Bex’s lips turned up at the corners, as if she’d seen through his effort to lighten things up. He resisted the urge to kiss those lips—but just barely. She drew in a breath, blew it out audibly. “However,” she added, “you might be better off if you don’t mention the word spinach. I’m no parent, but kids are kids. If I were in your place, I’d just hand them a plate and stand back. Once they taste the stuff, they’ll dive in.”
Tate relaxed a little. “Good advice.”
His head was beginning to clear, but it wasn’t happening fast enough to suit him.
He was still bewitched, still awkward. If the two of them had been in kindergarten, he’d probably be shoving her off the playground swing or pulling her ponytail.
Moreover, he could see that she hadn’t been fooled by his effort at casual conversation; she knew he was off his game. But maybe she was off her own, just a little. Faint color had come into her face, and it wasn’t just because of the cool fall breeze.
Finally, Tate stepped aside. “I’d better round up the kids,” he said.
“I’m going back to town for more pastries,” she told him, dangling her keys.
That announcement startled him for some reason, and it must have shown in his face.
Bex laughed again, but at least the awkward moment dissolved as she explained. “I brought pastry and I’m sure the pregnant ladies are going to need more. Plus, your boys probably wouldn’t mind a few chocolate chip cookies for dessert.”
The decision seemed sudden. Was she trying to escape?
He couldn’t bring himself to ask. “You’ll be idolized. Elevated to instant goddess status.”
“I’ve always wanted to be a goddess.” She breezed past him.
He shouldn’t have looked back but he couldn’t resist watching Bex as she headed for her car. She had a very nice posterior and a graceful way of moving…
“Tate.” The use of his name was like a verbal poke in the ribs.
“Huh?” He turned to face Tripp, who descended the porch steps and slapped him on the shoulder. Hadleigh looked on, smiling, from the kitchen doorway.
“How about pulling your eyeballs back into their sockets and rolling up your tongue?” Tripp joked. “If you don’t, some of us might get the impression that you’re finally ready to stop acting like a monk and get on with your life.”
“About time,” Spence put in gruffly. Tate hadn’t noticed him, or Melody, who stood beside her husband, one arm around his waist.
“Leave the man alone,” she said. “It isn’t as if you were in any big hurry to get with the program.”
Spence’s mouth opened, closed again.
Both Tate and Tripp laughed at his bewilderment.
Then, as if by tacit agreement, Hadleigh and Melody disappeared into the house.
“Hey, Tripp, let’s have a look at that stallion you just bought,” Tate suggested, anxious to shift his attention to something—anything—other than the mysteries of women.
Half an hour later, when Bex had returned with a stack of bakery boxes in her arms, and the men and boys had washed up, lunch was served.
Bex’s earlier advice concerning any mention of spinach was proven right. Although his youngest, Adam, was infamous for his disdain of vegetables in general and eyed the green in the tomato sauce with suspicion, with a glance from Tate he took a bite—and quickly became enthusiastic about the lasagna, even taking seconds. Tate had to agree that the food was delicious, never mind that it was vegetarian and he was more of a meat-and-potatoes man.
After the meal, Bex got up from her chair, crossed to the counter and returned with the boxes from Madeline’s.
The boys, both of whom had hollow legs, cheered.
“It’s nice to be loved for something,” Bex said, opening the boxes with a flourish. “Peanut-butter cookies and other variations with chocolate thrown in have arrived, plus more puff pastries. Those of you not running a marathon next Saturday may help yourselves.”
Tate, who’d been trying to ground himself again ever since Bex had left for town, drew a breath, sat back in his chair and looked around at the spacious kitchen.
It was a well-appointed room, designed to be both functional and welcoming. The space was rustic, and he appreciated the simplicity of it. An island with a flat stove and a ceramic top had been added, an ideal fit with the hand-hewn cabinets Jim had built himself, years before. Even when Tripp had remodeled the place after he’d sold the charter jet service and moved back to Mustang Creek, he’d left the best parts unchanged, so the other appliances, however sleek and modern, actually enhanced the relax-and-stay-awhile effect. A natural rock fireplace filled one wall, and a quilted runner—Hadleigh’s own handiwork—brightened the long plank table, with its sturdy pine chairs. The overall effect was warm and inviting.
Tate wanted that sense of hominess for his own place, for his boys. Tricky, in an all-male household.
Just the same, he maintained certain standards. Although he let a lot of house rules slide, one thing he insisted on was the supper ritual. Both Ben and Adam would happily eat in front of a TV or a laptop, but he insisted they all sit down together—every single night.
That particular dictate meant he wasn’t always popular.
Just then, someone’s phone rang, interrupting Tate’s thoughts.
Bex was the lucky winner.
Or maybe not so lucky, judging by the worried frown that appeared on her face.
She answered her cell with a murmured, “Tara?” and got up, moving away from the table, phone pressed to her ear. Hadleigh and Melody, meanwhile, exchanged glances, looking concerned.
“This isn’t good,” Hadleigh said in an undertone.
Melody nodded in irritated agreement.
CHAPTER TWO
“SLOW DOWN. I can’t understand you.” Bex was several years younger, but decades calmer, than her volatile sibling, Tara. “What’s going on?”
“I left him.”
“Greg?”
“Who else would I leave?”
Bex could have done without the petulance in her tone.
Her sister had a point—it was a dumb question—but Bex was trying to process the situation, and the hysteria on the other end wasn’t exactly conducive to rational thought. “Okay, where are you?”
“Your house.”
Good choice. So much for an enjoyable, relaxing lunch. She wasn’t going to rush home, because Tara and Greg had split before, but it sure ruined her day to have to worry about it. There was the usual blowup, and then they both changed their minds…
“I’ll be home soon so we can talk,” Bex told her after a few minutes.
There was an empty chair at the kitchen table and she took it. Melody looked at her inquiringly and Bex said, “The usual nothing.”
Hadleigh rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, she left Greg again.”
It was more than a little embarrassing to admit it in front of Tate. “They had a dustup, it seems. I got no details. So I have no idea what’s really going on. She and Joshua are at my house.” Bex sighed; she couldn’t help it. “I’ll deal with this later. Every single time I rush to the rescue, Tara and Greg immediately make up. What I want to do now is eat something decadent.”
Hadleigh pushed the box toward her. “The carbs will help.”
It wasn’t until the men took the boys back outside that Bex revealed the latest. “He’s been cheating on her.”
No one said anything.
She reiterated. “Greg’s been cheating on Tara.”
Still no comment.
; She glanced from one expression to the other. “You both knew?”
Melody took another cookie and nodded. “Bex, here’s a heads-up. This is Mustang Creek, remember? Where you live? Come on. Besides, he’s cheated on her before and she always goes back. Like you said, you rush to the rescue, and it does no good. I’d love to help but Tara constantly makes bad choices.”
It was so true.
If she could step up and defend her sister she would. Greg was bad choice number…what? She wasn’t sure where he fell in the lineup. Tara’s friends in high school hadn’t exactly been on the high-achieving end; she’d dated some real losers before she’d settled on Greg, who definitely was not a prince. She’d also eschewed college in favor of the basic secretarial job she was offered at the local hardware store, keeping their books and answering the phone. But she’d done one thing very, very right, and Bex pointed it out. “Josh is great.”
“Josh,” Hadleigh said stoutly, “is adorable.”
No question there. Despite his parents’ acrimony, Josh was such a nice kid. Bex folded her hands on the table, her attitude one of surrender. “I am uninterested in this mess. I didn’t want my sister to marry Greg, but she did it, anyway. I didn’t want her to have a baby with him because they had problems before they ever walked into that church, but she did that, too. I’d love to know what I’m supposed to do now.”
“It isn’t your rodeo.” Melody said it with quiet resolve, and Hadleigh nodded. “I wish this was your choice, but it’s not. Tara needs to figure it out on her own.”
“Josh has to be so afraid and freaked out.”
“Well, let’s go get him.” Both Hadleigh and Melody were on their feet. “We have dogs, horses, food, acres of land and other boys his age. You brought these fabulous cookies. If that doesn’t make him feel better, I’m not sure what would.”
“My sister—”
“Tara isn’t six years old, Bex. Josh is. He’s six. We’ll rescue him, not her.” Hadleigh said it pleasantly enough, but her tone was unrelenting. “Let’s go. Tara can do what she wants—stay at your place or come with us. Up to her. The important thing is Josh. We need to bring him here, give him a chance to relax, play with Tate’s boys, hang out with the dogs. You’re just going to sit and worry about him, anyway.”
The Marriage Season Page 2