The Marriage Season

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.”

They had a point, and it was true. Her house didn’t offer much entertainment for a young boy, while the ranch was a virtual playground of endless child fun. As they walked to the car, both of Tate’s sons ran past, the dogs in hot pursuit, and there was definitely a cowboy theme going on with whatever game they were playing. Tripp and Tate followed at a more sedate pace, talking companionably, and when Tripp saw them getting in the car, he said, “I can guess where you’re headed.”

“I don’t think Josh’s shoulder should be the one Tara cries on,” Bex said, remembering her sister’s hysteria. “It can’t be good for him to see her so upset. We’re taking two cars. She can do her ranting and raving to me, while Mel and Hadleigh bring him back here.”

And there went a lovely afternoon. Greg was a piece of dirt, but Tara was a bona fide drama queen with a capital D. Her sister wasn’t blameless in all this.

She added quietly, because she was unaccountably embarrassed over something that wasn’t her fault, “I especially don’t want him there if Greg shows up with his usual apologies, which always involve a great deal of arguing. Besides, I can’t prove he’s ever gotten physical with Tara, but I’ve wondered. This time she seems serious about divorcing him. He might not take it well.”

Tripp took out his phone. “I’ll see if Spence can meet you at the house or at least send a deputy. That’ll keep things calm. Otherwise, the three of you aren’t going anywhere without me.” Spencer Hogan, Melody’s husband, happened to be the chief of police...

“I agree with that,” Tate said, his chestnut hair ruffled by the breeze, his expression serious. “I haven’t met the guy, but from what I’ve heard he’s not exactly sainthood material. You shouldn’t be there alone with your sister. Bring her back and then if he wants to talk to her, he’ll have to go through Tripp and me.”

If nothing else, she certainly had a wonderful support group.

If Tara stuck with her divorce plans, and Bex had her doubts, it was going to get interesting. For one thing, her sister didn’t have a job any longer—when she got pregnant she’d quit the hardware store—or the skills to obtain a new one. Greg worked as a mechanic, but they constantly borrowed money from her parents as it was. Lawyers would have to be paid, there’d be child support and Bex was pretty sure their finances were already in bad shape.

With an inner sigh, she knew she could give Tara a job at the fitness center she owned in town, but she didn’t trust her to make an effort if she did. The story of their lives. Tara was stunning, and Bex had always thought she was smart, until the day she married Greg. Well, let’s not forget those high school loser boyfriends...

Downhill slide. A mess. A low-down, convoluted mess.

Spence said he could take care of it, no problem, and their little caravan took off. Mustang Creek was hardly a rockin’ and rollin’ kind of place, but on a bright fall Saturday it was busy, and Bad Billie’s, a favorite local hangout, was packed. To her dismay, she recognized Greg’s restored orange Corvette in the lot.

So he was drinking. Not surprising, considering his rift with his wife, but not good, either.

When they pulled into her driveway, she got out and went over to Melody’s car to say, “Hey, can you ask Spence to call Junie? Have her get Billie to water down my soon-to-be-ex-brother-in-law’s drinks?”

Junie McFarlane was a dispatcher for the police department, and Spence had been as good as his word; there was a deputy’s SUV parked across the street.

Mel was right on it. “Junie and I are tight. I’ll call her myself. Good idea. I know Billie would do it for me, but for Junie, Billie would flap his arms and fly to the moon.”

Billie was a little older than Junie, who was in her late thirties, but everyone knew he had a serious crush on her. It was cute, coming from a rough-and-tumble guy like him, but she didn’t seem to mind. Junie was a regular at Bad Billie’s, and she flirted with him shamelessly.

So that was taken care of, anyway. Greg would soon be drinking a lot of water. Yep. It was healthy to be well hydrated. Bex had just done him an enormous favor, not that he deserved it.

Tara was sitting in the living room on the couch, her face splotchy, tissue in hand, and Joshua was intently watching a cartoon until he saw Bex walk in. His face lit up, and he scrambled to his feet.

“Hiya, cowboy.” Bex went over and bent to kiss his cheek. “Isn’t it a beautiful day outside? Muggles, Ridley and Harley told me to point that out. Is there any chance you want to go to the ranch for a while and see them? They sure are missing you. Tripp has some new horses, and Ben and Adam are there. Interested?”

“Yeah!”

The child was always too solemn in her opinion, so the enthusiasm was welcome.

“Ask your mom if it’s okay for you to go with Aunt Mel and Aunt Hadleigh.”

Tara waved an apathetic hand.

Bex walked him out to the car, saw him settled and buckled in, then mouthed to her two best friends, Thank you.

He was in good hands.

When they pulled away, she braced herself and went back inside. Her sister had definitely looked better. Runny mascara, foundation just a memory, and her entire face was puffy. Never mind her hair, which was a tangled mess. Bex said, “I’ll go make us some tea. Then you can tell me exactly what’s going on.”

“That double-crossing son of a bitch is on his own now,” Tara said a few minutes later, holding her steaming cup in shaky hands. “I’ve put up with him for ten years and he can’t seem to get the concept that marriage includes fidelity. I’m done.”

Bex had chosen an antique rocking chair that was her favorite whenever she wanted to reflect. “Do you mean it?”

Tara gave a jerky nod in response. “I know he’s sweet-talked me back before, but it isn’t going to happen again. I know you’ve heard this a dozen times, but I mean it. I really mean it.”

At least Bex could say that, as of this moment, she was officially not an I-told-you-so kind of person. “You and Josh are welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

“I already knew that.” Tara sniffled and attempted a wan smile. “It’s the first place I came. Thanks.”

“The only trouble is that this is also the first place Greg will look if he wants to sweet-talk you, as you put it.” Bex pointed at the front window. “See that deputy sitting out in his car? He’s there courtesy of Spence Hogan and the Mustang Creek Police Department. Let’s go out to Tripp and Hadleigh’s ranch now, and you can take a nap. You look worn out. Then if Josh needs you, you’ll be right there.”

“That sounds good.”

* * *

IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE not to recognize—and understand—the shell-shocked look on the face of Bex’s nephew. Tate had seen it with his own sons the day he’d explained that their mother wasn’t coming back. That she’d gone someplace peaceful and that from then on, she’d live in their hearts forever—as she would in his... Luckily, three dogs, acres and acres to run and two enthusiastic playmates made up for a lot.

Little Joshua was fortunate enough to have his aunt, who seemed to be handling the situation in a very efficient manner.

He was impressed, but the last thing he needed was another reason to like Becca Stuart.

The boys were whooping it up. They knew each other from school, Adam and Josh being in the same class, and he was glad to see them running around like a pack of small wild animals. The dogs loved it. Tripp said, “There’s something about hearing kids laugh... I can’t wait.”

“Let’s talk diapers.” Tate said it drily.

Tripp burst out laughing. “Okay, got me there. I can wait for that part, but I’ll man up.”

“What if you have a girl?”

“Could happen.” Tripp pointed at the boys running around. “But I understand those guys. I was one of those guys. Girls are a different story.”

It might be irrational on Tate’s part, but he’d always wanted a daughter. He leaned on the railing of the corral. “I’d like a girl. Someday. A different experience, I’m sure. Walking her down that aisle and giving her away, as they call it, to some other guy would sure be a leap of faith. Even the idea of that first date is daunting. So, if you don’t mind, what’s up with Bex’s sister?”

“My personal opinion is that her husband isn’t a bad guy—or a good guy. He’s not perfect, but I know him. We went to school together. Greg was the direction Tara chose, for whatever reason. Bex is just too good at picking up the pieces, so this isn’t the first time she’s been stuck with the Tara-and-Greg mess, not to mention poor little Josh. Like I said, you’re getting my personal opinion here. Without Bex to turn to, Tara would simply put up with Greg. But Bex has loyalty nailed down and Tara knows it. He fools around, Tara leaves him, he apologizes and she goes back, and Bex is the only one, as far as I can tell, who even worries about what it’s doing to their kid.”

There was a plume of dust in the driveway. Tate asked, “You expecting company or could that be him now?”

Tripp exhaled loudly. “Orange Corvette... That’s him. Might be best if the kids aren’t around for a bit. I know he has rights as a dad, but if they’ve really split, I’m going to let Josh stay here until I see a court order—unless his mother decides differently.” As he moved off, he added, “You might have to lasso Bex if her sister changes her mind. At any rate, the kids don’t have to hear this conversation.”

Tate had taken his wedding vows seriously, so he was hardly going to balk at stepping in, either, and he could easily see Bex getting in her brother-in-law’s face. He said laconically, “I’ll bring the kids inside and be right back in case there’s trouble.”

He whistled for the dogs and called out to his sons and Josh. “Time out. Come on in the house. Everybody.”

Ben looked really put out. “Dad!”

“For a few minutes.”

“But Dad, I—”

“Now. Don’t argue.”

At least his son understood when an order was an order. Nothing ambiguous about it. Ben sighed as he motioned to the dogs. “Come on, boys.”

They followed, lumbering along at his heels, with the two younger boys close behind. It was telling that even when Josh glanced over his shoulder and saw his dad’s car, he still went in.

To Tate, that said a lot. It touched his heart, but not in a good way. Once the kids and dogs had filed inside, he hurried over to Hadleigh. “Greg is here, so keep them inside, okay?”

She nodded. “No problem.”

He went back out, joining Tripp in the drive. “Just how ‘not bad’ is this guy?”

They’d both dealt with difficult situations, back when they were pilots. As the authority figure on the plane, they usually had to deal with passengers who got out of hand. “On a scale of one to ten?” Tate added. He wasn’t worried, just curious.

“He’s maybe a six,” Tripp informed him, hands in pockets as they walked up to the car. “Plenty of bluster, but there’s no real juice behind it. We know each other—so that should help.”

“Galloway.” The man in question slammed his door and walked toward them. A big guy, Tate noted, but soft, with a shock of dark hair and a five o’clock shadow. He must’ve been at work because he still wore his shirt with his name embroidered on the pocket. “My wife here?”

“Yep.”

“I figured my sister-in-law would drag her out here or to Hogan’s place. Can I talk to her?”

“Nope.”

Anger flared on his face. “You heard the wife part, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. This is my land. So these are my rules.” Tripp didn’t budge. “Tara’s not receiving company at the moment. Seems to me she needs a little peace and quiet.”

“Then I want my son.”