Homecoming Wife

“I did try, the next day, after I realized you’d gone to Vancouver and not to Janice’s. I couldn’t find you in any of the places she suggested looking. Where were you?”

She looked away, one hand gripping the car roof. “Okay, I admit that at first I told Janice not to tell you where I was—”

He threw his hands up. “And you blame me for our breakup.”

“—then I changed my mind, but you’d gone back to your stupid bike race.”

“Because it never occurred to me you would leave me for good. The prize money was a considerable chunk of dough—well, it seemed like it at the time—and I figured we would need it if we were going to start a family.”

Angela paled under her tan as she stared at him in silence. A moment later she was back on the attack. “How could we have afforded a baby with you spending all your money and time with your bikes?”

“That was an investment that paid off.”

“How was I to know that? I didn’t want any kid of mine growing up the way I did, nor did I want to end up a single mom in a trailer park if you got yourself killed falling off the mountain.” She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t happen because I know it does.”

“You never had any faith in me. If we’d had a baby do you really believe I would have let you and the child want for anything?”

“I don’t know and that’s the whole point. You were always off on your bike. The day after I left, instead of coming looking for me you were riding in some competition! I know bikes are important to you but they shouldn’t have been more important than me!”

“They weren’t! And if you hadn’t stayed away we might have worked out our differences.” That remark was met with a strained silence. Nate shook his head. They were going around in circles. “Now that you’re back, where do we go from here?”

Drawing a deep breath, she said, “We’ve been separated for ten years. It’s time to resolve the past and move on with our lives.”

His insides seemed to freeze. “Are you talking about a divorce?”

Her fingers twisted the strap on her purse. Her eyes were very bright. “Is that what you want?”

“Does it matter what I want?” he asked bitterly. After all this time the suggestion to make their split permanent and legal shouldn’t come as a surprise but somehow he wasn’t prepared for it. “Are you planning to marry again? Janice told me you were seeing someone in Toronto.” Damn. He sounded like a jealous husband.

“This has nothing to do with Albert. That’s over.”

A retired couple pulled their cart up at the camper van parked next to Angela and started loading groceries. Frustrated, Nate said, “We’d better finish this later. I’ll call you tonight.”

Angela started to turn away, then hesitated. “Ricky doesn’t realize we were married. It might be easier if we kept it that way.”

Now she was denying they were ever together. She got in her car and drove away, leaving Nate feeling as if he’d just cycled straight into a rock wall at eighty miles an hour.

He slung on his backpack, strapped on his helmet and pedaled off. Flipping the Shimano gears into a higher sprocket, he coasted down the ramp onto the highway with the wind in his ears.

Was this it, then? Were they finally going to break the last flimsy tie between them?

Advantage of Bachelorhood Number 149: Freedom.

Now that he thought about it, it sounded damn good.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT WOULD YOU RATHER EAT, a caterpillar or a moth?” Ricky said as if this was the most reasonable question in the world.

Angela was tidying the kitchen after dinner, or rather, attempting to, since her mind was flitting between her earlier encounter with Nate and their coming conversation. The wall calendar bearing the legend Wilde Log Home Construction that kept catching her eye didn’t help. Now she stared at Ricky, not certain she’d heard correctly. “I don’t know. What would you rather eat?”

“A caterpillar, of course,” Ricky replied. “It’s juicy and a moth is yucky and dry, like feathers.”

“I see.” She was not going to ask him how he knew.

Getting out the broom, she swept up the crumbs of their pizza from beneath the table. Janice’s house, with its pine furniture and cheaply framed photos, wasn’t anything fancy, but rag rugs, polished floorboards and chunky handmade pottery gave it a warm, comfortable feel. However, the clutter also made it difficult to clean and Angela spared a wistful thought for her immaculate minimalist apartment in Vancouver.

When she was done sweeping Angela set up her laptop on the kitchen table so she could work on her marketing plan for the next quarter while she waited for Nate to call.

Ricky moved closer and eyed her computer with interest. “Do you have any games on there?” She shook her head. “Tim’s got a computer with a ton of games,” he went on. “Dad said we’ll get a computer for Christmas. If we can afford it.”

“Uh-huh,” Angela said absently as she organized her notes while the laptop booted up. Then she realized Ricky was still watching her. “I guess my work can wait until tomorrow. Would you like to play a board game?”

“Board games are boring,” Ricky said. “I’d rather play with my Game Boy.”

“I don’t have one so we couldn’t play together.”

“How about cars?” he suggested.

“Grown women don’t play with cars unless they’re full-size luxury models,” she said, attempting a joke. Ricky didn’t crack a smile and she wondered fleetingly if kids, like dogs, could tell when a person was nervous around them.

“I’ll just go watch TV.” With a resigned sigh he went down the hall to the living room leaving Angela feeling as though she’d failed him somehow.

With a sigh of her own she inserted a disk into her computer and called up the file containing the spreadsheet of this month’s advertising expenditures. Again her fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to type, but her thoughts had returned to Nate.

All the way to Whistler she’d tried to steel herself for their first meeting but she hadn’t been prepared for the leap of her heart when she’d rounded the aisle and seen him standing there, a bag of muesli in his hand. His thick dark hair was still perennially tousled, as though he’d just taken his bike helmet off and run his hands through it. And he was as combative as when they’d been together. Back then they’d engaged in battles of wits as naturally as breathing, as frequently as lovemaking.

She could still recall the day they’d met. She’d been taking her break out back of the Whistler hotel where she worked as a chambermaid when he’d wheeled down the lane after winning a bike race, buzzing with testosterone and adrenaline.

With his hair falling over his forehead, tanned forearms and powerful thighs, she recognized him as one of the Wilde boys. Wilde by name, wild by nature. He was from a comfortably well-off family, not the type to notice a poor girl from Pemberton, a logging town half an hour north of the resort. Yet he’d stopped, made her laugh with his teasing banter, then asked her what time she got off.

“Why?” She’d wanted to know.

“I’d like to get to know you.” He stopped circling the lane, planted his feet on the ground and looked straight at her. “Angela.”

It was the way he spoke her name that got her—courteous, appreciative, attentive.

He’d laughed at her smart-assed comments and dished his own right back, yet he gave her the respect she’d always craved and hadn’t pressed when she refused to sleep with him before marriage even though they were going crazy for each other. Folks might think she came from trash but, by God, no one would ever have cause to say she had loose morals.

Funny thing, though, smart as Nate was, he’d never figured out that her tough act was all a facade.

Would he ask for a divorce or propose reconciliation? For her to suggest they get back together wasn’t an option; she simply wasn’t brave enough to risk rejection. Nate had loved her because he thought she was strong and fearless. Even now, when it might be over—especially now—she couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him see how vulnerable she was.

It was an uncomfortable thought and enough to send her back to the spreadsheet on the computer screen. Busy with figures and plans, the evening slipped away.

NATE HANDED A BEER to his brother, Aidan, twisted the top off his own, then tilted back in his chair and plunked his boots on the top rail of his balcony. He’d built the log house himself in Alpine Meadows estate off Alta Lake Road, three years after Angela left.

Advantage of Bachelorhood Number 150: Resting booted feet wherever the hell he liked. It wasn’t one of his best, but hey, some days he took what he could get.

“I ran into Angela today,” he told Aidan. “She’s in town looking after her nephew.”

Aidan cast him a shrewd sideways glance. His wavy brown hair tapered to the collar of a shirt the same green as his eyes. “That must have been a shock. How long has it been—ten years?”

Nate nodded. “It was a surprise, all right. She wants a divorce.”

Eyebrows raised, Aidan gave a low whistle. “I’ve always wondered why you haven’t gotten one before this.”

“I never found anyone else I wanted to marry,” Nate said with a shrug. “I presumed the same was true for her, even though she was going with some guy in Toronto.”

“So does this mean now she wants to remarry?”

“She says not.” Nate reached for a handful of dried fruit and nuts from the bowl on the table between them. “She says it’s time for us to get on with our lives.”

“Maybe she’s right,” Aidan mused. “You’ve always wanted a family and you’re not going to get one while married to a woman you don’t live with.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He stared out over the valley. Below, a shaft of the setting sun broke through the dark clouds to reflect off a bend in the poetically named River of Golden Dreams, a slow-moving stream that meandered through low bushes between Alta Lake and Green Lake, flanked by the paved Valley Trail.

Aidan sipped his beer. “What did she say? How did she seem?”

Nate summarized the encounter for him, finishing, “She was just so…Angela.”

Aidan smiled. “Sassy? Sexy?”

Nate breathed out on a long sigh. Angela was to sexy what scent was to a rose, what juice was to a mango. She was also strong, ambitious and determined. A late riser, a junk-food eater, a smart-mouthed runaway bride. Okay, newlywed; counting their whirlwind courtship they’d lasted nearly six months.

“You’re still in love with her,” Aidan said, making his own deductions from Nate’s silence.

Jolted out of his thoughts, Nate twisted around in his chair to glare at Aidan. He’d never told anyone he pined for Angela, not even his family. He had his pride. “Why would you say a thing like that?”

Aidan chuckled. “You poor deluded sap. You should hear yourself when you talk about her.”

His brother’s jibe irritated Nate. “When you get over Charmaine long enough to pull down all the froufrou and lace in your house then you can talk to me about Angela.”

Aidan’s smile faded. His focus dropped to the bottle he twisted between clenched hands. “Charmaine—” He broke off, unable to speak of his late wife, dead these past six years.

Nate winced at his thoughtless cruelty. “Sorry, buddy, that was out of line. As for Angela, no way am I still in love with her. Nor will I make the mistake of falling in love with her again.”

Aidan gave him a disbelieving glance and wisely skirted away from the subject of wives. “Have you heard from Marc lately?”

“Mom got a letter from him yesterday. Apparently he’s in Pakistan trying to round up a cameraman brave enough to venture into the tribal areas with him. I’ve heard the police won’t even go in there.” Nate shook his head in dismay. They sometimes joked that Marc had a death wish because he sought out the most dangerous spots on the planet to go looking for a story. Nate met Aidan’s gaze. The joke just wasn’t funny anymore, if it ever had been. “One of these days his luck’s going to run out.”

Aidan took a swig of beer. “He’s going to try to make it back for Mom’s birthday this weekend.”

“That would be good.” Nate paused, then asked after Aidan’s young daughter. “How’s Emily?”

“She can ride her two-wheeler without trainers, and she’s already getting excited about starting first grade in the fall.” Aidan dug through the remaining nuts to pick out the cashews. “What are you going to do about Angela? Will you contest the divorce?”

“I doubt if I have any grounds to do so.” Nate blew softly into the top of his beer bottle, sending out a haunting sound that mingled with the sweet tinkle of the wind chimes at the end of the balcony. Dusk had come early and with it, the rain. A few drops fell onto the rail, making dark round splotches on the wood.

Setting the bottle aside, he said, “Angela dumped me in the most hurtful way possible, not to mention she makes me crazy. But here’s the thing…when I’m with her, I feel alive in a way I never do without her. She brings more excitement to my day than the adrenaline rush of the slickest single track.”

Aidan frowned, trying to understand. “I thought you said you weren’t in love with her. Are you telling me you are going to attempt to reconcile?”

Before Nate could reply, the squall broke in a noisy rush and spattered the balcony with soaking rain. Nate and Aidan quickly gathered up their bottles and dragged the chairs under the overhanging roof. Nate glanced at his watch. After nine o’clock. It wasn’t too late to call Angela but he felt drained and too confused to tangle with her on the phone. Tomorrow would do.

He brushed the water off his head and noticed Aidan was watching him, still waiting for an answer.

“If I make a mistake once, I can learn from it,” Nate said. “Make the same mistake twice and I’d be a fool, wouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Aidan said. “Too bad, though. I always thought you two were great together.”

So had Nate. He sighed. “Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

ANGELA LEANED BACK from her laptop, yawning and stretching. Ricky was being awfully quiet. Then she glanced at the clock. Could it really be eleven p.m.?

Nate hadn’t called.

She saved her work and, pushing back her chair, went to the living room. Ricky was asleep on the couch in front of the TV where a movie unsuitable for ten-year-olds was playing. Recriminations flooded through her. She shouldn’t have let him stay up this late. She should have monitored what he was watching.

“Ricky, wake up. It’s time to go to bed.”

The boy yawned and mumbled sleepily. “Just a little longer.”

“No, it’s after eleven.” Angela reached for the control and clicked the TV off. In the silence she could hear the patter of raindrops being blown against the windowpane. “Tomorrow we’ll do something fun, I promise.”

Suddenly he looked wide awake, a crafty light in his eyes. “Mom always reads to me before bed.”

“But it’s so late.”

“I’m on holiday.”

“Aren’t you old enough to read by yourself?” She suspected he was stalling but she couldn’t be sure. Janice had left pages of detailed instructions regarding Ricky that Angela hadn’t had time to go over yet.

“Yeah, but I like it when Mom reads.”

“Oh, what the heck. Go get ready for bed first.”

Ricky disappeared down the hall and came back a few minutes later dressed in his pajamas and smelling of toothpaste and soap. He looked sweet, not terrifying at all.

Angela followed him to his bedroom and sat on the bed. “Do you have a book?” she asked, expecting him to produce something like Lassie Come Home.

He handed her a slim volume with a lurid cover. She read the title. “The Day My Bum Went Psycho? Are you serious?”

“It’s really funny.”

“I’ll read one chapter, okay?”

She ended up reading five chapters because Ricky kept pleading for more and because the zany story was surprisingly amusing. Finally her throat got sore and she set the book aside. “Time to say your prayers.” That much she knew Janice insisted on.

Ricky hopped out from under the covers and kneeled by the bed, bowing his head. “Now I lay me down to sleep…” His high-pitched voice mingled with the steady beat of rain on the shake roof.

Angela listened, remembering herself and Janice at a very young age as they kneeled by their cots on a threadbare rug to repeat those familiar comforting words.

“…God bless Mom and Dad and keep them safe on the airplane. God bless Auntie Angela and keep me safe so she doesn’t worry.”

Angela smiled but she had to glance away; Ricky’s slender nape above his pajama collar looked so vulnerable it made her heart hurt. When had she stopped saying her prayers? Probably around her seventh birthday when her father walked out and her mom started drinking and Angela had learned prayers didn’t get answered. Night after night she’d comforted her little sister, pretending to Janice that everything would be all right when inside she felt terrified and utterly abandoned.

Why hadn’t Nate called?

“…God bless Tim and keep him safe so…well, just so he’ll be safe. Thank you, Lord. Amen.”

Ricky clambered back into bed and Angela wondered if he would hate it if she tried to kiss him good-night. She tickled him instead, making him giggle.

On impulse she said, “Tomorrow we’ll go down and register you for the bike course.”

She thought he would be delighted but his young forehead furrowed with worry. “How are we going to pay for it?” he asked. “I heard Dad tell Mom before they left that they were so far over dawn they’d never see daylight again. It doesn’t make sense but I’m pretty sure he was talking about money ’cuz he had his checkbook out.”

“He meant overdrawn.” She bit her lip to stop herself from smiling at his mistake. There was nothing funny about a kid having to worry about his family’s finances.

How often in her own childhood had her mother told her they couldn’t afford something? Daily, at least. Not things like mountain-bike courses or the latest fashion, but more basic items like exercise books for school or shoes. Sometimes they couldn’t even afford food until the next welfare check. Even though her mother was long dead and those days far behind her, Angela could still remember the shame.

“Don’t worry. I’ll pay for the course as an early birthday present. And I’ll buy you your own elbow and shin pads so you can use them afterward.”

Ricky’s face lit. He sat up in bed and flung his arms around her waist, pressing his head against her chest. “Thank you, Auntie Angela. Thank you so much!”

Angela, treasuring the feel of his small body, clung a moment too long and he squirmed out of her embrace. “Quit calling me ‘Auntie,’” she scolded to cover her awkwardness. “It makes me feel a hundred years old instead of twenty-nine. Just Angela will do.”

“Okay. Thanks, Angela. You’re the best.”

“You’re welcome.” At least she’d gotten something right where he was concerned.

The next morning Angela and Ricky drove into Whistler Village with Ricky’s bike in the back of the station wagon. They parked in one of the day lots and walked the bike through the pedestrian-only streets, looking for Nate’s store.

Cycle Sports was a long narrow shop off the Village Square. Bikes were hung around the perimeter, shock absorbers and wheel forks covered the ceiling and every inch of available floor space was packed with rows of tires or shelving containing biking shirts, shorts, gloves and other paraphernalia. Customers browsed or stood about in small groups, talking trails and bikes. Nate wasn’t the only one around here obsessed with mountain biking.

Ricky gravitated to a shiny new bike set up on display. Angela went to the front desk where a girl with short blond braids was stocking a display of sunglasses. Dressed in a halter top and lycra shorts she had the slim, hard body of an athlete and a killer tan.

“Excuse me…Rachel,” Angela said, glancing at the girl’s name tag. “I’m looking for Nate. Is he working today?”

“I’ll get him for you.” Rachel poked her head through a curtained doorway behind the desk. “Hey, boss. Someone to see you.”

Boss. A blunt-fingered hand pushed the curtain aside and Nate appeared, his dark hair a sharp contrast to the pale blue of his bike shirt. Even after all this time he still set her pulse racing.

“Are you the manager here?” she asked incredulously.

“I own the store.” There was more than a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

Angela vaguely recalled Janice saying something about a bike store but when it came to Nate and mountain bikes she’d always tuned out. She couldn’t get over the change in him from the free and easy young man she’d married. Back then he’d worked only until he had enough to pay the bills, sometimes not even that much in the prelude to a big race. Now she marveled at Nate’s confident air of authority—a maturation of his youthful cockiness she hadn’t anticipated.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked.

“I’ve been thinking your class might be good for Ricky, after all. We’ve brought in his bike for you to look over.”

Ricky, hearing his name, came over to where they were standing. Nate handed him a brochure of the Whistler Bike Park. “Check that out, dude.” Then he signaled to a young man with burnished gold dreadlocks. “Chris, could you get down a ladies’ bike for Angela, here, to try out?” His gaze traveled expertly over her five-foot-five frame. “Twenty-two inch, hardtail.”

“Angela, listen to this,” Ricky exclaimed, showing her the brochure. “The bike park has over four thousand vertical feet of trails.”

Angela shuddered at this frightening mental image. “More than I need to know, thanks.” As Chris moved to the rack of hanging bikes, she protested to Nate, “We’re here for Ricky, not me.”

Nate smiled at Angela. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you both.” Turning to the boy, he went on, “Ricky, why don’t you take your bike through to the workshop. Kevin, my mechanic, will look after you.”

“Okay.” Ricky shoved the brochure into his pocket and headed back outside where he’d left his bike chained to a stand.

Chris wheeled a silver-and-blue bike to where Angela and Nate were standing.

“Thanks, Chris,” Nate said to his employee. “Kevin is going to check over Ricky’s bike. Make sure the boy finds his way to the workshop, will you?”

“No problem.” Chris moved off.

Angela glanced about; the store was abuzz with bike talk and the steady ka-ching of the credit-card machine. She didn’t know much about mountain bikes but from the price tags she could tell these were top of the line. “Your store seems prosperous. I’m impressed.” She paused. “And, I must confess, a little surprised.”

Nate flipped a lever on the bike and lowered the seat. “I’m opening another store soon in Vancouver.” He gave her a wry smile. “Turns out I’m a lot better at business than I ever was at carpentry. Ironic, eh?”

Angela glanced away from the dry expression in his eyes, and the implied reproach for not believing in him.

Nate put a hand on her arm and guided her to the bike. “Put a leg across so I can check the stand-over height.”

Angela, still surprised by this new Nate, complied before she realized what she was doing. But when he crouched to inspect the gap between her and the silver steel tubing she hopped off. “I thought you were going to call me last night.”

He shot her a quick glance. “Sorry about that. Aidan came over and we had a few beers. I…lost track of time.”

He’d forgotten about her. Again, but so what? She’d been gone so long she couldn’t expect to be top of Nate’s list. Just as he wasn’t on top of hers. “How is your brother?”

“He’s…okay.” Nate added in an undertone, “Do you know about Charmaine?”

“Janice told me she lost her bearings on top of Whistler Mountain during a blizzard and fell to her death. I’m so sorry.”

“Aidan was with her.” Nate paused as if uncomfortable with what he had to say but compelled to go on. “People talked. There was a lot of rumor and speculation….”