Her Favorite Husband

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My thanks to Victoria Curran

for her skilled and patient help tightening and

focusing the story, to Megan Long for the perfect

title, to the staff at Thompson Public Library, who

were so helpful while I stayed in their city, and

to my family, whose humor, encouragement and

sound advice I so appreciate.

CHAPTER ONE

AS SOON AS SHE SAW HIM, she wanted to feel him inside her. Almost could. It took her breath away. She reminded herself where she was, fourteen hundred miles from home, in a dim cave of a cocktail lounge–frontier saloon, a place decorated with big screen TVs and dead animals. Restraint was called for here.

A waitress walked by, balancing a loaded tray. “Want a table, hon? Help yourself. Anywhere’s good.”

He turned then, with a disinterested glance at the door, and froze mid-sip of frothy beer. Finished the sip, put down the mug. She couldn’t tell if he was only surprised, or also angry. There was no reason to be angry, not after all this time.

She chose the most direct path between the tables that separated them. No leaping up to greet her, she noticed, no sweeping her into his arms. He didn’t budge, other than to take a supercasual swig of beer as he watched her weave to his side. She’d come so far, a stone’s throw from the arctic circle, and he couldn’t even smile?

“Sarah.”

“Ian.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Not only surprised, then. Angry, still.

She climbed onto the bar stool beside his and tried for light-hearted sparkle. “I’m exploring.”

“In a skirt and heels?”

“Wrinkle-free fabric.” She scrunched a handful of the soft wool-silk blend to demonstrate its Far North worthiness. It was her favorite travel suit, charcoal-gray to show she meant business, with a ruby-red camisole and a small, but real ruby pendant adding not all business. She lifted a foot, resting it on one of his. “Close-toed shoes.”

“Ah. Practical.”

“Always.”

He moved his foot out from under hers.

So far, the visit wasn’t going very well. What had she expected? Something more. A hug. A bit of delight to go with the surprise.

He looked enticing, if excessively casual, in denims and a navy blue shirt, his hair forming those little curls over his collar the way it did when he put off getting it cut. He sounded enticing, too, his voice as deep as she remembered. All around him, though, was a wall of bristling, possibly antagonistic, energy.

She smiled at the bartender, who smiled back, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. She was tempted to point him out as an example of how to give a friendly greeting. “Could I have a glass of red wine? Something fruity. Beaujolais? A small glass, or I’ll get sleepy.”

“Dangerous thing for an explorer,” Ian said.

Carrying on a light-hearted conversation all by herself wasn’t easy. Sarah swiveled from side to side, aware that he noticed the way her skirt tightened as she moved. “Let me say, in the interests of full disclosure and absolute clarity that although in a sense I am exploring, I’m not an actual explorer. I’m here because I’m taking a holiday.”

“In Yellowknife.”

“People do.”

“Some people.”

“Lots of people.”

“Not you.”

“You’re so sure? What if I’ve changed?”

“Enough to choose this place for a bedtime drink?”

Her gaze followed his to the moose head over the bar, then to a mangy bear near the washroom, stretched upright, its mouth open in a silent, toothy roar.

“Which brings me back to my question,” he said.

“Why I’m here?” For the first time since yesterday morning, when she’d begun to make her plans, Sarah saw that it was a very good question. Popped by to see you was the only answer she had. Popped fourteen hundred miles from home to see him. To see this cold-eyed man. “Do I need a reason to travel?”

She knew what he was thinking. To travel to this particular city, to this particular bar stool, yes, she needed a very good, very sensible reason. Behind his controlled expression, she was sure a fight was brewing. A continuation of the last one, after a ten year pause.

It was hard not to be disappointed. This trip had seemed like the best idea in the world. She’d been so pleased with it she’d hugged it to herself all day long. She must have been imagining an alternate universe, where Ian would love the idea, too, because in this one they never spoke to each other. No birthday calls, no Christmas cards. No hint that either of them would be glad to see the other.

Except, she had been glad.

“Of course you don’t need a reason.” He managed to sound both mild and cold. “It goes without saying you can travel wherever you want. I’m curious about your choice of destination, that’s all.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the North. Ever since I first heard about Santa.”

It amused her, but there wasn’t even a hint of a sparkle in his eyes, nearly black, and shuttered at the moment. And beautiful. Whether they were closing her out or drawing her in as far as she could go, she had always found them beautiful.

“You’re annoyed,” she said.

“I’m not.”