The Marriage Season

The restaurant was busy, since it was a Saturday evening, but they got a table for two fairly quickly, which might have been due to the flirtatious hostess and her interest in Tate as he explained that, no, sorry, he hadn’t made a reservation. Bex was still trying to decide if she should be amused or annoyed when they were seated.

“Does that always work?” she asked, settling in.

“What?” Oh, so innocent.

“That suave, charming way you have. That smile.”

He pretended to be puzzled, picked up his menu and finally grinned at her over the top of it. “Assuming that I am suave and charming, with a memorable smile, I have only one question. Do any of those things work on you?”

Now they were getting onto unstable ground. In fact, this was a quicksand sort of question. Bex felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach, unrelated to hunger, and took her time answering. “The way a man smiles certainly makes a difference to a woman,” she said seriously, feeling like a humorless fool, but unable to respond in kind. “And yours just happens to be wicked.”

He flashed it then, full force, with that hint of a dimple in his left cheek included, no doubt, to increase the wattage. “Fear not, fair damsel,” he teased. “You’re safe with me. Translation—lighten up a little.” He watched her for a long, silent moment. “I think you just gave me a compliment. I’m still processing that.” Another pause. “My aunt liked you.”

Bex had managed to relax, ever so slightly. “She saw me for about thirty seconds.”

“I know Gina Calder pretty well. She has the instincts of a barracuda when it comes to sizing people up.” Another of those conversational hairpin turns followed. “Are we ordering separately or do we want to share?”

This entire evening she’d been outmaneuvered. Bex gave up. “I say we share. You choose for both of us because I’m too hungry to think. I am planning to have a glass of wine, though, and I’ll feel guilty you can’t, but my feet still hurt and you didn’t tell me I’d be meeting your family. So we’ll be even.”

“I would never drink and fly a plane or drive, but I supervised three boys for at least half the day. Do I get sympathy points for that?”

“Absolutely. Once we touch down safely, I’ll be the first to hand you a cold beer.”

“Like a serving wench? You’d wear the outfit? I want a low-cut bodice.”

“Don’t push it.”

In the end, ordering was a joint process, and they chose spring rolls and mango salad to start, followed by shrimp pad thai and lemongrass chicken; everything was delicious. Her glass of California chardonnay was exactly the kind she liked and accompanied the meal perfectly.

She did meet his father briefly later that evening, when they stopped by the house. Tate’s dad was an older version of his son, with some silver at his temples and a genial smile.

Later still, as they taxied along the runway before takeoff, she was already yawning. “He seems nice.”

“Most of the time he is. But appearances can be deceiving.”

“Duly noted. I might point out, though, that none of us are nice all the time.”

“That’s the third yawn. Feel free to nap. It’s a short flight, but you still have to take Josh home.” He pretended to be concentrating hard. “Let’s see, you ran a race, took a flight you didn’t know you were going to take and helped a hopeless bachelor organize what I suspect will be a killer kitchen. Like I told my aunt, you’ve had a full day.”

Bex sighed, admiring Tate from the corner of her eye.

He had a clean profile and handled the plane so effortlessly he didn’t even seem to be thinking about it. She was tired, but pleasantly so. It had been a lovely evening, and a treat just to get away. Her feet did hurt; tomorrow, she knew from experience, they’d really hurt. Something to look forward to, although she’d signed up for it, so there was no one to blame but herself.

“You, on the other hand, supervised three boys all morning—as you modestly pointed out. You took them to the race, then you flew us to Cheyenne, drove us around and also did the shopping. And now you’re flying us back,” she said with a sleepy smile. “You’ve had a full day, too.”

The night sky was brilliant with stars, the earlier inclement weather having headed south into the Midwest. A vast arch of velvet black was studded with diamonds, almost like something Melody would make. That gave Bex an idea.

Tate had already done a lot for Josh—and he’d met her nephew mere days ago. She wanted to thank him. Melody had made an impressive clock for her husband, Spence. Everything she did was one of a kind, and in this particular case, she’d used an outline of their ranch house as a background, Tripp had cut the metal pieces required by her design and a local artisan had made the frame from wood found on the property. Everyone who saw it urged Melody to expand her jewelry design business to include artistic clocks.

Unique, personal... Bex loved the thought of it.

A similar piece with a silhouette of his new log house would fit perfectly in Tate’s new kitchen. She could commission it, Mel could create it and Tripp would help again because he and Tate were friends. She knew full well that Melody would never take her money. Bex could provide the kitchen design and color of the cabinets, so maybe all of them could go in on the project together.

Housewarming gift: solved.

This landing was as smooth as the last one. Even though it was past Josh’s bedtime, it wasn’t too late, considering two flights, the shopping and dinner. At least she’d be able to sleep in tomorrow, since it was Sunday.

“I’m going to sleep like the dead myself,” Tate said, as if reading her mind on the drive back to the Galloway ranch. “This house-building thing was going to be challenging, I knew that going in, but I’m looking forward to being settled again.” He sent her a quick smile. “Word of warning—for a vagabond pilot, I’m darned boring. Coffee black. Toast with butter, no jelly. I’ve eaten all kinds of different food, like I did tonight, but just give me a medium-rare steak, a baked potato and a salad, and I’m happy.”

“Word of warning?” Bex looked at him, which wasn’t a chore for any woman. “Is that your way of asking me for another date?”

“Not very smooth, but yes.”

There was that darned smile again.

“Hmm, I’ll have to mull it over,” she told him mischievously. “I’ll get back to you.”

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_9153f058-e8cc-5dde-836d-5b67e7d14a99)

TATE POURED ANOTHER cup of coffee and went over the plans again. One of the tough decisions he’d have to make was the size of the barn itself. He didn’t have the resources to be too extravagant; still, it would be so much easier—and save money—to do it right the first time, rather than adding on later.

He might have to consider asking his father to invest, after all. That would be the more practical route, but he balked at it.

One of the things he wanted to include was a small separate cabin/bunkhouse next to the stables so that eventually, with luck, he could hire staff to help with the horses. Staff who could live right on the ranch. Stalls had to be mucked out, horses would need to be fed, exercised, started or trained, if they were going to be sold as saddle horses. With a few animals he could handle all that, but turning this into a legitimate business meant he’d require help.

The problem was if he so much as mentioned the word investment to his father, the man became relentlessly overinvolved. Let him put up one dime, and there’d be spreadsheets and reports and phone calls. All Tate wanted was to live on a serene piece of property with a spectacular view of the Tetons and raise horses and his sons.

It seemed straightforward enough. In theory.

His father’s approach to business was probably the correct one, but Tate wasn’t out to make a fortune, he just wanted to provide a good life for his children and have a simple existence in a more wholesome environment, rather than a crowded city.

“I need to decide.” He ran his fingers through his hair and said it out loud.

“’Bout what?”

He hadn’t realized that Adam had wandered into the kitchen, still sleepy and decked out in his Batman pajamas, his hair messy, dark eyes inquiring.

Tate saw a reflection of his own features in his son’s small face, and he had to admit that whatever problems he had in this world, they faded away when he looked at his child. “I was wondering if I wanted more coffee or a glass of orange juice. You need to make a big decision, too. Cereal or waffles?”

“Waffles.”

Of course the kid chose waffles, since they involved syrup. These were of the toaster variety, but Tate tossed some fresh blueberries on top and handed over a glass of milk. “You guys have fun last night?”

Adam nodded, his mouth full.

“Still want to go fishing?”

Another emphatic nod.