The Maverick Marriage Read online

  Susannah let her gaze rove the short, mussed layers of his hair. “If they understand how much we both loved and respected Max, yes, I think they will.”

  Susannah’s heart raced as they walked out into the adjacent dining hall. She told herself it was the stress of seeing him so unexpectedly, and in such intimate circumstances, that had her feeling so completely aware of him, so on edge. In an effort to regain her composure, she looked around. Long wooden trestle tables were bordered by benches on each side. A cafeteria-style buffet was set up next to the kitchen, at the far end of the room. According to her notes, the camp fed three hundred men daily. It would be a challenge creating diverse menus that would please nearly everyone.

  “How much more do you have to do here?” Trace asked as they threaded their way through the tables.

  “I’m finished,” Susannah said, taking a last look around before she stepped outside and locked up, while he held the screen door open for her. Finished, she stepped back, so they were no longer in such proximity and tilted her head to look at Trace. “I have to be here first thing tomorrow morning, though. I promised Pearl I would help out with the breakfast shift, and that’s also when Gillian Taylor, the new head cook, is due to arrive.” She shrugged apologetically as she deposited the key to the camp kitchen and dining hall in her purse.

  Susannah walked as far as their four-wheel-drive vehicles, then stopped. “Unfortunately, because we have to stick together like glue, that means you will have to get up at the crack of dawn and come with me.

  “No problem. I’m an early riser and I have plenty of work to do on my laptop, so I’ll come with you.”

  Susannah breathed a sigh of relief. Unable to help herself, she shook her head and murmured softly, “It’s working out fine already.”

  His glance moved over her languidly, taking her in from head to toe and all places in between. “You seem surprised,” he noted casually.

  Her body warming wherever his eyes had scanned, Susannah focused instead on the towering woods that stretched as far as the eye could see. “As you should be, considering we were about as easily mixed as water and oil.”

  “It seems a long time ago.”

  “Yes. It does. Doesn’t it?” Susannah fell silent. She had forgotten how beautiful the woods were, and how lonely.

  “Where are your boys now?” Trace asked, bringing her out of her reverie.

  Susannah tensed slightly, aware they were headed into dangerous territory. Territory she hadn’t expected to have to cover with him. “Scott, my oldest, is participating in the Summer Scholar program at the University of Texas in Austin so he won’t be joining us, but Mickey, my youngest, is here with me. He was taking a tour of the logging camp with one of the loggers who was kind enough to volunteer to show him around. Mickey’s something of an adventurer, he always wants to see and do everything. They should be back any—” She glanced at her watch, then looked in the direction of the gravel road behind the cabins that housed the loggers who chose to live on the property, at least during the work week, and grinned. “There they are now.” She lifted her hand in a wave, motioning them over.

  Susannah’s eight-year-old son Mickey, a rambunctious-looking, freckled-face boy with light brown hair and a grin, raced toward them. As always, his shirttail was half in, half out. He had dirt smudged on both knees. His sneakers were covered with mud. No matter how Susannah tried, no matter how she admonished him, she simply could not keep her son neat and clean for more than a few minutes at a time. Smiling at him as he neared them, she wondered if that would ever change…

  “Mom, Mom, it was so cool!” Mickey skidded breathlessly to a halt in front of them.

  Susannah put her hands on Mickey’s shoulders and brought him in close to her side. She was glad to see him, but there were important things to be done before she and Mickey exchanged notes on their afternoon. “Whoa, now. First things first.” She looked down at Mickey and said gently, “Did you thank Mr. Turner for showing you around?”

  “Thanks.” Mickey beamed at Tom Turner, a bearded, burly, fifty-something logger in a flannel shirt, jeans and heavy work-boots, and continued to enthuse, “I had fun. I mean it. The woods are way cool. And I ‘specially liked that river we looked at, with all the churnin’ white water, and those big gray rocks!”

  “You’re a good kid.” Tom Turner swept off his yellow hard hat in deference to Susannah’s presence, then reached over to ruffle Mickey’s hair. “Come back in about ten years or so, and I’ll give you a summer job, you hear?” After extracting Mickey’s promise that he would indeed do that, Tom looked at Trace. His expression sobered abruptly. “I heard about Max,” he said softly, holding his hat flat against his chest. “We’re all sorry and thinking of you and the family. We’re gonna miss him.”

  “We all will,” Trace said.

  Tom nodded, his grief as evident as his worry over the future. “We also expect there’ll be some changes around here?”

  “A few. Not too many,” Trace told him. “I’ll be over first thing tomorrow morning to discuss them with you.”

  “I’ll look forward to it,” Tom replied. “See you later, Susannah.”

  “Thanks again, Tom.”

  Mickey looked from Susannah to Trace and back again, his curiosity evident.

  “Mickey, this is Trace McKendrick. He and I were married a long time ago, before I met your dad.”

  “But you’re still friends?” Mickey asked, cutting right to the heart of the matter, as usual.

  Were they? Susannah wondered. To her surprise, it was beginning to feel as if they might be. “Yes, I guess we sort of are, though we haven’t seen each other for a very long time. It’s a long story, and I’ll fill you in on all the details later, but we are going to forget about the hotel and stay with Trace and his two boys for a few days, in their new ranch house.”

  “Cool,” Mickey said, using his favorite word yet again. Bubbling energy, he glanced at Trace. “How old are your kids?”

  “Fourteen and ten,” Trace answered with the kind of smile that told Susannah he genuinely liked kids. “How old are you?”

  “Eight.”

  “That’s a pretty fun age,” Trace retorted with a paternal kindness that made Susannah’s heart ache.

  “Yep.” Mickey grinned proudly. “I’m old enough to do all sorts of neat things now. Like go to work with my mom sometimes. And bus tables and everything.”

  Trace’s grin widened even more. “I bet you’re a big help.”

  “Yep,” Mickey said, his expression abruptly dead serious. “I really am.”

  “Speaking of sons, where are yours right now, Trace?” Susannah asked curiously.

  “I left them at the ranch house. That was about four hours ago. I think I better get a move on and check on them.”

  “One car or two?” Susannah asked, not sure she wanted to be that close to him for any length of time. Already, she was far too aware of the invigoratingly male scent of his after-shave, the appealing sun-kissed glow of his hair and skin, the easy warmth of his touch.

  But it seemed there was no helping it as Trace paused and mentally reviewed the stipulations attached to his uncle’s will, just as she was doing.

  “I think we better go in one car, as per Max’s wishes,” he said after a moment. “Don’t you?”

  FORTUNATELY Mickey chattered incessantly the whole way back to the lakeside ranch house, about everything he had seen and done at logging-crew boss Tom Turner’s side. From time to time, Trace answered some of Mickey’s questions about the vast rolling forests on the Silver Spur, leaving Susannah to admire the majesty of her surroundings.

  She had forgotten just how beautiful the Silver Spur was in June. She and Trace had first met and fallen in love in June, and married the following September. It seemed so long ago, and yet it seemed like yesterday, she thought as she looked around and saw that the endless emerald green forests were interrupted only by glimpses of the meandering Silver River and small meadows dotted with wildfl
owers. The granite rise of the mountains loomed on the horizon. In the distance, the mirrorlike surface of Silver Lake gleamed a stunning dark blue between the stands of pine, birch and aspen. In front of that was a huge three-story log-cabin-style ranch house. It had a broad front porch, with a porch swing on each end, and half a dozen rocking chairs scattered about. Hanging baskets of brightly colored geraniums, and a well-landscaped yard, complete with a variety of shrubs and flowers, added to the welcoming warmth of the sprawling ranch house.

  “Oh, Trace,” Susannah breathed as he parked his Jeep in the driveway, and they all got out. She looked at the numerous windows and the steep slate roof. “It’s gorgeous.”

  Trace nodded, his pride in the new home Max had left him evident. “Max went all out when he built this place,” he confirmed.

  Susannah looked around the well-manicured front lawn. The lake behind them was small, private, and this was the only house on it. Yet she thought she recognized the rocky slopes on the opposite side of the glistening lake. “We used to picnic up here, didn’t we?”

  Trace nodded. “On this very site.”

  So he remembered, too. She turned toward him and tipping her head to him, asked softly so only he could hear, “Part of Max’s plan to reunite us?”

  He nodded. His expression thoughtful, he kept his eyes locked on hers. “No doubt.”

  Mickey was already headed toward a soccer goal and ball in the side yard. He turned back to Trace. “Would anybody mind if I kick around the ball a little?”

  Trace smiled. “Go right ahead.”

  Not quite ready to go in yet, to face the fact that they were going to be living together under the same roof for the next forty-eight hours, Susannah put a staying hand on his arm. As for the bedroom arrangements—the possibility that she might be seeing Trace the last thing before she went to bed at night and the first thing in the morning—she didn’t even want to think about that. She swallowed, forced herself to put her own worries aside. They had others to consider here, too. “How do you think your boys are going to take this?” she asked.

  Trace shrugged, looking as if there was absolutely nothing in this world he could not handle. “There’s only one way to find out,” he predicted with an encouraging half smile just as the front door opened. Two boys came out. The first was a bespectacled teenager, with dark brown, short straight hair, who looked a lot like Trace must’ve looked at that age, except slightly more studious, Susannah thought. He was carrying a thick computer manual and a sheaf of printouts beneath his arm. “Hey, Dad, I think I solved that accounting problem you were having,” he said.

  “Great going, Nate,” Trace said, patting his son’s shoulder in congratulations. He knew the boys had been broken up about their uncle’s sudden death, but they had vented their grief and were handling it well, the way Max would have wanted them to. “I can’t wait to hear all about it as soon as we have time to sit down a minute.”

  The second boy was Trace’s ten-year-old Susannah decided. He, too, had medium-brown hair, worn slightly longer than his older brother’s, with a cowlick at the back that looked absolutely untamable. Dressed in tennis shoes, a wild Hawaiian-print shirt and baggy khakis, he had his hands shoved deep in his pockets and a mischievous look on his face. He high-fived Trace and drawled, “Hey, Dad, what’s happening?”

  “As a matter of fact, Jason,” Trace began, “quite a lot. Susannah, here, and I have a lot to—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of a car engine in the driveway had them all turning once again. In unison, they watched as Cisco Kidd pulled in and parked his car right behind Trace’s Jeep Wagoneer. Susannah felt her heart stop when she saw who was in the passenger seat.

  “LOOK WHO I found hitchhiking on the road,” Cisco announced, clearly not understanding, Susannah thought, the import of what he had just done, bringing her older son to Trace’s door. Nevertheless, she plunged on, making introductions. “Trace, this is my son Scott. Scott, this is Trace McKendrick.”

  His manner polite but distracted, Scott said hello to Trace and shook his hand before turning back to Susannah. He gave her a sly grin. “Before you start, Mom, let me just say how glad I am to be here,” he began with disarming affability.

  As usual, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Today’s sported the University of Texas logo on the front and Ten Reasons Why Friends Don’t Let Friends Go To Texas A&M on the back. His wheat-blond hair was straight, windblown and on the longish side, which meant he hadn’t got that haircut Susannah had told him to get, once he arrived in Austin, either.

  Susannah wasn’t interested in any smooth talk. Scott was supposed to be in Texas! Not Montana. And what had he been doing hitchhiking, for heaven’s sake. He damn well knew better than that! “What are you doing here?” she demanded pointedly of her son, looking straight into his guileless blue eyes.

  Scott rubbed his chin, where a handful of whiskers were growing. It seemed he had forgotten to shave, too, in the week he had been at the month-long camp. “Well, uh, that’s a little tricky, Mom,” Scott said casually.

  Susannah folded her arms in front of her. “I am all ears.”

  Scott tossed his duffel down in front of him. “I got kicked out of camp.”

  Susannah had feared as much. Scott hadn’t wanted to go in the first place. She had just been so desperate to keep him out of Montana, until she finished her business at the Silver Spur Ranch and got settled elsewhere, far away from Trace and Max and all the rest of the McKendricks. “And no one told me?” Susannah asked her son incredulously.

  “Hey!” Scott palmed his chest emphatically. “They didn’t even tell me yet!”

  “Back up and start from the beginning,” Trace interjected. Unlike Susannah, he looked mildly amused by her son’s antics and very interested in the details.

  “Okay.” Scott drew a deep breath. “You know how they had all those camps going at UT at once?”

  Susannah sighed, almost sure she was going to wish she didn’t know all the details when her son finally finished his tale of woe. Not about to shirk her duty as a responsible parent, however, she continued prodding him, “I’m listening.”

  Scott flushed. Whether with delight or embarrassment, Susannah could not tell. “Well, I uh, sort of organized a—” Scott paused and narrowed his eyes at Susannah. “You sure you want me to tell you?”

  “No,” Susannah admitted readily as she gave her son yet another quelling look. “But I have a feeling I need to know, anyway.”

  Scott shrugged and, shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, launched back into his story. “The guys in the Summer Scholar program decided to pay a visit to the girls in the UT Tennis Camp, which just happened to be housed on the floor above us. It wasn’t easy getting by the chaperons stationed at the elevators and the stairwells, but…well, never mind about that. Anyway, some of the, uh, girls, um, let’s say unmentionables just happened to get, uh, confiscated during this—”

  “In my day, I believe it was called a panty raid,” Cisco interjected dryly.

  “Uh, yeah.” Scott shrugged and reveled in the envious glances of the other kids, and the stunned glances of the adults. “Anyway, they were looking for the ringleader of the commando raid on the girls and somehow my name got bandied about.”

  “Were you the ringleader?” Susannah asked, already fearing she knew the answer to that.

  In answer, Scott flashed a youthful grimace. “I think I’ll take the Fifth on that.” He paused to look away for a second before daring to look back at his mother. “Anyway,” he continued, as if it were the most logical thing in the world, “I got wind of the fact they were getting ready to kick me out and send me home, as an example to everyone else, so I just packed my bags and lit out, saved them the trouble of having them call me in and give me a lecture, you know.”

  Susannah could imagine. Since the last earthquake, though he wasn’t in it, Scott had adopted a devil-maycare demeanor that seemed to get him and his friends in trouble
more often than not. She was worried about him. She knew she had to find a way to turn him around. “So, no one at the camp knows where you are,” she ascertained calmly, knowing nothing would be gained by her losing her temper with her son. Though she had to admit she was sorely tempted to do just that.

  “For all I know, they aren’t even aware I’m really missing yet.”

  Susannah turned to Cisco. She knew she needed to calm down and get a few more details before she spoke to the camp director. “Would you mind calling the camp and letting them know that Scott is here with me and that I’ll be in touch with them as soon as I can?”

  “No problem. Trace, okay if I go in and use your phone?” Cisco asked.

  “Go right ahead.”

  Susannah turned to Trace. She ran her hands through her hair, pushing it off her face, tucking the ends of her bob behind her ears. “I think I need a moment to collect myself. Maybe talk to Scott here—”

  “Hey, if it’s going to be another one of those ‘you’re going to be sixteen in a few days or weeks or whatever,’” Scott interrupted unhappily.

  At the mention of her son’s age, Trace went very still.

  Susannah swallowed. It took every bit of self-control she possessed to tear her eyes from Trace’s and turn to her son. No, not now, please, she thought, her heart pounding. “Scott,” she reprimanded.

  Trace stepped between Susannah and Scott. “When is your birthday?” Trace asked Scott softly.

  Thinking he was about to be rescued from further scolding, Scott reported with a cheeky grin, “In two weeks, three days and about six and a half hours. Not that I’m counting every second until I can get my driver’s license, you understand,” he joked.

  Susannah slowly let out the breath she had been holding. “I think you should understand your driver’s license is tied to good behavior,” Susannah retorted, hoping Trace wasn’t thinking what she feared he was. But it was too late. She could see by the shell-shocked look on his face and the sudden tensing of his broad shoulders that Trace had already done the math.