Caron Todd - Her Favorite Husband

“Which I should never, never do.”

Ian smiled, his old smile, the one Sarah had wanted to see.

“One second I’m watching a football game and the next you’re standing in the doorway. You, of all people—”

“Here, of all places. A ghost. A bad dream. Indigestion.”

“More of a fold in time.”

“Like being catapulted back ten years…”

“Exactly. You came through the door and for a millisecond it was like we were back in that little apartment.”

“I wish we were.” She let her knee bump his in case he missed her point.

“Sarah,” Ian warned.

“Don’t you wish we were?”

Dear Reader,

Have you heard of the two-year itch? The Globe and Mail ran a story about it quite a while ago, saying, as I remember, that a Scandinavian sociologist had noticed that an increasing number of people believed their relationships were over once the initial excitement of falling in love faded.

That got my attention, because as wonderful as those early years can be, there’s a deep satisfaction in continuing to grow together. It seemed sad, if true, that more and more men and women were missing that experience.

Sarah Bretton Kingsley Bennett Carr is in exactly that situation. She believes in marriage—fidelity, commitment and lasting happiness—and no matter how often it disappoints, she’s always willing to try again. I hope you’ll enjoy the story of her trip to the Northwest Territories to find a love that lasts.

Caron Todd

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

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Caron Todd began writing her first romance novel after the Alberta badlands caught her imagination during a family holiday. Her interest in writing goes back as long as she can remember—she was inspired by watching her father at his typewriter when he was a Winnipeg Tribune reporter and by her parents’ love of books and storytelling. She lives with her husband in Manitoba.

To Laura

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

EPILOGUE

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.

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.