Linda Lael - The Marriage Season

The sound jarred Bex out of her endorphin haze, brought the world around her back into focus.

She’d just reached the second loop around Pioneer Park, and the place was filled with small, noisy kids celebrating life in general. The male voice belonged to Tate Calder, she saw with dismay, his two young sons among the crowd of children crawling all over the playground equipment.

Tate looked, as usual, put together and handsome with his clean-cut features, wavy chestnut hair and dark eyes. He wore a leather jacket and nice jeans, while she was arrayed in the scruffiest outfit she owned—and, naturally, sweaty, as well.

Great.

“Hi,” she said. Not exactly brilliant, but polite at least. A little breathless, Bex ran in place, her body on autopilot. Keep that heart rate up.

Not that it was a problem. Just looking at this man seemed to have an aerobic effect on her.

She’d encountered Tate two or three times before, since he was a friend of Hadleigh’s husband, Tripp, both men having flown for the same company as charter pilots back in the day, before Tripp decided it was time to sell the firm and come home to Mustang Creek.

Tate’s dark eyes were amused, missing nothing. “How’ve you been?”

“Good.” Now there was a snappy answer. Yes, she was on a conversational roll, all right, a regular genius with words.

Tate grinned. “You seem to be in a hurry, so I won’t hold you up. Tripp tells me you’re training for a marathon.” A brief, measured pause. Meaning what? “Really?”

“Really,” Bex replied. She managed a small smile, friendly enough, but wobbly. “Nice to see you,” she said, trying to distance herself from him, still running. Still going nowhere fast. “What can I say? Guess I’m a glutton for punishment.” Terrific. More snappy repartee. Annoyed with herself, she sprinted off, probably improving her time slightly, since she didn’t particularly want him to remember her with a shiny face and a messy ponytail.

Of all the luck.

Make that bad luck.

Tate was tempting as hell, no denying that, but Bex got the nearly subliminal impression that he was as wary of involvement as she was. His wife had died, and she’d lost Will in Afghanistan—it wasn’t hard to do the psychological math.

Thoughts in a muddle, Bex finished her run and headed for home. There, she took a hot shower, put on her favorite red sweater and black jeans and, perhaps as a nod to the cosmic forces that governed vanity, she spent a few extra minutes doing her hair and adding lip gloss.

Satisfied that she looked okay, Bex left the house, got into her sporty SUV and, after making a brief stop downtown, zipped off to meet Mel and Hadleigh.

Reaching the Galloway ranch minutes later, Bex felt a twinge, a bittersweet sensation somewhere in the back of her heart. Tucked among the looming mountains, crystalline streams and venerable trees, the house and barn and other outbuildings—even the fences and corrals—seemed to belong there, organic to the landscape itself.

Tripp had taken over the place after his stepfather, Jim, long a widower, had finally remarried and moved into town. The house itself wasn’t fancy, but it was spacious and solid and homey, with a welcoming air.

Secretly, Bex had always wanted to live in the country. She loved her work, felt she was making a genuine contribution to people’s health and all-around well-being by furthering the cause of fitness through her ever-expanding business. And, if not actually country, Mustang Creek was certainly no clamoring metropolis. There was something... nurturing about being out here, with all this unspoiled nature.

Before she could even get out of the car, Mel and Hadleigh stepped onto the side porch, smiling and waving.

Both her friends were pregnant, and both of them were more beautiful than ever.

Bex felt a pang of affection, tinged, alas, with mild envy.

Hadleigh was farther along than Melody, her baby bump more pronounced. She’d married first, and she and Tripp had been eager to start their family.

All systems go.

Melody, running a close second, was just starting to show, a bit rounder than usual, her loose shirt disguising her pregnancy. If you didn’t know her, you’d never guess, but they’d all been friends since they were six years old, so Bex was attuned to every change. She was living this with them, sharing the experience in a way, and she couldn’t have been more pleased by their obvious happiness.

They really did glow.

They knew Bex felt slightly left out—there wasn’t much Melody and Hadleigh didn’t know about her—and they not only understood, they were also convinced her turn at marital bliss and motherhood would come. Soon.

When Bex’s own hopes flagged, these two never failed to notice and offer encouragement. She was so lucky to have them in her life.

That choked her up for a moment, brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Romantic flings, career highs, fun times—all those things came and went, but friendships like theirs were as permanent as bedrock.

She paused, took a breath and squared her shoulders.

“I brought dessert,” she announced cheerfully. “Don’t kill me, but it’s those puff pastries from Madeline’s. You guys can’t drink wine or coffee, so you need some sort of vice.” She paused, chuckling. Some fitness guru she was, she thought wryly. “One pastry won’t hurt.” This was true enough, in her opinion. One pastry wouldn’t do any harm. The problem arose when the rate of consumption ratcheted up to three or four tasty treats—or ten. Feeling cocky, she added, “Considering that I just ran eighteen miles, I can afford a reasonable level of indulgence.”

Motormouth , her inner moderator gibed.

“Give me that bag.” Hadleigh grabbed for it as Bex came up the steps. “I’m having mine before lunch, so no lectures on nutrition, please. And if Tripp has the gall to say a word—he has the metabolism of a shark, the rat fink—I consider it your solemn duty as my friends to drop him in his tracks.” Paper rustled as she peered inside the bag. Sniffed appreciatively. “Oh, dear heaven,” she lamented happily, in a near moan, nudging Melody lightly with one elbow as she spoke, “it’s the ones with lemon whipped cream.”

“Yep,” Bex confirmed with a twinkle. Judging by the current reactions, if she hadn’t surrendered the bag willingly, one or both of these watermelon smugglers would have tackled her for it.

Melody, feigning greed, made a comical effort to snatch the fragrant sack from Hadleigh’s hands, and Hadleigh, in turn, pretended to dodge the move.

“Hey, share and share alike,” Melody said with a grin. “If you think you’re going to snarf up my share right along with your own, sister, think again.”

Hadleigh laughed, still employing diversion tactics, an awkward endeavor under the circumstances, and Bex wondered if the third pastry, intended to be hers, would survive this good-natured tussle.

Hadleigh correctly read Bex’s expression. Yes, she was fit and yes, she ran a fitness empire, but she loved Madeline’s lemon-cream dreams as much as anybody did. “ You can drink wine,” Hadleigh continued, cheerfully accusatory. “ We can’t. Coffee?” She waved one hand in a dismissive gesture while holding the pastry bag just out of Melody’s reach with the other. “Gone. A distant memory.”

Bex had to giggle at her friend’s histrionics.

Hadleigh took in her friend’s trim figure with a mock glower. “Laugh if you want, Becca Jean Stuart, but one of these days, you’ll be pregnant and craving all kinds of things you can’t have, and we’ll be the ones rubbing it in.”