Muriel Jensen - The Man She Married

“Oh, Gideon.” Prue shook her head as though trying to clear her mind of what he’d told her. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“You left me without letting me explain,” he said, finally losing patience. “How smart is that?” She’d left their Maine house and raced back to Albany, and when he’d gotten home, she wasn’t there. A friend of hers called to tell him she was in the hospital with a nervous collapse and didn’t want to see him.

“I’d say pretty smart,” she retorted, pushing the door open, “if you expect me to fall for that line of fiction. If any of that was true, why wouldn’t you have told me what you were doing? Why haven’t I read about it in the paper?”

“I didn’t tell you,” he said, stepping out of the cab as she did and facing her across the roof, “because Mrs. Crawford was part of that women’s fund-raising group you worked with. I thought it would be awkward for you if you had to watch what you said around her or did anything to make her suspicious.”

“Thoughtful of you,” she said stiffly.

“And no one’s told the press,” he went on, ignoring her comment, “because it’s still an ongoing investigation.”

“You have an answer for everything.”

“Because it’s the truth.” He’d been sure his effort to explain would end this way, but there was just the smallest tug at his chest as he met her eyes. They were filled with anger, then he thought he caught a glimpse of the same regret he felt. Then it was gone. “Okay, I had to try,” he said evenly, satisfied that he’d done his best.

“Goodbye, Gideon,” she said. “I’ll file for divorce so you can get on with your new life in Alaska, and I can get on with my life.” Then she disappeared into the restaurant.

Gideon stood for a few minutes, examining his options. The suitcase he’d brought with him was still in the trunk of the cab. He’d stay the night in Maple Hill and go back to Boston tomorrow. Then it was off to Glacier Bay and the Kenton Cove Lodge.

Paris and Randy came out of the restaurant, Paris’s expression troubled, Randy’s sympathetic.

“She wouldn’t listen?” Paris asked.

“She listened,” Gideon replied. “She just refuses to believe me.”

Randy nodded and offered his hand. “We have a lot in common,” he said as they shook hands. “We’re both in love with difficult women.”

Gideon smiled grimly. “I can relate to the difficult part, but it’s all become too complicated to resolve. I’m just going to move on. Paris, you said there were a couple of inns in town?”

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud group of men pushing their way out of the restaurant, talking and laughing. It was Hank Whitcomb and his friends, at whose table Randy had left Gideon when he’d run after Paris.

Hank broke away from the crowd, waving them off, then came to join Paris, Randy and Gideon. He hugged Paris and clapped Randy on the back. “All right, you two. Glad to see you’ve patched it up. Makes me winner of the pool.”

Paris raised an eyebrow. “The pool?”

“They had bets on when we’d finally get together,” Randy explained, lifting both hands to deny responsibility when Paris looked dismayed. “I had nothing to do with it. Except in falling in love with you.”

Paris leaned into Randy and wrapped an arm around his waist, a beatific smile on her face. “Well, that’s all right, then. Hank, you’ve met my brother-in-law?”

Hank nodded. “We empathized about women while you and Randy were having it out.” He winced at Gideon. “I presume since Prue’s now inside with her mother and Jeffrey that you’re in the same situation Randy was in half an hour ago.”

Gideon grinned mirthlessly. “No happy ending for us, though. I understand your wife has an inn?”

“No, no,” Paris insisted. “If you’re staying the night, you can stay with us, or with Mom.”

Gideon shook his head. “Thanks, I appreciate the offer, but the two of you need private time, and frankly, so do I. I have some calls to make, some business to conduct that’d be best done without distractions.”

“Jackie covered the desk at the inn this morning and I promised to take her a cinnamon roll.” Hank held up the to-go box in his hand. “Why don’t you just ride to the inn with me?”

Paris looked worried. “So…you’re just going to take off for Alaska tomorrow?” she asked Gideon.

He wrapped her in his arms. “There’s little point in me staying. What about if the three of us meet here for breakfast in the morning before I go?”

“That’d be good.” She heaved a sigh. “She’s changed, you know. I’m sure if you two had some more time together, you might be surprised by how much more…real she’s become.”

He nodded grimly. “She’s always been very real to me. The trouble is, what we had no longer exists for her. So there isn’t even a thread of the old life to hold on to and find our way back.”

“Maybe the way isn’t back, but forward,” Randy suggested. “Approach it as two people without a past. Start over.”

“That sounds good,” Hank offered, then added with a grin, “And I fully appreciate that this is none of my business, but I’ve inherited an unfortunate buttinsky nature from my mother.” Then he sobered and went on. “But as someone in love with a woman with whom I’d had a past, I know you can’t pretend it isn’t there. It’s always there. It affected you, it changed you, and it has to be resolved or there is no future.” He frowned at Gideon. “The bad news, Gideon, is that if it’s important to you, you have to hit it head-on. There’s no way around it.”

Gideon spread both arms. “I understand that. That’s why I’m here. I didn’t really think we could repair the relationship, I just wanted to make sure she understood what had happened. But she’s not willing to listen and I’m tired of trying.”

Randy shook his hand. “Maybe she’ll miss you while you’re in Alaska.”

Gideon gave that suggestion the small, wry laugh it deserved. “I don’t think so. See you two here in the morning. Is eight too early?”

“Eight’s good.”

Gideon followed Hank to a dark green van, Whitcomb’s Wonders painted in white script on the side.

“The men who work for you are called Whitcomb’s Wonders?” Gideon asked, climbing into the van. “That’s quite a claim.”

“It is. And I can back it up. Like I told you over breakfast, clients love that they can call one number for almost any kind of service relating to a home or business.”

“Do you have a good shrink on staff? I feel as though I could use one right about now.”

Hank laughed. “No shrink, but my mother loves to dispense advice. I’ll spare you that.” He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. “I think I understand your frustration. My wife and I were high-school sweethearts. We were separated by a major breach in communication and finally got back together when I moved home a couple of years ago.”

“How did you heal that breach?”

“We fought a lot,” Hank said. “But at least we were talking.”

That, Gideon thought, was the difference right there. Prue had a lot to say but wasn’t interested in listening.

Well. That was fine. He was sure he’d like Alaska. Land of the Midnight Sun, of sled dogs and tales of the gold rush. Another adventure.

He just wished he felt more enthusiastic about it. He had to do something completely different, and a partnership with an old college friend in a fishing lodge in the wilderness had seemed like a good place to relax, enjoy the outdoors and try to get a little spirit back into his life.

He hated what had happened between him and Prue, but pleading with her to listen to the truth was as close as he intended to get to groveling.