The Marriage Season. Linda Miller Lael

Stuart, the more he was convinced he was going to override the system and do it, anyway. Ben and Adam liked her, and that really counted.

      Then there was the undeniable sexual attraction. Tate was drawn to Bex on a very basic level—other interests aside. That had never been in dispute, not from the moment they met.

      Not exactly what he needed at this point in his life, perhaps, but things didn’t always go as predicted. Or as planned.

      Aunt Gina was home. She’d heard the plane, so there was no going back. She was already on the front porch, waving hello, when he pulled up in the Jeep; she hesitated briefly when she saw that he wasn’t alone.

      “Hello.” Tate didn’t even turn off the ignition, but jumped out, returned the offered hug and stepped back. “We aren’t staying. We’re on a shopping trip, so I’m taking the Jeep into town, then we’ll fly back to Mustang Creek from here. This is Bex Stuart, by the way.”

      “Pleased to meet you,” Bex said, looking—and sounding—a little shy.

      “And you, as well. Surely you can stay for dinner.” His aunt, petite and dark-haired, was eyeing Bex with a speculative gaze, her size no indication of her force of will, which could blast the top off a mountain. He sensed approval on the appearance front, but there was plenty in Bex’s appearance to approve of—all of it, in fact.

      Maybe he was just being hopeful that they’d get along.

      He sidestepped the dinner invitation. “Some other time when I can give you advance notice,” he told his aunt gently. “We’ll grab a bite in town. Bex has had a long day, so we need to make it an early night.”

      For once, Gina let it go. “Your father’s on a conference call at the moment, but at least stop in and say hello on your way back.”

      A clear order.

      “Will do,” he agreed hastily, all but saluting.

      As he and Bex drove away, turning onto a street that was lined with discreet driveways and manicured lawns, Bex asked him, “Is every date with you this interesting?”

      “Wait until you get to the exciting part where we look at kitchen countertops and built-in ovens,” he said drily.

      “This is quite the neighborhood.” She gestured at the massive rooflines they could glimpse in the distance, behind the professionally landscaped grounds.

      “Not what you’d call homey, is it?”

      “It’s impressive, anyway. May I ask in general terms what your father does for a living? Oil wells? Gold mines? Diamonds?”

      At her joking tone, he shot her a sidelong glance. “Nothing so glamorous. He owns a manufacturing company that makes engine parts for almost every major car company in the world. I’m sure the conference call is with Japan or Germany or someplace like that. He does a lot of business in the US, but there’s a high demand overseas, as well.”

      “Rich kid, huh?”

      He had been. Part of that had been good, part of it not so good. “I’ve made my own way. Other than my college tuition—and I had an athletic scholarship, so I essentially paid for some of the tuition myself—Dad doesn’t give me a dime, and I don’t ask for anything. Never have. I earned the money to pay for the land and the new house by working some long hours and making a few decent investments. I thought about asking my father if he wanted to invest in the breeding venture, but he’s still ticked off at me because I turned down a corporate pilot’s job arranged by a friend of his. I would’ve been away from home a lot, sometimes for weeks at a time, so I said no. Dad’s great, don’t get me wrong, but growing up, I barely saw him, he worked so much. I want to raise my children.”

      “You do seem emphatic about it.”

      He was. Tate couldn’t have explained why he was telling her so much, but he’d been dated for his trust fund before, although he already knew Bex wasn’t the type to marry for money. His wife, Sandra, had felt differently, though, so he wanted to be clear on that before he entered into any potential relationship. Making that mistake once was definitely once too often.

      He continued, his voice even. “The plane is a compromise. I don’t mind being able to fly now and then, because if I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t have done it in the first place. And I don’t mind letting the boys have time with their great-aunt when I take my father here or there on short business trips. But Mustang Creek is the kind of place I wish I’d grown up.”

      “It’s great,” Bex said. “Hadleigh and Mel and I had a ball as kids, riding our bikes everywhere, eating ice cream in the park, playing Optimist softball... Small-town stuff, but those are good memories.”

      He turned on to Cheyenne’s main thoroughfare, busy with traffic, and headed toward the warehouse store his builder had recommended, saying he often did business with the company. They were reliable and carried quality materials. “Seems to me the three of you are still making them. Good memories, I mean.”

      “That’s true—not that everything’s quite as simple these days.” Bex laughed, her profile serene. “Hadleigh’s the impulsive one, and Melody can be outspoken, not to mention stubborn. I have my faults, too, of course. I can be really competitive, but I’m also the peacemaker in the bunch. If we were all the same, I doubt we’d get along so well.”

      “I’d really like it if Ben, Adam and Josh formed that kind of friendship. They’re young boys, so they’re over-the-top sometimes, but they seem to enjoy being with each other. It’s good for all three of them. My kids are new to town, essentially, and Josh is going through a tough time.”

      “The fishing trip is a wonderful idea.”

      Tate spotted the building and pulled into the lot. “You aren’t the one who’s going to be taking all those minnows off the hook.” He chuckled. “Hey, we’ll have fun. They’ll learn to pee in the woods, like real men.”

      “Don’t you dare encourage them to do that,” Bex warned, but she was laughing again.

      “Males are born with that instinct,” he informed her, “so I won’t have to encourage them.” A pause. “Okay, let’s get the hard part over with, shall we? The shopping, I mean. Even though I can make decisions with the best of ’em, choosing kitchen cabinets isn’t one of my strong points.”

      * * *

      IT WOULD’VE HELPED if he’d taken her by the construction site so she could get a feel for the layout and materials of his new house before he’d flown her halfway across Wyoming to do something as important as advise him on his “forever house,” as he’d called it. He’d mentioned something earlier about seeing the place, but that idea had fallen by the wayside.

      Still, Bex had to admit, it was fun to look at the different kinds of granite and marble, backsplashes, faucets and other fixtures, spending someone else’s money. Tate had asked for her opinions, after all. He approved the spruce cabinets she suggested, and the perfect bronze handles, too, and offered no resistance when she steered him away from granite to a poured concrete countertop a slightly darker color than the cabinets.

      “A farmhouse sink,” she said firmly as they surveyed that aisle. “It’s beautiful and it’ll suit the rustic nature of the house.”

      “I don’t even know what you mean by a farmhouse sink. Feel free to enlighten me,” he added mildly. “To me, a sink is a sink. That’s why I asked for advice.”

      At first he balked at the six-burner gas stove, not because of the price, although that was substantial, but because he claimed he could cook about five dishes, and none of them required more than two burners. Bex reminded him that preferences tended to change over time, and so did circumstances. He might meet a woman who practiced the culinary arts in a serious way...or he might develop a passion for them himself. Plus, his sons would grow up and most likely have wives and children of their own, which meant there’d be family gatherings—Thanksgivings and Christmases and