Homecoming Wife. Joan Kilby
but her thoughts had returned to Nate.
All the way to Whistler she’d tried to steel herself for their first meeting but she hadn’t been prepared for the leap of her heart when she’d rounded the aisle and seen him standing there, a bag of muesli in his hand. His thick dark hair was still perennially tousled, as though he’d just taken his bike helmet off and run his hands through it. And he was as combative as when they’d been together. Back then they’d engaged in battles of wits as naturally as breathing, as frequently as lovemaking.
She could still recall the day they’d met. She’d been taking her break out back of the Whistler hotel where she worked as a chambermaid when he’d wheeled down the lane after winning a bike race, buzzing with testosterone and adrenaline.
With his hair falling over his forehead, tanned forearms and powerful thighs, she recognized him as one of the Wilde boys. Wilde by name, wild by nature. He was from a comfortably well-off family, not the type to notice a poor girl from Pemberton, a logging town half an hour north of the resort. Yet he’d stopped, made her laugh with his teasing banter, then asked her what time she got off.
“Why?” She’d wanted to know.
“I’d like to get to know you.” He stopped circling the lane, planted his feet on the ground and looked straight at her. “Angela.”
It was the way he spoke her name that got her—courteous, appreciative, attentive.
He’d laughed at her smart-assed comments and dished his own right back, yet he gave her the respect she’d always craved and hadn’t pressed when she refused to sleep with him before marriage even though they were going crazy for each other. Folks might think she came from trash but, by God, no one would ever have cause to say she had loose morals.
Funny thing, though, smart as Nate was, he’d never figured out that her tough act was all a facade.
Would he ask for a divorce or propose reconciliation? For her to suggest they get back together wasn’t an option; she simply wasn’t brave enough to risk rejection. Nate had loved her because he thought she was strong and fearless. Even now, when it might be over—especially now—she couldn’t, wouldn’t, let him see how vulnerable she was.
It was an uncomfortable thought and enough to send her back to the spreadsheet on the computer screen. Busy with figures and plans, the evening slipped away.
NATE HANDED A BEER to his brother, Aidan, twisted the top off his own, then tilted back in his chair and plunked his boots on the top rail of his balcony. He’d built the log house himself in Alpine Meadows estate off Alta Lake Road, three years after Angela left.
Advantage of Bachelorhood Number 150: Resting booted feet wherever the hell he liked. It wasn’t one of his best, but hey, some days he took what he could get.
“I ran into Angela today,” he told Aidan. “She’s in town looking after her nephew.”
Aidan cast him a shrewd sideways glance. His wavy brown hair tapered to the collar of a shirt the same green as his eyes. “That must have been a shock. How long has it been—ten years?”
Nate nodded. “It was a surprise, all right. She wants a divorce.”
Eyebrows raised, Aidan gave a low whistle. “I’ve always wondered why you haven’t gotten one before this.”
“I never found anyone else I wanted to marry,” Nate said with a shrug. “I presumed the same was true for her, even though she was going with some guy in Toronto.”
“So does this mean now she wants to remarry?”
“She says not.” Nate reached for a handful of dried fruit and nuts from the bowl on the table between them. “She says it’s time for us to get on with our lives.”
“Maybe she’s right,” Aidan mused. “You’ve always wanted a family and you’re not going to get one while married to a woman you don’t live with.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He stared out over the valley. Below, a shaft of the setting sun broke through the dark clouds to reflect off a bend in the poetically named River of Golden Dreams, a slow-moving stream that meandered through low bushes between Alta Lake and Green Lake, flanked by the paved Valley Trail.
Aidan sipped his beer. “What did she say? How did she seem?”
Nate summarized the encounter for him, finishing, “She was just so…Angela.”
Aidan smiled. “Sassy? Sexy?”
Nate breathed out on a long sigh. Angela was to sexy what scent was to a rose, what juice was to a mango. She was also strong, ambitious and determined. A late riser, a junk-food eater, a smart-mouthed runaway bride. Okay, newlywed; counting their whirlwind courtship they’d lasted nearly six months.
“You’re still in love with her,” Aidan said, making his own deductions from Nate’s silence.
Jolted out of his thoughts, Nate twisted around in his chair to glare at Aidan. He’d never told anyone he pined for Angela, not even his family. He had his pride. “Why would you say a thing like that?”
Aidan chuckled. “You poor deluded sap. You should hear yourself when you talk about her.”
His brother’s jibe irritated Nate. “When you get over Charmaine long enough to pull down all the froufrou and lace in your house then you can talk to me about Angela.”
Aidan’s smile faded. His focus dropped to the bottle he twisted between clenched hands. “Charmaine—” He broke off, unable to speak of his late wife, dead these past six years.
Nate winced at his thoughtless cruelty. “Sorry, buddy, that was out of line. As for Angela, no way am I still in love with her. Nor will I make the mistake of falling in love with her again.”
Aidan gave him a disbelieving glance and wisely skirted away from the subject of wives. “Have you heard from Marc lately?”
“Mom got a letter from him yesterday. Apparently he’s in Pakistan trying to round up a cameraman brave enough to venture into the tribal areas with him. I’ve heard the police won’t even go in there.” Nate shook his head in dismay. They sometimes joked that Marc had a death wish because he sought out the most dangerous spots on the planet to go looking for a story. Nate met Aidan’s gaze. The joke just wasn’t funny anymore, if it ever had been. “One of these days his luck’s going to run out.”
Aidan took a swig of beer. “He’s going to try to make it back for Mom’s birthday this weekend.”
“That would be good.” Nate paused, then asked after Aidan’s young daughter. “How’s Emily?”
“She can ride her two-wheeler without trainers, and she’s already getting excited about starting first grade in the fall.” Aidan dug through the remaining nuts to pick out the cashews. “What are you going to do about Angela? Will you contest the divorce?”
“I doubt if I have any grounds to do so.” Nate blew softly into the top of his beer bottle, sending out a haunting sound that mingled with the sweet tinkle of the wind chimes at the end of the balcony. Dusk had come early and with it, the rain. A few drops fell onto the rail, making dark round splotches on the wood.
Setting the bottle aside, he said, “Angela dumped me in the most hurtful way possible, not to mention she makes me crazy. But here’s the thing…when I’m with her, I feel alive in a way I never do without her. She brings more excitement to my day than the adrenaline rush of the slickest single track.”
Aidan frowned, trying to understand. “I thought you said you weren’t in love with her. Are you telling me you are going to attempt to reconcile?”
Before Nate could reply, the squall broke in a noisy rush and spattered the balcony with soaking rain. Nate and Aidan quickly gathered up their bottles and dragged the chairs under the overhanging roof. Nate glanced at his watch. After nine o’clock. It wasn’t too late to call Angela but he felt drained and too confused to tangle