Homecoming Wife. Joan Kilby

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СКАЧАТЬ himself in advance to keep a lid on his anger, a tight rein on his libido and a watchful eye out for any assault on his pride.

      ANGELA HAULED ON the steering wheel of Janice’s ancient green Dodge and the car lumbered around the tight curves on the Sea-to-Sky highway north of Vancouver. Mountains rose steeply to her right, the waters of Howe Sound lapped the shore to her left and signs warning of falling rocks appeared around every other bend. She’d seen her sister and brother-in-law off at the airport and now she and Ricky were heading back to Whistler.

      Ricky had his head down and was stabbing away at his Game Boy. His blond hair was gelled to spiky peaks and freckles smattered his straight nose. Below his shorts, both knees were scabbed over and Band-Aids, some clean, some grubby, plastered several fingers and an elbow.

      If the baby she’d been carrying the night she ran away had lived, he or she would have been about the same age as Ricky.

      Angela had pushed away similar thoughts for years; the closer she got to Whistler and Nate, the more frequently the baby came to mind. Would he have been athletic and full of pride like Nate, or ambitious and stubborn like her?

      She didn’t know much about kids in general, and she hadn’t seen Ricky since he was an infant. Frankly, she was terrified of making mistakes with him. What if he didn’t like her, or do what she told him to? What if he got hurt while under her care? According to Janice, he was both daring and accident-prone.

      “What do you do for fun, Ricky?” she asked after her first few questions elicited only monosyllables.

      “Ride my bike.”

      Three whole words. That was an improvement. When Janice and Bob had won a trip to Europe in a supermarket contest she’d gladly offered to baby-sit, not stopping to consider that taking care of a boy wasn’t the same as watering a plant or even looking after a pet.

      Cooking was another worry. If Ricky expected homemade meals every night he was in for an unpleasant surprise. “What do you like to eat?”

      “Pizza.” He glanced up from the miniature screen, leaving his fingers poised over the buttons. “Hamburgers.”

      “Great!” she said, relieved. “Those are my favorites, too.”

      “Ice cream,” he went on loquaciously. “Candy, cookies, chips…that kind of stuff.”

      “We’ll go shopping as soon as we get to Whistler.”

      Angela rolled down the window and breathed the fresh, pine-scented air. Ahead, she could see the towering peaks of Whistler and Blackcomb Mountains where even now in early July, glaciers glistened whitely in the brilliant blue sky. It felt good to be coming home.

      But she was nervous, too, at the prospect of seeing Nate. How would he react to her after all this time?

      Maybe if he hadn’t loved his bikes more than he loved her they wouldn’t have fought in the first place. Maybe if Nate had known she was pregnant he would have tried harder to stop her from leaving. Maybe if she hadn’t run away she wouldn’t have miscarried and they would be a family now instead of two people legally united but who barely knew each other.

      That was a lot of maybes.

      She’d been too young, too immature and too insecure to admit she was wrong and ask him to take her back. The bottom line was he’d let her go without a struggle.

      Angela’s hands felt stiff from being clenched around the steering wheel. She shook them until the blood returned to the knuckles and consciously tried to relax. She’d been in limbo for a decade, unable to settle. She’d always hoped that somehow she and Nate would get back together, but ten years had passed and neither had made the first move. So be it. Maybe their marriage was irrevocably damaged. Or maybe a spark existed of their former love.

      One way or another, Angela thought, it was past time to resolve the situation.

      LEAVING THE BALFA securely locked in front of Nester’s, Nate moved through the produce section, bagging fresh vegetables and fruit and tossing them into his shopping cart. Yes, sir, bachelorhood had lots of advantages, including healthy food instead of the junk Angela favored.

      He rounded the end of the aisle and suddenly his cart collided with another, startling him.

      “Whoops, sorry.” The grinning spiky-haired boy careening around the corner on the back of a loaded shopping cart looked anything but sorry.

      “Careful, kid. You might have rammed an elderly lady instead of me. Hey, you’re Ricky, aren’t you?” Nate added, recognizing Janice’s son. “Where’s your mom? I thought she and your dad would be on their way to Europe by now.”

      “They are. Look, I can do a wheelie.” Ricky, his feet planted on the frame, leaned back and pulled on the handle, causing the front of the cart to tip in the air.

      “Ricky!” a woman called from the next aisle. “Where are you?”

      Nate heard the voice and his heart jerked like a slipping bicycle gear.

      An instant later Angela hurried around the aisle. “I’m so sorry about my nephew—” Seeing Nate she broke off as recognition dawned in her wide blue eyes. Polished fingertips raked through hair streaked with sunlight and honey. “Nate!”

      “Hello, Angela. So you’re back.” He struggled to find a nonchalant tone. “That video you took out before you left is a tad overdue.”

      Her V-neck top and cropped pants looked casual but expensive; gold circled her wrist and neck and hung from her earlobes. Clearly Angela had attained for herself the financial security she hadn’t believed him capable of.

      Advantage of Bachelorhood Number 148: No extravagant wife to squander his hard-earned cash.

      She planted one hand on a slender curving hip. “After ten years is that all you have to say to me?”

      As if he should be the one to apologize. When they were married half the time he never knew whether he wanted to strangle her or make love to her. Nothing had changed. She might have the face of an angel but she had the devil’s own ability to make him toss common sense to the winds. Keep a lid on the anger, he reminded himself.

      “I’ve got plenty to say but not in a public place.”

      Her gaze dropped to the loose nylon shirt and reinforced shorts he wore for biking. “Are you still financing your hobby by working for your dad building log homes?”

      Obviously, Janice didn’t keep Angela as well informed about him. Despite Angela’s lowly origins, or perhaps because of them, she’d been intensely dissatisfied with his apparent lack of ambition. Now that he was successful, he felt no inclination to justify himself to her. “I spend most of my time at the bike shop,” he said ambiguously.

      “Ah, the same old Nate.” But she looked a little disappointed he’d lived down to her expectations.

      “You look as though you’ve done well for yourself.”

      Her chin tilted upward at a confident angle. “I’m marketing director for Businesswomen’s Weekly, a lifestyle magazine for professional women.”

      “Very impressive.” He got СКАЧАТЬ