Homecoming Wife. Joan Kilby

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      “This has nothing to do with Albert. That’s over.”

      A retired couple pulled their cart up at the camper van parked next to Angela and started loading groceries. Frustrated, Nate said, “We’d better finish this later. I’ll call you tonight.”

      Angela started to turn away, then hesitated. “Ricky doesn’t realize we were married. It might be easier if we kept it that way.”

      Now she was denying they were ever together. She got in her car and drove away, leaving Nate feeling as if he’d just cycled straight into a rock wall at eighty miles an hour.

      He slung on his backpack, strapped on his helmet and pedaled off. Flipping the Shimano gears into a higher sprocket, he coasted down the ramp onto the highway with the wind in his ears.

      Was this it, then? Were they finally going to break the last flimsy tie between them?

      Advantage of Bachelorhood Number 149: Freedom.

      Now that he thought about it, it sounded damn good.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “WHAT WOULD YOU RATHER EAT, a caterpillar or a moth?” Ricky said as if this was the most reasonable question in the world.

      Angela was tidying the kitchen after dinner, or rather, attempting to, since her mind was flitting between her earlier encounter with Nate and their coming conversation. The wall calendar bearing the legend Wilde Log Home Construction that kept catching her eye didn’t help. Now she stared at Ricky, not certain she’d heard correctly. “I don’t know. What would you rather eat?”

      “A caterpillar, of course,” Ricky replied. “It’s juicy and a moth is yucky and dry, like feathers.”

      “I see.” She was not going to ask him how he knew.

      Getting out the broom, she swept up the crumbs of their pizza from beneath the table. Janice’s house, with its pine furniture and cheaply framed photos, wasn’t anything fancy, but rag rugs, polished floorboards and chunky handmade pottery gave it a warm, comfortable feel. However, the clutter also made it difficult to clean and Angela spared a wistful thought for her immaculate minimalist apartment in Vancouver.

      When she was done sweeping Angela set up her laptop on the kitchen table so she could work on her marketing plan for the next quarter while she waited for Nate to call.

      Ricky moved closer and eyed her computer with interest. “Do you have any games on there?” She shook her head. “Tim’s got a computer with a ton of games,” he went on. “Dad said we’ll get a computer for Christmas. If we can afford it.”

      “Uh-huh,” Angela said absently as she organized her notes while the laptop booted up. Then she realized Ricky was still watching her. “I guess my work can wait until tomorrow. Would you like to play a board game?”

      “Board games are boring,” Ricky said. “I’d rather play with my Game Boy.”

      “I don’t have one so we couldn’t play together.”

      “How about cars?” he suggested.

      “Grown women don’t play with cars unless they’re full-size luxury models,” she said, attempting a joke. Ricky didn’t crack a smile and she wondered fleetingly if kids, like dogs, could tell when a person was nervous around them.

      “I’ll just go watch TV.” With a resigned sigh he went down the hall to the living room leaving Angela feeling as though she’d failed him somehow.

      With a sigh of her own she inserted a disk into her computer and called up the file containing the spreadsheet of this month’s advertising expenditures. Again her fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to type, 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 СКАЧАТЬ