Together by Christmas. C.J. Carmichael

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СКАЧАТЬ away on the Yellowhead highway.

      Years ago, Chad’s father had purchased a good chunk of lakefront footage, transformed the surrounding acres of wood and cleared land into a top-quality resort. Besides golf, his club offered clay tennis courts and an outdoor pool in the summer, supplementing the public beach just down the road.

      In the winter, they groomed the course for cross-country skiing. This had been Chad’s innovation, as well as the idea of adding a minigym so people would have something to do during what was, after all, Saskatchewan’s longest season. Since his father’s death several years ago, Chad had run the entire operation on his own.

      Miranda switched on the wipers. The snowflakes fell faster now, and grew thicker and heavier. She passed through the main gates to the clubhouse. A lone truck sat parked at the front door. She had no idea if it belonged to Chad, but likely it did.

      She pulled down the visor, then used the mirror as she reapplied her lipstick. The lip-liner went on crooked and she had to start over. God, she was nervous! How long had it been since she and Chad had actually seen each other? Sure, they e-mailed once or twice a week and spoke to each other on the phone every now and then. But neither was the same as a face-to-face meeting.

      If he was here. Please let him be here.

      Her new boots etched treaded prints all the way from her car to the double front doors of the clubhouse. She looked back at them. Already fresh snow had begun to fill them in. It was really dumping now, although she was protected under the overhang from the roof.

      She tried the door. It wasn’t locked. Knowing Chad slept here, though, she didn’t feel right entering without warning. So she knocked, then pushed the door inward a few inches.

      “Anybody home?”

      At the faraway sound of a male talking, she opened the door farther and stepped inside. She couldn’t see Chad. He wasn’t at the reception desk, or by the racks of sporting equipment lined up to take advantage of the ill-prepared sportsman. She passed through a doorway to the cafeteria. During the summer, staff prepared casual meals on-site and served from a long buffet that ran along the kitchen wall. Now the only sustenance offered sat in vending machines.

      She passed through the room into a short hall. On the right were change rooms; to the left, an office. Chad was just hanging up the telephone. Seeing her, he smiled, revealing a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

      “I don’t believe it. Miranda James, in person. I wasn’t sure whether to take your e-mail seriously.”

      Chad was always teasing her about being a city girl, too important to waste her time visiting old friends. But Miranda hadn’t consciously avoided Chatsworth. Her mother honestly preferred to fly to Toronto for their visits and avail herself of the city’s theater, shopping, fine restaurants.

      “I can’t quite believe I’m here, either,” she admitted.

      She found it hard to take her gaze off Chad. Even unshaven, he looked gorgeous. His blond hair had probably only been finger-combed, but it shone clean and bright. His green polo shirt brought out the color of his eyes, and his jeans showed off powerful quads.

      “Ah, honey, it’s so good to see you.” He captured her in a hug that swamped her senses like the snowstorm outside. God, his smell, she remembered his smell. The strength of his arms, the firmness of his chest, though—they were new.

      “You’ve been working out?” She pressed on one bicep.

      “I’ve got the time, don’t I?” He let her go to check her out. She tilted her head and dared him to find a flaw. He just grinned. “Gorgeous as ever, hon. Toronto must agree with you.”

      You agree with me. Just to see him again, hear his voice without the aid of human technology, felt so good.

      “How are you, Chad?”

      “Oh, fine.”

      She regarded him steadily, until finally he dropped his gaze.

      “You’ve heard.”

      “Yes.”

      He sank onto the sofa across from his desk and she followed, leaving one square cushion between the two of them.

      “Shit,” he said.

      Miranda let him sit quietly for a while, stewing in his obvious unhappiness. Finally she had to ask. “Tell me what happened.”

      “What’s to tell? She kicked me out.”

      “You’re talking about Bernie.”

      “Yeah, I’m talking about Bernie. My goddamn wife of twelve years. Not that she seems to care how long we’ve been together or even that we have a daughter and a house and a life invested in each other.”

      “Would you mind backtracking a minute here? I had no idea you and Bernie were having problems. What’s been going on?”

      “Nothing’s been going on,” Chad said, his words heartfelt. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She never used to be so emotional. She says I’m not giving her enough attention—well, how is kicking me out of the house going to solve that?”

      “Oh, Chad…”

      “She says I’m spending all my time at work or with my buddies. But she never complained before. It’s not as if she doesn’t have friends…not to mention the nicest house in town and a luxury car. I’ve provided well for that woman. Last birthday I bought her one of those bracelets with the diamonds all around—”

      “A tennis bracelet?”

      “Yeah, that’s what the salesperson called it. But I might as well have bought her a bloody blender for all the points it earned me.”

      She’d had no idea Chad and Bernie’s marriage was so precarious. From occasional comments of Chad’s, Miranda had surmised they weren’t the closest of couples. But they’d muddled through the years.

      On reflection, she wasn’t that surprised they’d hit a snag. They’d married out of high school and Bernie had been pregnant at the time. Not the ideal prescription for wedded bliss.

      Not that she was one to judge. After all, at thirty-two she still had no experience with marriage.

      Glancing around, she noticed an open suitcase by the window. Some dirty dishes on the coffee table. On the floor, beside the sofa, lay a pillow and some blankets.

      “So you’ve been staying here.”

      “Hey, I have a pullout sofa bed, and a big-screen TV and a vending machine in the main room—all the comforts of home.” He managed a smile. A weak one.

      She supposed he could camp out here as long as necessary. The convenient sofa bed reminded her of the bridge club talk.

      “You haven’t done anything stupid, have you?”

      He took a moment to digest her question, then protested. “Like sleep with someone else? Come on, Randy. You should know me better than that. ’Course I haven’t.”

      But he’d probably СКАЧАТЬ