The Husband School Read online

  Today there’d been no confusion. Today he was bringing Meg to the ranch. For all he knew, she hadn’t been here since the funeral. If he had been twenty years old again, he’d be looking for an isolated spot in the barn so he could kiss his girl without interruption.

  Now he was older and wiser. And he wouldn’t be sticking around the county or eloping again with his first girlfriend, so he’d better be on his best behavior. His laugh startled the dog and made him bark. The tail wagged faster, the eyes looked into his as if pleading.

  “Sorry, pal,” Owen said. “No dog hair in the truck today.”

  He made it to Willing in record time, pulling into the café parking lot ten minutes early. He parked in front of Meg’s cabin and wondered if he should wait in the café. The Meg he knew was as punctual as an army general, a character trait that had amused and impressed everyone who worked on the ranch years ago. Sure enough, he saw the blinds twitch and then, seconds later, Meg popped out her door and locked it behind her. She wore jeans, boots and a heavy jacket, all of which were going to be important on a day like today.

  He left the engine on and leaped out to get the door for her, but she’d already opened it by the time he raced around the car.

  “Wait.” He helped her climb inside, though she didn’t need his assistance. He shut the door and went back to the driver’s side.

  “Good morning,” was all he could manage to say now that Meg sat beside him. She wore her brown hair differently today, falling around her shoulders instead of pulled back into a tight ponytail. She looked radiant, and her dark eyes sparkled.

  “I feel as if I’m skipping school.” She glanced toward the restaurant as she fastened her seat belt. “Let’s get out of here before there’s a late morning rush or Al runs out of eggs.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I can do that.” He had them out of the parking lot and onto the main road east of town within minutes.

  “Tell me about the ranch,” she said. “You’re not running a cattle operation anymore?”

  “No. Years ago we had to decide whether to hire people and make it profitable again, or lease parts of it out.” Owen winced as a couple of raindrops hit the windshield. “Ed liked living there and my mother didn’t want to have anything to do with it.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “Look, I’m sorry she was rude to you.” He took a deep breath. “I love her, but she was a difficult woman.”

  “And now...”

  “She doesn’t remember who I am half the time. But back then... Well, she never was an easy person to understand. And she was determined to make her son into a success. And that didn’t mean living on the ranch and having babies and sponsoring town projects.”

  “She didn’t want you to marry the kitchen help.”

  “No,” he admitted. “She made that clear at the time.”

  “She was grieving. It must have been awful for her to lose her husband like that. Your father was such a sweet man.”

  “My mother,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, “was going to sell the ranch if I didn’t go back to college.”

  “How could she do that?”

  “She controlled my shares until I turned twenty-one, so she pretty much controlled everything for eight months after Dad died.” He glanced at Meg, whose mouth had dropped open. “You didn’t know that?”

  “She told me I’d never trap her son, that you were destined for bigger things than herding cows and shoveling manure.”

  “That sounds like my mother,” he said. “What I didn’t know back then was just how miserable she was living on the ranch. She told me once that she never would have married my father if she’d known he wanted to go back to ranching. He’d been a banker,” he explained. “And destined for ‘great things.’”

  “And that’s what she wanted for you.”

  “Oh, yeah. That summer they were fighting a lot. Uncle Ed talked about it one time. He thought I knew she was leaving my father for another man.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  He attempted a smile. “I was occupied with my own love life at the time.”

  It was time to change the subject, he decided. “Do you remember the dinner bell?”

  Her face lit up. “Mrs. Hancock used to let me ring it.”

  “At noon. Exactly at noon.” He chuckled softly. She hadn’t forgotten.

  “Why is that so funny?” She loosened her scarf and fussed with her hair before she turned back to him. “This heat feels good.”

  “My father was impressed with how punctual you were.” He turned his windshield wipers on as the rain increased its noisy attack on the glass. “It’s supposed to blow right over,” he said, having no real idea since he’d had no time that morning to listen to weather reports.

  They spent the next half hour talking about the weather, the TV show, how the cabin renovations were going, the producer’s upcoming visit, supplies needed in Billings and the upcoming football game between rivals Montana State and Missoula’s University of Montana. Owen put his blinker on and turned the car south onto another well-maintained gravel road. The rain continued, but it didn’t come down hard. He drove through the open gates, wound around a stand of cottonwoods that lined a minor branch of Little Judith River and headed the last six miles home.

  “I hope I made enough corn chowder for today.” Meg peered through the windshield. “I told Al where I’d be in case of an emergency.”

  “Cell phone reception isn’t always reliable out here, but I still have a landline.”

  “I’ll call Al when we get there and let him know.”

  He pulled up beside the big house and wished he’d left some lights on. He could hear Boo barking from the living room as he turned off the engine. He opened his door and hopped out into the rain, then fumbled for an umbrella from the backseat. “I’ll come round,” he told her.

  Instead of a casual stroll across the lawn to the front porch and wide door, they hustled quickly toward the side of the house and into the summer kitchen, a room that was damp and dark. He missed the scents of freshly baked bread and hot chili. Meanwhile Boo barked and whined like a maniac at the kitchen door, so Owen had no choice but to let the dog in.

  “He’s a rescue,” Owen explained, anticipating some kind of bad behavior as Boo trotted toward Meg. “Sometimes it takes him a while to settle down.”

  “Ah, the bacon lover, right?” Meg patted his head and the dog immediately sat in front of her and impersonated a well-trained show dog.

  “He’s very sweet.” She fondled his ears and the dog’s tongue lolled out of his mouth. “Mrs. Hancock came in for lunch last year,” Meg said, looking around the room very carefully. “With her grandson. She told some wonderful stories.”

  “She lives in Helena, near her daughter, now.”

  “Yes. She gave me her box of recipes. She said someone ought to have them so they could be used.” She went over to the stove, ran her fingertips along the counter, peered at the thick white dishes stacked on the shelves and then turned to Owen, who was trying to decide how he’d gotten so damn lucky this morning. Meg was finally here again, in his home, and she seemed happy about it.

  If that wasn’t a miracle, he didn’t know what was.

  “Come on in the house,” he said. “I’ll make coffee and give you the grand tour.”

  “I’d like that,” she said, and shivered, which was as good a reason as any to take her into his arms.

  * * *

  “HONEY, GET ME a diet cola and a tuna-fish sandwich on white, toasted, with chips.”

  “Sure.” Shelly tucked the unwanted menu back into its holder on the counter. She hadn’t seen the woman walk in and take a seat on the middle stool because she’d been making her twentieth trip to the ladies’ room. No one ever told you about that part of being pregnant. “Anything
else?”

  “No. I’d like something in my stomach before we go into the three-bears routine.” She winked and then looked around the room. It was the quietest time of day, long after the lunch rush and well before dinner, so there wasn’t much for the woman with the fluffy white-blond hair and rhinestone T-shirt to see.

  “Okay.” Shelly had no idea what the lady was talking about, but she wrote down the order and took it to Al, who was on the phone placing a meat order. She fixed the soda, set it in front of the stranger and carefully placed a straw and utensils along with it. “It will just be a minute.”

  “Sure. No problem. Margaret isn’t here?”

  “Meg? Uh, no. She’ll be in later, around four.” Was she fifty or sixty? Was she wearing a lot of bronzer or was she really tanned? Shelly thought the blue eye shadow was a bit much for a woman her age, whatever her age was. She kind of liked the T-shirt, with its pink smears and crystals, but no way would she wear those dangly earrings. But this older lady looked sophisticated, as if she traveled a lot and knew her way around. And she seemed friendly enough.

  “So,” the woman drawled. She unwrapped her straw, popped it into her drink and took a sip. “You’re the mysterious pregnant girl. Have you found that boyfriend of yours yet?”

  Shelly almost dropped her order pad. Who was this woman? “No, but—”

  “Men are hard to find if they don’t want to be found,” she said. “But some turn up, whether you want them to or not.”

  Shelly didn’t quite know what to say to that, so she settled for, “I hope so.” She’d received lots of unsolicited advice in the past few weeks, but most of it had been about how to find a missing person. Les’s grandfather had even offered to contact the state rodeo association, which she’d thought was awfully sweet of him. Les hadn’t thought so, but she thought he might have a crush on her.

  And she’d told his grandmother that a crush on a pregnant woman in love with someone else would ruin his life. They’d agreed on that, and then Mrs. Purcell had showed her how to make a piecrust. She doubted the woman in front of her would know flour from sugar.

  “But you don’t know much about this young man,” the woman pointed out. “You don’t know if he’ll be a good father or a good husband. You don’t know if he has fifty girlfriends or two wives or four children or any way to support a family.”

  Shelly didn’t know whether to run, hide or fight back. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “It is when you’re living in my house and wearing my clothes.” She gestured at the yellow shirt Shelly wore. “I bought that in Austin on my honeymoon.”

  “You’re Loralee? Meg’s mom?” Shelly felt a little queasy. Did this mean she was homeless again?

  “Bingo!” Loralee tapped pink-shellacked nails on the counter and looked off into the distance. “That was with husband number three,” she said. “Sweet Gene. He drove truck and was gay as a two-dollar bill, but what did I know? That man loved to iron. We’re still friends, of course. I keep up with him on Facebook.”

  “I’d better go see if your sandwich is ready,” Shelly whispered, backing away from the counter. Al would know what to do. Shelly scurried into the kitchen.

  “You can run, but you can’t hide,” Meg’s mother called after her. “So take your time.”

  * * *

  “WE SHOULD PROBABLY stop and eat something,” Meg said. She was out of breath and disheveled. She wanted to unlace her boots and fix her hair. She was starving and embarrassed and very, very warm. “Do you have food?”

  “I do.” He groaned as he said it, because Meg inadvertently elbowed him in the chest.

  “Sorry.” She struggled to get up from Owen’s grandmother’s green velvet settee. Her foot tingled uncomfortably as her circulation improved.

  He reached out and caught her hand, planted a kiss on her knuckles and tugged her back down for a kiss.

  “I’m going to faint if you don’t feed me soon.” When they were kids they’d fantasized about what it would be like to have the Triple M to themselves. To have the freedom to sit on that awful horsehair-stuffed sofa and kiss to their hearts’ content, to hold hands at the kitchen table, to snuggle together on the big plaid couch.

  This afternoon, with the rain preventing them from riding and hiking, they’d watched a movie and looked at the family photo albums. He’d shared some of the history of the ranch when she’d asked about his famous great-great-grandfather. He’d pulled her against him and they’d forgotten all about the enormity of the Triple M in 1887.

  “It’s still raining.” Owen nuzzled her ear. “Please tell me you don’t want to go riding in this.”

  “I don’t want to go riding in this,” she said. “Get up. We’re going into the kitchen now. And we’re going to stay, um, three feet apart, no matter what.”

  “You used to be shy,” he grumbled, hauling himself to his feet. His shirt was untucked and wrinkled, his hair rumpled, and he looked gorgeous. Which he always did, she thought. She headed toward the kitchen.

  “Tell me about cooking school,” he said. He ran his hand through his hair and followed her down the hall. “That was your dream, right?”

  “Uh-huh. I went to Johnson and Wales, in Rhode Island. That’s where I met Lucia. We were roommates. She was from Wyoming, so we stuck together.” She wished she’d thought to bring lunch. When she opened the refrigerator, however, she was surprised to find fresh vegetables and plastic pouches of deli meat.

  “But you’re back in Willing. Why?”

  “I worked in New York,” she said, stacking the food on the counter. “And Orlando. And Las Vegas.”

  “There’s bread,” he said, lifting a basket from the top of the refrigerator. “Sourdough and rye.”

  “Nice.”

  “Back to Vegas,” he prompted, setting the basket on the kitchen table. “Then what?”

  “Loralee was running the café into the ground, so I came home for a few weeks to reorganize it and I ended up loving the place. I liked being my own boss and creating the kind of food I’d always loved cooking—comfort food.” She shrugged. “I stayed.”

  “And you’re happy,” he stated, not looking at her.

  She didn’t answer the question. Instead she fumbled with the plastic sleeve that held the roast beef. “What about you?”

  “Happy?” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what I am. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Why aren’t you married? Or were you ever?”

  “I had a couple of close calls. You?”

  “Afraid to make a mistake. Too independent. Never met the right guy. Take your pick.”

  “You met the right guy,” he said. “Once.”

  She turned back to the refrigerator and pulled out mustard, mayonnaise and lettuce.

  He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her waist, exactly the way he used to when Mrs. Hancock wasn’t around and they were alone for a few minutes in the summer kitchen. Owen kissed her neck and surrounded her with warmth. “You don’t believe me.”

  She reached for the loaf of bread that sat between the telephone and the toaster. “Mustard or mayonnaise, cowboy?”

  “Both. But—”

  Meg jumped when the phone rang. Owen’s arms tightened around her and he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Jerry calls me twice a day about getting the ranch ready for the TV people. He can wait.”

  But Meg saw the number displayed. “It’s the café.” She untangled herself and Owen moved away so she could pick up the receiver and find the right button to push. “Hello?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “WELL, THAT WAS a great big dose of reality.” Meg hadn’t said much during the drive back to town, despite Owen’s attempts to distract her from her mother’s surprise arrival.

  “Yeah. Like a great big bucket of
ice water dumped over our heads,” he said, hoping to make her smile. She didn’t. The rain had eased, but the skies were overcast and the wind had come up again. They’d made good time, even though he hadn’t rushed. Despite his driving at five miles an hour below the speed limit, they were now pulling into the parking lot.

  “I think you’d better just drop me off.”

  “No way.” Owen parked the car on the far side of the lot, next to Jerry’s 4Runner. “She won’t see me from here if she’s in the café.”

  “I’m sorry.” Meg unhooked her seat belt but didn’t move. “I wish I could sit here for a week or two.”

  “Sweetheart, say the word and I’ll take you back home with me.” He’d never meant anything more, but he suspected she didn’t know that. He decided to keep the engine on, just in case.

  “I’m such a coward. She makes me crazy. I mean, she’s a good person and she’d never deliberately hurt me and she loves me, I know, and I love her, but she just makes me...crazy.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I plan to stay out of her way myself.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “In many ways.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks for the day, Meggie. I had a good time.”

  “Me, too.” But she withdrew her hand as if she was afraid someone would see. “Are you coming to class tomorrow night?”

  “Table Manners, Appropriate Conversation and Clothing Review? Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Try to avoid my mother.”

  “No problem.” He looked past her. “I think one of your painters is already here.” He turned the engine off and opened his door. “I’ll see which cabin Jerry’s working in and get started.”

  “You’re painting?” She hopped out of the truck and stood under the eaves of cabin three with her hands in her jacket pockets.

  Owen lifted a plastic bag from the backseat and slammed his door shut. “Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly what I’m doing. I even brought my own brushes.”

  “I’ll see you in a little while, then. I’m painting, too.”