Linda Varner - New Year's Wife

“I’ll still have time for that.” He returned her smile, revealing teeth that flashed gypsy white against his naturally bronze-toned skin.

Julie gulped at the sight and wondered briefly if she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life. Then she gave herself a mental kick in the backside. They would only be together an hour, maybe two at the most. She could keep her hands to herself for that long— would have to if she intended to shift gears and steer. “All right then. How about later this morning, after we sleep off the party?”

“Fine with me,” he replied, cheerfully adding, “And don’t you worry. After a week or so of lessons, you’ll be a pro. I guarantee it.”

A glass-domed anniversary clock on the mantel chimed the time—3:00 a.m. Tyler Jordan, a volunteer member of the clean-up crew, worked his way through the living room, picking up abandoned paper plates and disposable plastic cups to toss into a trash bag. He battled with his conscience, knowing full well that Julie wanted him to leave, but reluctant to do so until he explained his behavior all those years ago.

So what if she’d already told him she didn’t care why he ran away? Her body language said she lied, and even if she spoke the truth, he needed to say his piece. Tyler hated unfinished business. This was definitely that— and the only reason he’d abandoned his ski plans so abruptly when he’d run into Don at the gas station.

Don’s news that Julie was now widowed had nothing to do with anything. It was the birthday party and the fact that Julie lived with her dad again that cinched the impulsive decision to drop by. When presented with the perfect opportunity to right old wrongs, Tyler had made the most of it. Any man with scruples would, and heaven knew he could claim more than his share of those—the very reason he’d landed himself in this mess.

“I’m on my way out to the trash barrel. Want me to take that for you?” Don reached for the bag Tyler held. “This was the last bag in the box, but I think there are more in the pantry. Go ask Julie.”

With a glance around the still-littered room, Tyler nodded and made a beeline to the kitchen, hoping to catch Don’s sister alone. If they could talk now, he wouldn’t have to sleep over. Contrary to what he’d told her brother, Tyler did have accommodations for tonight—a motel room he’d already put on his credit card and would have to pay for whether or not he utilized it. Fairly certain he wasn’t welcome at the Newman house—at least by Julie—Tyler preferred utilizing it.

Worse, he’d paid a hefty entrance fee for a downhill skiing competition on a slope the locals had dubbed GR—Grim Reaper. Tyler planned to win the race and add another trophy to his growing collection.

A push on the swing door later, Tyler stepped into the kitchen, painted bright yellow and trimmed in blue gingham. Julie stood alone with the dishwasher she loaded. Since she didn’t look up when he entered, he paused for a moment to study her, just as he’d done eight years ago.

The years had been kind. She was almost the same size as when a teen, though a little more filled out, as mature women usually are. Her brunette hair hung to just below her shoulders, slightly curled on the ends and gleaming reddish in the light. And though she had her back to him, he knew feathery bangs framed her oval face.

For just a second Tyler closed his eyes and pictured that girl-next-door face. He saw wide brown eyes with thick lashes. He saw an uptilted nose and dimples. He saw a friendly smile.

Encouraged by his vision, Tyler stepped closer, something she hadn’t allowed all evening. Whistling, busy, Julie didn’t seem to notice his soundless approach until he stood mere inches away. Then she stiffened, whirled and stepped back, crimson-glossed lips still pursed for the tune. Tyler’s gaze focused first on those full, kissable lips, which had once touched his, then dropped to her breasts, which rose and fell with every agitated breath. He remembered how silky her skin felt to the touch—how incredibly responsive she was. His heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t you ever give up?” Julie snapped, self-consciously brushing off her bulky maroon sweater at the exact spot where he’d been staring.

“I didn’t come in here to talk,” Tyler retorted, a half truth. “I came to get another trash bag.”

“Oh.” She looked flustered, embarrassed. “I thought…well, it doesn’t matter.” Pushing up her sleeves, she crossed the room to the walk-in pantry, opened the door and disappeared from view.

Tyler sagged against the counter and struggled to get a grip on his emotions—not an easy thing to do. There was something about this woman—had been from the moment he’d met her—that kept him off balance. She was a magnet to his steel.

She drew his gaze. She annihilated his composure.

She turned him on.

Tyler couldn’t explain it and didn’t like it, but the fact remained: Julie Newman McCrae had power over him, power she didn’t even know she possessed…thank God. Just thinking about it made Tyler’s forehead bead with cold sweat because this time, this time, she was legal.

“Julie?” He sort of croaked the word.

At once, she stuck her head out from behind the pantry door and frowned at him. “What?”

“I lied. I did come in here to talk.”

She huffed her opinion of that and stepped from the pantry, new box of trash bags in hand. “For crying out loud, Tyler! Can’t we just forget about what happened? It’s old news. Very old news. And doesn’t even matter.”

“Then why are you still angry with me?”

“I’m not.” They stood toe-to-toe now, separated only by the width of the box she thrust at him.

“The hell you aren’t,” he retorted. “Your face is red. Your hands are trembling, and for two cents I’ll bet you’d throw that box at me.”

For a second Julie said nothing, then she heaved a lusty sigh. “To be honest, I’d do it for free, which means I am still upset. Unfortunately I can’t begin to tell you why, since I didn’t even know it until tonight.” She shook her head in disbelief. “What happened between us all those years ago is nothing compared to what I’ve been through since, yet for some reason I’m still irritated about it.”

“Then let me explain…please. And we’ll put it to rest once and for good.”

“Oh, all right,” she said after another hesitation. “Explain if you must, but I can’t promise I’ll like you any better. If I’ve held a grudge this long, I’ll probably take it to the grave.” She set the box on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest, clearly waiting for him to speak.

At once Tyler’s wits took a leave of absence, taking along his tongue. He felt his face heat, a sure sign he, too, blushed.

“I…uh…well…uh…” Damn it. Tyler took a deep breath and tried again. “Do you think we could step out to the porch? Your brother will probably burst in here the moment I—”

As if on cue, Don pushed through the swing door. “What’s the holdup?” His gaze leapt from the box of bags to Tyler to Julie. “So are you two going to talk all night or get on with the show? It’s 3:00 a.m. I’ve had several beers too many, and I’d like to get a couple of hours shut-eye before I have to get up again…”

Wordlessly Julie extracted two bags from the box. She gave both men one and then turned her back on them, busy once more with the dishwasher.

Don glanced around the room. “Where are Kit and Dad?”

“Kit has to work tomorrow, er, today, so I sent her to bed an hour ago,” Julie told him without glancing up from her work. “As for Dad, since he’ll be up again at dawn with Timbo, I waived his KP duties altogether.”

“My brother’s three-year-old stepson,” Don said to Tyler by way of explanation. “He also has a step-daughter named Carly, and a baby of his own, Josh. ‘Gramps’ volunteered to baby-sit.” Don explained the situation as he led the way to the door, which he held open for Tyler. “You do remember that Dad manufactures gourmet pots and pans?”

“I remember.” Short of looking as if he didn’t want to help out, Tyler had no choice but to step back into the formal living room. Though a bit frustrated at first, he soon decided to make use of Don’s presence to fill in a few blanks. “Um…Julie’s a widow, right?” he asked as he continued clean up.

“Uh-huh. Her late husband, Cord, was an Alaskan Smoke Jumper—ever heard of them?”

“Sure I have,” Tyler murmured, shocked by a stab of what felt suspiciously like jealousy. Alaskan Smoke Jumpers were men’s men, noted for their courage and skill. Tyler couldn’t begin to compete with one of them.

Compete? With a dead man? At once ashamed of his misguided envy, not to mention his lack of sympathy for Julie, Tyler sharply corralled his emotions. “How long were they married?”

“Just under four years. Though Julie has never said anything, I’ve always suspected the marriage was not a happy one. They were a mismatch, in my opinion. She’s the kind of gal who wants the traditional stone cottage, complete with white picket fence and a yard full of kids. He preferred a log cabin in the woods, big enough for two, but not for three. He also had this thing about physical challenges—” Don chuckled “—something you can relate to, I guess. Why, it was nothing for him to skip Christmas with the family so he could climb a mountain somewhere.”

“And Julie moved home right after the funeral?”

“Well, back to Idaho, anyway. That was about a year ago, I guess. She’s been working for Dad half of that time and living here in the house since a few months after my mom passed away.”

“I heard about your mom. I’m sorry.”

Don nodded, and the men worked in silence for a moment.

“Does Kit work for your dad, too?”

“Kit’s a nurse,” Don said. “She was the wild child— the rebel who didn’t want any part of the family business.” He shook his head and grinned. “You’d be surprised how many people assume she’s the baby of the family.”

“Actually…I wouldn’t.” Tyler cleared his throat, a self-conscious sound to his own ear, though Don didn’t react to it. “Kit’s married?” At the party he’d noticed that she wore a wide gold band.

Don explained his sister’s circumstances, adding, “Her husband, Monty, has another five months on the carrier, then he’ll be out for good. I’m assuming they’ll find a place of their own, though not if Dad has any say in the matter. He invented the always-room-for-one-more concept, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I had,” Tyler admitted.

“You’re still with Sky Flight, I guess?” Don asked, referring to the commercial airline for which Tyler had piloted the last five years.

“No. I left them about this time last year.”

Don straightened, a look of surprise on his face. “I thought you loved your job there.”

Tyler hesitated, not for the first time at a loss for words to verbalize the restlessness that had prompted his leaving the best job he’d ever had. “I needed a change, a challenge.”

“So what are you doing now?”

“Nothing until spring. Then I’ll probably do what I did last year—charter work, some crop dusting.”

“Are you still into stuff like mountain climbing, white-water rafting, motorcycle racing, bungee jumping…?”

“I didn’t do any bungee jumping at all last summer.”

“Came to your senses?”

“Nah. I just didn’t have time for it. I was too busy with the county fairs.”