Tate by Linda Lael Miller

Author:Linda Lael Miller [Miller, Linda Lael]
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, contemporary, Western, Adult
ISBN: 9781426847677
Goodreads: 7652277
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE WATER FIGHT TURNED out to be a dandy—even the dogs got involved. When it was over, Tate and Garrett and Austin all sat in the kitchen in their wet clothes, drinking beer and talking about the old days.

It was generally agreed that when it came to dousing people with a hose, their mother was still the all-around champ. She’d had an advantage, of course—raised Southern, none of them would have considered wresting the thing out of her hands and soaking her in retribution, the way they would have done with each other.

Sober and a little chilled, Tate was about to head upstairs to take a hot shower and hit the sack, the dogs set to follow on his heels, when his cell phone rang.

He picked it up off the table, checked the digital panel to see who was calling and flipped it open. “Cheryl? Are the kids all right?”

“Yes,” Cheryl said. “They’re fine. Sound asleep.”

Tate glanced at the clock; it was after eleven. “And you’re calling me at this hour because—?”

“Don’t be mean,” she purred.

Good God. Was she drunk? What if the house caught fire, or one of the kids got sick?

“Cheryl, are you all right?”

Austin scraped back his chair and rose from the kitchen table, shaking his head. Garrett gave Tate a pitying look and headed for his own part of the house. Evidently, he’d forgotten the senator’s “emergency,” whatever it was.

“No,” Cheryl burst out, sobbing all of the sudden. It still amazed Tate, the way she could change emotional gears so quickly. “I’m not all right. I’m divorced. I’m an attractive, educated woman, in the prime of my life, stuck in Blue River, Texas, for the next twelve years—”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Would you care if I had been?”

“Hell, yes, I’d care,” Tate snapped. “You’re alone with my children.”

“I’m perfectly sober, and they’re my children, too.”

Tate drew in a long, deep breath, released it slowly. This was no time to needle her. “Yes,” he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone of voice. “They’re your children, too.”

Cheryl was quiet for a few moments, so quiet that Tate began to wonder if she’d hung up. “We could try again, Tate,” she said tremulously. “You and me. We could try again, make it work this time.”

Tate closed his eyes. If she wasn’t drunk, she must have snorted something. The subject of reconciliation had come up before, usually after she and some boyfriend had had a falling-out and gone their separate ways.

“No, Cheryl,” he said, when he figured he could trust himself to speak. “You don’t really want that, and neither do I.”

“Because of Libby Remington,” she said, with a trace of bitterness. “That’s why you won’t try to save our marriage. Did you think I wouldn’t hear about you and Libby, Tate?”

Save their marriage? They’d been divorced for five years.

“We’re not going to talk about Libby,” Tate replied, silently commending himself for not reminding her that this marriage she wanted to save had long since died an acrimonious—and permanent—death.

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