hours. Already a few flakes were falling from the gray, depthless sky.
It had taken only the hour she’d spent at Warren’s for the weather to change. Now she wondered what the roads would be like tomorrow when she drove out again to begin work on the video. She dismissed the faint worry. One thing Saskatchewan had lots of was snowplows.
She picked up her cell and dialed Catherine with the good news that Warren had agreed to work with her on the video. After leaving a message, she thought about Warren. He hadn’t exactly brimmed over with enthusiasm for the project. She couldn’t take his cooperation for granted. She’d have to tread cautiously.
But at least she’d received a chance. Something she was very relieved about, because after meeting Warren again, her enthusiasm for doing his biography had increased exponentially.
Physically, he’d changed so much from his youth. He could have matured into a skinny, prematurely balding man who wore cardigans and smoked American cigarettes—didn’t most novelists smoke?
But she’d smelled no trace of tobacco in his house and observed no ashtrays or matches. His dark, unruly hair was still thick and he’d grown into his strong facial features. As for his physique, while he remained lanky, his height had been balanced by a broadening of his shoulders. He still wasn’t handsome, but maturity had definitely given him an edge. She’d bet money the camera would love his face. And sex appeal was never something to ignore in the TV business.
She liked the way he moved, too, and was eager to capture that masculine grace with her camera. She’d enjoyed watching him operate the espresso machine. His long, slender fingers were so fluid she’d immediately imagined filming him at the keyboard. Smiling, she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. Working on Warren was going to be such divine fun.
As for the possibility he was gay… No. Definitely not. She couldn’t pinpoint the reason for her certainty. She just knew. Not that he’d flirted or acted attracted to her at all. In fact, it might have been nice if he’d done either, just a little. Still, there’d been something in his eyes when he’d looked at her. And he’d done a lot of that.
Had Warren dated anyone during their school years? She couldn’t remember that he had, but she’d have to make sure. She’d compile a list of people in Chatsworth she should talk to. Not just about his social life, of course, but all sorts of things. How he’d done at school, if he’d participated in any extracurricular activities, and whether anything in his childhood might have affected his destiny to write.
She was already at the road turning into Chatsworth. A quick stop at Lucky’s grocery store extended fifteen minutes when she ran into some familiar faces. Back in the car, her bag of groceries on the passenger seat next to her, she headed for Willow Road. The graveled lane provided the only access to the Chatsworth Golf Club. Built when she was a kid, the eighteen-hole course had proved extremely popular. Many of the members traveled from surrounding towns such as Bredenbury and Church-bridge…even Yorkton, twenty-six miles 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