Page 23 of The Marriage Game

“Excuse m—” I start, but he interrupts.

“Jill, for Heaven’s sake, I was not flirting with that girl! She was a pre-law student, interested in my job because she wants to be an attorney one day!” He shakes his head. “Good grief, Jill. She had to have been only 19 or 20.”

I’m so wrong-footed I can’t think straight. How can he be right when I was supposed to be right? I’ve lost the security of my indignation and now feel like an insecure idiot who majorly jumped to conclusions. So I lash out.

“Yeah, well, I was only 20 when you met me,” I huff.

“Yes, but I was only 25,” he replies dryly.

“Still, you could get yourself a 20-year-old if you wanted.”

I wait for him to say something sweet and romantic like, ‘Well, I don’t want a 20-year-old, I want you.’ But instead he snorts out another laugh.

“Yeah, sure I could.”

My nostrils flare, but I manage to hold in the shriek I want to let out. No need to make a scene in the airport. I swivel on my heels and start marching down the terminal. I’ve barely made it two steps before my eyes land on a couple standing outside of the bathrooms up ahead—watching us.

Dorothy and Mick.

They look…concerned. A flush rises to my face. Did Dorothy tell Mick everything I said? Do they know we were arguing? As usual, we were being quiet about it. Still, our body language andexpressions must’ve made it clear. Why do I care anyway? So they know my husband and I fight? Every married couple does. So they should just jump off their high horses and look away. They don’t, though, so I’m forced to retaliate.

Holding my head up high I turn back to Max, and say in a sweet voice, “Coming, honey?”

Max looks extremely confused by the change in my demeanor, but bless his oblivious-man’s heart, he seems to decide not to question it. Instead he nods and hurried to catch up to me. I keep my sunny smile pasted on as we hurry on down the terminal, waving merrily to Mick and Dorothy as we go.

My poor blistered feet scream in their cowboy boots with each step I take.

Chapter 9

Max

Mywife’semotionalhighsand lows are giving me whiplash. Her weird outburst in the airport terminal was followed up by a very peppy walk to the Enterprise booth which was then followed by the very silent car ride we’re just finishing up. I’m at a loss, but also feeling pretty good about myself. I’m not saying I want—or even need—my wife to be jealous of other women all the time, but the occasional occurrence does boost the self-esteem.

Even if she was so off-base she might as well have been in the grandstands. The idea of me flirting with the veritable child I was sitting next to is laughable. Which is why I laughed when she suggested it. Me interested in a 20-year-old? No way.

Luckily, her show of jealousy has endeared me to Jill so I’m willing to forgive her bad mood. It’s nice to know that my wife cares enough about me to be jealous.

I pull our rental SUV into the parking lot of “Flossy and Kip’s: A dude ranch that’s your ranch away from home.”

The main lodge building looks as if someone constructed it from Lincoln logs. It’s big and rustic and I like it immediately. I know from the brochures Jill gave me that there are both cabins and hotel-style rooms here. Due to our late booking, we’ll be in the latter. Her sisters and their husbands arrived last night because Flossy and Kip’s son is a friend of Luke and Will’s from college (hence why they chose this location for the retreat), so they came early to spend some time with him since they’ll be wrapped up during the retreat.

Other couples are arriving around us, though, and I take a second to look around at them. I’m relieved to see there appears to be a variety of ages. I love Jill’s sisters and their husbands, but since Jill is already six years older than Brooke (and almost nine years older than Hannah) and I’m an additional five years older than Jill, sometimes I feel ancient around them. I mean, they have toddlers at home. Meanwhile Jill and I have a teenage daughter of dating age. Fifty is in sight for me and none of them have even hit forty.

One couple stops to pet an energetic-looking Australian Shepherd, and I feel a pang of sadness over the loss of our golden retriever just a few months ago. Before I can get caught up in it, I blink and look away.

“You ready?” I ask Jill as I turn off the car. She’s looking out the window too, surveying the place and the people. Her expression is inscrutable, the mask she so often wears in public set in place.

“I suppose so,” she sighs. When she still doesn’t move I consider getting out and grabbing her door for her—the way I used to in the early years of our relationship—but before I can she hops into motion, opening the door herself. Which is fine, I decide as I open my own door. We’ve been married 17 years, we’re well beyond the gallantry and romance stage of things. Jill probably would’ve laughed me off if I’d tried to open her door.

We head into the lodge, where we’re immediately greeted by a large banner that reads:

“Welcome to the ranch, couples!”

There are mounted antlers on either side of the banner and beneath it there’s a blown-up photograph of some horses in a pasture. Multiple bear rugs cover the floor, there’s a weathered up saddle hanging behind the front desk, and everything in the room appears to be made of wood.

If all of this weren’t enough to indicate that we’re not in Tucson anymore, the cowboy hats on everyone’s heads would do the trick. Yup. Turns out Jill was right. Everybody heredoeswear a cowboy hat.

As if she can sense the sheepish direction of my thoughts, Jill glances up at me, a smirk tugging at her pink lips.

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