Rescuing Harmony Ranch

by Jennie Marts

  She smiled back, a little unnerved at how happy that made her.

  The song, “My Heart Is Your Home,” had been the start of Chase Dalton’s career, the one that shot him to stardom. She swallowed as he sang about love and belonging, the lyrics still as powerful today as they had been that summer.

  A soft breeze blew a strand of hair across her cheek, and Mack reached to brush it back and tuck it behind her ear. He gazed into her eyes, and she felt as if he were looking directly into her soul. “Just dance with me. Don’t think about all that other stuff. Leave the past behind us and the future ahead of us, and just be in this moment. Here. Now. With me.”

  She let out a breath and relaxed in his arms. He drew her even closer and moved them around the grassy dance floor.

  “You’ve gotten better at dancing,” she said, as she stole a glance up at him.

  His gaze held hers for a moment, then slowly dropped to her mouth. “I’ve gotten better at a lot of things.”

  Her heart fluttered like the soft ripples on the pond next to them. And she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from his.

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, as time seemed to stand still. Everything else fell away, everything except the two of them dancing in the moonlight, the candles flickering around them like tiny fireflies, and their song filling the night air.

  Chapter Ten

  As he gazed into Jocelyn’s gorgeous eyes, Mack was catapulted back in time to another warm night, another dance floor. Chase Dalton, his voice already low for a seventeen-year-old kid, had been singing the same lyrics about love and stolen moments on hot summer days and offering that one special girl a place in his heart—a place to come home to. When he sang the line about taking a chance, about it being now or never, it was like he was singing right to Mack.

  He’d been in love with Jocelyn Stone since he was ten years old, since he first understood what love was. Heck, Jocelyn was the one who’d taught him about love.

  He’d wanted to kiss her that night at the fair, right there on the dance floor, but he’d been fifteen and too scared to do it in front of half the town of Harmony Creek. But later that night, with Chase Dalton’s words in his ears, he’d dared to do it. Then he hadn’t stopped kissing her for the rest of that summer and the next two years.

  How fitting that those same words were playing in the background as he took another chance tonight—asking Jocelyn to dance. She smelled like spearmint and some kind of flowers, and holding her against him felt new and thrilling, yet also familiar and easy, and so perfectly right.

  She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he pulled her close again. This wasn’t a memory of a decade ago; this was now. Jocelyn was here, at Harmony Ranch, back in his arms…right where she was supposed to be.

  But she’s not really back. Not for good. She was only here to help with the festival. Then she’d leave again, just like she’d done before.

  Pain tightened his chest—another familiar feeling—as the song ended and she stepped away.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and then put them down at her sides as if she couldn’t figure out what to do with them. And suddenly she couldn’t quite look him in the eye. “I should probably be getting back,” she said, lifting her thumb toward the house. “Check on my grandma.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He couldn’t seem to get his feet to move. It was like they were glued to the grass, and they’d lost their memory of how to take a step.

  She raised her eyes, peering up at him from under her lashes, and a shy smile curved her lips. “Thanks for the dance.”

  He smiled back—couldn’t help it.

  Her smile broadened to the kind of impish grin a kid got after being handed an ice cream cone. “See you tomorrow,” she said, then turned and scurried up the path toward the house.

  He watched her until she disappeared around the trees and out of sight, and then his feet finally remembered how they worked. And suddenly it seemed like he was walking on air as he sauntered back to the tailgate of his truck.

  It wasn’t until he picked up his phone to put it into his pocket that he noticed the camera was still open, with a little timer running at the top of the screen. What the heck? He touched the red dot under the word video, and the timer stopped at a little over three minutes. He’d been messing with the different options, and he must have accidentally started the video.

  He tapped the photo in the corner and then touched the little diamond shape like Jocelyn had shown him how to do earlier. Sucking in a breath, he watched himself and Jocelyn walk hand in hand toward the grass then turn and step awkwardly into each other’s arms.

  Captivated by the scene, his eyes stay glued to the screen as they relaxed into each other as they swayed to the music. He could see their lips move and her head toss back as he made her laugh. Because the phone had been leaning against the speaker, Chase Dalton’s deep voice singing about warm summer nights and taking a chance on love was the only soundtrack to the video.

  He couldn’t believe it. It seemed crazy that he’d set the phone down in just that spot to capture their dance. The scene wasn’t framed perfectly, their bodies were off to one side, but with the candles glowing off the pond in the background, it made it seem almost perfect.

  Transfixed, Mack brought the phone closer as Chase eased into the chorus and Mack gazed into the eyes of the girl he’d loved for over half his life.

  When it was over, he sagged against the tailgate of the truck, swallowing at the thickness in his throat. Then he tapped the screen and watched it again.

  Jocelyn hurried up the porch steps and quietly let herself in the front door. She jumped as a voice spoke from inside.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She pressed a hand to her chest as she turned to see her grandmother sitting at the kitchen table, elbow-deep in flour as she rolled out a circle of dough. “Holy cow, Gram. You scared me. And why do you think something’s wrong?”

  “I just saw you scurrying across the driveway like something was chasing you. Did you see a bear? They’re starting to come out again. Although you know you shouldn’t run when you see one. You should just back slowly away and give them their space.”

  “I didn’t see a bear. And nothing was chasing me.”

  “All right. You just seem a little winded, and your cheeks are all flushed like you were running.” A light dawned in her eyes. She pushed the rolling pin across the dough as she feigned innocence. “How was your visit with Mack? What did he need your help with?”

  “It was good. He was good. I mean…” Jocelyn blew out a breath. “Mack is fine. He wanted to show me these cool luminaries he made and get my thoughts on selling them at the festival.”

  “Ahh. So that’s the ‘secret item’ the blacksmith has been working on? Like the ones he made for the wedding last summer?”

  “Yep. And I’m super impressed you already read my Facebook post.”

  “Read it, liked it, and left a comment.” She tapped the side of her head, leaving a smudge of white flour on her temple. “See, I listen when you tell me this stuff. I know comments and interactions drive more views.”

  Jocelyn smiled. “Exactly. I think you’re more up on the social media scene than Mack is.”

  “I’m sure of it. I’m pretty dang hip, ya know. I’ve got a Twitter account and everything.”

  “I know you do. I saw that tweet you posted last week about iced coffee being your love language. That was a good one. It cracked me up.”

  “I am quite hilarious.”

  “Yes, I know.” She crossed the room to peer down at the table. “What in the world are you doing?”

  “Making a pie. What does it look like?”

  “It does indeed look like you are making a pie. But why? You’ve been home from the hospital for like four minutes.”

  Her grandmother waved her concern away with a flour-dust
ed hand. “I’m fine. And I’m making this for the pie auction tomorrow. I make one every year. I usually make several a year, but this dang car accident messed everything up, and I ran out of time. I figured I could at least manage to crank out one, and my Old Fashioned Apple is the best seller.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve made it.”

  “Do you know how to make my Old Fashioned Apple pie?”

  “No. I don’t know how to make any kind of pie,” Jocelyn admitted. “But I could’ve at least helped.”

  “You can help me now. Grab one of those pie plates from the cupboard over there.”

  Jocelyn pulled open the cupboard and took the top one from a tall stack of pie tins. “You have at least ten more tins in here. If you show me how, I could put together some more and get them baked tonight.”

  “Are you sure? They take a while to bake. And I’ve probably only got about another hour in me.”

  “I’m sure. I don’t mind staying up. Especially if I’m doing something that can bring in more revenue for the ranch. How much do your pies usually go for?”

  Her grandmother shrugged. “It varies. They normally start the bidding around fifteen or twenty dollars, but I’ve had one go as high as fifty one year. But that was just because your grandpa was trying to drive the bidding up, then the other bidder let him have it. He got stuck shelling out fifty dollars for a pie I would have made him for free.”

  “I love that guy.” Jocelyn’s heart filled at the memory of her grandfather. “I’ll bet I can make ten more pies tonight, and if we can get twenty dollars apiece for them, we can make at least two hundred dollars. How many other cans of pie filling do you have?”

  “Cans?” Gram wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something bad. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I teach a class on canning for the ranch, and I can jars of homemade pie filling from the apples we pick in the fall from the orchard outside. And not just apple. I’ve got jars of peach, blueberry, strawberry, and cherry pie filling.”

  “Of course you do. Sorry, Gram. Don’t know what I was thinking.” Jocelyn crossed to the sink to wash her hands. “Sounds like we’re in business. Now you just need to teach me how to make the crust.”

  “I think my time would be better spent showing you how to make the pies.” She pointed to the bag hanging off the front of the knee scooter next to her. “Grab me my cell phone out of that bag. Loretta can knock out ten crusts in less than an hour. I’ll see if she’s still up and willing to make them, then we’ll get Hank to bring them over.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Jocelyn said, passing her the phone.

  An hour later, Jocelyn was covered in flour and sticky from pie filling and the secret caramel mixture her grandmother made to pour over her lattice crust. But they had two pies in the oven and had assembled three more.

  “Five down, five to go. I got this,” she said as she herded her grandmother down the hallway. “Now go to bed.”

  “I’m not that tired.” Her grandmother punctuated her statement with a yawn as she pushed herself along on the scooter.

  “You sound like a little kid. Like I used to, when you made me go to bed.” She wrapped an arm around her grandmother’s waist and helped her into bed, then lifted her booted leg and placed it on a pillow. “I’m setting your phone here on the nightstand.” She plugged it into the charger. “And I’ve put a glass of water, a great book, your reading glasses and two extra ibuprofens next to it.” She pointed to the prescription bottle of Percocet. “You sure you don’t want one of those painkillers? They gave them to you to use.”

  “Nah. I used them in the hospital, and they just made my head fuzzy. Besides, painkillers are for sissies.”

  Jocelyn shook her head. “That is not even the least bit true. But I’m not going to force you to take them. Call me if you need me, and I’ll come back and check on you in a bit.” She leaned down and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “Good night, Gram. Go to sleep. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “Good night, honey.” Gram patted her hand as she closed her eyes. “I’m awfully glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too.”

  Her grandmother was already snoring by the time Jocelyn made it to the bedroom door and slipped from the room. Jocelyn still had several hours of work ahead of her. She was walking back to the kitchen, wiping flour from her cheek and contemplating making a pot of coffee, when she heard a knock on the front door.

  Perfect timing. That had to be Hank with the next round of pie crusts.

  She opened the door then took a step back at the sight of the bearded blacksmith who stood on her doorstep holding a cardboard box. The memory of their earlier dance had heat rising to her cheeks.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice breathier than she’d intended.

  “Delivering pie crusts. I got a call from my grandma with orders to drive to her house to pick them up and bring them over here. She said you needed them ASAP.” He walked past her and set the box on the table, then raised his head as he sniffed the air. “It smells amazing in here—like caramel apples and peach cobbler. What’s going on? Why do you need what feels like a dozen pie crusts at nine o’clock at night? You having a pie-baking marathon?”

  “Yes. Actually, I am.”

  He raised an eyebrow then pushed up his sleeves. “Okay. A pie-making marathon it is. What can I do to help?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” He pointed to the door she was starting to close. “But don’t shut that just yet. My assistant is still on his way.”

  Jocelyn looked down to see Savage slip through the partially open door and trundle into the kitchen. She laughed as he flopped onto the floor as if he’d traveled a great distance and finally completed his epic journey. “That dog cracks me up.”

  “He’s a good boy. But he’s also strategically placed himself in the middle of the action in hopes of some stray pie crust falling his way.” He rubbed his hands together. “So, pass me an apron and tell me what to do.”

  “An apron?”

  “Yeah, a lot of famous chefs wear aprons. Besides, I don’t want to mess up these jeans.”

  “The same jeans you typically use as a napkin?” she teased him, as she rifled through her grandmother’s impressive collection of aprons. Finding the perfect choice, she handed him a frilly light pink apron covered in hot pink cupcakes, with bright red cherries atop each one. The bodice read, “Calories Don’t Count on the Weekend” in glittery gold letters.

  He peered at the apron with an amused smile. “Nice try, but you think I’m threatened by a little glitter and some hot pink cupcakes?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a teasing shrug.

  “I forge hot iron for a living. I think I’ve got a pretty firm grip on my man card.” He laughed as he pulled the apron over his head and tied the frilly strings behind his waist.

  Jocelyn held back a sigh as her gaze raked over his broad shoulders and strong arms, and then she laughed with him. “That glitter goes perfect with your eyes.”

  “Quit trying to butter me up and pass me a pie crust,” he said as he washed his hands. “How many more do we need to make, and what’s your game plan?”

  “I’ve got five made, two almost finished baking and three ready to go in. I am trying to have ten pies ready for the auction tomorrow, so I only need to make five more.”

  “Easy.”

  “Easy? It was easy with Gram telling me everything to do, but it’s going to be harder now since I have exactly one hour of baking experience.”

  “Good thing you have me then. I’m pretty skilled with pies.” He dumped a crust into an empty pie plate and crimped the edges. “Remember, I was raised by Loretta Talbot, who fancies herself a Master Chef, and she always had me assisting her in the kitchen.”

  “I always thought that was sweet of you, the way you help
ed her.”

  He shrugged. “I think she was the one helping me. We had a lot of great talks in the kitchen. I’d get home from school, and she’d put me to work chopping vegetables or kneading bread dough. I think it was easier to talk about my day and what was going on with me when my hands were busy. Not that we always talked. Sometimes we just listened to the radio or she told me stories about her and my grandpa or growing up in Harmony Creek. It was good. Plus I learned how to cook.”

  “You’re lucky. All I ever learned about cooking from my mom was how to order takeout and how long to heat a frozen meal in the microwave.”

  “She taught you other things, I’m sure.”

  “That’s true. But once we moved to the city, she was pretty busy with her career. And I took a part-time job after school. We were so busy we hardly ever saw each other. And when we did, sometimes we fought.”

  “What about?” He started a second pie crust as she mixed a batch of pie filling.

  “Mostly about her moving us to New York. I was constantly trying to convince her to let me come back to live with Gram and finish out my senior year here.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “There was a little snark in that comment. What’s that about?”

  “Nothing, really.” She kept her gaze trained on the pie filling, lifting the spoon and mixing the granular brown sugar and vanilla into the sliced apples. “I just thought after I left—after we’d made all those plans—that we would keep in touch.”

  His hands stilled on the edge of the crust he was shaping. “What are you talking about?”

  “I figured you didn’t remember.”

  “Remember what?”

  “There was a day that last summer where we were poking around in a bunch of stuff in the attic that had been donated to the museum, and we found a stack of these letters. They were love letters, and we spent most of the afternoon curled up on that lumpy sofa reading bits of them out loud to each other.” The attic had been hot and stuffy, and Jocelyn could still remember the scent of mothballs and the body spray Mack had used back then. Reading the letters out loud had been funny and weird, but also wildly romantic. “And that afternoon, we made this silly promise to only write letters to each other after I moved away until we could be together again the next summer.” She shrugged and turned the mixture again, catching a stray piece of apple with her spoon and pushing it to the center of the bowl. “I figured you must have forgot about it or thought we were just joking around.”