Regret at Roosevelt Ranch

by Elise Faber

  He dried his hands on a towel and slid the pan back onto the burner, keeping his head down and his mind focused on cooking until he’d dug himself out of the hole he’d made, a good half hour later.

  Sweat soaked through his T-shirt, and the front of his apron was splattered with grease and pancake batter and—

  “You used to cook a lot more cleanly.”

  He’d be lying if he’d said his heart hadn’t skipped a beat when he looked up and saw Bella leaning against the door, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth.

  Her eyes were brighter today, her shoulders more relaxed.

  Even the bruising and abrasions on her face were beginning to fade.

  “I learned from the best,” he said, stepping away from the stove and checking for any new tickets. Figuring that he had at least a couple minutes, Henry stripped off his apron and hung it on a peg then took Bella’s hand and led her down the hall to his office.

  She scoffed but followed him. “My workstation was always clean.”

  “Is that what you call being doused in flour?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That was one time, and you know it was because the bag had a tear in it.”

  “If you say so,” he teased.

  She growled, trying to extricate her hand from his, but they’d reached his office, so he just tugged her over the threshold, shut the door behind them, and lowered his head to hers.

  Her hands came up to his shoulders and he half-expected her to push him away, but then they slid around the back of his neck and pulled him closer.

  So. Fucking. Good.

  Her tongue danced with his, darting in and out in a rhythm they’d perfected five years before and they stayed like that, kissing until his lungs screamed for air. Henry drew back, but he needed to keep touching her. He slid his hands up and down her sides, bent to nip at her jaw, her throat.

  “Henry,” she moaned and one leg wrapped around his waist.

  He barely had a brain cell left to register the blip that came with his woman potentially hurting herself from the action, but then she tilted her pelvis, aligning it firmly against his cock and groaning in pleasure.

  The single cell poofed away like so much smoke.

  He lifted her, pressing her spine to the door and took her mouth in another head-spinning kiss.

  It was glorious. It was absolute heaven.

  Until the knock at the door.

  “Henry?” came Rachelle’s voice. She was one of the two waitresses on the schedule that morning.

  He cleared his throat, cock aching, chest heaving. “Yeah?”

  “We’ve got a bunch of tickets piling up.”

  Bella slid one leg to the floor then the other, and the loss of feeling her pressed so intimately against him was almost enough to make Henry cry.

  “Just changing my shirt,” he called. “Be out in two minutes.”

  “Roger that,” Rachelle said. “Did Isabella find you?”

  Yes, the whole town now knew Isabella by name, and their protectiveness for him had morphed into sympathy and protectiveness for her. All of that was thanks to Esther’s social media prowess.

  He wanted to be her when he grew up.

  Though, maybe minus the ogling.

  “Not yet,” he lied.

  “Hmm. I’ll go look for her, tell her you were changing, and that you’ll be back in the kitchen in a minute.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Bella giggled as they listened to the sound of Rachelle’s footsteps moving back down the hall.

  “Hush you,” he said, making sure she was steady before whipping around to find a clean T-shirt. He tugged off his sweaty one and tossed it to the side, then turned in a rush when he heard her make a noise that sounded like choking. “You oka—”

  “Oh, thank you, Jesus,” she murmured, eyes on his chest, his stomach, lower.

  “Bella, sweetheart, you can’t look at me like that,” he groaned.

  She licked her lips.

  And fuck, but his cock threatened to break in half.

  “Put on the damn shirt,” she hissed, slamming her eyes closed and turning to scrabble for the door handle.

  Her actions weren’t in the correct order, obviously, and so she was still fumbling around by the time Henry shrugged on the shirt and crossed back over to her. “It’s safe to look now,” he said, brushing her hands away and turning the knob. “Come on. You can keep me company in the kitchen.”

  Better than him stripping her naked in his office or burning the entire restaurant down, he realized with a sigh as they slipped back into the kitchen, because he'd forgotten to turn a burner off. Luckily, it was his practice to keep everything except for the actual food cooking away from the open flames, and them staying on for hours on end wasn’t unusual. Since nothing was cooking at the moment, everything was good.

  But still, he didn’t typically leave the flames unattended.

  He’d been too cautious to risk it after his father had started a grease fire.

  The right practice, he’d decided long ago, was to shut everything off if it was going to be unattended, even for a few minutes.

  Apparently, the cautious part of his brain had left the building when Bella had shown up in his kitchen.

  Be smart, H-man. But don’t forget to live.

  Hearing his father’s voice, even just in his mind, was like a punch directly to the gut. The words were one of his favorite sayings.

  Don’t forget to live.

  Well, Henry certainly felt alive for the first time in years.

  Bella tugged her hand from his then walked over and grabbed two clean aprons, dropping one over her head before handing him the other. She clapped her hands together. “All right, chef. Where do we start?”

  “No, sweetheart.” He pointed to the stool. “You should rest.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ll just remind you before that pile of tickets gets any bigger that your orders don’t work on me and that all arguments end in my favor.”

  “Not all—” he began then broke off with a sigh when she raised a brow.

  Okay, fine, even if it wasn’t all of them, Henry definitely didn’t have time for an argument in this instance.

  He thought fast, picking up tickets and scanning them, trying to find an item that wouldn’t tax her too much.

  “Can you do pancakes?” he asked.

  Pancakes were a safe bet, especially with breakfast winding down and the batter already made.

  She scoffed. “With one arm tied behind my back.”

  Henry scooped up a stool and placed it in front of the griddle. “How about with a chair under your bottom instead?”

  Bella rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue about that, so Henry considered it a win.

  “Ready?” he asked, going back to the tickets and picking up the first one.

  “Yes, chef.”

  His lips twitched at her pert response before his amusement faded and he began calling out items.

  The next couple of hours passed in a flash.

  Breakfast turned to lunch and pancakes became grilled cheese and patty melts, and Henry couldn’t remember a time he’d had as much fun in the kitchen as he was having that day. Bella was tart and endearing in equal terms, and she was scarily efficient, having familiarized herself with the kitchen in record time.

  When he’d questioned her about it, she’d shrugged and said it was like the restaurants they’d worked at while in New York.

  Henry supposed that was true.

  He’d reorganized after his father died. Aside from everything needing a deep clean, Henry hadn’t been able to work in the cluttered space. He hadn’t had the brainpower or energy to come up with his own system, and so he’d transplanted one that he knew like the back of his hand.

  The diner’s kitchen was pristine. It was organized. And it was filled to the brim with Bella.

  Henry decided he liked it that way.

  She wiped her forehead on a towel after they finished the final lunch rush
ticket, and he wanted to kiss her all over again.

  But he didn’t.

  Because when he kissed this women, his mind went to mush, and Michelle was due in at any moment. But then Bella smiled up at him, a few strands of deep brown hair having slid free of her ponytail to curl around her face. She was incredible and . . . he forgot about being good.

  He needed to live.

  Henry pressed his mouth to hers the exact moment Michelle strode into the kitchen, bellowing, “The savior is here! Oh gross! Stop sucking face. That’s not sanitary.”

  Bella jumped back from him, eyes widening.

  “Get on tickets, Michelle,” he told his employee. “All the prep is done for tonight.”

  “Wow, you can kiss and cook?” She raised a brow.

  He glared. “You’re fired.”

  Bella gasped, but Michelle just grinned. “He’s kidding,” she told Bella. “Henry fires me at least once a week.”

  “Unfortunately, she does not stay fired,” he grumbled.

  Bella’s lips twitched. He slipped off his apron, helped her out of hers. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “I won’t.”

  He sighed. “Humor me.”

  Michelle sighed. “Okay, I promise if I get into an existential food crisis, I will call you because I do not need help with dinner service.” She pointed to the door. “Now go forth and kissy face. I’ve got the diner.”

  They exchanged goodbyes and waves before heading out into the hall.

  “Now what?” Bella asked as they stopped long enough in his office for him to retrieve his wallet and car keys.

  He thought about that for a long moment.

  “Everything good at the station?”

  She hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. That short delay had Henry making a mental note to confirm things with Rob later. But for now, he wanted to spend some time with Bella outside of the kitchen.

  “Want to see something cool?”

  Twelve

  Bella

  Her breath caught as she stepped out of Henry’s car.

  Rolling hills of green for as far as the eye could see. The wide-open space was dotted with the occasional tree, but the real show-stealer was the sky. It was absolutely beautiful in shades of orange and red and blue.

  How did it seem larger than life here in Utah? It wasn’t as if she’d never looked up at the sky before.

  Was it Henry?

  Or maybe it was the fact that she was finally making some decisions for herself.

  She’d left. Her father wouldn’t control her any longer.

  And she had Henry . . . or at least a potential with him.

  So, dammit, she was allowed to feel a little buoyant and hopeful and—

  Fingers brushed the space between her eyebrows. “What’s got you looking so fierce?”

  She turned to him. “I was thinking that I’ve stared up at the sky my entire life and that I’ve never seen it look so beautiful. Also,” she added before he could reply. “I was thinking how lucky I was to have a second chance with you and vowing not to screw it up.”

  He snorted. “I’m the lucky one.”

  “No, I’m—” Bella stopped, smirking up at him. “Is this our version of I-love-you more/No-I-love-you-more?”

  “God, I hope not.” He slipped an arm around her waist, pausing when she stiffened in surprise to ask, “This okay?”

  She hurried to nod. “It’s”—her teeth found her lip, bit down—“actually really nice.”

  “Actually nice?”

  “Don’t push it.” She glared.

  “Come on,” he said with a chuckle. “This isn’t what I wanted to show you. Or not all of it anyway.” He led her over the crest of a hill, and she gaped at the huge boulder perched on the opposite side. “It’s silly, but this has been my place since I was little.”

  Bella let him help her up on top of the giant rock. It was taller than her, but a series of foot and hand holds made it easy enough to scale. Her hip gave only the slightest protest as she pulled herself on top.

  “Wow,” she murmured.

  The view was even prettier from there. A river snaked through a valley in the distance, spreading a deep emerald green along its length.

  He pointed to the right. “That’s Roosevelt Ranch over there.”

  Squinting, she could make out a few buildings tucked into the landscape. “Ah, the home of my aborted wedding,” she said with a sigh. “It looks as gorgeous as the pictures made it seem. Is it true that the stables are as big as the house?”

  “Since Kel enlarged them, yes.” He tucked back a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “How did Sergio know about Roosevelt Ranch?”

  “He caught me looking up Darlington.” She wrinkled her nose. “I know I shouldn’t say caught because it implies I was doing something wrong. The truth was that I kept tabs on you over the years. The diner’s Yelp page is bookmarked on my laptop.”

  “What?”

  “Pathetic, I know. I’d vowed I’d stop when I got married, but I’d wanted to make sure you were okay, and that meant I spent a lot of time searching for news articles about you or Darlington.”

  “Bella—”

  “Talk about silly,” she said with a laugh, words coming faster because the fact that she’d cyber-stalked her ex was critically embarrassing. “But I knew about Roosevelt Ranch because it came up in the news a lot for its breeding program.” She shrugged. “I used to pretend that I was here instead of there”—and she was venturing into dangerous territory—"so this view living up to expectations is amazing.”

  “Sweetheart—”

  “I also heard about murderous deer and a drug ring that involved a corrupt FBI agent, but that was more of a national story—”

  His finger pressed to her lips, cutting off the flow of words.

  One large hand plunked onto her thigh, squeezed gently. “There’s a lot to unpack there. Hold tight,” he added when she opened her mouth to reply. “Because I think what’s most important is for me to know why you wanted to be here instead of there.” He bent so his eyes were level with hers. “Sweetheart, if you wanted to come, why did you wait for years?”

  That was the question of the hour.

  Her gaze flitted to the hills. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’ve got time for complicated.”

  Bella wavered for a moment more. If she told him the truth, would it make things better or worse? She didn’t want him to feel bad that she’d done what she’d done, but at the same time, she needed him to know that she’d loved him enough to sacrifice for him.

  And in the end, that was what decided it for her.

  Henry mattered. He needed to know that.

  “We met in New York.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “We fell in love there, we cooked and lived together and were building a future with each other.”

  “Yes.” It was more cautious now.

  “But I was lying to you then. Not about us,” she rushed to say. “Just about my life back home. I made it seem like my family supported my decision to move away and go to culinary school.” She shook her head. “The truth is that they were adamantly against it, and it was only because my mother left me a small trust fund after she passed that I was able to go.

  “My father controlled everything. What my mother and I wore, what we ate, what I studied at university.” Bella blew out a breath, remembering the misery of those years. Things had gotten slightly easier when her mother had fallen ill because they hadn’t been trotted out to functions every night of the week like prized bulls. But then her mother had died, and things had gotten exponentially harder.

  “I didn’t know,” he said.

  Bella smiled, though she knew it was sad. “No one did. I was really good at pretending. But obviously, my mother knew what he was like, and she made sure the money she left me was in my name only.”

  On her death bed, she’d forced Isabella to promise
her that she would go after her dream.

  It was what had given her the courage to go to culinary school in the first place.

  And pay for it all up front, in case her father found a way to wrest away control of that money.

  She hadn’t considered failing or not liking it, not for a moment.

  That had been her chance to get out.

  “My father thought it was just me sowing my wild oats, that I would run out of money and come home, but he underestimated me.”

  Henry smiled and cupped her cheek. “What did you do?”

  “I graduated, got a job in New York. A shitty one at first and a shitty apartment to go with it. But it was mine, and I was finally living. It was fabulous.”

  “I used to love watching you in the restaurant,” he murmured. “You’d take such joy in the process.”

  She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I did love it.”

  “So then what happened?”

  “I met you. We fell in love.” She hesitated. “And your dad got sick.”

  He stiffened.

  “It’s not like you think,” she whispered. “I remember all the phone calls, how upset you were when things weren’t looking good. I-I overheard you and your mom talking about how you couldn’t afford the surgery.”

  She straightened, studying his face, but Bella couldn’t read anything in his expression. It was blank, his eyes guarded.

  “I didn’t have enough left,” she murmured. “My money had gone to school, to living costs when I initially moved to New York. And my father had been pressuring me to come home for a long time. He wanted me to get married—”

  Henry’s eyes went dark. “To Sergio?”

  “No,” she said. “Not him, at first. He had someone else picked out.”

  His expression hardened, and her heart skipped a beat. Every cowardly inch of her was saying to stop here, that Henry didn’t need to know everything. But . . .

  He did need to know.

  “I told him, no, obviously. I was with you, and I thought—well, I thought you and I would eventually get married,” she said, watching as his lungs expanded as he took a deep breath. “But then your dad got worse, and you were leaving, and the surgery was his last hope . . .”

  “No. No.” Henry shot to his feet, and the speed of it startled her, almost toppling her from the boulder. He steadied her then jumped down to the ground, thrusting a hand through his hair as he paced.