by Liz Isaacson
Their food arrived at that very moment, causing Jace to withdraw his hand from hers. By the time she dared to look at him again, she’d slathered butter over all four of her pancakes and doused them with blackberry syrup.
His guards had snapped back into place. His eyes were guarded, his cowboy hat pulled low over his eyebrows, his attention on his food.
The only indication she got that she hadn’t messed up too badly came when he said, “I can’t believe you eat fruit-flavored syrup. I seriously can’t think of anything more disgusting.”
7
Jace chewed on the information Belle had given him at lunch. Something had happened in Sacramento—he’d been right. She hadn’t left willingly. She wasn’t in Gold Valley by choice.
He wasn’t sure why that information bothered him so much. Maybe because she didn’t actually have a home here. After all, her parents would return in a few months, and then where would she go? Was it even worth trying to move past Wendy and open himself up for another woman to possibly leave him?
Jace’s chest caved in and he took a breath to try to get it to expand properly. One thing he knew: He couldn’t go through a situation like the one with Wendy again. If he fell in love with Belle, and then she left…. He couldn’t even imagine how wrecked he’d be.
Better not to fall in love again, he told himself as he parked front of his cabin. He stared through the windshield and made a decision. He could work with Belle, but he couldn’t date her. She had baggage from Sacramento to deal with, and he hadn’t even considered forgiving Wendy for what she’d done. She hadn’t asked him to, and he didn’t want to give her such a precious gift.
They’d had exactly one conversation after she left, that he’d initiated. She’d said, “I hope you can understand one day,” but Jace honestly didn’t know how that was possible. His heart felt loaded with cement and his throat clogged with emotion.
He got out of the truck and headed up the steps to his front door. Once inside the safety of his cabin, he leaned against the door and sighed. How do I forgive Wendy? he asked. Why does she get to act so badly? She doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.
He knew he should forgive her. The preacher talked about God’s forgiveness as unconditional, and that man was obligated to forgive everyone. But Jace was sure his fiancé hadn’t left him standing at the front of a crowd of people in favor of a lucrative real estate job in Los Angeles. Without a word, a text, any indication whatsoever. Without an apology even.
Familiar fury and frustration and foolishness flowed through him. He hated how she’d made him feel that day. No, she didn’t deserve to just leave and forget him, leave and be forgiven.
You forgave your mother, his mind whispered, and Jace fisted his fingers. Life seemed so unfair. Because his mother had left, he shouldn’t have had to deal with a fiancé doing the same thing. Why did he have to go through that twice? Tom had found his happy ending and all Jace had was bitter regret.
To get his mind to calm down, he marched into the kitchen and yanked open a drawer. He pulled out a couple of hand warmers and cracked them to get the chemicals to start producing heat. He sure couldn’t stay here and rehash everything that had happened. If he did, he’d have to fix all the holes he’d punch into the walls.
Better to channel that anger into productive work, and he was sure there was something on the ranch that needed to be done. Something no one else wanted to do.
But Jace would do it. Good, old dependable Jace, who thought it better to dedicate himself to a ranch than to a woman. At least the ranch would never leave him.
Belle didn’t call and request his presence to pick out countertops or curtains for a solid week. He saw her at church, but she sat with Landon, and Jace didn’t want his cowhand to know that he’d held his sister’s hand. Belle hadn’t said anything to Landon either, or Jace would’ve had the cowboy in his face at the ranch.
He didn’t call her or text her either. His decision made, Jace intended to keep to himself until he could figure out how to move on. He was determined to keep things professional between them.
So when his phone buzzed on Thursday morning while he processed the payroll, surprise shot through him to see her name attached to a text.
We’ll be ready to paint on Monday. Does that work for the ranch?
She didn’t ask if it worked for him, and the difference wasn’t lost on Jace. A pinch started behind his eyes, and he focused on his work instead of answering her. She could wait.
He didn’t make her wait long. Just wasn’t in him, he supposed. Monday’s fine. What do I need to do to be ready for the painters?
We’ll start in the lodge. Just try to move all the furniture away from the walls.
Sure thing. He’d just finished his text when Landon poked his head into the office. “Walt and Ty just got back, and they need to see you.”
Jace stood without questioning Landon. He’d sent Walt and Ty out to feed the herd—a task that required using tractors and hauling hay for hours—and he knew their tractors needed maintenance. He’d spent his rage in the equipment bay for hours when he’d been trying to work through his feelings for Belle.
“Something with the tractor?” he asked when he met the pair only a couple of steps down the hallway.
Ty, a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-twenties glanced at Walt, his senior by a decade. The man had been in business before leaving it for the slower life on a ranch. He’d learned the work was just as never-ending, but in a different way.
“She got stuck, like we knew she would.” He exchanged a glance with Ty. “We were a little aggressive getting ‘er out, and well, we mowed over a fence.”
Alarms rang in Jace’s ears. “The cattle?”
“We need all hands on deck,” Ty said. “Several boys already went out to try to keep the ones that are still contained inside the fences. But some are loose.”
Jace hurried back to his office and grabbed his coat. “How many are loose?” He swiped the radio from his desk.
“Couple dozen,” Ty said. “Sorry, boss.”
“Don’t be sorry. Let’s just round ‘em up.” Jace led the way out of the lodge and into the nearly frozen air. “Why didn’t someone just radio in?”
“We did, boss. You didn’t answer. That’s why we sent Landon in to get you. Wasn’t sure what was goin’ on.”
Jace frowned at the radio, but as he rounded the building and faced the paddocks where they kept the cows in the winter, his attention got swept away by the chaos before him. He spent months getting the cows comfortable around humans, but now scared cattle lowed from near barns and other places they deemed safe.
A dozen men, including Rob, swarmed around the site of the accident. No one seemed to be doing anything, though.
“Boys!” Jace called as he strode forward. “Half of you go get your lassos. Ty, Caleb, Tucker, Paul, Wade, and Walt.” He rattled names off in an authoritative tone. “The rest of you get rope from the barn and let’s get this tractor out of here. Landon, fetch me one, will you? Rob and I will keep the cows inside.”
The weathered owner looked at him and nodded, his eyes shining with the same emotion dancing through Jace: Excitement.
Winter held only the promise of boring chores—in bitter temperatures—on the ranch. Prepping for breeding, for calving, for planting. Paying men to feed thousands of cows. Dealing with thousands of cows and their nutritional needs.
Yes, a stuck tractor, a broken fence, and loose cattle definitely added spice to Jace’s predictable day, and he wasn’t at all sorry about it.
Belle skipped church on Sunday. When Landon texted her and asked why she wasn’t there, she told him she wasn’t feeling well. It wasn’t entirely a lie. The thought of seeing Jace tomorrow morning at the ranch had kept her stomach in knots since she’d texted him on Thursday.
His response had seemed casual, but she couldn’t tell much through a text. She knew their communication had come to a screeching halt after that fateful lunch. She’d quit working on his project, ins
tead focusing on her proposal for the Flathead Lake Hotel and then meeting with Tilly about her needs at the lodge. She’d set up painters for Horseshoe Home, and that should take several weeks to get all the cabins and the lodge done.
So instead of going to church—where she’d just avoid Jace—she paced in her kitchen, her mind churning over what she’d do to the house if it were hers to remodel. She closed her eyes and imagined it as a blank canvas where she could add her personal touch.
These thoughts calmed her, the way they always did. Designing was the only thing that ever could. She had another reason for skipping church too—she didn’t want to continue pondering how she could forgive Beau for not sticking up for her when everything had come to a head. Or Melissa for blaming her for the botched barn door, and then Jillian for saying she’d had to fix three of Belle’s previous orders but had never said anything.
She also didn’t want to try to figure out why she hadn’t stood up for herself. It was so much easier to just leave all that in the past, boxed up in a small place in the back of her mind. And going to church made her unpack that box and examine the contents. Relive the situation. Be blamed again. Stay silent.
And she didn’t want to do that again. Not today, not the day before she had to go face Jace.
You will have to face him soon, she told herself. Then what will you do?
No answer came, and Belle rushed to the TV and turned on the loudest movie she could find. Anything to drown out the worries in her head.
The following morning, she took two sips of coffee before pushing it away. She parked at the ranch an hour before her painting crew was slated to arrive. She entered the lodge with such heart palpitations she thought she’d need to see a cardiologist.
Men moved desks, tables, chairs, and bookcases, clearing a wide path around the circumference of the room. She glanced around for Jace but didn’t see him.
“Mornin’.” A cowboy tipped his white hat at her and continued past to collect a chair still out of place.
Belle marveled at their efficiency, at the way they all worked together, at their quick smiles and bulging muscles. She watched one cowboy wrestle an eight-foot bookcase, singlehandedly moving it from where it had obviously stood for a long time.
“Belle.” Landon spotted her and came forward. “How’s it looking?”
“Great,” she said. “Where will you guys work? We’ll be here for a while. I didn’t mean you had to move everything away from every wall.”
Landon gave her a quick hug. “Boss said we’ll have to meet in the break room until you move in there, and we’re keeping some stations.” He nodded to a couple of desks that barely had room for someone to sit at them. Belle didn’t even think she could squeeze herself between the chair and the desk, and no way someone as broad as Jace or Landon could.
“Where is the boss?” she asked.
“Fixin’ equipment.” He sighed. “It’s a never-ending process around here, and Jace is great with a wrench.”
Belle wondered what Jace wasn’t great with, but she kept that question to herself. “Painters should be here in a little bit. I wanted to talk to Jace first. Do you think he would mind if I went out to see him?”
“Nah.” Landon pushed open the door and led her outside. She shoved her gloved hands in her coat pockets at the sudden blast of cold air. “See that rounded, metal building? That’s where we keep the tractors and balers and combines. He’ll be in there.”
“Thanks.” She pecked Landon on the cheek and hurried down the steps. Surely the equipment building wasn’t heated, but at least the wind wouldn’t have the opportunity to steal down the back of her collar.
Her eyes took a few moments to adjust to the dim interior of the building, and she’d been right. It wasn’t much warmer in here than outside. She blew on her frigid fingers as she moved down the aisle that separated the massive building into halves.
“Jace?” she called.
“Down here.” He poked his head out from between two machines and waved.
She stayed on the path, her heart cartwheeling through her chest. She willed it to settle as she cast her eyes on his bent form. His broad shoulders looked small compared to the jaws of the engine he was working on.
“I wanted to talk about the painting schedule.” She had a folder in her purse, but she didn’t take it out.
“Go ahead.” He didn’t look at her, didn’t sound happy to see her, didn’t seem enthused to entertain her while he worked.
Something about him with grease on his hands and his head under the hood of the tractor spoke to her. She found him more attractive now than ever before. And she had no idea what to do about it.
She cleared her throat, wishing the thoughts about Jace would go as easily. “We’ll be a week in the main room of the lodge. It’ll take another week to do the offices and the kitchen area. After that, we’ll move to the individual cabins.” She shuffled through the contents of her purse, her fingers slipping over the file she needed.
Several seconds passed while she tried to get it out, each one increasing her awkwardness. She wasn’t sure why she needed it, only that she wanted to have something besides him to look at.
“I put your house first,” she said as she found the folder and pulled it out. “It’ll take about three days per cabin. We’ll move down the row from there, ending with that one way out in the fields.”
“That’s Tom’s.” His voice sounded metallic because he still hadn’t removed his head from the blasted cavity of the tractor.
“Okay,” she said, unsure of what else he wanted. She didn’t care who owned which cabin. She just needed him to agree to the schedule. “If each cabin takes three days, that’s forty-two days of painting. If we pay them for Saturday, we can have the cabins and the lodge done in nine weeks.”
He finally pulled himself to a standing position. “Nine weeks just to paint?”
“You’re doing thousands and thousands of square feet.” She snapped the folder closed. “And we’ll then start on the lodge’s floors while the cabins are being painted. Don’t worry, boss. I aim to have everything done out here at Horseshoe Home in twelve weeks. So we’ll paint one week, and then two weeks later, we’ll put in carpet, curtains, furnishings, the works. Each cabin will take about a week. The administration lodge will go through three cycles, as we need to do the kitchen area.”
His frown deepened the longer she talked, and she finally cut herself off. Did he think she could renovate and remodel fifteen buildings—one of which was four-thousand square feet—in a couple of weeks?
“Boss?” he finally said.
She couldn’t see his eyes, as he kept his head ducked while he wiped his hands on a blue rag.
“Right,” she said. “You’re the boss.”
“Not your boss.”
“You’re absolutely my boss,” she said. “You paid me to do a job.” She would not let his vulnerability and charm and good looks worm their way under her skin again. He’d made himself clear after their last lunch with his silence and his distance.
Truth was, she probably needed the silence and distance too. And time. Time to figure out what to do after she finished these few jobs she’d contracted. Time to figure out who she was. Time to discover how to forgive.
“Well, my crew will be here in a few minutes. Good day, foreman.” She spun on her heel and marched away. The heavier footfalls of Jace came up behind and then beside her, but she didn’t look at him.
“I’ve made you angry,” he said.
“Of course you have,” she said. “It’s what you’re best at.”
“You’re no picnic either.”
“You know just how to make a woman feel special.” She rolled her eyes and stepped into the bright sunlight, wishing some of its warmth actually made it this far north.
She’d gone a dozen steps when he called, “I’m sorry, Belle. I don’t mean to be so good at rubbin’ you the wrong way.”
She raised her hand to indicate that she’d heard
him, but she didn’t slow and she didn’t look back. Having a conversation with the man made her blood boil. How, exactly, was she thinking they could have a meaningful, long lasting relationship?
The only thing Belle could conclude was that she was delusional. Not anymore, she told herself as she ascended the steps and re-entered the lodge. Her crew had obviously just arrived, if the pink tinge in their cheeks said anything.
“Miss Belle,” Carlos, the painting team lead, said. “Where should we start?”
Jace stayed in the equipment hall longer than necessary. In fact, he could’ve made his way back with Belle, but her body language screamed angry and frustrated, and he couldn’t exactly blame her. At the same time, she owned a phone too. She obviously knew how to use it. Why did the burden to make contact and plan dates always fall on him? Wendy had acted the same way.
Cold fear punctured his lungs, seeped down into his stomach and iced his throat. If Belle was even a hint like Wendy, he couldn’t afford to tangle with her.
Problem was, all he thought about was getting closer to her, knowing her better, having her in his life.
“What do you want?” he asked the tractors. None of them responded. But Jace’s heart did, loud and clear.
He wanted Belle Edmunds.
8
Jace entered the lodge, expecting to see a crew of men on ladders, with ceilings taped and paint rollers already dipped in the flagstone gray he had chosen. He found Belle directing three men while wearing coveralls, as if she herself would grab a brush and start painting.
As he stared, the men began taping and Belle opened a huge five-gallon bucket of paint. She stirred using an electric blender, and Jace’s admiration for her shot to the sky. Watching her work was…strangely appealing. Her strength and knowledge anchored him, and he unconsciously moved toward her.
“Need a hand?”
“Not yours.” She didn’t look at him as she pulled her long hair back and secured it. “This one’s ready, Carlos.”