Starting Over at Steeple Ridge (Timeless Romance Single Book 3)

by Liz Isaacson

  When he remained silent, she glanced at him. “What’s up?”

  “I’m not sure.” He walked toward her, his cowboy boots clomping against the pine floor, and sat across from her. “Is everything okay with you?”

  “Just fine.” She shuffled some papers around on the desk. “Here’s the stuff you need.”

  She knew exactly what was bothering her, but she didn’t want to say it. Not out loud. Not in front of Tucker. So she busied herself with reviewing her lesson plans for that day’s camp.

  “Missy.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I didn’t mean to kiss you at work.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “I—” Tucker swiped the folder from the desk. “Can you talk to me for a second?”

  Missy appreciated the direct way he spoke and didn’t want to play games with him, but it still took a great deal of effort for her to meet his gaze. She found kindness and—love?—in his dark eyes, and her breath hitched.

  “There’s something bothering you, and I’d like to know what.” He spoke in a slow, even voice, and the strength in his tone infused her with the confidence she needed.

  She hadn’t spent much time trying to figure out how to tell him how much debt she had. Every time she thought of it, she distracted herself with something else, frustrated with herself for putting money between them.

  “I—” Her voice didn’t seem to work; her mind couldn’t find the words.

  Tucker waited. She hadn’t expected a big corporation guy to have patience at all, but Tucker had been nothing but patient. With her. With himself as he learned the ropes of horse boarding and farming.

  “My husband left me with thousands of dollars of debt,” she blurted. “I—I was supposed to buy this farm when Jamie retired, but it was impossible.” Tears sprang to her eyes, where she pushed against them. She couldn’t believe it still hurt when she acknowledged that this particular dream of hers was unrealized. That it would never be realized.

  Tucker’s shoulders drooped, and his face dropped as he studied his hands. “So I show up, with all my money and all my inexperience, and take it from you.” He looked at her. “I’m sorry.”

  Missy sniffled and shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not your fault. It’s just … something I’m dealing with.”

  His eyes sparked with an emotion Missy couldn’t quite categorize, and they held hers for four, five, six heartbeats before she couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. He remained silent and still for several more moments—until Missy thought she’d explode if he didn’t say or do something. Right at that breaking point, he stood and said, “We all make mistakes, Missy. I’ve made plenty.”

  “Sure,” she said without looking at him. Of course she knew everyone had made mistakes. Hers just seemed so long-lasting and crippling.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he said, and left the office.

  The fight left Missy’s body; her muscles turned soft and spongy. She stared at the empty doorway, wondering if she’d have to pay for her mistake of marrying Kelton for the rest of her life.

  “Of course you will,” she mumbled to herself. The half dozen bills she had pinned to that bulletin board in her kitchen testified of it.

  Tucker worked hard around the ranch, arriving before Missy did in the morning and staying after she left. He paid attention to what the other cowboys did, what tasks she gave them, how she interacted with the clients and parents.

  He built her an amazing app for the IEA show coming up in the middle of September. He’d shown it to her a couple of times at work, and she’d exclaimed over its ease and professional design; her happiness over having something the other riders and all the parents could use was obvious.

  He was reminded why he’d loved his work in New York City. As July faded into August, Tucker felt a pull to go back to the city. But he remembered his life there and how unhappy he’d been. As he leaned against the white fence and gazed toward the forest where he’d first kissed Missy, a keen sense of contentment and joy spread through him.

  “You look lost,” Missy said as she sidled up beside him.

  He lifted his arm over her shoulders. “Not anymore.” Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her, the brims of their cowboy hats knocking together. He swiped his off and kissed her properly, the way she’d been letting him for weeks now. Still, he felt something between them. Something holding her back. But he didn’t want to offer to pay off all her debts. He would, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate such an offer.

  He tucked her into his side and sighed. “So the camps are over.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you do with all your free time?”

  “Advertising,” she said. “For our junior teams, and fall lessons, and filling the boarding stalls.”

  “That reminds me,” he said. “I was in the office when the phone rang last night after you’d left.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, some guy name Paul … Paul something called. He’s got six horses he needs boarding for.”

  “Paul Fletcher?”

  “Sure, that sounds right.”

  “Tucker,” she said, and the crispness of her voice alerted him to her frustration. “Paul Fletcher owns a chain of movie theaters in Burlington. He’s one of our biggest clients.”

  “All right,” Tucker said. He was used to working with high-profile clients, and someone who brought them six horses didn’t seem that big to him anyway.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said you’d call him back today with our calendar.”

  Missy spun out of his arms. “And you’re just telling me now?” She strode down the path between the two pastures, her back straight and strong.

  Tucker hurried to follow her. “It’s six horses, Missy. What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal, Tucker?” She stopped and glared at him. “He allows us to advertise at all his theaters. For free. He still pays to board his horses here all winter. His daughter participated in our shows, and he donates to the farm.”

  “He called at six o’clock last night,” Tucker said. “It’s not even noon.”

  “You should’ve told me first thing this morning.”

  “I could’ve told you last night when I stopped by. I just forgot. I didn’t realize—”

  “That’s exactly it.” Missy jabbed her finger into his chest, and it hurt. “You don’t realize. You think because you’ve shown up here with a bottomless bank account and a cowboy hat that you’re a cowboy.” She scanned him and definitely found him lacking. Tucker stepped back, his heart breaking into a spasm that peaked when she said, “Well, you’re not,” and stomped off.

  He watched her go, at a loss for what he’d done wrong. Surely this Paul guy wouldn’t take his horses somewhere else simply because Missy hadn’t called him back at eight o’clock that morning.

  He shook his head. No, Missy’s outburst was a symptom of something else: Tucker had taken the farm from her.

  His heart ached, and the sense of hopelessness driving through him caused him to move to the nearby fence and lean on it for support. How could he fix this?

  Diamond King, Missy’s horse, approached and nosed Tucker’s hand. “Hey, boy,” he said to the horse, feeling instant relief simply from the presence of the animal. “Is she always like that? She’ll get over it, right?”

  Diamond King snuffled, and Tucker took that to mean, Yes, she’s always like that, and yes, she’ll get over it.

  Missy left Steeple Ridge right after she called Paul Fletcher and scheduled his favorite six stalls starting on October first. She’d had it on the calendar to call him on September first, and she’d apologized profusely for not contacting him sooner.

  He’d assured her over and over that it was fine. He was simply going to be out of town for most of September and wanted to make sure he had housing for his horses for the winter, as usual. When she’d asked if he needed boarding while he was gone in September, he’d said that he was taking th
e horses with him to Colorado, to his family’s cabin there.

  Everything had been fine. Nothing was lost. Missy should go apologize to Tucker for her cruel words, but she didn’t have the energy or courage. So lunchtime found her on the road to Burlington, where she hoped her mother would have something stewing on the stove.

  As she drove, she realized she was running away from Tucker. Sort of. “You’re really running away from yourself,” she said to the empty cab. Everything had changed when he’d kissed her. She’d started falling in love with him then, and those warm, gooey feelings conflicted with the fact that he had more money than a king and she didn’t, and that he owned the farm she desperately wanted.

  She’d let his money become a wedge between them, growing until she exploded at him over nothing.

  Missy pushed her self-deprecating thoughts from her mind. She just needed to talk to her mother, and maybe eat one of her apple pies, and then figure out how to move forward. She pulled into her family’s driveway and headed inside.

  The scent of baking bread met her nose, further calming her. “Mom!” she called, already knowing she’d find her mom in the kitchen. Sure enough, when she’d walked down the hall and turned the corner, she found her mom standing at the stove with her grandmother.

  Even better. Missy smiled at the two of them standing side by side and said, “Is there room for one more?”

  “Missy.” Her grandmother turned and enveloped Missy into a tight embrace. “Look at you, honey. How are the horses?”

  “Just fine, Gramma. What are you guys making?”

  “Wild mushroom soup and crusty bread.” Her mother took one look at her and startled. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Ma.”

  Her mom cocked her head. “Liar. What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “I took today off.” Missy stepped away to sit at the counter.

  Her mom exchanged a glance with her grandma. “Oh boy. We better get out the strawberry rhubarb jam.”

  “Ma—” Missy started to protest, but the denial died on her tongue. “Fine. I got in a fight with Tucker over something stupid, and now I feel stupid.”

  Gramma stirred while Missy’s mom bent to check the bread in the oven, the silence they let hang in the air almost suffocating.

  “I just … he’s super rich, did I tell you that?”

  “Yes, you did.” Her mom pulled a golden loaf of bread out and set it on the granite counter in front of Missy.

  “And I guess I’m mad at him for buying the farm when I wanted it so badly.”

  Her mom nodded, like Missy’s feelings were completely normal. She knew they weren’t. She hadn’t known Tucker before he bought the farm. He hadn’t known her. Didn’t know of her dreams to own and operate Steeple Ridge. He’d done nothing wrong, and yet Missy felt like she couldn’t trust him.

  “Is this the man you’re dating?” Gramma asked.

  Missy groaned and put her head in her arms. “Yes.”

  “Maybe you should marry him, and then you’d own the farm.”

  “Gramma,” Missy groaned. “That’s not how things work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mom,” Missy’s mother said gently. “This isn’t really about money.” She glanced at Missy. “Right, Missy?”

  Missy shrugged, but her mother’s words set her mind into motion. A sense of belonging and warmth encompassed her as she sipped her soup and talked with her mom and grandma. She spent a wonderful, peaceful afternoon with them before escaping to her old bedroom in the basement.

  Her phone rang at six o’clock, like Tucker had programmed an app to call her at that precise time. Still confused, still unsure, she sent the call to voicemail and went upstairs to lose herself among the dozens of loud, laughing Marino family members.

  The next morning, Missy met her mom in the kitchen. “Hey, sweetheart.” Her mom stirred a pot of oatmeal with vigor. “What are you doing today? Heading back to Steeple Ridge?”

  Missy sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “What have you decided?”

  “I don’t know.”

  When her mom stopped stirring and turned to face her with a hard look on her face, Missy braced herself to hear something she probably wouldn’t like.

  “When are you going to admit you’re in love with him?”

  “What?” Missy scoffed. “That’s … that’s not what this is at all.”

  “Mm hm.” Her mom brushed Missy’s auburn hair out of her face. “You keep lying to yourself, and you’ll lose him. You think about that on the way back to the farm.” She turned back to the stove, the conversation clearly over.

  Missy didn’t stay for breakfast. She gave her mom a kiss, though she felt raw and shredded on the inside from her mom’s scathing words, and slipped out the front door before anyone else showed up in the kitchen.

  When are you going to admit you’re in love with him?

  Was she in love with Tucker Jenkins? They had spent countless hours together over the past four months. She’d taught him everything he needed to know to run the farm—and she resented him for it.

  “You …” She shook her head. She didn’t get to blame him for her past. For her financial troubles. For the stark reality that she couldn’t afford the farm, and he could.

  As the outskirts of Island Park came into view, the first of Missy’s tears fell. She pulled over in the parking lot of the elementary school, which next week would be teeming with parents and children but for now sat empty and barren.

  The same way Missy felt inside. At least the way she felt inside without Tucker.

  She leaned her head against the steering wheel and prayed. Prayed to finally forgive Kelton. Prayed to find a way to release the resentment she harbored toward Tucker. Prayed for help to make the right choices that would allow her to move forward.

  She gave herself time to weep, time to think, time to feel. In the end, she pulled herself together and continued toward the farm, where she prayed she’d have the strength and courage to face Tucker and talk everything out.

  When she arrived, his giant black truck wasn’t in the parking lot. She found Sam and Ben in the main barn, brushing down horses. “Hey,” she said, sticking her hands in her front pockets and keeping her cowboy hat pulled down low over her red-rimmed eyes. “You guys seen Tucker?”

  “He came in early,” Sam said without looking away from his task. “He said he was going down to the city.”

  Pure fear snaked through her. “New York City?”

  “I guess.”

  Missy spun away from the cowboys, unwilling to let them see her cry. But the tears pushing behind her eyes now weren’t from desperation or sadness: they were from anger.

  He’d left? At the first sign of trouble, he’d just packed up and gone?

  Her fingers trembled as she arrived in the office and collapsed behind the desk. Through her emotional distress, she caught sight of an envelope on the desk with her name scrawled on the front.

  Tucker’s handwriting.

  She picked it up and ripped it open.

  Missy,

  I’m sorry I upset you over the Paul issue. I can see you got his horses scheduled for the winter. What I don’t know is where you went. I suspect your family’s house in Burlington, and it’s taking everything I have not to drive up there right now. But I respect you, and I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted.

  Which is why I’m leaving Steeple Ridge for a while. It’s obvious you resent me for buying the place, and if there was something I could do to rewind time and prevent your ex-husband from leaving you with too much debt to buy the farm, I think I would. I just want you to be happy.

  I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. I hope you know how much I’ve enjoyed my time at Steeple Ridge with you. I’ll be in touch.

  Tucker

  Missy reread the letter, her heart twisting and turning and toppling in her chest. In that moment, she realized that Tucker had become a cowboy: a g
entleman with country manners and a good heart.

  Not only that, but her mother had spoken true. Missy did love Tucker.

  And now he was gone.

  Because of her.

  Tucker exhaled as he stood on the street, waiting for a cab he could signal. The hustle and bustle of the city assaulted him on all sides, and he felt completely out of place in his jeans, cowboy boots, and red polo. Those passing behind him wore black and navy suits, carried briefcases, and spoke into cell phones.

  His fingers tightened around his phone, but he talked himself out of calling Missy again. She’d see his call. She’d listen to his message. And when she got back to Steeple Ridge, she’d find his note.

  After he’d realized she’d left work early—something he’d never seen her do, or even heard her speak about doing—he knew there was more at play than just him not conveying a message quickly enough.

  As he’d stood in the office, a space completely infested with Missy’s scent, Missy’s touch, Missy’s spirit, he’d realized that she resented him for buying Steeple Ridge, for being rich, for being a City Boy in her country town.

  He finally flagged down a cab and said, “Central Park at Fifty-Seventh Street.” He’d sold his luxury condo in Greenwich, but his parents still lived in the condo they’d bought five years ago overlooking Central Park.

  He hadn’t exactly told them he was coming. He hadn’t exactly planned to take a break from Steeple Ridge until that morning. Well, maybe last night, after he’d called Missy and she hadn’t answered.

  Tucker reached into the front pocket of the backpack he’d brought with him, his fingers meeting the edges of the papers he’d taken from Missy’s house. No one in Island Park ever locked anything, Missy included, and when he’d stopped by last night, he’d gone right in through the front door like he’d been doing all summer long.

  She’d left Fritz behind, so he knew she wouldn’t be gone long, but the house felt empty and lifeless without her there. He’d let Fritz into the backyard and filled the dog’s water bowl, when his eye caught hold of the papers pinned to the bulletin board in her kitchen.

  He’d spent a lot of time at her house after work over the past couple of months, but he’d never seen the bulletin board. As he examined it, he realized he was looking at the reason she hadn’t been able to buy Steeple Ridge Farm when she’d wanted to.