by Liz Isaacson
Chapter Twenty
Wyatt felt like he was playing a game of “say the first thing that comes to your mind when I ask you this question.”
Rhett had recommended a realtor to Wyatt, and only a couple of days had passed since he’d called the woman and set up this meeting. And boy, Marcy had been right. The woman had questions about everything.
“How many bedrooms?”
Wyatt had looked at Marcy. She’d looked at him.
“Four?” he guessed. He couldn’t even fathom why he’d need that many bedrooms. All of his family members lived right here in Three Rivers ,and they didn’t need to plan for guests.
“Baths?”
“Four?” he’d guessed again.
“One level or is two okay?”
“Two?”
How big of a yard do you want?” Melissa wore a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses, and she looked up with every question. After Marcy or Wyatt had guessed at the answer, she’d tapped on the tablet in front of her and fired off the next insane question.
Yes, he wanted central air conditioning. No, he didn’t want anything he had to fix up. He wanted the whole yard landscaped and done. He wanted a pasture for horses, and he couldn’t imagine a world where he couldn’t walk outside and see Kessler or any other animal he might buy in the future.
Yes, they needed a big garage. They both had cars, and Wyatt’s truck was actually a beast. So an over-sized garage would be great.
And a master wing, sure. He wanted privacy if they hosted parties, and if they had any children, any future parties could be contained in another part of the house.
Before Wyatt knew it, he’d realized he did have a lot of things he wanted in a home. He’d never thought about it before, and he’d lived out of a touring trailer for years of his life.
But that isn’t where you are anymore, he told himself. He’d done that to make the big bucks so he didn’t have to do that anymore.
Melissa had been quiet for a few minutes now, and Wyatt reached over and took Marcy’s hand in his. She could always calm him, and for some reason, he felt like he was about to get bad news.
Especially when Melissa said, “Hmm, really?” and started tapping furiously.
“There aren’t any houses for sale in Three Rivers,” he joked, and that brought the middle-aged woman’s head up again. She had thick, brown hair that fell in curls to her shoulders. She blinked as if she’d just realized she wasn’t alone in her office.
“There are,” she said slowly. “But nothing I think you two want.”
“Really?” Wyatt asked, leaning forward to look at her tablet. Because of the angle, he couldn’t see anything but a black screen. “There aren’t any houses with a small pasture and central air conditioning?”
“And a storage shed in the large backyard,” Melissa said. “And all one level, with a master wing, and a theater room, with a hot tub pad.” She cocked her eyebrows, and Wyatt took a turn blinking.
Marcy started to giggle, but Wyatt asked, “Did we really specify all of that?”
“And an office,” Melissa said. “Plus at least four other bedrooms, besides the office.”
“Don’t forget the large kitchen,” Marcy said, still grinning like this was a comedy act.
“How could I?” Melissa gave them both a smile and folded her arms over her tablet. “Here’s what I think. I think the two of you should build. There are some great lots—”
“Build?” Wyatt blurted out. “Like, a house?”
“You wouldn’t build it yourself, cowboy,” Marcy said, bursting into laughter right afterward.
Melissa chuckled too, but Wyatt didn’t want to build. He wanted to move into a new place that belonged to him and Marcy, so she’d stop saying everything was hers. And he wanted to do it in the next couple of months so they’d be settled before the tour. And then they could have their first Christmas together in their new house, and everything would be perfect.
So maybe he fantasized a little too much. Maybe he romanticized things when he should be teaching a horse to pull harder the moment the rope left his hand. Maybe he’d laid awake for a night or two, thinking about what a new house for him and Marcy could do and be.
“If you build,” Melissa said. “You’d get exactly what you want. And there are some animal lots on the west side of town.”
“In Rosewood?” Marcy asked.
Yes,” Melissa said, a measure of surprise in her voice. “You know them?”
“I drive past them on the way to the hangar every morning.” She looked at Wyatt. “We should look at the lots and think about building.”
He studied her fair features, and she sure didn’t seem to be kidding. He looked back to Melissa. “How long does it take to build?”
“Depends,” she said. “But they’re putting those houses up in Rosewood in about four months.”
October.
He’d be gone in October, and he frowned. You might be gone in October, he amended. He hadn’t committed to the tour yet, because Marcy was reluctant for him to go. She wasn’t sure why, only that she wanted to wait and see if God had a different plan for them.
Wyatt felt great about the tour, and he didn’t need to wait to go to church to know it. But the Sabbath day was tomorrow, and Wyatt figured he’d waited this long, he could wait one more day.
“And if you’re really thinking about building,” Melissa said, interrupting his thoughts. “A brand new development is coming to Three Rivers, and they’ll be estates.”
“Estates?” Marcy asked.
“What does ‘coming to Three Rivers’ mean?” Wyatt asked.
“It means the development has been announced to realtors, but they’re not officially on sale yet.” She touched her tablet, swiped, typed, and turned it to show them. “They go on sale on Tuesday.”
The estates on her screen took Wyatt’s breath away. They were huge, sprawling houses, with plenty of land around them. “Animals?” he asked.
“Yes,” Melissa said.
“One level?” Marcy asked.
“There will be several models, but yes. There are two or three one-level options. All the upgrades you can think of, even a heated driveway for the one time it snows up here.” She smiled and swiped. Swiped and smiled. “Huge master area, with a separate living room. Large, open spaces for family. Big kitchens.”
Everything she said manifested itself right there on the screen.
“And let me see….” She turned the table back toward herself. “I think there are options for outdoor buildings too.”
Wyatt just wanted to look at the pictures again. He met Marcy’s eye, and she was clearly interested in these estates too. He lifted his eyebrows, and she nodded.
“Yep,” Melissa said. “It says here that there are options for corrals, barns, sheds, coops, and more.” She looked up, her brown eyes bright. “Maybe you’d like to go out there and see those lots too.”
“Can we do that today?” Wyatt asked.
“Sure,” she said. “We can drive up there.”
“Up where?” Marcy asked. “And what will be the name of these estates?” She looked at Wyatt. “The name is important. We have to say to people, ‘oh, we live in Monument Garden,’ or whatever.”
He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “So you’re saying the name could break this for us.”
“I’m saying it’s important.” She smiled and looked back at Melissa.
“They’re calling this Church Ranches,” Melissa said. “It’s on Twelve Mile Road, on the northeast side of town.”
“Swanky,” Marcy said. “Tripp lives out close to there.”
“He’s not too far north,” Wyatt said.
“These are,” Melissa said. “And they go up into the hills a little bit—well, as much as we have hills here.” She grinned and stood up. “So let’s go look at the lots in Rosewood. You can get an idea of what’s going on there. And then we can head out to Twelve Mile Road. Sound good?”
“Yes,” Marcy said, st
anding up and shouldering her purse. Wyatt took an extra moment to get to his feet, mostly because he couldn’t believe they were going to look at lots today instead of houses.
“There’s really nothing for sale right now?” he asked.
Melissa paused at the edge of her desk. “Tell you what. I’ll take you by the biggest, most expensive house available right now. Before we look at the lots. And you can decide.”
Wyatt nodded, a bit of apprehension threading itself through his bones. Marcy waited until they were seated and buckled in his truck, following Melissa in her car, before she asked, “Why don’t you want to build, Wyatt?”
“Because,” he said. “It takes a long time.” He flipped on his right blinker and started into the turn. “In my head, I thought we’d find something and move before the tour.”
“Oh, so this is about the tour.”
He glanced at her, her slightly salty tone of voice saying she didn’t want to talk about the tour. “Why don’t you want me to go on the tour?”
“It’s not that I don’t want you to go.”
“Really? Because that’s how it seems.” Wyatt had participated in plenty of heated conversations, but somehow, talking to Marcy about something she didn’t want to talk about made his stomach clench.
“It’s just…I thought you were done with the rodeo.”
“I am.” Wyatt eased up on the accelerator when he saw Melissa brake. “This has nothing to do with the rodeo.” Melissa pulled over in front of a very big house that had a for sale sign in the lawn. He peered at the house as he came to a stop at the curb behind her.
“I don’t like this house,” Marcy said.
“Why not?” Wyatt couldn’t say he particularly did either. “I hate how it’s on a street with twelve other houses. There’s no room here.”
“That,” Marcy said, though she lived in a neighborhood like this one. “And where are all the big trees?”
“You think there will be big trees in a development with new homes?”
“There will be at those estates,” she said. “They’ll leave all the trees there and work around them.”
Wyatt had his doubts, but he didn’t say anything. Melissa came to Marcy’s side of the truck, and Wyatt rolled down the window. “This house is the size you want,” she said. “It has a large yard, but no room for horses. It’s two levels, and there’s no office and no hot tub pad.”
“We don’t want it,” Marcy said. “It’s too populated.”
“Ah, see that wasn’t on your list.” Melissa smiled. “But I figured.”
“He wants something just like Seven Sons.”
Surprise filtered through him while Melissa said, “Let’s go to Rosewood,” and started back toward her car.
“Do I want something just like Seven Sons?” he asked as he pulled back onto the street.
“I do,” Marcy said. “Except not as much land outside. You don’t want to run a ranch.” She looked at him. “Do you?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t want a ranch. I just want to be able to keep a few horses and goats if I want to.”
“Goats?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so, buddy.”
“Goats are out? Why?”
“What do you do with a goat?”
“You talk to them.”
“You talk to goats.” Marcy folded her arms and cocked her head at him. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.” He followed Melissa out of the neighborhood and back to the highway. “They’re good listeners.”
Marcy just shook her head. Wyatt liked Rosewood a heck of a lot more than the house in the middle of town. The homes were big, and the lots were too. He could potentially have a couple of acres for the house and the pasture, and it would do. But there weren’t many trees, and Marcy seemed stuck on the idea of Church Ranches.
So they drove clear across town and up Twelve Mile Road. The moment the road started inclining, Wyatt knew they were in the right place. “This is it,” he said. “There are your trees, Marce.”
Melissa turned, and Wyatt followed her. “Oh, they’ve got lots marked.”
“Yeah, they go on sale on Tuesday,” Marcy said. “They’ll have to be ready.”
“We might have to be ready too,” Wyatt said. “Do you think these will sell fast?”
“No, Wyatt,” Marcy said. “I don’t think they’ll sell fast.”
“Why not?”
She pointed to a sign on her side of the road, and Wyatt slowed to read it. “Oh,” he said once he’d gotten to the price tag. “Lots starting at seven-hundred and fifty thousand.”
“That’s for the lot,” Marcy said. “We can’t live here either.”
“Why not?” He stopped beside Melissa, and they got out of the truck.
“Here we are,” Melissa said. “There are only fourteen lots up here, and they’ve all been marked. There won’t be a model home, as the builder has a full display in their offices in Three Rivers. We can go there and look at them if you’d like.”
Wyatt didn’t need to look at the displays. This was the land they wanted. The houses would be high-end here. “How much are we talking for a house, the land, the outbuildings?”
“I thought you said you didn’t have a ceiling on your budget.”
“We don’t,” Wyatt said. “But we need to be reasonable.” Didn’t they?
“It’s a gated community,” Melissa said. “Everything is private. You wanted that, too.”
“Wyatt,” Marcy said. “We can’t afford this.”
He definitely could. He just hadn’t told Marcy how much money he had in his bank account yet. She knew he was rich; anyone who’d watched even a couple of his later videos in the rodeo knew. He’d retired as the richest cowboy in the association, for crying out loud. And that was before he counted his inheritance, which was also in the billions.
“Marcy,” he said quietly, moving her away from Melissa. “We can afford this. Even if it’s ten million dollars.”
Her eyes widened, and she searched his face. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” he said. “This is what you want, right?”
“I can’t just let you buy—"
“We’re married,” he said, though they hadn’t really talked about combining their assets yet. They’d been switching off paying her mortgage every month, and the months he did, she paid the utilities. They both bought food with their own money and put gas in their cars with their own money.
Foolishness hit Wyatt. So he’d married Marcy knowing he loved her. She loved him. They’d been living together, sharing a bed, working through her grief. But they hadn’t actually combined their lives yet. Why hadn’t he done that?
Behind him, Melissa talked on the phone, asking someone for the pricing structure here at Church Ranches.
Wyatt looked at Marcy, unsure of what to say next.
“The base model is roughly one-point-five million,” Melissa said, and he turned toward her. “It goes up from there, and Lorenzo, the selling agent I just spoke with, says with every upgrade he could think of, the top price would be about nine million.”
“We want one of these,” Wyatt said.
Marcy started to protest, but Wyatt gave her a glare that quieted her. “So, which lot would you recommend? I am sort of a celebrity.”
Melissa smiled and led him to a corner lot, explaining why she’d pick this one, pointing out the larger backyard, the potential for a back gate right into the woods, and how they could make sure a hot tub pad got poured.
Wyatt let himself begin to fantasize again, and while the idea of living in a construction zone for the next year didn’t enthuse him, owning a private, well-kept house in the woods certainly did.
When they got back in the truck, Marcy wasted no time in saying, “I looked you up online. This says you’re worth six-point-seven billion dollars.”
He glanced at her, the shock pouring off of her in waves almost comical. “Does it?”
“Wyatt Walker, you tell me the tr
uth right this second. Is that true?”
“Sugar, how many people televise their wedding?”
She sputtered, finally coming up with, “Well, I thought—I mean—your fans….” She exhaled. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s actually a little low,” he said coolly. “The western wear line has been going really well.” He grinned at her as they left the soon-to-be community of Church Ranches behind. “Now, where should we eat lunch? And nowhere outside; it’s hot today.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Tripp,” Ivory said, waking him. She groaned in the next moment, and that got Tripp’s heart beating.
“What?” he asked, sitting up and switching on the lamp beside the bed. “Are you okay?”
“I just had a contraction.” She smiled, though her eyes held a wide-eyed fear in them. Tripp felt it tripping through his body.
He jumped to his feet. “I’ll get the bag.”
“We can’t just go right now,” she said, scooting to the edge of the bed.
“We can’t?”
“We have to time them,” she said.
“Time them, right.” He practically dove for his phone, swiping so hard the device went flying out of his fingers.
“Calm down, honey,” she said, pulling in a long breath.
Calm down? Tripp hadn’t been truly calm since Ivory had told him she was pregnant. He was comfortable with his life, and he’d been doing the very best he could with Oliver. But this was going to be a child of his own. A child he’d helped create. And Ivory had to go through labor, and Tripp had never experienced that before.
He remembered the panic on Rhett’s face when he’d had his baby, and Tripp hadn’t understood it then.
He did now.
He retrieved his phone, wishing it wasn’t two-thirty in the morning. “Should I see if someone can come sit with Ollie? Liam said he would. Wyatt. Micah. We can take him to Seven Sons too, and he’ll be in heaven.”
“Liam,” Ivory said. “He said he’d come get him day or night and take him to the ranch.”
Tripp woke his phone and called his twin.
“Ivory’s in labor or you’re dead,” his brother said, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed a frog.