by Liz Isaacson
Generational trees offered shade, and as Landon wandered the perimeter of the property, he appreciated that the ad had been accurate when it said that the buildings were immaculate. Tires crunched over gravel, and he turned back to where he’d parked.
A bright red sports car pulled in next to his rental, and a leggy blonde woman emerged from the car. “You must be Landon Edmunds.”
“And you must be Shelly Harvey.” They shook hands, and she handed him a folder. “That has the square footage, the water rights, a map of the property—there are thirty-four additional acres to the south that are available, if you’re interested.”
“I’m interested in it all,” Landon said.
“Perfect,” Shelly said. “Let’s start in the house.”
Two hours later, Landon buckled himself into a burning hot car and set the air conditioner to blow, hard. He waited while Shelly drove away, while the deluxe horse ranch sat before him in all its glory.
“It’s beautiful,” he said to himself. Megan tumbled through his mind, and Landon’s thoughts scattered. He hated this new feeling. This feeling of not knowing what to do.
He imagined her in the car with him. “So what do you think?” He wasn’t sure if Megan would enjoy living so far from a city, but he wanted to find out.
He imagined her dark eyes as they searched his, and he pulled out his phone and called her.
“Hey, you,” she said.
“Hey yourself.”
She laughed. “How’s the horse ranch?”
He exhaled. “It’s really nice, actually.”
“It looked beautiful in the pictures.”
He couldn’t tell her mood or her emotion through the phone. He’d lost some of his bravery when his leg had been injured. He’d lost a lot of his confidence when Lauren ran off with someone else. But now, he needed both of those things.
“Megan,” he started. “I want to buy it. I really like it.”
“Well, that’s—”
“But I’m not going to move down here until…well, I’m wondering if maybe you want to go to dinner when I get back in town.”
She remained silent for so long, Landon pulled the phone from his ear to make sure the call was still connected. It was.
“Megan?”
She inhaled. “I eat dinner, yes.”
Relief speared the tension in Landon. “Great.”
“Don’t be all ‘great’ yet.”
He wished she’d tack a giggle onto the end of such a serious statement. But she didn’t. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I want you to finish the sentence, ‘I’m not going to move down here until….’”
Landon looked out the window. “Are you always this pushy?”
She laughed. “Usually.”
At least she was honest too. And Landon appreciated honesty, as well as someone who seemed as intense as he was. “I like you,” he said simply. “I don’t want to leave Gold Valley until I help you fix up the church…until I have a chance to get to know you better.”
“When will you be back?” she asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Can’t wait.”
After Landon hung up and started the journey back to Rock Springs, where he was staying until his flight home the next day, he realized he couldn’t wait to see Megan either.
Megan’s stomach felt like someone had released a herd of hungry caterpillars. So many feet moving in a thousand different directions.
“Calm down, calm down,” she coached herself. Her own legs paced her from one end of the living room to the other, completely uncalm.
Landon would be at her apartment any minute, and she couldn’t remember the last time she felt this nervous. She pressed her palms together and sent up a prayer that she wouldn’t say something about how much money he had, wouldn’t ask him a question that would drive him away.
“Be natural,” she muttered. “Be cool.” Problem was, she’d never really been able to act cool. When something got her worked up, she addressed it.
Before she could give herself another pep talk, knocking sounded on her door. She spun toward it, her heart skipping a beat and then pumping out two.
A man hadn’t come knocking at her door for years. After she and Eric had settled into their relationship, they’d leave work together, or he’d text her when he was outside her house, or they’d meet somewhere.
To actually have Landon come to the door and knock made Megan’s throat dry and her pulse pound. Somehow she got her feet to move toward the door, her fingers to curl around the knob, her arm muscles to pull.
The sight of him standing on her landing made her weak, and she sagged into the door for support. “Hey,” she said breathlessly. He wore jeans and a black polo, his cowboy boots, and a charcoal-colored cowboy hat. She could just see his blond sideburns, and her fingers itched to touch them.
He gripped the doorframe like the sight of her rendered him weak too. “Hey, yourself.” He kicked a smile in her direction, his eyes traveling from her head to her feet and back. “Don’t you look nice?”
She glanced down at her black-and-white flowered blouse, her dark skinny jeans, and her jeweled sandals. She wondered if she’d be too warm on this summer evening and briefly considered running to change into shorts.
“I don’t know,” she said, dismissing the idea of leaving him in her living room while she changed. “Do I?” Megan glanced up at him in time to see the spark of desire in his eyes.
“Mm hm.” He swept into her apartment, his presence powerful and welcome, and took her in his arms. He squeezed her tight and said, “It’s good to see you,” before he stepped back.
Every cell in her body started to hum. “I want to hear all about your trip to Utah.” Megan half-stumbled, half-stepped to the couch, where she’d set her purse in anticipation of his arrival. “But first, I want a plate of French fries and the biggest diet soda I can get.”
“I know just the place for that.” Landon extended his hand to her, a hopeful, vulnerable edge in his eyes. She held his gaze for a few moments, basking in that look, wondering why he wasn’t the all-powerful, super-confident rodeo star she’d seen tame the wildest of bulls.
As she willingly slipped her hand into his, she realized that all her fantasies about Landon were just that—fantasies. He was a person. Someone with successes, sure. But also someone with failures.
And she wanted to know the good, the bad, and the ugly.
“You been to Fizz & Fries yet?” he asked. “I mean, I know you said you’ve been back in Gold Valley for several weeks, but well….” His head dipped as he scanned her again. “You don’t look like the type to eat a plate of French fries every day.”
She tipped her head to the sky and offered a carefree laugh. The sound of joy it contained surprised her. As she sobered, she realized the heavy cloud of fear and shame she’d been hiding under. And she didn’t like it. She wanted to feel and sound as joyful as that laugh had been.
“You’re right,” she managed to say through the fog of her self-realization. “I haven’t eaten a plate of French fries once since I came home.” She looked up at him. “What else do they have there? Or are French fries between two pieces of bread acceptable?”
He beamed down at her, and time seemed to slow. If he’d stop walking, and just lower his head, his lips could find hers. She’d arch up to meet him.
“They have all kinds of toppings,” he said instead, shattering her singular thought of kissing him. “I like the fries with pulled pork, cheese, and ranch dressing.”
“Oh, so it’s like a meal.”
“Yeah. You can get just a plate of plain ol’ French fries too.” He opened the door of his truck for her, his hand sliding out of hers to her waist as he helped her into the monstrosity. “But they have garlic fries, sweet potato fries, spicy sriracha fries. Pretty much everything you can imagine.”
While he circled the truck, she took a deep breath of its Landon-scented interior, committing the masculine sm
ell of leather, horse, and aftershave to memory. On the way across town—the Fizz & Fries had smartly opened up next to the college campus—Landon told her about his trip to Utah, the horse ranch, everything.
“Sounds amazing,” she said, thankful she’d been able to keep the strangled note out of her voice.
“It’s really far from anything,” he said, glancing at her. “You more of a city girl, Megan?”
“Not big cities, no.” She turned toward him. “I lived in Jackson Hole before coming back here. It wasn’t huge, but there were a lot of people. Tourists all the time. Busy.” She’d worked in a tall building downtown, preparing marketing agendas for her bosses. “We did a lot of work with rafting companies, tour groups, that kind of thing.” She switched her attention out the windshield and watched a couple make their way into the restaurant. “I don’t really miss it.”
“The place? Or the job?” He opened his door and slid out of the truck, stalling on his side and waving her across the bench seat.
She slid over and down into his arms. “Both,” she murmured, feeling swimmy and safe in the circle of his arms. “Jackson did have a small, country feel,” she said. “I liked that.”
“Gold Valley has that,” Landon said. “Brush Creek does too, though I’ll admit it’s a bit smaller. There’s maybe five thousand people, and the horse ranch is outside of town, surrounded by acres of land.”
“Well, that’s what a cowboy loves, right?” She peered up at him, getting lost in the depth of his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. “Lots of land and a good horse to explore it with.” She smiled.
He returned it and moved away from her. He caught her hand in one of his and pushed the truck door closed with the other. “A man gets awfully lonely with only a horse for company. Believe me, I would know.”
“You would?” A thrill pulsed through her, originating at the place where his palm pressed against hers. His hands were so big, so warm, so calloused. They spoke of his work ethic. She sensed a gentle soul in the rough cowboy.
“Sure,” he said. “Traveling on the rodeo circuit isn’t a picnic. You have no permanent home. Livin’ out of a trailer doesn’t count. People come and go every weekend.” They stepped into the restaurant, which buzzed with activity and laughter, even on a Tuesday night.
“How long have you been at Horseshoe Home?” She stepped into line, very aware of everyone who glanced their way. She wasn’t a celebrity, and Landon had been off the rodeo circuit for a while, but she still felt self-conscious standing there holding hands with him.
“Oh, almost six years now. Six years in January, to be precise.”
“That’s got to be stable.”
“It is, sure.”
“But you’re still lonely.” She wasn’t really asking, because he wore the loneliness in the lines on his face.
“I—” He leaned closer to her as he cleared his throat. “I used to date all the time, but I went on a female fast a couple years ago.” He stepped forward when the line moved, turned toward her, and looked her straight in the eye. “Until you.”
Fear combined with shock and traveled through her bloodstream with the strength of a tsunami. “Did something happen?”
“Yeah,” he said darkly. “My girlfriend decided she liked cowboys.”
Megan squinted, trying to see what he really meant. “And you’re a cowboy.”
“She decided she’d try us all out.”
Megan squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.” She wanted to tell him about Eric, but she bit the words back.
“I loved her,” Landon said, his voice quiet among the louder voices of the college-age crowd around them. “It took me a long time to get over her.”
“But you’re over her?” Hope lifted Megan’s spirits.
“Most days,” he said, and Megan’s insides iced. “I still have some hard moments.” He stepped up to the counter and ordered the “Big Foot Fries,” and looked at her expectantly. She hadn’t even looked at the menu. She scanned it quickly while he ordered her diet soda.
“Garlic fries,” she said. “As many as I can get.”
The cashier smiled and punched a button. “What kind of sauce?”
“What kind do you have?” She was thinking ketchup—the classic for dipping fries.
Landon handed her a half sheet of laminated paper. “They have gourmet dipping sauces. My favorite is the mustard aioli, but I like the barbeque ketchup and the lemon pepper too.” He pointed to the paper. “Oh, and the honey butter.”
She scanned the list, her mind whirling through the two dozen choices. “Honey butter on fries?”
“It’s good.” He turned back to the cashier. “We want the mustard aioli, the barbeque ketchup, the lemon pepper, and some honey butter.”
“And some wasabi mayo,” Megan added, putting the sauce menu on the counter.
“Wasabi?” Landon asked. “That’s spicy, you know.”
“I like spicy.”
He drew her into his side but not before she caught a glimpse of the heat running through his expression. She smiled to herself, glad the feelings she had for him seemed to be mutual, and accepted a massive cup of diet soda. After she drew a long drink of liquid heaven, she sighed.
“Thank you,” she said, to Landon who smiled, and to the Lord, who had brought her back to Gold Valley. She hadn’t wanted to come. Had almost hired someone else to help her father get ready for retirement.
But now, standing with Landon as they waited for their gourmet French fries, she realized God had brought her home to heal.
And to fall in love? she wondered, but she quickly dismissed the thought. She needed to know more about Landon before she could even approach the subject of being with him for longer than it took to have a meal.
Sure, she loved the idea of him. She had since her teen years. But she was smarter now. Older. And no matter how much she tried to tell herself she was over Eric, she knew deep down she wasn’t.
8
Megan didn’t pull herself from bed until almost ten o’clock the next morning. She’d been up until almost three a.m. so she wasn’t really just lying in bed, doing nothing. She did stay under the fluffy comforter for a few extra minutes, her thoughts rotating around Landon, and holding Landon’s hand, and seeing Landon later that morning.
She sat straight up, her heart thumping against her ribcage. She was supposed to meet Landon at the church that morning.
At nine o’clock.
Scrambling for her phone, she almost fell out of bed. She caught herself in time but stubbed her right big toe against her nightstand. A sharp hiss escaped her mouth, lengthening when she saw the flashing blue light on her phone.
He’d called—how had she not heard it?
Her panic reached epic proportions as she scanned the three texts Landon had sent.
At the church.
Tried to call you.
Coming over.
She yanked her head toward her bedroom window, which faced the parking lot. She hadn’t heard him knock. The doorbell hadn’t rung that she was aware of. Had she really been so tired she’d heard nothing?
The timestamp on his last text was forty minutes old. She launched herself toward the window and peered through the blinds. Sure enough, his truck waited in the parking lot. She couldn’t tell if he sat inside or not. She raked her fingers through her hair, and they got stuck in the tangles.
A moan rose through her throat. Her phone fell to the floor as her fingers turned numb. The resulting crash thawed her, and she flew into action. Her thumbs had never moved so fast.
I’m so sorry. I just woke up. Where are you?
It’s fine. I went to grab lunch. I’m downstairs.
At his lunch comment, a choked laugh shook her shoulders. I just need to shower. Can you give me another half hour?
Take your time.
But time she didn’t take. She flew through her shower, threw on clothes she hoped matched, and ran down the stairs with still-damp curls.
Sure enough, h
e sat in his truck and she caught him lowering half a breakfast sandwich from his mouth when she wrenched open the passenger door. “I am so sorry.” She climbed into the truck, the fleeting thought that she’d slide all the way over next to him and place a quick kiss on his cheek before he gave her the meal he’d bought for her.
“No problem.” He flashed her a smile and nudged a paper sack toward her. “Stay up too late?”
“No.” She opened the bag and found a bag of tater tots. “Well, yes. But I was studying and then I needed to get a sourdough starter going. Time got away from me.”
“Do you commonly stay up late?”
“I think best late at night. I can’t seem to focus until ten p.m.”
“I’m dead at ten p.m.” He chuckled. “In fact, I just put up black-out curtains because the dang sun doesn’t set soon enough.”
“I have them for the morning sun.” She slid him a glance. “Thank you for breakfast.”
He extended his hand toward her, and she slid close enough to feel his body heat. She ducked her head and popped another tater tot into her mouth. The silence settled between them easily as he drove over to the church.
By the time they arrived, she’d finished her orange juice and tater tots—but she’d never tire of holding his hand. He slid from the truck, taking her with him. He paused a few steps away and took a deep, deep breath. “It’s a good day to fix something.” He moved toward the back of the truck and lowered the tailgate.
By the time she turned toward him, he’d slung a tool belt around his waist. Standing there, Megan thought sure she’d faint. A man shouldn’t be allowed out in public looking so delicious. He made jeans look like an Italian suit and cowboy boots seemed like the finest footwear in the world.
And that tool belt hugging his waist?
She pulled her gaze away from him before she lost consciousness. Thankfully, breathing was an involuntary bodily function or he’d be peeling her off the pavement.
“Where do you want me to start?” Landon approached her, kicking her heart rate into overdrive.
Right here, with me, Megan thought. Ice spread through her insides, making every breath feel like it would crack her lungs. She’d never felt like this before, even with Eric. With a jolt, she realized she hadn’t thought of Eric for several days.