by Liz Isaacson
Megan’s sandals crunched on the rocks as she stood. “This place is nice, Landon.”
He closed the car door, shattering the silence and stillness out this far. “It is nice.” His tone suggested he wasn’t going to judge or commit until he’d seen everything. He wandered along a chest-high fence made of the same gray brick as the house. “Nice backyard.”
She wondered how many times he’d say “nice” today. How many times she should say it. The sound of another car approaching drew her attention. She watched as a man wearing a navy blue suit climbed out of his luxury SUV. “You must be Landon.” The man barely spared Megan a glance, even when Landon stretched his hand toward her and slid his fingers in hers.
“Yes. This is my girlfriend, Megan.”
The man gave her a cursory glance, but Megan suddenly didn’t mind. Sure, she and Landon had had the boyfriend/girlfriend talk, but the label certainly rang nicely in her ears. She moved with her boyfriend, catching the name Rick as they went up the front steps.
“Now turn and check out that view,” Rick said. “Can’t beat it anywhere.”
She twisted with Landon and found the beautiful red rocks only about a mile away. She sucked in her breath, grateful to be with Landon as he toured this ranch. Grateful he’d included her. Grateful for whatever time with him she had.
Landon liked Island Park just fine. The only barn was half as big as the smallest one on the ranch at Brush Creek, and the homestead paled in comparison though it boasted twice as much square footage. The previous owners had obviously decorated for the last time in the eighties.
He didn’t mind the cosmetic issues so much. The place came with forty-two acres at half the price of Brush Creek. The tack rooms were functional and heated, which was more than he could say for Horseshoe Home. No swimming pool, no hot tub. Still, he imagined himself at Island Park, with horses and a couple of dogs—and Megan.
He’d glanced at her several times during the walk-through, but he couldn’t get a read on her. Everything about the place seemed to mesmerize her. She let him take the lead on asking questions and examining areas first, seemingly happy to follow in his wake.
God existed out here, and Landon liked that. He could get out of his reality just by escaping the yard. Crossfire would love the fields here, but Landon couldn’t make a seven-hundred-thousand dollar decision on what he thought his horse would think. That would be ridiculous.
Rick handed him a business card at the conclusion of the tour, quite the difference from the folder of information he’d gotten from the other real estate agent. “Let me know what you think.”
“I like it,” Landon said as he slid the card in his back pocket. “How many people are looking at it?”
Rick glanced away and when his eyes came back, Landon could see the hint of a lie in the man’s eyes. “I have a lot of interest in it.”
For some reason, the fib bothered Landon. Something about Island Park wasn’t quite right. Maybe he was the one out of place here. He held onto the door as Megan got into the SUV, leaning in after her. “What did you think?”
Her startled gaze flew to meet his. “It’s nice.”
“You don’t even mean that.” He turned toward the house again. It was nice.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Megan admitted, drawing his attention back to her.
“Say what you want.”
“This is a beautiful place.” She sighed and cast her eyes around. “It’s peaceful here. I have no doubt you and your horse would be happy here. But…it’s in Utah.”
Landon heard everything she didn’t say—as well as everything she did. Though the sun sat at its zenith, he stepped away from the car. “I don’t want to head back yet.” He nodded toward the wilderness. “You want to walk with me?”
She didn’t hesitate but joined him at his side. “This doesn’t look that flat.” She frowned, but it wasn’t one of her real ones. “And it’s definitely not paved.” She grinned up at him, and everything in his world lightened. Everything finally made sense.
“I don’t want this ranch,” he said, sobering the moment. He sighed and glanced at the horizon, his mind everywhere but on the red rocks.
Megan slid her arms around his waist and stepped into his arms. She gazed up at him, and she looked like she wanted to say something. Instead, she tipped up on her toes, her eyes drifting closed a moment before her lips touched his.
He molded his mouth to hers, every cell in his body firing. He pulled her closer, held her tighter, kissed her deeper.
Landon wanted to kiss her forever under the clear blue sky. Hold her everyday of his life. Breathe in her floral scent and call her his.
She broke the kiss with a giggle and snuggled into him. “Sorry, that probably doesn’t solve your problem.”
“Maybe I don’t have a problem.” Landon wished he could figure out what to do, where to live, why he felt he needed a change when one of the greatest things that had happened to him stood in his arms.
Her fingers trailed across the back of his neck, causing a shiver of desire to spiral down his spine. “Landon—”
“Will you help me figure things out?” He grazed his lips along her temple, pleased when she pressed further into him.
“I can try.” She tilted her head back and Landon pushed his worries to the back of his mind so he could enjoy kissing Megan.
Monday afternoon, Landon towed Megan’s suitcase to her front door. “Sorry the trip was a bust.”
She smiled up at him, leaning into him. “Oh, I think it was quite productive.”
He kissed her, something that thrilled him every time—and he’d been doing it as much as possible since yesterday. She rendered him breathless, and he pulled back. “Let’s go inside.”
She laughed and unlocked her door. He barely waited for her to enter the apartment before he pushed the door closed and pressed Megan against it. He traced his lips along her jawline, his skin prickling as her hands ran across his shoulders and dislodged his cowboy hat. The thud of it hitting the floor was drowned out by the growl grinding through his throat. He brought his mouth to hers, heat engulfing his entire body at the touch of such a good woman.
He wanted to abandon everything, tell Megan he loved her, and ask her to move into a place with him on the northwest edge of town so his commute to the ranch wouldn’t be too bad. At the same time, he knew a couple of things. One, he wasn’t in love with Megan—yet. Two, he didn’t want to stay at Horseshoe Home.
Though he loved it there, he’d felt unsettled and he couldn’t ignore that feeling. But when he was kissing Megan, it was a lot easier to wonder why he couldn’t just be satisfied with his life here in Montana.
He ended the kiss and stepped away, suddenly feeling foolish. He ran one hand through his hair and then down his face. “Want me to make us something to eat?”
“I thought you said you didn’t cook.” Megan hadn’t moved from her position at the front door. Landon liked the sight of her leaning there, like maybe he’d rendered her so weak she couldn’t move quite yet.
“I live thirty minutes from civilization,” he said. “I can put together a sandwich or something.” He turned in a circle, his mind forgetting what even constituted a sandwich at the moment. He took a deep breath and released it, trying to get his brain to work. “Okay, so what have you got here?”
Megan darted in front of him as he tried to step into the kitchen. “So…I live right downtown and actually don’t cook.”
“Another flaw.” He smirked at her so she’d know he was kidding.
“Ha ha.” She crossed her arms. “It would be nice if you had a flaw or two.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty.” Landon took a slow step toward her.
“Name one.”
Landon’s mouth turned dry. “I’m indecisive.”
She rolled her eyes. “Who isn’t?”
“I like seafood.”
“I’ll give you that one. But it’s pretty lame. What else have you got?” She t
urned toward her fridge like maybe she’d open it and produce something edible to eat. She jerked away from the appliance.
“I’m not a great conversationalist,” Landon said.
Megan tipped her head back and laughed. “Sometimes that’s a good thing.”
“What about when it’s not?”
“I’ve only felt like that once.”
Landon’s stomach tightened but not from hunger. “When?”
“So we’ll have to go out,” she said, her voice turning airy and high-pitched. “What do you feel like?”
“Megan.”
“I have a lot of flaws too,” she said. “And one of them is when I don’t want to talk about something, I don’t.” She gave him a half-crooked smile that really said, Drop it, Landon.
So he dropped it. Said, “I feel like pasta.”
13
Two weeks passed while Landon painted and laid carpet and replaced light fixtures. He took Megan to the Fourth of July parade, and kissed her whenever he could do so without prying eyes.
And this particular Sunday, his mother had invited the pair of them to dinner at his childhood home. He sat in the pew, Jace and Belle between him and his parents. Landon had been driving himself down to Gold Valley so he could loiter in Megan’s parking lot until she came out. He’d been spending mornings with her. Days with her. Evenings with her.
In the quiet moments where he drove back up the canyon in the dark, he wanted to spend his life with her. Whenever that thought came—and it had been coming more and more often—he turned on the radio as loud as it would go, grateful for the pricey satellite service in his truck.
And he hadn’t admitted it to anyone, least of all Megan, but he missed ranching. Sure, it had been nice to have a break, to build and repair things instead of feed and haul things. But he missed the fresh air, the wide open sky, the sound of men talking and his horse snuffling.
Megan spoke to him pretty much all day, if she wasn’t busy with her community programs, and the cacophony of hammer blows added to the conversation. Thankfully, because Landon didn’t have a whole lot to add to the stories Megan told.
He had kissed her in the basement classrooms—all of them. She was just too pretty sitting there to keep his hands to himself. He’d kissed her in the chapel, her office, the conference room, against the side of the building, everywhere he could.
“You’re not listening,” Megan whispered, her cool breath sending a tremor through his shoulders.
Landon jerked himself from his fantasies and focused on the preacher at the front of the congregation. “Yes, I am,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “Besides, there won’t be a quiz later.”
“No?” She leaned into him. “Your dad seems like the kind to discuss religious topics for hours on end.” She fell silent as Mrs. Fletcher turned and shot her a look. “You know, like at lunch.”
Landon let several seconds go by. “Oh, so that’s what you’re worried about.” He admired the cut of her navy skirt, the way her bright pink blouse accentuated her dark curls. “You’ve met my parents loads of times.”
“Never as your girlfriend.”
Landon’s hand tightened around hers. “I haven’t kept you a secret.”
“I know.”
Landon glanced toward Jace when he detected movement on his right. “What?”
“What’re you guys talkin’ about?”
“Nothing.”
“Maybe do it quieter then, before Mrs. Fletcher loses her mind.”
Landon clamped his lips shut, though they tried to twitch up into a smile. Finally, Megan’s dad finished his sermon—no, Landon didn’t know what he’d spoken about—and the people stood. Chatter broke out, but Landon stayed sitting, his gaze on the clear, colored glass in the window. A sense of safety filled him, a feeling he’d only experienced a couple of times before.
Once, just before his first National Championship. Again, when he’d returned to Montana after the injury that had ended his rodeo career. He could still ride a horse, and walk, and do almost anything. But his hip and knee couldn’t handle the high velocity of a bucking bull.
Confusion riddled his mind. Why did he feel like this now, here? Was he supposed to stay in Montana after all? And if so, what did the restless feelings and urge to find a horse ranch of his own mean?
“You comin’?”
Landon glanced up into his father’s face. He had the same green eyes as Landon and Belle, the same square jaw as his son. Landon found comfort in his father’s kind face. “Yeah, I’m comin’.”
“Good. I think Megan was starting to wonder if she’d have to eat with us alone.” He cracked a smile, and Landon shot to his feet. He found Megan at the rear of the near-empty chapel, his mother standing next to her. They both wore an anxious expression, and Landon hurried down the aisle toward them.
“Hey.” He swept an arm around Megan’s waist. “Sorry, that stained glass window is so beautiful, I got lost for a minute.” He glanced at his family. “Who’s hungry?” His stomach rioted at the thought of spending the next couple of hours trying to make conversation. Not that he didn’t enjoy his parents, but he didn’t feel like discussing his job, his hopes, his unrealized dreams to have his own horse ranch. Not today.
Megan fed off Landon’s unease. She hadn’t realized she knew him so well, but she could see the tension in the set of his mouth, read the anxiety in the stride of his step, feel the unrest in the grip of his fingers.
He got in the cab and closed the door. When he didn’t start the ignition right away, Megan said, “We’ll die in here if you don’t turn on the air conditioner.”
He stuck the key in and turned it. Megan adjusted the vents so they blew right into her face, because a gray truck in the middle of the summer trapped enough heat to bake cookies.
“You okay?” she asked when he simply stared out the windshield.
“Do you think God’s plan for you can change?” He turned and looked at her, his expression vulnerable and curious.
Megan blinked. Nothing in her theology classes had prepared her for questions, especially deep ones. She’d been so focused on re-learning the Bible stories, really digging deep to be able to understand the doctrine behind them, that she didn’t have time for questions of her own. Sometimes she thought she didn’t have any, that she just believed because she’d been blessed with faith.
“Sure, I suppose,” she forced through her dry throat. “Different choices will bring different results.”
Landon nodded, returning his attention out the windshield. He heaved a sigh. “Well, I suppose we better get to lunch. My mom might freak out if we’re any later than we already are.” He put the truck in gear and pointed it toward an older section of town, one named Battle Creek. A pioneer park with the same name sat in the center of the community, as well as a small stream where kids and grandparents fished for crawdads.
He pulled up in front of a sprawling brick home, and nerves assaulted her. She reminded herself that she had met his parents before, that this was just another meal. She hitched a smile into place and flashed it at Landon.
He didn’t return it. “This is where my awful conversation skills will be a real problem.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Megan.”
“No need to apologize.” She tucked her arm in his. “We shouldn’t have to apologize for who we are.” She glanced at the house and caught a flicker of movement behind the gauzy curtains on the front windows. “Besides, your parents know you’re…the quiet type.”
He gaped at her for several seconds before a chuckle filled the truck. “The quiet type. I think those men are usually classified as dangerous.”
“Just how I like ’em.” She pushed against his solid shoulders with a giggle. “Now get out. Your mom’s watching us through the windows.”
He laughed as he spilled from the truck, and Megan joined her voice to his. But really, she kept a prayer going that she’d be able to enjoy lunch, impress Landon’s parents, and maintain her sanity. It was
asking a lot, but she believed God could deliver.
Please, just help me say the right things, she prayed as she ascended the steps and his mother pulled open the front door.
“Megan, dear.” Landon’s mother swept Megan into a hug. “Thanks for coming. I was beginning to think Landon would never share you with us.” She gave her son a mother-knows-all look and took Megan into the house. She glanced back at Landon, who wore a half-scowl on his handsome face as he trailed in her wake.
She took a deep breath and got a noseful of roast and potatoes. “Sister Edmunds, it smells delicious.”
“Oh, none of that Sister Edmunds stuff. Call me Karen.”
Megan let herself get ushered into the kitchen, where Landon’s father stood using a hand mixer to whip potatoes.
“Jerry, how are you?” Megan stepped up to him and patted his forearm. “Does Landon get his culinary skills from you?”
“I don’t cook,” Landon said. “And remember how you didn’t have any groceries in your apartment?”
She shot him a glare. “I…cook.”
“Heating things up doesn’t count.”
“Landon, be nice to the girl.” Karen handed Megan a bowl of salad. “Will you take that out to the picnic table, dear?”
Despite the fact that she despised being called “girl,” Megan took the bowl and headed toward the sliding glass door that led to the deck. Four place settings had already been laid out, complete with two pitchers of lemonade, napkins, and salt and pepper shakers. Megan placed the bowl in the middle of the table and returned to the kitchen.
Before she could, Landon pointed back toward the yard with a bag of rolls. “We’re bringin’ everything out.” She turned, and he came up beside her. “My mother already lectured me for bein’ late.”
“I was gone for fifteen seconds.”
“She has the art of lecturing down to a science.”
Megan nudged him, thrilled at the growl he emitted. She loved that playful sound, adored the strength in the way he barely moved, delighted that he swept a kiss along her jaw just before his parents joined them on the deck.