by Liz Isaacson
“I think I can just use the kitchen sink,” Natalie said. “I worked for an hour on the barbeque beef, and I’m starving.”
Owen smiled, feeling the joy all the way to the bottom of his feet. “Great. I’ll get Marie in the tub and take care of this rascal.” He reached for Tar Baby and ruffled the dog’s fur. “Stay,” he commanded again as Marie approached.
“Hey, Uncle Owen.” She beamed up at him. “Natalie taught me how to knead dough today.”
Owen met Natalie’s eye over Marie’s head. She wore a look of apprehension tinged with pride. “She did, huh? That’s great, sweetheart.” He guided her toward the doorway. “What happened with the water?”
“Well, Tar Baby found a dead bird and he wouldn’t stay away from it. So I grabbed the hose and sprayed him, like you said I should. And Natalie thought it would be a good idea to water that brown patch of lawn by the back fence. But the sprinklers don’t work, and there was water everywhere!” She looked absolutely gleeful, and Owen chuckled.
He moved down the hall ahead of Marie and flipped on the bathroom light. “Where’s the dead bird now?”
“Natalie wrapped it in paper and put it in the trashcan.”
He couldn’t imagine her doing anything of the sort. In high school, she’d made him kill the spiders, and while she’d gone hiking and fishing with him, she wouldn’t go hunting and her one rule of fishing was that she didn’t have to gut the catch.
“She did?”
“Yup.” Marie pulled down a towel as he started the water in the tub. It ran cold for several seconds before getting warm. “She’s awesome, Uncle Owen. I like her the best of all the nannies.”
“Marie,” he said in a warning voice. “I just had her come today. I have two more interviews this weekend.” He pointed to the sink. “Put your muddy stuff in there. I’ll wash it later tonight.” He stepped out of the bathroom and pulled the door closed. He stared at it a moment, wondering if he should just cancel the other interviews.
Marie liked Natalie—and if Owen were being honest, he did too. He hadn’t laughed like he had tonight in a long, long time.
He glanced down the hall, where he could hear the kitchen sink running. Moving on silent boots, he crept to the end of the hall and watched Natalie scrub the mud from her skin. He liked her presence in his home, liked the way she had fit right in, filled the holes in his life so easily, the way she always had.
Powerful fear pounded through him and he stepped outside to spray down his dog. He ground his teeth together, his frustration coming as quick as his earlier exuberance. He didn’t have time to get to know Natalie again. He needed to focus on Marie, on making sure she had everything she needed to thrive, be happy.
Maybe what she needs is Natalie, he thought, further fogging his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what was right, what was wrong, what he should do. As he held Tar Baby with one hand and sprayed him with the other, he prayed for clarity of thought, hoping the Lord didn’t mind a plea covered in a bit of mud.
Natalie combed through Marie’s feather-fine hair, inhaling the clean scent of the little girl. “There you go, sweetheart,” she said, adopting the term of endearment Owen always used for her. “Now go sit at the table. It’s time to eat.”
Marie jumped down from the counter and took a seat at the table. Owen had found a folding chair in the garage so there were three seats around his small table. Natalie had covered most of the its surface with food: freshly made hamburger buns, barbeque beef, and coleslaw. She’s even made pink lemonade and coffee. Somewhere deep inside her, she hoped Owen would send Marie to bed and ask Natalie to stay for coffee. Maybe she could snuggle into his side on the couch while the now-clean dog lay at their feet.
The picture-perfect vision flew from her mind when Owen said, “Natalie, will you say grace?” He extended his hand toward her to take, and when she slide her fingers along hers, every cell in her body flared to life. Things she’d forgotten about him, about their past together, crowded to the front of her mind. She’d always adored the way he cared for her, protected her, cherished her.
She lifted her eyes to his, her throat unable to let words pass. His expression stormed with emotion, and she couldn’t name a single one. Maybe because he was cycling through them so fast. She wondered what her touch conjured for him, and perhaps foolishly, she hoped she’d find out. Soon.
She ducked her head. “Dear Lord,” she began, thankful her voice had remembered how to work. When she finished the prayer, she squeezed Owen’s hand before letting go and dishing up a scoop of coleslaw for Marie.
His house was warm, and the conversation was easy because Owen asked Marie questions and told her stories about the horses at the riding center where he worked. Once they finished, Owen told Marie to go get her homework so he could look at it, and the girl skipped down the hall.
“She’s so great,” Natalie said as she watched her go.
“She likes you too.” Owen stacked plates and took them to the kitchen sink. “So, Natalie, tell me about yourself.”
Her first reaction was to laugh, but she managed to turn it into a cough when she realized he wasn’t joking. “You know me, Owen,” she said, heat rising to her face at how well he’d known her. She took the leftover beef into the kitchen. “Do you have any plastic containers? I’ll put this in the fridge.”
He pointed to a cupboard on the bottom, near her left leg. She opened it and pulled out what she needed.
“I think you might have changed in the past twelve years,” he said in that quiet, unnerving way he had. That simple voice that seemed to pierce through any defenses Natalie had been able to erect.
“I have,” she said. “A little, at least.” She twisted to put the leftovers in his fridge.
He scanned her from eyes to toes. “Oh, more than a little.” A coy smile rode his lips and he glanced away quickly.
Was he checking her out? She goggled at him, suddenly self-conscious about how she looked. She’d always hated how her left eye squinted more than her right when she smiled. She thought her shoulders too boxy and her legs too long. She could never find jeans that didn’t look like crops or capris.
“So what do you do with your day?” he asked, drawing her away from the petty things she didn’t like about herself.
“I, well, I serve on the library board,” she said. “But that’s easy. A meeting every month and a few things to do. Nothing hard.” She exhaled as she returned to the table for the buns. “I teach ballet at the studio over in the Historic District. And I teach cooking classes at the church. I’m doing a pie class in October and November for Thanksgiving.”
“Hmm.” He washed the dishes by hand though he had a dishwasher. She wondered if it was broken of if he just liked the motion of cleaning. “Did you ever join a ballet company?”
Regret knifed through her. “No,” she said. “I did graduate in dance and dance pedagogy, but I never auditioned for a company.”
He turned back to her, his hands sudsy and soft. “Why not?”
She shrugged, glad when Marie came skipping back into the kitchen. “All done, Uncle Owen.”
Owen didn’t remove his gaze from Natalie’s as he wiped his hands and reached for the little girl’s homework. Then his eyes flitted across the page. “Looks good, sweetheart. What are we gonna do now?”
She looked at Natalie and back to her uncle. “Is Nat staying?”
Owen’s eyebrows lifted. “Nat?” He switched his gaze back to hers. “I guess Nat can stay if she wants.”
Marie turned her blue eyes, full of pleading, on Natalie. “Do you like movies? Owen has tons of movies.”
“Oh, he does, huh?” Natalie reached for the girl’s hand. “Which one is his favorite?” She let Marie lead her into the living room, where the girl knelt down and rifled through the cabinet in the entertainment center.
“This one.” Marie held up a DVD case, and Natalie took it.
She couldn’t help her laughter this time. “The Cowboys?” She glanced over her sh
oulder to where Owen leaned sexily in the doorway. “Seems about right. At least that hasn’t changed about you.”
He pushed away from the wall and joined them in the living room. “Not much has changed on my end,” he said, but his voice held a false note.
“Sure,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. Flirting with him felt easy, natural, the way it always had. She was glad that hadn’t changed either. “Same rugged face. Same five o’clock shadow. Same hat.” She peered up at it. “Is that the exact same hat?”
He grinned at her, lighting her insides like he’d draped them in a string of Christmas lights. “Of course not.”
“Looks the same.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” he said as he sat on the end of the couch and let Marie snuggle into his side.
Natalie took the spot on the other end of the couch, wishing she had Marie’s spot but also scared of being in that position again. Or maybe she wasn’t. She wasn’t quite sure how to make sense of her tumultuous feelings.
Marie fell asleep about ten minutes into the movie, and Owen lifted the girl effortlessly into his strong arms and took her down the hall to her bedroom. When he returned, Natalie was pulling on her running shoes. “I should go.”
“You never did like my westerns,” he said, a playful edge to his words.
Feeling brave, and blessed, and bold, she said, “I like everything western. The men. The hats.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “The music. The simple life. The country.” She moved toward the door. “I was never the one with the problem of staying in town, Owen.”
“I know that.” His words barely reached her ears and yet it sounded like he’d shouted. Sometimes she wished he would. Anything would be better than his strong steadiness.
“Natalie,” he said in that blasted voice. “I have two more interviews, but I think I’m going to cancel them.”
She locked eyes with him, hardly daring to hope. He watched her as he said, “Marie likes you, and she’s everything to me right now. If she’s happy, I’m happy. If she’s not, I’m not.”
Natalie wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so she stood by his front door, waiting for him to continue.
“I need to be at work by five-forty-five,” he said. “That’s AM, sweetheart, and I know you hate getting up early.” He tipped his hat forward as he reached up and rubbed the back of his head. He settled his cowboy hat back into place. “I’d need you here at five-thirty so I can go. Marie doesn’t need to be up until seven-thirty.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the hallway.
“That’s why she’s so tired. I get her up and take her next door. But if you’re here, she can sleep. You can too. I don’t care. As long as she gets up and gets to school by eight-thirty. Then I need you to pick her up every afternoon. You don’t have to make dinner, but if you want to, let me know what groceries to buy.” He took a deep breath, and it might have been the most she’d ever heard Owen speak at once.
“Which reminds me,” he said. “What do I owe you for dinner tonight?”
“Nothing,” she choked out.
“I didn’t have that roast in my fridge.” He frowned. “I’ll pay for the food.”
“That’s good to know.” She flashed him a smile that left her lips too quickly.
“It’s Friday tomorrow,” he said. “Can you come in the morning? Pick her up from school? We can talk more about pay and grocery lists and stuff then.”
“Sure thing, Owen.”
His eyes closed in a long blink. “Thank you, Natalie.”
She nodded and slipped out the front door. Her heart felt like dancing while at the same time it felt like she’d just tied it to a cement block and pushed it into the river. Who was she kidding? There was no way she could spend every evening with Owen Carr, every morning caring for his niece, and not fall in love with him again.
And that scared her more than anything ever had in her life.
The grass against Natalie’s bare feet is cold and rough. She presses back a giggle as she crosses her backyard and ducks into the neighboring yard. Her heart feels like it might burst from a cage, the way birds explode from trees when spooked. It’s Halloween, and icy, and after midnight, but Owen said he’d be waiting on the water tower. She’s already been home, already washed the costume makeup from her face, already hugged her father good-night.
But Owen said he’d be waiting on the water tower, and so Nat goes. She steals across the blocks like a thief in the night, her dark clothing blending into the country sky.
The water tower sits on the northern edge of town, much closer to Owen’s house than hers. He confessed to her last week that he often goes there to think, to write song lyrics, to get outside when it’s too hard to think inside.
He said he’s never told a girl about it, she thought as the structure comes into view. His comment had made her wonder how many other girls he’s been out with, but she already knew that answer. Everyone in Gold Valley seemed to know everyone else’s business, especially in her high school class.
And she knew Owen had only dated one other girl, and only for a few weeks. She wasn’t sure why. He was gorgeous, thoughtful, talented. He makes her insides hum with a smile, her blood pound with the touch of his fingers to hers, her head swim when he mentions he wants to kiss her but he wants the moment to be right.
Please let this be the right moment, she prays as she locates the ladder on the side of the water tower and starts up.
“Hey,” Owen whispers when she arrives on the platform. “You came.” His smile dampens the light from the moon and he gestures her closer. She goes gladly, and not only because the temperature is dangerously close to freezing. “Why don’t you have shoes?”
“I left them in the garage on accident.” She snuggles into his warm side, tucking her feet between his legs. “What are you thinking about?”
“Just writing a song in my head.” He’d said he sometimes brings his guitar with him, but the neighbors heard him playing and reported it. He claims to have barely made it into the trees before the cops showed up. He hasn’t brought his guitar since.
“Sing some of it for me?” she asks, wishing she could freeze this moment with the two of them and hold onto it forever.
“Nah,” he says. “It’s not ready yet.” His lips land lightly on her temple, and she turns into him. Their eyes meet, and she sees heat and desire and kindness and apprehension in his. She wonders if he’s ever kissed a girl before.
She hasn’t kissed a boy yet, and desperation surges. She wants Owen to be her first kiss. Heck, she could end the sentence at she wants Owen.
The moment seems to stretch into the night, elongating until finally Owen closes his eyes and dips his head so his mouth meets hers.
She’s still not sure if Owen’s ever kissed a girl before, but he sure is an excellent kisser. Bright light paints the backs of her eyelids, and a rushing sound fills her ears, and she decides that kissing isn’t so bad—as long as it’s Owen’s lips against hers.
He pulls back slightly, his hand cupping the side of her face, a warm shield against the chilly night. “Nat,” he whispers. “You’re somethin’ special.”
She grins, slides onto his lap, and kisses him again.
4
Natalie jerked out of a sound sleep, the memory of that bright autumn moon, the rough planks of the water tower platform, and the lovely pressure of Owen’s lips on hers rippling through her mind.
She hadn’t thought about their first kiss—her first kiss ever—in many years. Now her fingers drifted to her lips, slid along her jaw. Owen was exceptionally skilled at making her feel cherished, loved, valued. He’d always included her in his thoughts, his worries, his plans. She’d never dreamed he’d leave town without a word the day after their high school graduation.
That wasn’t the plan. The plan was to go to Nashville in the fall. The plan was to go to Nashville together. The plan was to go to Nashville after they’d gotten married.
He hadn�
�t bought her a ring yet. He said his parents would freak out if he got engaged in high school. In fact, the day he left town, Natalie had been expecting a proposal not an empty room and silence.
Horrified at how easily the repressed memories surged through her, she flung her comforter off her legs and got out of bed. She crossed the hall and began her meditation pose, trying to clear her mind, trying to see through the fog of her dream, trying to understand what all of this meant.
Maybe it really is a second chance for us, she thought. The idea wouldn’t easily leave her mind, though she reminded herself of Owen’s intense job, his unyielding devotion to Marie, his haunted expression that said things had happened in his past he needed to overcome.
She went through her exercises, taking the whole thirty minutes to decompress, find her center, before returning to bed. The clock on her bedside table told her she’d have to get up in less than two hours to be ready and over to Owen’s by five-thirty.
She laid back in bed, sure she’d never be able to fall asleep. But she did. And she dreamt again of Owen, a smile on her face at the beautiful memories they’d made together.
Later that morning, but still much too early for normal humans to be awake, Natalie parked in front of Owen’s house. She didn’t have to ring the doorbell or knock, because he sat on the front porch, his guitar across his lap. He wasn’t playing, a fact that made her heart ache.
“You still play?” she asked, settling onto the stoop beside him.
“Yeah.”
“Want to play me something?”
“It’s too cold,” he said. “Makes the strings flat.”
It was an excuse if she’d ever heard one, but she let it slide. “Maybe later, then.” She stifled a yawn, her mind circling that kiss she’d experienced as a seventeen-year-old.
“Sure, later.” He stood and held open the screen door for her. “Marie’s backpack is in her room. It’s ready to go. I packed her lunch. It’s in a brown bag in the fridge.”