by Liz Isaacson
He finally heaved himself away from his thoughts and out of bed. Owen went through his day-off morning routine, which ended with him in the backyard, a thermos of coffee at his side. His guitar lay across his lap as Tar Baby sniffed around the yard for the perfect spot to do his business.
Owen picked up the guitar, his fingers so natural on the strings that he didn’t have to think about what chords to play or what notes to sing. He’d done both so often, for so long, playing and singing was almost like breathing.
He hadn’t played in a few days—since reuniting with Natalie—and she had somehow infused herself into every part of his life. He found himself humming the song he’d written for her while they dated in high school. He’d been planning to sing it at their wedding, and though he’d written dozens of songs since then, this one would never leave his memory.
There were times I thought I’d find you
Right where I left you so long ago
But I drive by and you’re not there
Without you, time moves so slow.
I’m down on my luck; I’m not wrong
I’m down on my luck because you’re still gone.
His voice rang through the clear, cold morning. As he finished, the notes hung in the air, the chords from his guitar floated toward the heavens. A sense of loss so fierce Owen didn’t know how to categorize it sliced through him.
He’d loved deeply before, even if he was only eighteen-years-old at the time. And he hadn’t felt that way about anyone since, not even Clarissa, the woman he’d managed to propose to.
With his guitar still slung over his shoulder, he hung his head and searched for the right thing to do. He had a lot of people counting on him. Marie. His boys. He felt responsible to make sure Marie had her grandparents—both sets—in her life. Responsible to make sure the boys he cared for knew he, well, cared about them.
But he had never told any of them—not even Marie—that he loved them. It was a weakness of his he hadn’t been able to overcome since leaving Gold Valley.
He’d only told one person that in his entire life. And now she wouldn’t even go out with him.
Owen hikes at a steady pace behind Natalie, the sweet sound of her singing voice wafting back to him as they climb toward her favorite spot above the waterfalls. They’d discovered the flat area about the size of a football field at the beginning of the summer, just after the end of their junior year.
She loves the view, the pine trees towering above and below them, the way she can see into the sky forever. Owen loves the way she loves simple things, loves hiking with him, loves…him.
You’re going to tell her today, he promises himself for the tenth time since waking that morning. He’s been meaning to tell Natalie that he’s in love with her for weeks—since he realized it for certain at the Fourth of July parade at the beginning of the month.
But he’s having a hard time articulating it. In another month, they’ll start their senior year, and his plans to go to Nashville are coming together already. He’s talked with her about that, about what she’ll do after graduation, what their life together will be like.
He just hasn’t been able to say those three little words.
They stick in his throat as they near the crest of the path. He slows, trying to buy himself a few more seconds. He’s not sure why it makes him so nervous. He’s been dating Natalie for almost two years now, and everyone assumes they’ll get married come next summer.
Even Owen assumes that, though he and Natalie haven’t quite made it that far in their discussions about the future.
He joins her at the top of the hill, his breathing as quick as hers. “Made it,” she says through her breathing.
He grins and pulls her into his side. “Never any doubt about that.”
“Oh, I was worried.” She snakes her hands around his waist and leans into his chest. “You’ve never brought your guitar before. I thought maybe the added weight would keep you from making it to the top.”
He tips his face toward that sky she loves so much and laughs. Hand in hand, they move toward a cropping of rocks in the shade where they can sit, eat the lunches they packed, and waste the afternoon kissing. At least that’s what’s on Owen’s mind. Food and fun.
“Hey, there’s water over here.”
He pulls himself from his fantasies and focuses on the water, moving right up to the edge of it. “Look at that. Seems too dry for a pool.” The rocks seep water as if a natural spring lives beneath, and Owen leans forward to touch his fingers to the cold, damp stone.
A thrill runs down his spine when Natalie presses in next to him, stepping into the water completely. “It hasn’t rained in a month.”
Owen glances down as he steps into the cool water too, distracted momentarily by the scrap of fabric Natalie calls shorts and the long legs that extend from them.
Tell her now.
He threads his fingers through hers, his heart thundering through his chest like a herd of wild horses. “Nat,” he whispers. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
She twists into him, her expression open and playful. “What is it?”
He takes her in his arms and presses her into the rocks behind her. “I—” He searches her face, but can’t find what he’s looking for. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He touches his lips to hers, the familiar fireworks sparking instantly.
She kisses him back, tracing her fingers through his hair and along his shoulders. After a few seconds, she giggles. “This is nice and all,” she whispers. “But what did you want to tell me?”
He swallowed, the taste of her chapstick in his mouth now. “I’m—I’m in love with you, Nat.” He smiles, the joy of his words infusing his very being. “I love you.”
Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second. She gasps as she sucks in a breath. Then her features dissolve into happiness too. “Owen,” she says breathlessly, and he wants to hear her say his name like that every day of his life. Now. Always. “I love you too.”
He kisses her again, and this time feels different. It feels like the first time all over again. He deepens the kiss, and she gladly goes with him, the grip she maintains on his shoulders as exciting as the moan she emits as he traces his lips down to her throat.
Owen has never known joy like he feels now, and he hopes he’ll be able to hold onto it, remember it, cherish it, for a long time to come.
9
Owen played the same song now as he did on that day he’d first told Nat he loved her. They’d spent the afternoon exactly as he’d hoped. Sandwiches, songs, and whispered promises to each other.
When the lyrics became too much and the past too haunting, Owen set aside his guitar and went into the house. He needed to wake Marie for school anyway. After he roused her and she started getting dressed, he went into his bedroom to check his phone.
The light flashed green at the top, and his heart pulsed once with it. He should’ve taken it outside with him. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes his boys or the weekend counselor needed him.
But it was Natalie, and she’d texted the previous night. I’d love to go out with you. Call me tomorrow and we can schedule something.
The words burned his eyes. Was she serious? He didn’t see any reason why she wouldn’t be. He also didn’t see how she’d be up at seven-thirty in the morning when she’d sent this message so late last night.
He flew into gear, first using his cologne before exiting the bedroom to hurry Marie. He packed her lunch and fed her breakfast, his pulse wreaking havoc the whole time. By the time he dropped her off at school, Owen couldn’t stop smiling.
He pulled up to Nat’s house fifteen minutes later, the clock now reading eight-thirty. He texted her that he’d love to take her to breakfast that morning and could she do that?
She didn’t answer, and he went through why that would be. Maybe she didn’t have her phone with her. Maybe it was silenced. Maybe she was still in bed.
Feeling restless and impatient, he crosse
d the lawn and knocked on the front door. Not loudly, but certainly not quietly either. If she were awake, she’d hear it.
She didn’t come.
With his heart sinking to his boots, he trudged back to his truck. He breathed deep and employed his patience. He could wait. She wouldn’t sleep forever—and he had until three-fifteen before he needed to be back at Marie’s school.
After a half an hour of reading the Internet headlines and surfing on social media sites he hadn’t touched in months, his patience ran dry. Just as he was about to go bang down the front door, his phone chimed.
She’d texted.
Where are you? After sending the text to Owen, Natalie finger-combed her hair out of her face, trying to contain her smile—and failing. Owen wanted to go to breakfast. She should’ve known he wouldn’t want to wait until Friday night. He never was one to wait when he knew what he wanted. She was just surprised she was what he wanted, and part of her cautioned her to go slow. After all, just a couple of days ago, he’d all but said he wasn’t interested in her.
Everything with him seemed so complicated, and yet, she was willing to navigate through the minefield if he was the prize.
Sitting in my truck in front of your house.
Panic poured through her in waves and she whipped her head toward the window, though it was covered by closed blinds.
How long have you been here?
A while.
Her heart warmed and that smile seemed stuck to her face. She hadn’t had a man waiting to see her in a very long time, and it felt good. It felt right.
You can come in, she said. I just got up, and I have to shower. But I can be ready in a half an hour.
Front door’s locked.
She thumbed the call button, and when he answered, she said, “Did you try to break into my house?”
“I’m surprised the front door is locked,” he said. “No one locks their doors in Gold Valley.”
“Trying to keep the riffraff out,” she joked.
“You can be ready in half an hour?”
“Nice change of topic.” She stood and went into her bathroom. “And yes, I can be ready in half an hour. I’m in the bathroom, door locked, so it’s safe to come in.”
“Garage code?”
She hesitated for a moment before saying, “Zero-eight-one-one.”
“Zero-eight-one….” The importance of the date dawned on him, obviously, and Natalie waited for him to say something.
“Natalie.” He didn’t sound upset, or sad. Maybe curious or reproving. It was hard to tell.
She shrugged, though he wasn’t there to see her. “Some dreams die hard, Owen. I’m getting in the shower now.” She hung up before she could say more, before they could truly talk about why she used the date they’d chosen to get married as her garage code.
A lot of codes, actually, including the parental controls on her television and the PIN number for her debit card. But she wasn’t going to tell him that today.
Twenty-five minutes later, thank you very much, she strolled down the hall to find Owen sitting in her living room, the TV on in front of him. She brushed something invisible from the hem of her skirt, which fell to her knee, and adjusted her denim jacket though it already lay in the right place. “Morning,” she said.
Owen turned and stood all in one movement, as graceful and fluid as ever. He drank her in from the top of her head to her bare feet and licked his lips. “Mornin’.” He tipped his hat to her, a real gentlemanly gesture, and moved closer. “You look real nice.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” He wore jeans and cowboy boots—his usual. He also had a jacket on, zipped most of the way up so she could only see a patch of gray T-shirt underneath. “New hat?”
“Just one I haven’t worn in a while.”
She grinned, reached up and flicked the brim, and brought her gaze back to his. “It’s nice. I like the gray.”
He leaned forward like he might kiss her, something she’d seem him do hundreds of times before. She inhaled sharply, and he flinched away from her. While she’d thought about kissing him—a lot actually—the idea of actually doing it made her muscles knot.
“So, are you feeling adventurous?” he asked, putting even more distance between them.
She laughed, the sound filling her house where it got trapped in the corners. “Oh boy. Last time you asked me that, we ended up running from a pair of dogs and vaulting over a fence that had razor wire at the top.”
He chuckled. “Totally worth it though.”
“Was it?” She shouldered her purse. “I can’t quite remember.”
“It was,” he insisted. “You loved those fresh peas, if memory serves, and we got to the party faster.”
“I had to repent about those peas.” She giggled. “Pastor Palmer told me to never steal again, and I haven’t.”
“Well, that’s not true,” he said as she passed him on her way to the front door.
She swung back to him. “What do you mean?”
A ruddiness entered his cheeks, even through the beard he hadn’t shaved since last Friday. “Nothing,” he said quickly, gesturing her out the door. “Let’s go. I’ve been up since five and I’m starving.”
10
Natalie felt the weight of every eye on her and Owen as they entered the diner. She should’ve been more prepared for this, but she wasn’t. It hadn’t even crossed her mind. But now that she sat in a booth across from him, it seemed every able-bodied gossip was having breakfast on that Monday morning.
“So,” she said, her voice wavering the slightest bit. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”
Owen’s eyes darkened as he lifted his coffee mug to his lips. He sipped, swallowed, smiled. “I don’t either. It’s kinda nice not to have everything planned out.”
“It’s terrifying,” she admitted.
His phone buzzed, and he flipped it to silent and put it facedown on the table. “It’s sort of how I live my life now.” He glanced up at the waitress and ordered the steak and eggs. Natalie chose the build-your-own-breakfast and got scrambled eggs, hashbrowns, pancakes, and bacon. Once the waitress left, she leaned her elbows on the table and gazed at Owen.
“I signed up for your pie class,” he said.
“You did?”
“Yeah, I thought maybe I’d give it a try this year. I usually just go to my mom’s, but….” He shrugged. “This year, I’m taking Marie down to Idaho Falls to see her other grandparents.”
“You are?” The surprises never stopped with Owen. “That’s really nice of you.”
“I feel a responsibility to make sure she knows them,” he said. “I mean, if Henry was still alive, they’d go there for holidays.” He spoke evenly, but he swallowed a couple of times after he finished speaking.
“So you thought you’d take them a pumpkin pie, is that it?”
“Actually, anything but pumpkin.”
“Why not pumpkin?”
“I really don’t like pumpkin pie.”
She blinked at him and allowed a giggle to escape. “Well, how very un-American of you. Apple?”
He shook his head, a sexy smirk riding his lips. She suddenly couldn’t look anywhere else. “Cherry then.”
“Not a fan.”
She couldn’t figure out why he’d signed up for her class. “That’s all we’re doing at the class.”
“The sign-up sheet said pecan too.”
“Oh, that’s right. Pecan. I guess that’s traditional.” She squeezed her lemon in her water as the waitress brought their food. She picked up the bottle of ketchup and slathered her potatoes with it before spreading the ball of butter all over her pancakes.
He was cutting into his steak when she asked, “So if you don’t like apple, cherry, or pumpkin pie, what’s your favorite kind?”
“Chocolate,” he said without hesitation.
She should’ve known and said as much.
“Some things about me haven’t changed,” he said. “Most things, actu
ally.”
She disagreed, but she didn’t say so. The more they talked, the more she learned about him, the more the past version she’d known of him merged with the muscled man before her. They finished, and he paid, and as they walked out of the diner, he captured her hand in his.
“Thanks for coming on short notice,” he said. “What are you doing tonight?”
She had no plans, unless cooking a meal for one and then putting on a romantic comedy counted as plans. And they didn’t. But she didn’t want to tell him that, didn’t want him to think she did nothing but putz around the house, eat, and watch chick flicks.
Before she could answer, Owen said, “Oh, no.” The level of concern in his voice made her glance at his phone, where he was still looking.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s Marie.” He met her eyes with panic in his. “Her principal called twice. I need to get over to the school.”
“Let’s go.” She’d never been afraid while in the car with Owen, but she was now. He pulled up to the curb in the circle drive at the school, barely cutting the ignition before he leapt from the cab. Natalie wasn’t sure what to do, but she wasn’t going to run to keep up with him. She let him enter the school alone, determined to be a support for him—and Marie—once they got back.
Owen cursed himself up one side and down the other. He shouldn’t have silenced his phone. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get caught p with Natalie. He had a child to take care of!
“Morning,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “Is Miss Teller in? I got two calls from her. Something about Marie Adams?”
“You must be Mister Carr.”
“I am.”
The secretary flashed him a warm smile as she stood. “She’s fine, Mister Carr. Well, she says her stomach hurts, and she’s been crying a bit. But she’s safe.”
Owen’s concern spiked. He didn’t even know how to take care of a stomachache. “Has she thrown up?”
The secretary nodded and said, “Twice,” sympathetically as she moved toward a doorway just around the corner. “I think Miss Teller wanted to meet you, that’s why she called.” She poked her head into the principal’s office. “Miss Teller, Mister Carr is here for Marie.” She waved for him to go right in, which he did.