by Liz Isaacson
“Good enough. You?”
She forked in a mouthful of rice and chicken and nodded. “I prepped my first pie class. I hope you’re ready to get your hands on some dough.”
A twinkle entered his eye, but it only stayed for half a heartbeat. “Natalie,” he said. “I need to tell you why I left Montana early.”
Her throat closed though she’d only taken two bites. She pushed her food away. “If you have to.”
“I thought you wanted to know.”
“I do—I did. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“You’re not that great at explaining things,” she said, following her words with, “I mean, you’re great with horses and bossing around boys—”
“I do not boss anyone around.”
She placed her hand on his, hoping to placate him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“So I’m not the only one who struggles with saying what they mean.”
She gave him a smirk and folded her arms. “What I meant is you’re really good at some things. Explaining to me what you want and why you do things isn’t necessarily one of them.”
He swallowed and raked one hand through his hair. As he settled his cowboy hat back into place, he said, “Well, I want to try. No, I need to try.”
“Go on, then.”
He took a big breath, so big she thought sure his lungs would burst. He released it in a slow hiss. “All right. The simple, short answer is that I panicked.”
She blinked, unsure of what he wanted her to say in response to that.
“I was afraid that if I waited to leave Gold Valley, that I never would. That I’d never get to Nashville. And I panicked. I packed in the middle of the night, and I left as soon as it got light. I drove there in one day, only stopping for gas, for fear that if I even stopped to spend the night in a hotel, that I wouldn’t make it to Nashville.” He paused as Tar Baby came up and pushed his nose against Owen’s leg.
“I’m okay, boy,” he said, scrubbing the dog’s head.
“There’s no way you could drive that distance in one day,” she said. “We planned everything, Owen, right down to where we’d stay and how many hours you’d drive before I took over. It was four days of driving.”
“I drove all day, and all night. I got to Nashville about noon the day after I left. I didn’t stop. The panic was that real.”
She’d felt panic like that once too—when she’d discovered he’d left without her. She clamped her lips around that confession and let him continue.
“I can see now that I was irrational, but I couldn’t then. I truly believed that if I didn’t go right then and there, I wouldn’t go at all. And that wasn’t an option for me.”
“I texted you and called you and emailed you.” She didn’t realize how much hurt still writhed within her, but it echoed in her voice.
“I know.” He sighed and took off his cowboy hat. He set it on the table between them, and when he looked at her again, he seemed more vulnerable. More human. He had a full head of beautiful brown hair that made Natalie’s fingers itch to touch it. He pushed it back off his forehead and closed his eyes.
“I was embarrassed,” he confessed. “I didn’t know what to tell you, so I didn’t say much of anything.”
“I would’ve come.”
“Your father would’ve killed me. Heck, my father almost killed me.”
She looked away as tears pricked her eyes. She’d never told him that she had tried to follow him, that her father had stopped her, that he had been very, very angry with her. She told him now, and he listened raptly, his hand curling around hers when she ended with, “So that’s why I couldn’t come. My father kept the keys locked up, and he took my debit card, and basically all I had was my phone.” She took a shuddering breath. “He said there would be other boys, but there weren’t.” Employing every ounce of bravery she possessed, she added, “Owen, there’s never been anyone but you.”
His chair scraped against the floor as he got up and knelt in front of her. His warm, rough hands cupped her face and tucked the wayward strands of her hair behind her ear. “For me either, Nat.”
She nodded, which caused a tear to splash onto her cheek. He wiped it with his thumb, the action tender and kind. He smiled at her with sadness in the gesture. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
She sat ramrod straight, not daring to relax into him, to give away an inch of her composure now that she’d already cried. “Did you ever want to come back?”
“At first, no,” he admitted. “But not because I didn’t want to see you. Only because I hadn’t gotten my record deal yet. I’m a selfish man, Natalie. I know that. I’m sorry.”
She wanted to tell him that he wasn’t selfish, that he was driven, that he’d done what he’d always dreamed of doing. She, on the other hand, had only left town after she was certain Owen wasn’t coming back, couldn’t pay her bills, and hadn’t auditioned for the Gold Valley ballet company the way she’d dreamed of doing.
“I don’t think you’re selfish,” she finally said, boxing up her own failures and shoving them onto a shelf to deal with later. “Someone who’s selfish wouldn’t have taken in an eight-year-old child. I heard you had to give up your cabin at Silver Creek. You’ve had to rearrange a lot in your life to be her dad.”
He retook his seat, his expression unreadable. “I haven’t given up as much as you think I have.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re doing what you have to do. For her.” She studied the wood grain in the table.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I thought about coming back for you a hundred times. And when I signed my deal, you were the only one I wanted to share it with. Remember I emailed you?”
“I remember.” Her whisper tickled her tongue, and she swallowed to get her voice to work properly.
“And after that, I was busy. Busy writing songs. Busy recording. Busy working on the art of making music. It was twenty-four-seven work.”
“But you loved it.”
“I did love it.”
She looked at him and found adoration on his face. Adoration and agony. She wanted to comfort him, but she felt like they were both patients in the hospital. Both bleeding. Both in need of medical attention, and she didn’t have anything to give him. If anything, she needed his reassurances to keep breathing.
“I know you said things got messed up with your manager,” she said. “But why didn’t you just get another one and make another record? Why come home when you had the whole world in the palm of your hand?”
The ache in Owen’s gut intensified. He didn’t want to get into all the particulars of his relationship with Clarissa. She’d been awful at her job, lost him a lot of money, and skipped town with his heart.
But not his whole heart, and he knew it. Had always known it. So yes, he’d been broken because of her, but not because she wasn’t his girlfriend anymore.
“I could’ve done that,” he said. “But honestly, I’d had enough. I had a bestselling record. A number one country music single. I didn’t have friends in Nashville, not real ones. Not people I could count on if my truck broke down or I suddenly had a daughter to take care of.”
He appreciated the steadiness of Natalie’s gaze, though she seemed rigid and wooden. Those eyes sucked at him, begged him to be real and truthful.
“So I came home. I had plenty of money, and I found I didn’t care. Happiness doesn’t come from how much you have in your bank account.”
She half-coughed, half-choked and he saw something run through her eyes he didn’t understand.
“I was worried about how my parents would receive me. But they were forgiving and kind. Tasha too.” His voice almost broke on his sister’s name, but he managed to steady it. “She and Henry had Marie, and she was a year old, and I’d never met her. I have way more here than I ever had in Nashville.”
“And why didn’t you ever get in touch with me after you came back?”
“I had no hope that you’d even sp
eak to me. I couldn’t stomach the rejection, so it was easier to stay away. I knew I’d messed up, and badly, and I didn’t want to face you.” He smiled at her. “But here you are anyway, and I’m not sorry about that. I’m only sorry it took seven more years to get you here.”
All at once, Owen understood something he’d been puzzling through for six months. He didn’t understand why God had taken Tasha and Henry at the same time. Didn’t understand why Marie had to grow up with only memories and stories of them. He’d asked God why she had to suffer her whole life, and he’d come up blank every time.
But now, he had at least one reason. Could God have allowed one tragedy to happen in order to bring Natalie back into his life? He believed that the Lord put people in his life who needed to be there, exactly when they needed to be there. And he certainly needed Natalie’s help with Marie.
He wouldn’t lie and say his sister’s death hadn’t affected his faith. It had. He felt removed from the Lord, though he still prayed, still went to church, still believed. He just felt…distant. Like a layer of waxed paper existed between him and God.
Owen glanced up as he heard Marie’s footsteps coming down the hall. She dragged her backpack with her, and he reached for it to check her homework.
“I’ll comb out your hair, sweetheart,” Natalie said, her voice a tick on the thick side.
Owen checked the homework while Natalie brushed Marie’s hair, and everything that had been askew in his life righted itself. He loved Marie, and he’d take care of her for the rest of his life. But he also wanted a child of his own. A daughter with hazel-gold eyes like Natalie’s.
His thoughts both surprised and embarrassed him, so he kept his gaze on the math paper though the numbers blurred together. “This looks great.” He shoved the paper into her backpack and gestured for her to come to him. She did, and he pulled her into a tight hug. “Great job, baby doll.” He held onto her shoulders as he moved her away from him a little so he could look directly into her eyes. “I love you, Marie.”
He wasn’t sure if she’d noticed that he’d never told her he loved her. Now, her face burst into a smile and she hugged him again. “Love you too, Uncle Owen.”
He cleared his throat. “Should we play a game tonight? Or do you want to watch another movie?”
“Can we play Pictionary?” She glanced at Natalie and back to Owen, who groaned.
“I’m no good at Pictionary,” he said. “You always beat me.”
Marie giggled as she skipped down the hall to her room. “I’ll get the pens.” She disappeared into her room and then popped her head back out. “I get Nat on my team.”
Owen exhaled as he stood and put his cowboy hat back on. “Dang,” he said quietly. “I was hoping Nat would be on my team.” She stood too, and he eased his hands around her waist. “Thank you for listening to me tonight.”
She held onto his arms and gazed up at him. “Thanks for explaining.”
He wanted to lean down and kiss her. It felt like the time to do it, but Marie returned, and Owen put the required distance between him and Natalie, hoping another time would present itself before she left.
An hour later, Marie had won Pictionary again. “All right, time for bed.” He capped the purple gel pen he’d been using—unsuccessfully—to draw a chicken nugget. Marie and Natalie were still giggling over his pathetic rendition of the popular snack food, and his eyes had started feeling like someone had rubbed sand in them twenty minutes ago.
“Go on and brush your teeth,” he said. “I’ll come tuck you in in a minute.”
Natalie put the Chinese food containers in the fridge and wiped down the counter. “I should go. Five o’clock comes so early.”
“Tell me about it.” He flashed her a smile and held up one finger. “Give me a second to tuck her in? I have one more thing to tell you.”
She leaned against the counter and waved for him to go on down the hall. He hurried to get Marie into bed and returned to the kitchen, where Tar Baby sat at the backdoor, his eyes set on pleading.
Owen opened the door to let the dog out, and he stepped into the cool night air too. “It’s nice tonight,” he said over his shoulder. “Come look at the stars.”
Natalie exhaled in a way that said, Really Owen? The stars? but she joined him. “So what else did you need to tell me?”
His throat went dry, much the same way it did the first time he’d told her he loved her. He wasn’t going to say that tonight—didn’t dare and didn’t know if it was all the way true—but the floodgate between them had been busted wide open when he’d told her she was the only one for him.
“I just wanted to say goodnight.” He reached for her, pulled her close, held her tight. “I wanted to kiss you goodnight.” He let his words hang in the chilly air the way his breath did, waiting for her permission.
“Well you better hurry up and do it then,” she said. “We’ve got to get up early in the morning.”
He chuckled as he lowered his lips to hers, all his senses on overdrive. This kiss, though not even close to their first, felt new, and wonderful, and healing. Her sensual touch made him feel whole, something he hadn’t experienced in years.
He kneaded her closer, kissed her deeper, fell a little faster.
She pulled back, and he felt like his skin was steaming in the near-winter night. “Wow, Owen.” She spoke with undeniable desire in her voice, and he wanted to drive her to that every time he kissed her.
“Yeah.” He ran his hands up her back as he traced his lips down her jaw to the hollow of her throat. “Can you believe this is where we are now?”
“You might have to convince me again.” Her lips were curved upward when he matched his against them again.
“I can do that,” he murmured against her mouth before claiming it for a second kiss.
13
What used to be a challenge for Owen—making sure Marie was well-cared for after school and into the evening—quickly became his favorite time. If Natalie wasn’t in his house, whipping up something delicious, he got to see her in her spandex clothes teaching ballet.
And he kissed her every chance he got. That desire hadn’t changed either, and she seemed to enjoy kissing him every evening before she stumbled out his front door and every morning before he left for work.
His first pie class had been a complete disaster; he hadn’t even been able to finish the dough before the end of the class. Thankfully, the class that evening would use the same dough, and Natalie had been practicing with him at home. He just didn’t quite know how to make his big hands deal with small things like teaspoons and capfuls.
He left work late, because he’d gotten a new crop of boys and it always took a couple of weeks to break them in. First, they were away from everything they knew, and that was rough. He’d been called over in the middle of the night three times in the past three weeks.
Second, they had to learn all the rules of Silver Creek, which was challenging enough. No girls, no weapons or drugs, no outside communication. Oh, and talk to someone you don’t know about your deepest fears and feelings, never be alone—ever—and eat only three times a day. No snacks. No exceptions.
Third, they had to learn Owen’s rules and personality. Some balked at calling him Mister Carr, and others had never even seen a horse in real life. Yes, the first few weeks of a new group of boys could be brutal on everyone involved.
Owen was almost out of that phase now, thankfully, and he only had one boy who hadn’t quite gotten all the way onboard. He did his best to put away his work problems before he got home. That was something he’d learned from his father, who worked long hours in a thankless job and Owen had never known it.
He arrived early at the church, a squirrel of excitement racing down his spine when he saw Natalie’s black sedan in the parking lot. He went inside and down the hall toward the kitchen, the smell of butter and sugar already loitering in the air.
He found Natalie there, bent over a recipe, her streaked hair falling over her sho
ulder. “Hey, gorgeous.” He slid his arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze.
She grinned at him, but her attention obviously lingered on the recipe. “Hey, you ready for tonight?”
“Not even close.” He chuckled. “But I think I might be able to get something resembling a pie this week.”
“Anything would be better than last week.” She nudged him with her shoulder and gave him a smile.
“Hey.” He returned the playful nudge, taking the opportunity to pull her close. He kissed her, taking his time to really explore, to enjoy himself.
“Stop it,” she said breathlessly, with no weight behind the words. “People will be here any minute. Behave yourself.”
“You kissed me back,” he whispered, but he stepped away, the heat in the kitchen already through the roof. “Did you talk to your mom this week?”
“Yeah, she called back this morning right as I dropped Marie off at school. My sister Julie is having Thanksgiving at her place. My parents will be there.”
“You gonna go?” He was going to Idaho Falls with Marie to spend some time with Henry’s parents.
“I think so. You won’t be here, so why not?”
He hadn’t invited her to come to Idaho with him. It was still too soon in their relationship, and he barely knew Henry’s parents himself. He couldn’t take along his girlfriend of a few weeks, and he hadn’t had to explain why. Thankfully, Natalie seemed to understand.
“You should go,” he said. “Where are they? Boulder?”
“Wrong state.” She gave up studying the recipe. “Peach Valley, Wyoming.”
“Ah, yes. Wyoming. Why’d your parents move there again?”
“Dad opened a new fried chicken franchise there. He still owns the one here, too, but they were looking for a change, and Julie lived there, so.”
“I could go for some fried chicken after this.”
Her eyebrows lifted and a fire entered her eyes. Owen backtracked, and fast. “I mean, not that the delicious stir fry you made wasn’t enough.” He just wasn’t into vegetables as a main course. He’d never say that out loud to her, though. Never.