Jocelyn: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Sewing in SoCal Book 2)

by Sarah Monzon

  “Anyway”—Jocelyn’s voice pulled my attention back to the two ladies—“I’m not scared anymore. Malachi helped me see past my fear.”

  Miss Nicole’s gaze turned to scrutiny, her eyes tapering in a disconcerting way. Her regard lowered to where Jocelyn’s fingers were held hostage against my body then rose to meet mine in challenge. Her look seemed to say, Is that all Malachi wants to help you see?

  The answer was like a noose around my throat. Strands of jute woven together, each thread a different response.

  Jocelyn and I were from different worlds. Besides city and country, our lifestyles were completely dissimilar.

  My hands were full with calving season and keeping the ranch afloat in a sea of bills.

  I was a blubbering idiot when it came to women.

  Yet, I’d never felt as drawn to another person as I did to her.

  I reached to scratch at my throat. “Excuse me, ladies.”

  13

  Jocelyn

  “You like him.” Nicole grabbed my arm.

  The last time I’d seen her blue eyes sparkle this much was when California passed a law requiring all new homes built to include solar panels, thus reducing fossil fuel footprints and accessing renewable energy.

  I gave a noncommittal shrug. “He’s a likable guy.”

  “So is Henry, but I don’t see you sidling up to him.”

  I’d yet to divulge Henry’s little affirmative action bomb to my friends. Truth be told, I hadn’t decided if I’d tell them yet or not. They’d be outraged on my behalf, but could they really understand how deep that particular knife cut? And if I got anywhere close to Henry yet, he’d be in danger of my heel stomping on the top of his instep. Only, I’d make sure to do it while wearing my three-inch Jimmy Choos.

  But I wasn’t ready to talk about Malachi. Mostly because I didn’t know what I’d say. Nicole was right. I liked him. He was nice. A solid type of guy. And I found myself lured by his quiet manner and steady disposition. But I also knew I’d be gone in a few more days.

  A pang of ache streaked across my chest, reminiscent of homesickness. I moistened my lips and changed the subject. “What about you and Drew?”

  Nicole’s neck craned so far back I almost offered to call Ben over to check for whiplash.

  “There is no me and Drew,” she hissed.

  I looked down at my nails to hide a smile. “Have you ever heard of enemies-to-lovers? Julia Stiles and Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You? Or Moira Kelly and D. B. Sweeney in The Cutting Edge?”

  Her brows peaked over eyes now stormy as a turbulent ocean. “Have you ever heard of a murder trial?”

  I bumped her with my shoulder. “You’re too busy saving the planet and every creature in it to take a life.”

  “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be tempted,” she mumbled.

  Her nostrils flared, and color burst like red fireworks in her cheeks. Unflappable Nicole was not. She could turn passion on with a flick of a switch. Or, more accurately, explode like unstable dynamite. Seemed Drew knew which buttons to push to detonate her.

  “What is it about him that gets under your skin so easily?” I asked.

  Her jaw clenched. “He’s just so…so…irritating!”

  A wry grin bent my mouth. “Thank you for being specific.”

  I couldn’t decipher what she stammered under her breath, and I wouldn’t dream of asking her to repeat it.

  “What are you girls whispering about over there? Get some food and join us.” Amanda waved from her perch on one of the deck chairs. She’d pulled the cushioned Adirondack closer to the fire pit.

  I followed Nicole to the laden outdoor table and picked up a heavy-duty paper plate. Nicole stacked her veggie burger between two leaves of lettuce, passing the platter of Kaiser rolls and topping her sandwich with tomatoes and pickles. She turned without adding any baked beans or potato salad to her plate.

  My stomach rumbled in protest, and I wanted to chase after her with the serving spoon overflowing with mayonnaise-coated potatoes. But eggs were a main ingredient in mayo, so vegan Nicole wouldn’t eat it.

  My gaze fell to Nicole’s figure. On her dating profile, under body type, she’d clicked voluptuous, (Betsy had suggested other with an added comment about being none of the perverts’ business) and though the actual definition fit, I hesitated at what people would perceive that to mean.

  Nicole was full. Full of life. Full of enthusiasm. Full of conviction. My coworkers might glance at her plate and think her meager meal due to a diet, but being vegan was a lifestyle choice based on animal rights and ecology, not an attempt to shed pounds.

  Ben scooted closer to Molly to give me room on the loveseat they shared. He slipped his arm across her back and rested his hand on her hip, pulling her even closer. Molly leaned her head to the side and laid her temple on his shoulder. She sighed contentedly.

  I looked away, giving them privacy. They’d both come a long way in their individual journeys—Ben losing his wife and raising his preschool daughter alone while finishing his family medicine residency, and Molly coming to a place of belonging after the unpredictability of her childhood—to find themselves now walking the road together. Ben had someone he could lean and rely on, and Molly had a family and a home to call her own. Well, maybe not quite her own yet, but by the way the two looked at each other, rings and vows were just around the corner.

  Gran emerged from the house carrying a guitar case. “Nate, why don’t you play us a few songs?”

  Nate’s ever-present smile dimmed until all the brightness in his chronically teasing expression turned off. The playful Thomas brother blanched as Gran extended her arm to hand him the instrument.

  “I…I’m sure no one wants to hear me right now, Gran. Maybe later.”

  Nate stutter? The same guy who’d strutted around like a peacock wrangler and spouted off cowboy nonsense our first day here?

  As if an internal radar had been planted in my chest and locked on to Malachi’s position, my head swiveled toward him. He stood against a porch post on the periphery of the group. Watching, listening, but not taking an active part in the get together. His spine straightened as Nate tried to deter Gran again about the guitar.

  “Play us something, Nate,” Bill encouraged. The others joined in, perhaps thinking Nate shy of the stage and in need of reassurance. Seriously, had they not met the man?

  I continued to watch Malachi watch Nate. Could no one else feel the tension like a cord pulling taut between these two? Malachi’s gaze honed like I’d only ever seen him do with the animals. Usually his deep-brown eyes only connected for a moment. A delicious taste before he blinked to look elsewhere.

  A strumming of a chord pulled my focus from one brother to the other. Pain furrowed deep grooves along Nate’s forehead. He closed his eyes, hands moving in unison but independently of each other, one pressing strings along frets, the other strumming. A sweet sound swirled around us all, as if he were plucking at our hearts instead of guitar strings. After a deep inhale, he opened his mouth and a beautiful melody escaped. The words and the rich tone of Nate’s voice seeped into my skin, raising gooseflesh along my arms.

  This man couldn’t just sing. He could saaang!

  After a few breath-holding minutes, the song drew to a close and the last note hung in the air. The wind carried the final strands away, and applause broke out.

  “That was amazing.” Amanda clapped. “Right, Betsy?”

  Betsy eyed Nate as the man lowered his guitar back into the case. “You’re quite good. Have you ever considered going professional?”

  That radar inside me beeped. Why else would my eyes swing back around to Malachi?

  He took half a step closer. Nate noticed the slight movement as well, his eyes widening at his brother as if…as if to say he was sorry?

  Nate looked back to Betsy. “That’s nice of you to say, ma’am.”

  Amanda hooted. “Betsy never says anything nice. Believe me. She’s the female version of Sim
on Cowell and would tell you if you had a voice only your mother would love.”

  Betsy grinned, proud of her sour reputation. “It’s true. I’m a sound engineer, so I know what I’m talking about. You should think about it.”

  “Nate went to Nashville to pursue a record deal.” Miriam beamed.

  Then why was he here at the Double B now? The question danced like the flames in the fire pit, casting shadows across every face, more than a dozen pairs of eyes trained on Nate, waiting for an answer.

  “Were you able to touch base with any of the producers there?” Betsy interrupted the increasingly uncomfortable silence.

  “I…uh…” Nate stood. “I need to feed the horses.” He turned and fled.

  14

  Malachi

  Not this time. Nate wasn’t going to escape again without an explanation. He’d been home for over a month without stringing enough words together to convey a plausible reason why he’d returned with his tail tucked between his legs. Time had come for him to face the music, so to speak.

  For goodness’ sake, we were family! Family stuck together. Supported each other. They didn’t hide away whatever they’d gone through and lick their wounds on their own. If some hoity-toity, big-shot producer had told Nate he wasn’t good enough for a record deal, then okay. Nate had been bucked off plenty of horses before. He’d never been too afraid to remount after dusting himself off. He just needed to get back in the music-business saddle was all. And if he needed a leg up, I’d be there to give it to him. Same with Gran and Miriam.

  The sound of a plastic scooper being shoved into a trashcan full of horse feed rang in my ears. The noise played in this space more times than a record breaker on the radio. Pellets jingled into buckets, volume increasing as I rounded a corner into the feed room.

  The muscles in Nate’s shoulders bunched as he propelled the scoop farther into the bin, ignoring me completely. I crossed my arms and let my body fill the doorway. No more fleeing or evading. Time for truth.

  “What happened Nate?”

  “Wanted to feed before it got too dark, that’s all.” Scoop. Dump.

  I flicked a switch, light spilling into the room. “Nice try, but there’s been electricity out here longer than you’ve been alive.”

  Scoop. Dump.

  “Nate.”

  He rested the heels of his palms against the rim of the trashcan, pressing down like he wanted to squash the conversation or the memories of Nashville or both. “I’ll take care of it, Malachi. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  Not sure which to address first, the it or Nate’s misconception that I wouldn’t always worry about him—the same way I worried about Gran and Miriam and the ranch. “I worry because I care.”

  “I know you do.” His chin dipped to his shoulder.

  Three solid seconds passed. “What happened in Nashville?”

  One of the horses whinnied, wondering why the hold up with supper.

  Nate turned and sank his hands into his pockets then half sat on the lip of the trashcan. He shook his head while staring at the ground, refusing to meet my eye. “I’m such an idiot.” The words rushed out on a wave of air, as if the verbal admission had been a punch in the gut.

  I waited. Hard stories were like cantankerous bulls and a trailer. Push too hard and they felt cornered. People got hurt.

  Finally, Nate sighed. “I’d been playing at a bar on Music Row known to be a popular hangout location for a specific manager I’d wanted to catch the eye of. I never did see the guy, but another man approached me after my set one night.” The toe of his boot made a line in the dust covering the floor. “He said I had the stuff to go far in the industry.”

  Nate glanced up at me for a fraction of a second before looking back down at the imprint he’d made. “Should have listened to you. A sure thing is never a sure thing. Behind the honey of his flattering words poised a scorpion’s stinger ready to paralyze.” His calloused fingers, roughened from hours at the guitar, rubbed at his neck before falling back to his side in defeat. “Five thousand dollars. That snake-oil salesman conned me into taking out a personal loan and signing over five thousand dollars in exchange for a record label contract that never existed.”

  Outwardly, I didn’t move. Not a muscle. My thoughts, however, jumped and twisted like a bronc in a rodeo, not lasting even a second before turning to the next. The price tag of gullibility. The likelihood of finding the scammer and pressing charges. Consequences to Nate. The family. The ranch.

  My little brother’s sore humiliation and the loss of his dream.

  I stumbled over that one.

  Why did this have to be a loss? A set-back, sure, but not the end.

  I closed the distance between myself and Nate while my mind did an about-face and marched the opposite direction. Toward Jocelyn and her friend Betsy. A sound engineer, she’d said. Maybe the roadmap to a career in music didn’t lead Nate away from us toward Nashville. Maybe his dream had pursued him here. To the Double B. Wouldn’t that have made great-great-granddad eat his hat?

  My hand clamped down on Nate’s shoulder, squeezing reassurance into my grip. “It’s going to be all right.”

  His gaze twisted in shame as he finally fixed his eyes on mine. “How could I have been so stupid?”

  “Not stupid. Sometimes we desire something so badly, we believe what we want to believe and become blind to any warning signs that might have been there.” I shook my head. “The only thing you’re guilty of is having unadulterated hope and aspirations. Nothing wrong with either of those things.”

  Nate pulled his hands from his pockets and fiddled with his fingers. “I…I think I’m going to sell Domino. With his training and being a warmblood, he’ll cover the balance of the loan.”

  And maybe then some.

  Nate lifted his head, his jaw hard with resolve. This decision had cost him more than just money. Nate had purchased Domino as a yearling and started training right away, though he’d waited until after the horse’s second birthday before attempting to saddle and ride. They’d been together almost seven years. Selling Domino would more than bruise Nate’s heart.

  “You’re just trying to get out of work.” My attempted joke fell flat. Like always. “I respect your decision to take responsibility for this…” Naming the situation a mess out loud felt harsh. “Look, don’t give up just because you stumbled over an obstacle. Thomases aren’t quitters.”

  Nate reached down and picked up a feed bucket. “I learned my lesson and where I belong. Here, at the Double B.”

  I picked up the other bucket. “Of course you belong here. This is your home, you numbskull. But that doesn’t mean you can’t belong somewhere else as well. Everyone knows you’ve got a big enough personality to fill up the whole state of California. Don’t clip your wings before you’ve had the chance to fly.”

  Nate blinked twice before tossing one of his trademark grins my way. “Now which brother’s making up lyrics on the spot?”

  I pushed the bucket into his stomach. “Better feed the horses before it gets dark.”

  Laughter followed my retreating back—a blessed sound. Nate had dug himself a hole, but not one he couldn’t climb out of. The loss of Domino would hurt us all, though. We were all fond of the gelding, and he was the best beginner horse we had, gentle and unspookable. Losing him would be a hit on the ranch but, unfortunately, the Double B’s bank account didn’t have enough cushion to buy him from Nate. Not with an upcoming vet bill for the cesarean. The Whalen group’s fees had covered the cost of replacement heifers, but the ranch wouldn’t be flush until after the weaned calves were sold to the feedlot.

  I couldn’t save Nate from the loss of Domino, but I could see if a different door to his dreams in music could be opened.

  Pushing down the rising nerves as I retraced my steps back to the small bonfire and the crowd surrounding the flickering blaze, I mentally practiced what to say. Usually I walked a fine line between avoiding women and trying to not appear rude. Never
had I sought a lady out of my own accord with the purpose of a private conversation.

  My throat tightened the closer I got. A red-orange glow illuminated the side of Jocelyn’s face. Her high cheekbones cast shadows along her jaw and highlighted the intelligent sheen in her eyes. I found I couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the graceful curve of her exposed neck and shoulders.

  She laughed at something one of her colleagues said. How could she do that? Be not only comfortable in any setting—at least, I imagined she commandeered a conference room with as much ease as she’d stepped into ranch life—but with any person, be it friend, stranger, or ill-mannered coworkers? Nothing seemed to fluster her for too long or hold her back. Not fear nor prejudice. She might look like a willowy flower with petals that could easily bruise, but she had the grit of a fighter.

  And heaven help me if I wasn’t attracted to both the dainty and the determined.

  As if she could feel me staring, her head turned. Her gaze captured mine in a slip knot, pulling tighter with each knock of my heart against my ribs. The fire popped, and I blinked.

  “Can I speak to you?” The heat of the flames dried my lips. “In private.”

  Her fawn-colored eyes widened slightly, but she stood, told her friends she’d be right back, and walked around to join me.

  “I think this is the first time you’ve ever sought me out. Usually I’m the one foisting myself on you.”

  Of course she’d noticed my attempts at ducking. But… “I wouldn’t say foisting.”

  We walked side-by-side away from the crowd.

  “Imposing then.”

  I rolled the word around in my mind. Glanced down at her then away. “Only if you’re using the word as an adjective.”

  Her chin rose at an angle so she could peer up at me out of the corner of her eye. “Is it not a verb?”

  I pointed toward a large oak deep in the backyard, where a bench swing hung from a sturdy branch and redirected our course. If only I could send our conversation in another route as easily. My pulse hammered at the base of my jaw. “Only the adjective describes you.”