by Zoe York
Will she what? Her mind stumbled over a million possible answers in about a half a second.
Suddenly, she realized the card was tied to the flowers by a brown, loosely twisted string, and something was weighing the string down. She pulled the card to the side and saw, dangling from the string, a gold ring with a lovely, if small, diamond, sliding slowly along toward the stems of the flowers.
“Turns out, I had enough to bring my loan current, buy flowers, and buy a ring,” he said, trying to smile confidently, but she could tell his nerves were drawn taut.
Her eyes dropped back down to the ring, sliding on the string. It unleashed a cascade of conflicting thoughts that rushed through her brain so quickly, she felt dizzy.
Could I? Should I? What would I lose? What would I gain? Is he really the one?
She felt like the words were blazing on a movie screen above her head. Each question was flashing on the screen and then another piled on top, the words laying on top of each other, hard to read, hard to know what to do, and then suddenly, like a wrecking ball crashing through the side of a building, came a bold YES!, scattering the other words in its wake.
“I guessed at the size,” Stetson said, filling the silence that must’ve been killing him. She slapped him on the chest playfully.
“There for a moment, you were all romantic and stuff. Don’t you dare ruin this for me, Stetson Byron Miller,” she said, before draping her arms around his neck. The flowers knocked his cowboy hat to one side. Laughing together, their lips met.
Finally, pulling away from his lips, she tightened her arms around his neck and with her mouth close to his ear, she whispered her answer.
“Yes. But,” she pulled away, putting a finger to his lips to stop whatever he was about to say, “darlin’, you need to know – love means that you do say you’re sorry. In fact, bending and growing together, admitting faults, working to always improve…that’s love to me. If that’s not love to you, then this won’t work. I don’t need you to grovel every time you let out a fart,” he laughed uproariously at that, “but I’m not gonna put up with this half-ass shit. You did it a couple of times while I was there on the farm – came right up on the words ‘I’m sorry’ but refused to actually say them. I won’t marry someone who is gonna spend the rest of our lives trying to pretend that he’s done nothing wrong.”
He looped his hands around her lower back, snuggling her up against the juncture of his thighs, as he looked down at her with a quiet pride. “I bet Old Jennifer never would’ve dared to give Paul that lecture,” he said with a grin. “Damn, I’m proud of you, and I agree with you a hundred percent. I won’t say that I’m perfect, but…well, I should probably tell you now that Carmelita is on a warpath. She’s called me some Spanish swear words that I didn’t even know she knew. If I don’t bring you back home with me, she may not let me in the house.”
Jennifer let out a half-hysterical laugh, the kind of laugh that only happens after a period of stupidly high stress. “Are you trying to say that you only want me to marry you ‘cause otherwise, your housekeeper won’t let you back inside your own house?”
“I figure there’s other side benefits too,” he said, snuggling her tighter up against him. She felt him harden against her belly and when her eyes snapped up to his, he grinned down at her lasciviously. She shook her head in mock disapproval and he just laughed.
And then he grew serious.
“Jenn, I love you more than anything in the world. I love you more than my truck, my housekeeper, my family farm, even my pride. The only thing that’s kept me going these last few days has been knowing that if I pulled my head out of my ass and worked hard, I just might have a chance at winning you back. I’ve done a lot of really stupid things in my life, but this has taken the cake. If you’ll have me, warts and all, I promise to do all that I can to make you happy. And I promise to apologize when I’m wrong. No matter how much it sucks, it’s much worse to lose you.”
Jennifer savored another long look at this strong, warm-hearted, and loving man before turning to her desk and pressing a button.
“Susan, when Greg calls again, will you tell him I quit?”
Epilogue
Jennifer
September, 2016
Sighing, she sat back down at the worn kitchen table that was covered with magazines, fabric swatches, brochures, and pictures. An only child, Jennifer’s mother seemed to have taken an almost unholy interest in the wedding plans and was driving down every weekend from Boise to “help” with the process. Six weeks into it, and Jennifer was already starting to go a little crazy.
The really good news was, Carmelita didn’t seem to mind the mess considering the reason for it. The bad news was, Stetson had become accustomed to Carmelita’s “normal” level of perfected cleanliness and the disarray had started to get to him. His barn could be a mess all day long, but the house was a whole different matter.
Truth was, this was really out-of-hand even by Jennifer’s estimation. She needed to reign in some of the chaos, but she couldn’t seem to make a decision on anything, much to her mother’s chagrin. She needed to talk to Stetson.
She braced her elbows on the table, crinkling some of the cake decorator brochures she’d picked up at the bridal show in Boise two weeks ago. She’d started off wanting to keep every scrap of paper that was ever considered, but now, she just didn’t care.
“We could catch a flight to Vegas,” Stetson said.
Jennifer flew out of her seat in surprise. She was so absorbed in all of this stuff, she hadn’t heard the back door open or close. She hadn’t heard his boots clicking against the tile, or the fridge door open and close, as was evidenced by the beer he was holding.
“Holy…” she panted. “Stetson, honey, don’t ever sneak up on me like that again. You have to actually get married before you can kill me off with a heart attack and get the insurance.”
He smiled. She loved that smile, the twinkle in his eye, and the way the left side of his mouth lifted just a little bit higher than the right. All of this magically made some of her stress disappear. She grinned up at him.
“To be fair, I, in no way, tried to sneak. I even let the screen door close on its own behind me,” he said, and cracked open the beer. “Want one? I could pour you some wine.”
“No, but thank you,” she said and pressed on. “I really need to talk to you about the wedding.”
“Babe, I already told you – it’s fall,” Stetson said, his smile wilting a bit. “That means harvest time. I know it’s hard for you to not have me involved, but when I only get one or two paychecks a year, this is do-or-die for me. I’ll help you more after I’m done and have more free time, promise.”
She just stared up at him. Logically, she knew this was his busy time and that was part of what she’d signed up for when she agreed to be the wife of a farmer. Emotionally though, she needed to be the center of his attention. Just for a few moments.
Stetson looked at her and seemed to sense her conflict. For having been raised around a bunch of men with only Carmelita as a feminine example, Stetson was amazingly considerate.
“I’m here now. Maybe we could decide on one thing together before I head for a shower and then bed? What do you think we should decide on – cake? Centerpieces?”
“The date,” she said, taking her opportunity by the horns. “I think we should move the date up. I think we should move it to October 2nd.”
“Honey,” Stetson said, sitting in the chair next to her. “I’m too busy to get married in December – what makes you think I have enough time to get married at the beginning of October? That is smack-dab in the middle of harvest. We can maybe move it to the weekend before Thanksgiving if you want it sooner, but even that’s a real stretch for me. I know you haven’t lived through a harvest before, but my days only get longer before they get shorter. You think I’m gone a lot right now – just wait until October hits. Some nights, it’s just easier to sleep in the tractor than it is to come home.”
“I just think the sooner the better,” she said, willing herself not to cry. “I think the beginning of October is the longest we should wait.”
“That just isn’t possible, Jenn. We haven’t even started harvest over at Declan’s place because he’s helping Wyatt, and Declan’s place is huge. Plus, I want him to be there for my wedding – he’s my best man, after all. I know it’s tough, but that date would shut down two farms.”
She couldn’t hold it in any longer. At first, it was just a tear on her cheek but before she could even try to get a handle on her emotions, she was blubbering and sobbing. Stetson pulled her to him and stroked her hair.
He waited until she’d gotten most of the lip-sucking under control before asking, “Why is this so important?”
“The…the…the drahhh…the dress,” she finally blurted out before the sobbing took over again.
Stetson held her again until she got a better grip on her waterworks.
“The dress? I thought that was the one thing that was decided.”
She wiped the tears away with the back of her sleeve.
“It is. It’s here already.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“It won’t fit,” she said, and then stopped. She wasn’t really sure what to say.
“Ah, damn,” Stetson said, the relief at finding a simple solution registering on his face and in his voice. “Can you send it back? Or hell, just buy a new one.”
“I don’t know what size I’ll be by then,” she said miserably. She had no idea how blunt she was going to have to be, and even more worrisome, she had no idea what his reaction was going to be.
“Why not?” he asked. He obviously hadn’t connected the dots.
She couldn’t find the right way to say it. She was pretty sure he would be happy, but there was a real chance that all of this was happening way too fast for him, and was happening at the time of year where all he did was concentrate on bringing the harvest in.
She knew that was part of the problem, too. If she had to say it outright, she wanted the announcement to be perfect. She wanted this to be one of those moments that was just right. She just couldn’t find that perfect phrasing in her head.
Stetson’s mind made the connection before she found those perfect words.
“You’re not…?” he said, his eyes widening. “Are you really? Are we going to have a…”
She nodded her head.
“Yeeehaaaaa!” Stetson yelled.
Vaulting out of his chair, he began to dance with joy around the kitchen. She couldn’t help giggling as she watched him skip and twirl around the cooking island. He was laughing so hard, tears were running down his cheeks.
Carmelita rushed into the room, fear written across her face, fear that quickly changed to an all-consuming confusion. Stetson pranced and skipped over to the short woman. He surprised her even more by picking her up by the waist and spinning her around.
Stetson set Carmelita back on her feet after a couple of turns, her face still a frozen mask of shock.
Jennifer watched in surprise as he grabbed Carmelita’s cheeks and squeezed.
“We’re having a father! I’m going to be a baby,” he yelled, whooping happily before planting a big kiss on her forehead as Jennifer doubled over with laughter. “You’re going to be a grandma!”
Well, I guess he got the gist of it.
Author’s Note
Awwww…I’ve written a lot of “happily ever afters” by this point in my career, but I’ll admit that this one is still my favorite. ❤️ If you’re looking for more Long Valley love stories, be sure to check out my website at http://erinwright.net and while you’re there, be sure to sign up for a FREE novella available only to my subscribers!
Love and hugs, Erin
Part XVI
The Road To Garrett
by Suzie O’Connell
About This Book
Annemarie Garrett had a clear plan for her future. Getting pregnant at eighteen by a man twice her age wasn't part of it. Neither was fighting to get her son’s wealthy rancher father to provide for his child. Shifting directions at the unexpected fork in the road, she moves across Wyoming to secure a future for her son. But a gift of five hundred acres unwillingly given isn't the boon it seems. Annemarie knows nothing about ranching, and this barren tract of land is just a stone's throw from a man and his family who hate her and everything she represents.
* * *
With six older brothers ahead of him in line for his family's ranch, Gabriel Collins knew from a young age that he'd have to find his own way in the world. Now he's a master electrician with a successful business. Something is missing, however, and when Annemarie calls in desperate need of his expertise, he finds out exactly what. The indomitable young mother, her adorable little boy, and their struggle to turn Garrett Ranch from a money pit into a profitable operation might just be the family and the cause he didn't know he was searching for… so long as the boy’s father doesn’t ruin everything.
* * *
A NOTE ON THE CONTENT: THE ROAD TO GARRETT is a contemporary romance and contains sensual scenes and mild profanity that may be unsuitable for sensitive readers.
For the friends who truly are.
Chapter 1
“What on earth was I thinking?”
Annemarie groped her way down the treacherously steep, inky black stairwell, placing her feet more carefully when she knocked loose a cascade of crumbling concrete debris. As she descended, the air became stale with lung-clogging must and mildew. Her hand brushed a dangling cobweb, and she shivered. The basement was bad enough fully illuminated, but even with her eyes wide, there was nothing for them to see but blackness that provided the perfect canvas for her imagination.
Her skin crawled at the thought of the giant brown spiders she knew lurked down here.
Don’t think about them. She snorted. Yeah, right.
She located the flashlight hanging from the rough-sawn beam to which the breaker box was screwed. Clicking it on, she located the tripped breaker for the kitchen and dining room—how sad was it that she knew them all now without needing to decipher the faded, curling labels?—and reset it. Warm light flooded the basement from the bare bulb directly above the trap door in the tiny dining room. “Utterly brilliant move this was, Garrett.”
“Mom, are you okay?”
She glanced up to see her sandy-haired son peering over the edge of the trap door. His blue eyes were wide, and she flashed her most reassuring smile. “I’m fine, pumpkin. Just a tripped breaker.”
“You didn’t see any monsters down there, did you?”
“Nope.” She glanced to her left as she climbed out of the basement, spied an eight-legged creepy-crawly staring at her from the crack in the foundation, and suppressed a shudder. No monsters. Just really big, ugly spiders.
She reached the top of the steps and lovingly stroked her hand through Cody’s silky hair. This is all for him, and it will all pay off for him someday. I hope.
“TJ says there’s monsters down there. And ghosts.”
“Well, he’s wrong. And he’s a liar who only said that to scare you.”
“But—”
“Don’t listen to TJ, Cody. Just because he’s your half-brother, it doesn’t give him any right to be mean to you. Go on back to your drawing and forget about ghosts and monsters.”
Cody wandered into the living room and plopped on the floor amid the sheets of printer paper, coloring books, crayons, and markers scattered across the scarred pine floor.
After four months living here, tripped breakers were nothing new to him. Their cabin’s old wiring simply couldn’t handle the load of modern appliances, and she tripped a breaker at least once and frequently two or three times a day. This fear of monsters was sudden and new, however, and she needed to have a talk with TJ’s mother. At eleven years old, TJ was plenty old enough to know better than to bully a kindergartener. Or maybe she shouldn’t bring it up. Knowing Sandy, she’d probably en
courage it.
She followed Cody into the living room and kissed the top of her son’s head before she returned to the kitchen to finish dinner. While the noodles boiled and the spaghetti sauce simmered, she washed and cut ingredients for salad, gazing out the west-facing window toward the sheer wall of the Absaroka Mountains and the sprawling sagebrush plain between them and her son’s barren ranch. The five hundred acres were a gift from his father and grandparents, and she wondered now if she hadn’t put herself and Cody into a bind they’d never get out of in her attempt to get Thomas Grant Jr. to take responsibility for his son. Even sixty miles north, five hundred acres would’ve been incredibly valuable, but here it was worth next to nothing. Five hundred acres of sagebrush, thin, brittle scrub grass, rock, and dust. It was too far away from the river to be irrigated without punching a new well, which she couldn’t afford, and the single spring on the property wasn’t large enough to do much with.
At first, she’d been floored by the suggestion of land as a means of seeing to Cody’s well-being. The offer was well intentioned; it had come from Tom’s parents—Thomas Sr., who had a good if gruff heart, and Ginny, whose amazing strength, stubbornness, and kindness Annemarie had dearly missed these last seven months—but the selection of the land had been up to Tom, and he’d picked the driest, most unproductive corner of the massive Grant Ranch to bequeath to his bastard son.
Message received loud and clear, she thought with a scowl. And I was dumb enough to take it.
She’d known almost nothing about ranching or working with cows, and until she’d officially taken possession of the land a year and a half ago, she had still been able to count the number of times she’d been on a horse on her fingers. She hadn’t learned nearly enough in the time since to make her believe she could find a way to make this work… and yet, she’d given up her small house in town to move into this even smaller cabin miles away from anyone with the thought that it would be easier to manage things if she were on site and that the money she’d save on rent could be put toward improving operations. Her first four months in the cabin didn’t give her much hope that the latter would be happening any time soon; all that rent money hadn’t gone toward the ranch but rather into cleaning supplies, paint, used stove and refrigerator, and more repair supplies. The repairs she’d made last summer had barely been enough to make it livable. It still needed so much more to make it feel like home.
