by Liz Isaacson
When he passed Mint Brownie to Missy, she said, “Will you finish with Strawberry and bring her out too? Her rider will be here next.”
“Sure,” Tucker said, thinking maybe he wouldn’t be any good for much more than escorting horses to their lessons. “Which one’s Strawberry?” he asked under his breath as Susan set about saddling her horse. He wondered if every horse here was named after a food.
“The one I just washed,” she said. “We try to make sure our horses are ready for their riders.”
“How often do they get baths?” he asked.
“Every couple of weeks,” she said. “Or when they get dirty.” She gave him a smile he wanted to catch in his palm, curl his fingers around, and release whenever he needed to know someone on this earth cared about him.
Not that Missy Marino cared about him. He turned away from her and hurried away, confusion coiling through him with the power of a cyclone. He’d expected to be out of his element in Island Park. He’d expected not to know anything, to feel out of place, to have to work ten times harder than he ever had.
He hadn’t expected all of that to come with a woman who muddled his mind and stole his breath.
Tucker took a few minutes to stand in the observation room and watch Missy as she turned in the middle of the arena and called instructions to Susan. Susan nodded, adjusted her helmet, and set Mint Brownie to go at the jump again. Missy watched, rotated as the horse moved around the arena, smiled, and yelled more directions.
He hadn’t realized what a gem the stable manager would be. He’d assumed she would be crotchety, upset about the sale of the farm, and determined to make his life more difficult. But the truth couldn’t be further from that.
Missy simply loved horses, and they loved her.
Tucker turned away from the arena and went to get Strawberry before his mind started wandering to doing something crazy like asking Missy to show him around town. Just maybe they’d end up at the only Italian restaurant in town, or maybe he could walk around the park with her hand in his.
It had been so long since he’d thought about a woman in a romantic way, he didn’t quite know how to react, or what to say, or if his feelings were even real. When his marriage had ended five years ago, he’d paid a hefty price, and not just monetarily.
His heart had been shredded, the pieces spread from one side of Manhattan to the other. He held Strawberry’s reins loosely in his hands, his dress shoes slipping on a bit of straw on the cement in the aisle, and tipped his head back. “Lord,” he prayed. “Help me to understand how I feel.”
He didn’t expect the earth to shake or a voice to rain down on him from heaven. He did expect the peace that came whenever he turned to the Lord for help. Though he didn’t rely on his faith as often as he probably should, Tucker felt assured that his decision to leave the big city in favor of this farm was the right one—and maybe for reasons he wasn’t even sure of yet.
By the end of the day, Missy’s muscles ached, as usual. She’d gotten a lot done, also a regular occurrence. Her mind spun—not normal. She’d been fighting for hours against her natural instinct to flirt shamelessly with Tucker, and it was utterly exhausting.
He met her in the office, where he clapped his hands together in a puff of dust. “So, I need some farming clothes.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Would you mind … ? I mean, I don’t exactly know what to buy.”
She tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear and pushed away the schedule book. She knew who was coming for lessons tomorrow anyway. “There’s not much selection in Island Park,” she said. “If you go to Burlington, you’ll find a lot more.” She reached for her cell phone, which rested on the edge of the desk, her tired mind giving in to the idea of flirting with her new boss. “My family lives there. I could see if they’re around. My mom loves to feed people, and I’m sure they’d like to meet the new owner of Steeple Ridge.”
Tucker’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline, and his dark eyes foamed with amusement. Or fire. Or something. Missy wasn’t really sure. She herself wasn’t really sure what she’d just suggested.
When it hit her that she’d invited him to dinner with her family—her very large, very loud, very Italian family—her lungs forgot how to breathe. She sucked in air while he settled his weight on his back leg.
“I—why not?” he said, his awkwardness melting into confidence as he grinned. “I’d love to meet some people up here.”
Missy forced a laugh out of her too-tight throat. “Well, my family can hardly be counted as ‘people.’”
“Oh?” Tucker’s voice held interest, and she didn’t detect any sarcasm in his posture or expression.
“I have six brothers and sisters,” she said. “A truckload of cousins.” She stood and headed for the door, bypassing him in the process. She locked up and headed down to the arena, the observation room, the other barn, locking everything up the way she’d done countless times before.
“I don’t mind,” Tucker said, shadowing her step for step. “They sound fine.”
She faced him. “We’re Italian,” she said, like that would explain everything.
Judging by his expression, which didn’t even flinch, her statement didn’t explain anything. “Okay,” he said. “Should I drive? Do you want to take your truck back to your place?” He glanced behind him and back to her, then to his shoes. “I need to change my clothes. I’m pretty sure I’ve lost the outer layer of the skin on my feet because they’ve been wet since that bath this afternoon.” The boyish grin he gave her practically had her swooning. “How about you give me your address, and I’ll come pick you up when I’m ready?”
Her brain blanked, so she gave him her address from rote memory and walked next to him as they finished locking up and then headed into the parking lot. Missy’s senses didn’t return until she’d parked in her driveway and climbed the stairs to her front porch. Then it felt like someone had turned on a giant spotlight and aimed it directly at her.
She spun, sure she’d find Tucker waiting for her, already changed and prepared to drive for twenty-five minutes into Burlington.
“What did you do?” she whispered to herself. It was already five o’clock. With the drive there and back, shopping, and dinner with her family—Missy moaned, the sound carrying through the silent neighborhood—she wouldn’t be home until at least nine.
Fritz nudged his nose into her palm, his way of saying, “Hurry up and open the door.” She hadn’t gotten Tucker’s number, his address, anything. So she pushed open the door and let Fritz in, then flew into high gear. If she was bringing a man home for dinner on a weeknight, she couldn’t show up with muddy jeans and horse-scented hair.
By the time Tucker knocked on her front door, Missy had spent five frantic minutes on the phone with her mom—glad when the conversation had ended with the words “spaghetti and meatballs”—changed her clothes, put on makeup, and curled her hair.
She whipped open the front door, and the step up into her house put her closer to his eye level. “Hey,” she said breathlessly, immediately regretting the awed quality of her voice. “You found it okay?”
“I watched you turn off here earlier.” He hooked his thumbs into his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels, the hint of that sexy smile she’d seen several times pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Fourth one down.” He tapped the door, which matched the color of his polo. “Bright blue door.” He grinned; surely he knew the power in his single dimple and beautiful teeth.
“Right.” She giggled, and the sound revealed all her nerves. She snatched her purse from the side table and stepped onto the porch, the sandals she wore pinching along her pinky toes. She rarely wore anything but tennis shoes and cowgirl boots, and, well, she was in desperate need of a pedicure and a new bottle of perfume.
Tucker didn’t seem to be lacking in the looks-as-good-as-he-smells department, and she took a deep drag of his masculine, crisp scent as she pressed past him and moved down the stairs. Sh
e tossed a look over her shoulder. “Did you bring a ladder? I’m not sure I can get in your truck without one.”
He scoffed and darted ahead of her to open the passenger door. “I just bought this truck before I moved up here.” He glanced into the sky. “I hope it doesn’t rain, because I have no idea how to turn on the windshield wipers.” He beamed down at her, and she found a range of emotions teeming in his soft yet sharp eyes. She’d been out of the dating scene for a while, but she still had enough wherewithal to recognize the ember of attraction in his gaze.
She cleared the clog in her throat. “So, uh, I just put my foot there?” She glanced at the runner along his truck.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” He dropped his hand to hers, his fingers warm and strong, his palm pressing nicely against hers. “Right there.” His eyes bounced to hers and back. “Just right there.”
She jerked into motion, boosting herself up on the runner and using Tucker’s strength to balance herself. “Good thing I’m not wearing a skirt,” she joked as she settled onto the seat.
Tucker leaned into the truck. “Do you wear skirts a lot?”
Missy gazed back at him evenly, trying to figure out why he wanted to know. “To church.”
His face lit up. “Will you take me on Sunday? I haven’t heard anything about when the service starts.”
“You go to church?” Missy didn’t mean for her voice to sound so shocked.
Tucker blinked. “For a few years now.” He double-blinked now, shutters clamping over the emotion in his eyes, closing off something he didn’t want her to know quite yet. She couldn’t blame him for that. She’d known him for a single day, and she wasn’t about to blurt out all her personal secrets.
“Well, church is at ten-thirty on Sundays. There’s only one church in town, and it’s on the northern edge, by the—”
“Elementary school,” they said together. “I know it,” he continued. “I live right around the corner.”
Missy nodded, noting that he’d bought a second house in the nicest part of Island Park. The man had serious money, and her self-consciousness rose to the top of her skull. He flashed her a brief smile and went around to his side of the truck. While he did, she absorbed its luxury. The leather seats, the glinting silver, the digital display. Just as he got in, a crash of thunder sounded overhead. He froze, his shoulders hunched. Then he started laughing.
“Well, I better get out the owner’s manual before we go. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know how to turn on the wipers.”
He reached across the truck and opened the glove box right in front of her. Hers was filled with napkins, odds and ends, and old receipts. His was pristine, the owner’s manual the only thing sitting inside.
He muttered to himself as he flipped pages and then said, “Ah, there it is.” He bent to examine the lever on the side of his steering wheel and twisted it. The wipers swished up and down. “Bingo.”
He seemed so proud of himself, and she cocked one eyebrow.
“This is the first vehicle I’ve ever owned,” he said.
“That can’t be true.” Missy stared at him, trying to find the tell of a lie.
“I grew up in the city. I can tell you the exact subway line you need to get from Queens to Chinatown. But driving …”
Her fingers curled around the armrest on the door instinctively. “Have you driven? You have a driver’s license?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, easing a calm smile in her direction as he put the truck in gear.
Missy flashed him a smile and settled into the seat, ready as she’d ever be for almost thirty minutes of awkward conversation, followed by her advising him on what to buy and wear to work on the farm, and then the real kicker: an awkward dinner with her boisterous family—where she’d have to whisper the answers to at least five million questions out of the side of her mouth as she “helped” her mom in the kitchen.
Why had she suggested they go to Burlington? There was a department store right here in Island Park. She could have been home by six, her favorite spinach-mushroom pizza in the oven and her TV on in the background. Fritz would sit at her feet, keeping them warm, and she’d wake up in the middle of the night and stumble into her bedroom, the way she usually did.
A wave of exhaustion hit her, but she stifled the yawn in favor of asking him about his family. When he said, “I’m an only child,” horror struck her right between the eyes.
A groan leaked from her mouth, and he cut a glance in her direction. “What?”
“There will be at least eighteen people at dinner tonight,” she said. “Plus us.” A little thrill traveled from the top of her head down into her toes when she said us. Like they were a couple. Or together. Or anything but mere acquaintances.
He’s your boss, she told herself firmly. There’s no us, Missy. No us.
“Eighteen, huh?” Rain started to fall, and Missy wished she’d worn closed-toed shoes. “I thought you said you had six brothers and sisters.”
“I do. That alone is ten people if we show up. Four of them are married, and I have four nieces and nephews. That right there is eighteen. Mom always feeds a few cousins too, so …” She let the words hang there.
“Your parents must have a big house.”
“They expanded the kitchen, dining room, and living room a few years ago, when my oldest sister got married.” Missy watched the rain lash against her window, and she focused on the individual droplets as she contemplated what the scene would be like at her parents’ house.
Chaos. It would be complete chaos. And for someone who had a total of three people in his immediate family … A sick feeling settled in Missy’s stomach, and she wished she’d brought along a bottle of water to try to wash it away.
“We should just go to dinner somewhere else,” she blurted as the idea occurred to her. “It will be super crazy at my house, and—” She bit down on the rest of her sentence, not wanting to admit she felt strange about taking Tucker home only one day after meeting him.
“I don’t mind, Missy,” he said, his voice low. Husky, almost. Definitely sexy.
She twisted toward him. “You don’t?”
“I’ve always wanted a big family.” His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “I grew up in New York City. I’m used to noise and activity.”
“I thought you left the city because of the noise and activity.”
“I did.”
She cocked her head and studied him, but he kept his attention out the windshield, on the dark road north of Island Park, and she wondered if he was as adept at driving as he claimed to be. He was keeping the truck on the road at least. “Do you like the farm?”
A smile stole across his face, barely there in the dim light emanating from the dashboard in front of him. “I do.”
“What did you like the best about what we did today?”
“Working with the horses,” he said immediately. He glanced at her. “I wanted to ask you if you’d teach me how to ride.”
“Of course,” she said automatically, and not only because she believed that the owner of a boarding stable and horse farm should know how to ride a horse. She thought of working so intimately with him, and shivers cascaded down her arms. Good thing it was dark on her side of the truck.
“Great. Will we have time to start tomorrow?”
She turned back to her window. “If it’s not raining, we can go out in the morning.” As silence fell in the truck again, she sent a prayer up that she could make it back home emotionally whole. She begged God that none of her brothers would say anything inappropriate, that her mother wouldn’t ask point-blank questions in front of Tucker, that she wouldn’t wear her feelings right out on her face for all to see.
As the lights of Burlington came into view, some of her unease drifted away. Thank you, she thought, grateful that God always seemed to be there for her right when she needed Him.
Missy insisted they go shopping first, warning him that once they stepped through her parents’ front door, they might not m
ake it out alive. Her suggestion of going to dinner somewhere else seemed more and more attractive with each warning she issued. Heck, he’d wanted to agree right away, just to spend more time with her alone. At the same time, he wanted to meet her family, see how she fit in, find out if they were as loud and obnoxious as she kept claiming they were.
So, armed with three cowboy hats, six pairs of jeans, two pairs of the best quality cowboy boots he could find, socks and undershirts, and sensible polos and flannel, button-down shirts, he pulled into the driveway Missy indicated.
She didn’t get out but stared at the bright squares of light in the house. “What did your mom make for dinner?” he asked, just to have something to say.
“Spaghetti and meatballs.” She looked at him. “You’re not a vegetarian or anything, are you?”
He shook his head, and their gazes locked together in that electric way that had happened several times that day. His fingers twitched toward her, almost like they could remember touching her and wanted to do it again.
Missy opened the door, effectively breaking the spell between them. “Well, let’s go. The sun rises early in the summer, and this night isn’t getting any younger.”
A smile sang through his soul as he followed a half step behind her toward the porch.
“You ready for this?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said easily. Her family couldn’t be as intense as she claimed. Plus, he’d been in plenty of high-stress meetings, including lawsuits. He could handle a couple dozen people eating spaghetti and meatballs.
Missy sighed and said, “All right.” She knocked at the same time she opened the door, calling, “Mom! We’re here.”
Tucker waited for her to step up into the house, and when he followed her, a wall of noise hit him square in the face. There really were people everywhere. The two couches in the front room were full, one taken by children who looked to be six or seven years old, all bent over a tablet held by one boy. Their hair ranged in color from blond, to dark brown, to more auburn like Missy’s.
