by Liz Isaacson
“No! No!” one of them yelled just before the entire group shouted and then laughed. A grab-fest began as they started wrestling over who got to play on the tablet next. Tucker blinked at them, unsure of anything at the moment.
On the other couch sat three adults, seemingly unaware of the riot just six feet from them. They yelled over the noise, only adding their voices to it. Tucker glanced away as one of the men made eye contact. He had dark hair like Tucker’s, and thick eyebrows over dark eyes that harbored a knowing glint.
In front of Tucker, Missy had continued past the living room toward an open area with more couches, a dining room table, and—as Tucker discovered when he took a few more steps—a kitchen around the corner to the left.
A woman with Missy’s light eyes and honey-red hair appeared at the edge of the wall just as he did. An instant smile popped onto her face. “Hello!” She clasped her arms around him and hugged him. Because of his height, he could see Missy as she lifted her arms as if to say, I told you so.
“You must be Missy’s mom,” he said, grateful he’d been able to force his vocal chords to function.
“Yes, yes.” She stepped back. “I’m Lorraine. Tucker, right?”
He nodded, because another eruption from the children would’ve rendered his words silent anyway.
“Well, come in. Come in.” Lorraine ushered him toward the long counter on the edge of the kitchen where Missy already sat, a hunk of garlic bread in her hand. “Missy,” her mom chided as she leaned down and kissed her daughter’s cheek.
“What? I’m starving. It’s almost seven o’clock. I haven’t eaten since noon.”
Lorraine turned and grabbed what looked like a metal stick from the counter along the wall where she’d met Tucker. He barely had time to realize what she was doing before the loudest sound he’d ever heard clanged through the house. He actually lifted his hands and covered his ears as she continued banging the triangle. A hum of sound hung in the air when she finally finished.
“Dinnertime,” she announced, once everyone had gathered from the four corners of the house, children included. “Missy’s brought her new boss, the new owner of Steeple Ridge Farm, Tucker Jenkins. Everyone will be nice to him.” Lorraine beamed at him. “And now, Daniel will say grace.” She took a step back as a boy of maybe twelve stepped out of the crowd and bowed his head.
Tucker hurried to prepare for the prayer too, something strange and wonderful flowing through him. This is what a family should be like, he thought. Noise and dinners together and an abundance of cousins who liked to play with one another.
The prayer ended while he was still basking in the familial energy in Missy’s house, and before he knew it, he’d been swept toward the dinner table by the same man who’d caught his eye in the living room.
“Tucker, huh?” he asked just as Lorraine said, “Leon, let Tucker go through the line first.”
“Oh, it’s fine—” Tucker started, but he realized that no one else had gotten any food yet.
“Guests first,” Lorraine insisted, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the food on the other side of the counter. “Anthony! Get away from that bread. Guests. First.”
Everyone fell into line, and while the noise had dropped several decibels, it was clear that no one would touch a single food item until Tucker did. So he took a plate—not paper. He suspected Lorraine would never allow paper products to be used for family dinner—and scooped a healthy amount of spaghetti onto his plate.
The rich tomato smell that hit him made his stomach tighten with hunger. And the meatballs had a brown crust and put off a delicious, greasy scent. His mouth watered and he took a slice of garlic bread, very aware of the dozens of eyes on him.
Missy followed behind him, somewhat of a buffer between him and the ravenous crowd. “To the table,” she said under her breath, and he moved away from the counter to the table. He chose a seat on the end corner, thinking it the safest place. Missy seemed intent on eating as quickly as possible, but when Leon tried to sit on the other side of the corner, Missy said, “Mom’s sitting there.”
Leon frowned toward the kitchen, and Tucker followed his gaze. Lorraine was busy helping a small child through the line; surely she wouldn’t be coming over for at least fifteen minutes. And at the rate Missy was eating, Tucker doubted they’d still be there in fifteen minutes.
“So you’re Missy’s brother?”
Leon took the seat he’d intended to, and Missy exhaled slowly, making a sound like a balloon leaking air.
“Her oldest brother.” He took a plate from a boy who had the same hair as his—wiry and spiky—and set it on the table next to him. “Go get me some punch, all right?”
“Can I have some too?”
“Yeah.” Leon looked back at Tucker. “Are you married?”
Beside him, Missy choked. “Leon. Do you think I would’ve brought him to dinner if he was married?” She met Tucker’s eye, a mystery swimming in hers.
“I’m not married,” Tucker said, flashing a smile at Missy before returning to his food. He took a bite, and his eyes almost rolled back into his head as the flavor exploded against his tongue. This wasn’t sauce that came from a bottle. Oh, no. This was pure Italian love, stewed on the stove for hours. No wonder Missy had been shoveling it in as fast as possible.
“Any kids?” Leon asked next.
Missy slammed her fork on the table. “Leon.” She touched Tucker’s arm, sending a riot of birds’ wings tingling across his skin. “You don’t have to answer that.”
Tucker chuckled. “It’s fine, Missy.” He glanced at Leon, who was clearly enjoying himself. “No kids, though my ex-wife did want them.”
Leon didn’t even flinch. “So you’ve been married before.”
“Once.” Tucker liked Leon’s directness. He just hadn’t been planning to bring up his failed marriage after only one day in Vermont.
Two days, his mind whispered. He’d slept in his Vermont house for two nights now.
“Same as Missy, then,” Leon said just as Missy exploded to her feet. Pure fury raced across her face, making her eyes dangerous and deadly.
“Leon.” Her chest heaved. “You had no right.” She glared at Tucker. “I’ll wait in the truck. Did you lock it?”
Was she really going to abandon him? Here, at her parents’ house, with the—he scanned the room and did a quick headcount—twenty-one people in her family? And he hadn’t even met her father yet.
“I didn’t lock it,” he finally managed to say. She stomped out, never once looking back. No one seemed to notice her outburst or that she’d left half of her food behind.
Leon shook his head. “She’s wound too tight.”
Tucker didn’t know how to answer, and Lorraine showed up at that moment. “Whose plate is this?” She looked around like she would be able to tell who was missing in this mob.
“Missy’s.” Leon reached over and slid it toward the center of the table. “There you go, Ma.”
Lorraine collapsed into the chair. “Where did Missy go?”
Leon looked at Tucker, who gazed right on back. He wasn’t going to say what had happened; he barely knew what had happened.
“She had to run out to the car for a sec,” Leon said. Tucker didn’t believe Missy’s mother would buy that excuse for more than a heartbeat. She bit into her bread, her frown deepening. After she swallowed, she opened her mouth to say something, but a deafening crash in the kitchen stole her attention. She swept away from the table as people started yelling about watching where they were going and being more careful.
Tucker stared, absorbing the glory of this boisterous family. He grinned from ear to ear at their camaraderie, their blood ties, their pure energy.
He liked them. And even better, he liked Missy. She possessed the same fire—he’d seen it in the determination and precision with which she worked with the horses. The details she paid attention to on the farm. He wondered if her culinary skills matched her mother’s, and if he’d be able t
o somehow invite himself over to her place for dinner to find out.
Only a sliver of surprise pinched in his gut. Sure, he’d only known her a day or so, but she wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was he—except, he hoped, back to this house for another family dinner.
By the time he managed to make it out the front door, he’d met Missy’s father. A loud, dark-haired man with the same caterpillars-for-eyebrows as Leon, he’d barely paid Tucker any attention. Apparently guests at dinnertime were common fare in the Marino household.
Tucker also carried a Tupperware of spaghetti that would feed him for a week and half a loaf of garlic bread. He climbed into the truck, where Missy sat stiff as a board, looking at her phone.
He exhaled like he’d just finished a marathon and practically dropped the leftovers on the seat between them. “Wow,” he said.
“Don’t want to talk about it,” Missy said, her voice an even monotone. She’d been waiting for half an hour, and Tucker turned toward her, the words he’d been saving building against the back of his tongue.
“I like them,” he started. “They’re fun.”
She slowly lifted her eyes to his, and even in the dim light he could see her incredulity. “You’re joking.”
He chuckled and started the truck. “All the kids, the noise, the food. It was fantastic. I’m glad we came.”
“You’re crazier than I thought.”
He laughed now, her seriousness only adding to his humor. “Can’t deny that one.” After all, who else sold their $25 billion technology firm in favor of running a horse farm? No one Tucker knew, and everyone Tucker knew had tried to talk him out of his decision to leave the big city and escape to small-town life in the middle of Nowhere, Vermont.
But Tucker loved the forests in Vermont. The hills and the lakes. The peace and quiet. The slow pace of life.
She let him drive until they left the lights of Burlington behind. “So,” she said. “You’ve been married?”
His fingers automatically clenched around the steering wheel, but he forced them to relax. “Yes, I have.” He refused to look at her. “You too?”
“Three years,” she said. “It’s been over for three years.”
He couldn’t help sneaking a glance at her. “No way,” he said. “You must’ve gotten married when you were eighteen.”
Her giggle filled the cab of his truck—and his soul—with a happy sound. “Good one. No, I turned thirty in November.”
Tucker full-on turned to stare at her. “Really?”
“Really.” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. Leon just really knows how to push my buttons.”
“You didn’t want him to tell me you’d been married before.”
“No,” she said.
“Why not?” He didn’t exactly go around broadcasting the news of his divorce either, but he wasn’t embarrassed by it. Not the way Missy seemed to be.
“Because it’s none of his business. And if I’m being honest, my personal life is none of your business either.”
Her words lashed his heart, and it took great effort for him to say, “Of course not,” evenly. He wasn’t sure he’d quite succeeded, but Missy didn’t even glance his way.
“I mean, you’re not my boyfriend or anything. Not even close.”
He wished she’d stop talking, because a small part of him—okay, maybe not that small a part of him—had considered asking her out to dinner. But he just said, “Right,” a tornado of emotions building inside his chest.
“You’re my boss, and I’d have preferred to keep the personal and the professional separate.”
Tucker pressed his lips together, his brain working on overtime. “Really?”
“Really,” she said again.
“Then why did you invite me to dinner at your parents’ house?”
“I—” She cut off, her voice there one moment and gone the next.
“Because we didn’t have to eat at all,” he said. “We didn’t have to drive to Burlington tonight. I only did because you invited me.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
Exasperation raced through him. “Missy,” he said. “Do you really think I went the last thirty-two years without being able to buy a pair of jeans by myself?”
The dead silence in his truck spoke volumes, and Tucker plucked up his courage to continue. “I knew exactly what I was doing when I asked for your help, which I appreciate, by the way. I probably would have bought the wrong cowboy boots.”
She folded her arms and sniffed. “And what, exactly, were you doing when you asked for my help?”
Tucker lifted one shoulder into a shrug, unsure if she was watching him or not. He trained his eyes out the windshield but kept the speedometer ten under the limit, not quite as confident behind the wheel in the dark. “Hoping to spend time with you.”
“You spent all day with me.”
He almost rolled his eyes. Was she really this dense? “I had a great time tonight,” he said. “I hope we can go out together again.”
“Go out together?” Her voice pitched toward the ceiling. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m glad Leon told me about your first marriage. We’ll have to talk more about it the next time we go out.”
“Next time?”
He couldn’t help laughing. Then, employing some of the bravery he’d used to launch his app development company, he reached for her hand and tucked it into his. “Yes, Missy. Next time. I’m interested in getting to know you better—outside the farm. Maybe we can go to dinner together this weekend?”
“Well, I, that’s in two days.”
“Yes, the weekend is in two days.”
She kept her grip on his hand, but she didn’t respond. The miles rolled on, and eventually he pulled into her driveway. He put the truck in park and turned to look at her. She was studying their joined hands, her hair falling over her shoulder in a pretty auburn curtain. He longed to thread his fingers through it, smooth it back just before he kissed her.
Don’t do it, he coached himself. Don’t you dare do it.
He wasn’t in New York City anymore, and he didn’t think Missy would appreciate his advances if he came on too strong.
“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked. “We can still do riding lessons, can’t we?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Great.” He withdrew his hand from hers and leapt out of the truck. After he’d gone around to her side and opened her door, she stepped onto the runner and then the ground.
Missy gazed up at him, and though he couldn’t imagine a moment better than kissing her under this blanket of stars, he kept his distance.
“Dinner would be great,” she said, her lips barely moving.
“Friday or Saturday?”
The corners of her mouth pulled up. “Whichever.”
“I’ll look at my schedule and we can decide tomorrow. Okay?”
She wove the fingers of both her hands through his, lifted up on her toes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “See you in the morning.” Then she slipped out of his arms and away from him, like smoke. There one moment—her fresh, lemony scent wafting on the air between them, the gentle pressure of her lips against his skin—and then gone the next.
By the time he turned, she’d already reached her front door and pushed it open. She turned back with a smile and a wave and disappeared into her house.
Tucker had no idea what had changed her mind. He didn’t much care. She wanted to go out with him again, and his hopes for moving from boss to boyfriend suddenly seemed absolutely attainable.
Missy woke the next morning with Tucker on her mind. And the morning after that. And on Sunday morning too, which really wasn’t fair, seeing as how she spent all day with him, couldn’t get the smell of him out of her nose when she lay down to sleep at night, and dreamt of him too.
He hadn’t held her hand on the farm. Or taken her out to dinner on Friday or Saturday night. It turned out t
hat he actually needed to go back to the city and finish cleaning out his apartment or he’d be charged an astronomical fee.
She suspected he could pay such a fee just fine, but she hadn’t said anything. He was supposed to be back in time for church, but part of her hoped he’d run into a wild herd of antelope, or maybe traffic on the freeway between here and New York City.
Neither would actually happen, and Missy stewed over what her friends and neighbors would think of her sitting with him at church. She arrived first and sat in her usual spot near the middle of the congregation. As the minutes ticked by, she thought maybe he had been delayed. She loosened up for a fraction of a second before tensing again.
With only seconds to spare, she heard his voice say, “Just a few more steps, Gladys. I see Missy right there.”
She turned to find him escorting Gladys Bright toward her, a huge smile on his face. Missy stood to greet them, automatically reaching for Gladys’s hand. “Morning, Gladys.”
The woman had to be close to ninety years old, and she didn’t get out to church much in the winter. Didn’t get out much, period.
Missy slid back onto the bench, and Tucker joined her. Once Gladys was seated on the end, the pastor stood up. Missy didn’t have a chance to question Tucker, or even raise her eyebrows in his direction.
Didn’t matter. He smelled like fresh air and crisp cologne, and she unconsciously leaned toward him. He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed, causing her heart to ricochet around inside her ribcage. “Gladys is my next-door neighbor,” he whispered. “I’ve been looking out for her since I moved in.”
She nodded, but her mind revolved around one thing: she was holding hands with Tucker Jenkins at church.
Giddiness galloped through her the way her horses did when she spurred them in the open pasture, and she knew: she wanted Tucker to be more than her boss.
The thought scared her as much as anything else, and she didn’t hear a single word the pastor said. After the sermon, Tucker said he needed to get Gladys home and that he’d call Missy later. She watched him go, her fingers missing the warmth of his.
Jewel descended not long after that, her questions coming like bullets. Missy tried to dodge them, but her friend wouldn’t be deterred. When Missy noticed several other women in town eyeing her, she looped her elbow through Jewel’s and towed her outside.
