by Liz Isaacson
Without thinking, he’d pulled down all the pages and stuffed them in his back pocket. After he got Fritz back inside, he’d left the same way he’d come, wild ideas flowing through his mind. One of those included him leaving Steeple Ridge, which he’d done that morning.
Leaving the farm had been just as hard as he thought it would be. He’d fallen in love with the quaint atmosphere in Island Park, his little house next door to Gladys, the simple way of life. He’d fallen in love with his life on the farm, the scent of fresh air, the satisfying work of training and riding horses.
He’d fallen in love with Missy Marino.
An invisible weight pushed against his shoulders as he got out of the cab and paid for the ride. As he entered the building and buzzed up to his parent’s condo. As he rode the elevator and entered the familiar space.
“Tucker.” His mother rose from the leather couch that faced the wall of windows overlooking Central Park. “What are you doing here?” She scanned him from head to toe, her expression filled with concern and curiosity.
He sank onto the couch, though he’d spent most of the day sitting behind the wheel of his truck, which he’d parked on the outskirts of the city. He didn’t have the experience with city driving and didn’t think it wise to try now, his emotions as confusing as they were.
“I just needed a break from the farm,” he said. “Can I stay here for a few days?”
“Of course.” She hurried into the kitchen. “What should I order for dinner?”
“Don’t care,” Tucker said as he closed his eyes. He’d been ordering in a lot in Island Park too, but he missed Gladys’s bread and pies. The thought of trying to fall asleep in the city had Tucker’s muscles tight and his mind buzzing. He craved the silence and solitude of Island Park, and he wondered how long he could possibly stay in New York City.
“Chinese is on its way.” His mother joined him on the couch. “Trouble on the farm?”
Tucker opened his eyes and took a moment to focus on his mom’s face. She’d tried to talk him out of selling his company and moving six hours away from everyone and everything he knew.
“The farm’s great,” he said, speaking true. “It’s … It’s my girlfriend that’s got me unhappy.”
His mother’s eyebrows shot under her dyed-blonde bangs. “Girlfriend?” She reached over and set her wine glass down on the coffee table, giving him her full attention. “Tucker.” A hopeful smile graced her face. “You’re dating again?”
Tucker took off his cowboy hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I was, yeah.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“She’s mad at me for buying the farm.” A sense of injustice filled him. He’d had no idea she’d wanted to buy the farm. Steeple Ridge had been on the market for six months before he’d found it and bought it. Intellectually, he knew it wasn’t his fault, knew he’d done nothing wrong by purchasing Steeple Ridge. But the fact remained that the farm was a huge, engulfing beast between him and Missy, something she couldn’t seem to get past.
He exhaled. “I think I’m gonna sell it.”
“The farm?”
“Yeah.” He got up, unsurprised when his mom scrambled after him. “I’m going to go shower.” He tried to give her a smile, but it didn’t come off quite right. She let him go, and Tucker stooped for his backpack before sequestering himself in the guest bedroom.
He wasn’t sure of the consequences of his actions, and he didn’t pause to think through them. He’d done all that already, and he suspected Missy would be downright furious when she found out he’d paid her debts.
He didn’t care. If that was what it took for her to be able to buy Steeple Ridge, so be it. An edge of hope crept into his soul as he made the phone calls necessary to erase the problems her ex-husband had left her with. He might be crazy, but well, he already knew that. Who else would buy a horse farm without having actually seen a horse in real life?
With her bills paid, and a call out to his realtor about listing Steeple Ridge for sale, Tucker stepped into the shower, that weight he’d been carrying since last night finally evaporating under the hot water.
His phone showed three missed calls by the time he returned to the bedroom. Not only that, but his mother had knocked on the bathroom door twice, first to tell him that the food had arrived and then to say his father had.
Tucker stuck his head into the hall. “Mom, I’ll be a few more minutes.”
“All right,” she said, a heavy note of frustration in her voice. Tucker didn’t care. He didn’t care, because all three missed calls were from Missy.
Still, he hesitated to call her. She’d be angry he’d paid her bills. But how had she found out already? Maybe she had payment notices set up through her email or text messages.
His heart hammered in the back of his throat. He didn’t want her to have another reason to be angry with him. His head felt too heavy to hold up, and he let his chin dip to his chest. He shouldn’t have paid her debts.
He finally let his thumb drop onto the call button and lifted the phone to his ear. It rang twice before Missy said, “Tucker,” in the coldest voice he’d ever heard.
“Missy,” he replied.
“Where are you?”
“New York City.”
“Did you come in my house?”
“Yes.”
She exhaled and said, “You took my bills.” Her voice wavered on the last couple of words, and Tucker wished he were there with her to gather her close and whisper that he loved her, that he’d do anything to make her life easier.
“I did.” Sniffling came through the line, and Tucker’s world crashed. “Missy, I’m putting Steeple Ridge up for sale. I took your bills so I could pay them, so you could buy the farm.”
Only silence answered him, and if it hadn’t been for an occasional bark from Fritz in the background, Tucker would’ve thought she’d hung up.
“I’ll let you know when my realtor lists the farm. I’ll sell it to you, whatever you offer.” He gave her another few seconds to respond, and when she didn’t, he added, “Goodbye, Missy,” and hung up.
He stared at the squeaky-clean floor, the scent of sweet-and-sour chicken wafting down the hall and into the bedroom. His divorce hadn’t felt this heart-wrenching, and he knew why: he hadn’t been in love with Tiffany. Everything with her had been a nuisance, a thorn in his side. He’d given her whatever she wanted just to get her out of his life. He hadn’t looked back or been particularly heartbroken.
He’d just lost his ability to trust himself, rely on his own instincts. “Until the farm,” he murmured. Everyone had called him crazy, advised him not to do it, but it had been the single best thing he’d done in his thirty-two years of life.
Thoughts whirling, he turned off his phone and inhaled new strength into his lungs, his limbs, before heading into the kitchen. “Hey, Dad.” He clapped his hand on his father’s shoulder. “Things okay in the office?” His father worked as a senior partner in a marketing firm located in one of the tall buildings in Manhattan.
“Good enough.” He nudged the ham fried rice toward Tucker. “Saved this for you.”
“Narrowly,” his mother added with a teasing smile.
“Thanks.” Tucker shoveled the rice, some chicken, and a bit of beef onto his plate. He snatched an egg roll and sat next to his father at the long counter dividing the kitchen from the living room.
“How’s the farm?” his mother asked.
“I’m selling it,” he said. He noticed the concerned glances his parents exchanged. “You were right. It’s not for me.”
His mom nodded and continued eating. Tucker thought he might get lucky and get through dinner without having to explain much more than that.
“I think it is for you,” his father said.
“Oh yeah?” Tucker leaned away from his dad and stabbed a piece of broccoli. “And how would you know?”
His father, though getting up there in years, hadn’t lost the edge in his eyes. “Your message
s the past few months have seemed happier than you’ve ever been.”
“Yeah, well.” Tucker ducked his head and stuffed more food in his mouth. “That doesn’t really have anything to do with the farm.”
“Right.” His dad slid his empty plate into the sink. “So what’s her name?” He waved his hand. “This woman you told your mom you were dating?”
Tucker didn’t see any reason to deny it. “Missy.” He sighed miserably, every cell in his body so, so tired. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “I’m going to go to bed.” It was inconceivable to go to bed at seven-thirty in New York City, but his parents didn’t object. He stood at the window and gazed over the city, his eyes flitting from one building to the next, one water tower to the next, watching the traffic stream by below.
He felt as rushed inside, as unsettled, as insignificant. After pulling the curtains closed, he retreated to his laptop, trying to sort through what he could do in Island Park after he sold the farm. Trying to decide if he could even live in such a small town with the woman he loved and not be with her.
Missy spent the evening in tears, her feet wearing a path in the kitchen floor as she paced back and forth. She couldn’t believe Tucker had paid her debts. The sense of relief when he’d told her had been immediate and crippling. It was a true miracle, and she couldn’t even articulate how grateful she was.
At the same time, she was absolutely horrified and incredibly furious. Her debts were her problem, not his. He had no right kept streaming through her head, along with, I’m so glad he did.
She couldn’t live on this teeter-totter for much longer. She grabbed her keys and whistled at Fritz. “Come on,” she said. “Wanna go for a ride?” The dog always did, and he loaded up with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, ready for whatever adventure lay ahead.
Missy wasn’t even sure where she was going. She just drove. Drove down Main Street, with its sticky-shoe theater, the barbershop where the men gathered to get their hair cut, the grocery store, the department store, a bakery, and the diner. She turned the corner and slowed as a pair of teenage girls stepped into the street to cross in front of her.
With the sun on the way down, the light glinted off the windows of the post office, a candy shop, the pizza joint where the girls were headed, and several other shops and businesses Missy had visited dozens of times for different reasons.
She loved this town. She had since the moment her mother had first driven her here for her first riding lesson when she was ten years old. She’d always wanted to live in Island Park and work at Steeple Ridge Farm. As she eased her truck forward again, she realized she’d achieved those dreams.
She did live in Island Park, in a cozy home she loved.
She did work at Steeple Ridge Farm, the land she’d loved for two decades.
Stopped at the red light, she had the distinct thought to go visit Gladys Bright. She knew where the woman lived; Gladys might be the oldest resident of Island Park, and everyone knew where she lived.
Missy pulled into the driveway and didn’t hesitate to get out of her truck. She glanced next door, to Tucker’s house. She’d never come to his place; he always stopped by hers. He’d take Gladys home and then come over on Sunday afternoons. Brought her pizza and flowers and his quick laugh, sexy smile, and welcome company.
She shook her head as she walked up the steps and rang Gladys’s doorbell. Missy knew before she heard Gladys’s feeble call to come in that she’d made a mistake with Tucker. A huge mistake, and she needed to fix it, fast, before she lost him forever.
“Gladys,” she said when she found the woman in the living room, rocking in an obviously well-loved chair. “How are you?”
“It’s been a long day,” the woman said.
Missy perched on the couch across from her. “Why’s that?”
“Tucker stopped by this morning and said he doesn’t need any more pies.”
All of Missy’s hopes dried up, leaving behind cracks in her soul. “He loves your pie.”
“Said he was going back to the city. Wouldn’t be back for a few days.” She harrumphed. “So I had to eat the apple pie myself, and then I hobbled on down the street to the Ballard’s with the cherry one. Did you know a person can be allergic to gluten?” She scoffed and waved a veined hand like she’d been told Bigfoot had been found in her backyard. “Strangest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Missy nodded, but her mind had been stuck on a few days. Tucker was coming back. And she’d make sure the whole town welcomed him when he did.
“Do you like cherry pie?” Gladys asked, and Missy dissolved into giggles.
“I sure do, Gladys.”
“Great. There’s a pie on the kitchen counter. You can have it.”
Tucker didn’t come back in “a few days.” The weekend came and went, and he still didn’t show up. Missy had recruited everyone she knew to keep a lookout for him, from Harry at the diner, to Jerome at the bakery, to Gladys herself, who claimed she hadn’t stopped staring out her front window at Tucker’s driveway for four straight days.
By day six, Missy’s desperation had grown to epic proportions. She dug her pitchfork into the bedding in Diamond King’s stall and heaved it out. Over and over, she strained her muscles, hoping the physical exertion would drive away some of her emotional anguish.
It didn’t, but she got the job done.
“Missy,” Ben called from the back end of the main barn.
“Yeah?” She arched her back to work out the ache there.
“We’ve got some trouble in the back barn.”
She abandoned her pitchfork and headed down the aisle immediately, no more questions asked. The two barns stood thirty yards apart, and she broke into a run as she exited the main barn.
She saw a couple of cowboys out of the corner of her eye, standing to her left near the outdoor corral. “Ben?” She veered in that direction, her pulse plummeting and then bouncing to the back of her throat.
“Three horses got out,” he said, gesturing to the land beyond. Sam and Darren had already gotten lassos and gone out to head off the horses, but Missy felt like she might faint when she saw the animals.
“Those are Paul Fletcher’s horses,” she said, her voice little more than air.
“Their gates weren’t locked after they were brought back in from pasture,” Ben said.
“That can’t be right,” Missy said, trying to remember if she’d set the latches or not. She couldn’t remember. So much of her mental energy got spent on thinking about Tucker, waiting for a text or call that someone had seen Tucker, or fantasizing that when she turned around, she’d see Tucker.
“Latches didn’t close,” Ben said. “I don’t know how long they’ve been out there.”
“Well, they haven’t run off,” Missy said. “I’ll go saddle up Diamond.”
“Sam and Darren can get them,” he said. “I just wanted you to know.”
Missy turned, a response almost past her vocal chords when she froze from feet to skull as if she’d been hit with a freeze ray.
“Tucker,” she said.
“What’s going on?” he asked, barely paying her any attention at all.
“Oh, hey,” Ben said. “Couple of Paul’s horses got out. We’re gettin’ ’em rounded up now.”
Missy felt like someone had hit her with a bolt of lightning, and as Tucker’s delectable scent of sunshine, fresh air, and that spicy cologne infused her senses, she tremored. He spoke, but his voice warbled into a single stream of noise.
She couldn’t believe he was here, that no one had seen him first, that he hadn’t gone home before coming by the farm.
Then he appeared right in front of her, his fingers sliding down her bare arm to claim her fingers. Still she stared at him, unsure of when her tongue had tied itself into a knot.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked. He didn’t wait for her to answer before he released her and moved back into the main barn, seemingly unfazed that they had horses loose or that she’d turned dumb at th
e mere sight of him.
Somehow, she got her feet to stumble after him, catching sight of him just as he ducked into the office. She joined him, closed the door, and pressed her back against it. “Tucker,” she said again. “You came back.”
He stood at the desk, looking at something, refusing to meet her gaze. “The farm should be up for sale tomorrow.”
His words snapped her back to reality. “I don’t care about the farm.” Tucker turned toward her, and his face looked like home. “I’m so sorry.” She threw herself into his arms, all her carefully laid plans of welcoming him home evaporating into a simple embrace and another whispered apology.
He caught her around the waist, his smile quick and his hug tight. “I love you,” he finally said, setting her back onto her feet. The declaration made her feel a bit wobbly.
“I thought maybe if I sold you the farm, you wouldn’t be so angry with me for buying it.” He stroked his thumb down the side of her face while his other hand worked out the elastic that held her braid captive.
“I was stupid,” she said. “I’m not going to take your farm from you. You love this farm.”
“I do.” He gazed down at her, that sexy smile stuck to his face.
“And I love you too.” She stretched up on her toes as he finally got the elastic off the end of her braid and started combing his fingers through her hair. She kissed him, glad he’d come back, beyond relieved she’d been here when he did, grateful for her second chance with him.
“Tucker.” Ben pushed open the office door. “Oh, sorry,” he said when he caught Tucker holding Missy.
“It’s fine, Ben.” Tucker cleared his throat and stepped in front of Missy so she could hide the blush in her face. Tucker adored that flush, the tenderness in her lips, the easy way she’d apologized and meant it. “Did you get the horses?”
“Two more are out. We could use some additional hands on deck.”
“We’ll be right out.” Tucker waited until Ben closed the door before twisting back to Missy. “Let’s go round up some horses.” He lifted his arm over her shoulders. “Cowboys do that, right?”
