by Liz Isaacson
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then I still had it worse.” She flashed a tight non-smile at her sister, searching for the forgiveness that would help her get around this bend in the road. “But I’m sorry if you’re upset over the break-up.”
Brenda nodded and tucked a clump of curls behind her ear. “Holland, I—” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about what we did to you, too. I shouldn’t have—it was wrong of me to be with him when he was still with you.”
The apology sounded like a gong in Holland’s ears, and she suddenly realized it didn’t matter if Brenda was being sincere or not. Didn’t matter if she was sorry or not.
She could forgive her anyway.
“It’s forgiven,” she whispered. “Let’s forget about it.”
A weight seemed to lift from Brenda’s face at the same rate it floated off Holland’s shoulders.
Elliott and Cecil joined them, one carrying a platter of donut holes and the other flourishing chocolate sauce.
Holland gazed up at her boyfriend, finally able to see around the bend and toward a future with him.
Chapter Thirteen
“So this is Precious.” Elliott patted the bay horse’s cheeks as Holland reached to stroke her nose.
“Will we keep her at our house or up here?” she asked.
“Probably up here,” he said. “I’ll still come up every day to work and all that.”
“And you still need to ask me to marry you,” she said.
He grinned and nodded, this playful banter between them common now that her sister had left town. “It’s—”
“Coming, I know.” Holland nudged him with her shoulder. “You better have one amazing proposal, buddy.”
“I don’t,” he said. “Maybe I just want it to be a surprise. Maybe you should go one day without reminding me we’re not engaged.”
She tipped her head back and laughed. He swept her into his arms and kissed her. “I was just teasing,” he said roughly. “Remind me everyday, okay?” He covered her mouth with his again, deepening their kiss as he breathed in the fresh sunshine scent of her.
He liked kissing her in the stable, pressed up against the door like this. Of course, he liked kissing her in his truck too. On her front porch. Everywhere he could.
He’d learned that he couldn’t marry her and live on the ranch. Archer and Emery lived right at the base of the canyon, and he’d started looking for housing in that area too. Jace had promised him a housing allowance, which meant Elliott still had enough money saved to buy Holland a ring.
And Valentine’s Day was coming right up. What better night to propose than February fourteenth?
“Hey, comin’ through.”
Elliott pulled away from Holland, who ducked behind his shoulder as Archer joined them in the stables. “Hey, Arch,” he said, a fair bit of embarrassment at being caught making out with his girlfriend.
“Elliott.” He ducked his head. “Holland. Boss is two minutes behind me.” He grinned as he opened the stall for the horse he’d been working with. “Best not let him see you two kissin’ in here like that.”
Elliott chuckled, half from embarrassment and half from nerves. Holland’s whole face was bright red, which only made Elliott want to kiss her again. Instead, he took her back outside to the chilly January weather. “So I’ll come down for dinner tonight,” he said.
“All right,” she drawled in her sexy, fake cowgirl accent. “I want diamonds.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oops. Did I say diamonds? I meant drumsticks. And wings. Mm. Buffalo wings.”
She backed away from him, a playful smile on her face, until their fingers separated. He watched her go, wondering if he could wait two more weeks to propose.
“You better put a ring on that woman’s finger soon,” Jace said, approaching with a horse. “I can’t believe she’s stuck around this long.”
“Aw, come on, boss,” Archer said. “Elliott’s really handsome.”
“Shut up,” he told them as they started to laugh. “She said I better have a really good proposal.”
“Yeah, you better,” Jace agreed.
He turned to his friends with panic streaming through him. “I’ve got nothing.” He volleyed his gaze between them. “Help me.”
“I’m bad at that kind of stuff,” Jace said, continuing toward the stable.
“Me too,” Archer said.
“You stood on a roof in a Santa suit,” Elliott said. “That was amazing.”
“That wasn’t the proposal.” Archer clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll think of something.”
But something never came, and Elliott started down the canyon with bees in his chest. Up to the door with hesitation in his step. He knocked and entered the house without waiting for someone to let him in.
And he caught Cecil and Tara in an embrace much like the one he’d been sharing with Holland in the stables earlier that day.
“Oh, wow, sorry.” Elliott backed out of the house, bringing the door closed in front of him, his nerves now firing like cannons. Why hadn’t he waited to enter? He turned back to the driveway, and he didn’t see Tara’s car. That was why.
The temperature had to be way below freezing, but his face felt so hot he didn’t notice.
“Psst.”
He turned toward the sound and found Holland leaning in the garage. She waved at him, a smile already on her face, and he moved toward her. “I just walked in on Cecil and Tara,” he whispered. “I didn’t see her car.”
“It’s in the shop,” Holland said. “Cecil picked her up on his way home from work.”
“I feel like a fool.” Elliott slipped his arms around Holland. “Was it their first kiss?”
“I don’t think so.” She burrowed into his chest, wrapping her arms around his back. “I’m glad they’re getting along so well. Cecil’s been so happy since Thanksgiving.”
“Hm.” Elliott swayed on his feet, his mind wandering to what it would be like to hold her this way, her in a white, lacy dress, him in a tuxedo….
“Come on,” he said. “I’m starving.”
She sat right next to him in the truck as they drove downtown, chatting about a new patient she’d started working with. She fell silent when he didn’t go all the way into the restaurant-heavy section of town.
“Where are we going?” she asked, peering out the windshield.
Elliott wanted to prolong the moment, keep her on the edge of her seat, buy himself some more time to come up with a romantic proposal.
He had nothing.
He pulled to the side of the road and took a deep breath. “I was going to plan this big elaborate proposal for Valentine’s Day,” he said. “But I don’t want to wait anymore. I want the whole world to know you’re mine and I’m yours.”
A smile touched her eyes and her chin started to wobble a little.
“I’ve said this before, Holland, but I really did fall in love with you that night in my parents’ living room. I can still remember how everything fell into complete silence. I could only see you, and I wanted to know who you were and how to get you into my life.” He ducked his head, the memories from that night so loud and vibrant in his mind.
“I love you, Holland Marsh. Will you marry me?”
A single tear slithered out of the corner of her eye. “Yes.”
“I don’t have a ring,” he said. “That’s why we’re here. I’ve seen your pinboard, and I thought you’d like to pick out your own diamond.”
Her eyes shone with tears, with hope, with love. “You’ve seen my pinboard?”
Elliott wished he could recall the words. “Well, yeah. I saw you looking at it one day at church. I can search the Internet, I’ll have you know.”
“I didn’t even know the ranch had WiFi.” She giggled, and he laughed with her.
“Well, we do.” He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. “And I have a desk job now. So. Which dress are you going to go with?”
She practically melted into him. “I ha
ve absolutely no idea.”
He gestured down the street a bit, where the bright white lights of the jewelry store beamed into the darkness. “Well, let’s go get your diamond.”
He started to get out, but she put her hand on his arm. “Elliott,” she said.
“Hm?”
“I love you, cowboy.”
And he believed her, a keen sense of warmth flowing through him. He leaned closer and kissed her, this time just as magical and magnificent as the first time.
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Sneak Peak! FINDING LOVE AT STEEPLE RIDGE Chapter One
Ben Buttars thundered down the stairs, a bit of dust rising into the air from his boots. Or maybe that was from the wooden stairs that hadn’t been swept in a while. The boss hired a maid service that came in twice a month, but once spring thawed and all the mud dried to dirt, not even a daily cleaning could keep the two-story house dust-free.
“Something smells good,” his oldest brother, Sam, said as he pushed through the back door and into the kitchen, where Ben had just entered. He snatched a pair of oven mitts from the counter and opened the door to a blast of heat.
Ben flinched away lest he get burned. “Soft pretzels. Your afternoon snack.” He grinned, though the memory of his mother always came with the sight and smell of the last snack she’d made for him before she died. Ben had perfected her recipe over the past ten years.
“Mustard?” Sam bent to look in the fridge.
“Already on the counter. Ketchup too.” Ben slid the sheet tray onto the stovetop and gazed down at the perfectly browned snack.
“No one eats ketchup on pretzels,” Sam said.
“I do.” Ben tossed him a grin just as both of their phones sounded. He groaned while Sam simply checked his without any alarm on his face. But Ben was supposed to have the afternoon off before meeting with the recreational director about…something his boss had seemed deliberately dodgy about. And he’d been planning to stuff himself silly with salty pretzels and ketchup.
“Horses out above pasture six,” Sam said, lifting his eyes to Ben’s. Out of his three brothers, Ben looked the most like Sam—the most like their father, who’d had eyes the color of russet potato skins and hair several shades darker than that. The twins, who sat in between Ben and Sam, had lighter hair and their mother’s darker eyes. All four boys had freckles and broad shoulders and a love for the outdoors.
Only Ben had been a minor when their parents had passed away. Only Ben had been forced to leave high school before he’d graduated. Only Ben hadn’t dated someone in the last decade.
“Right now?” he asked, and he hated that it sounded more like a whine than a question.
“Right now.” Sam started toward the back door, smashing his cowboy hat lower onto his head.
“But the pretzels—”
“They’ll keep.” Sam’s voice filtered back toward him just before the screen door slammed. Frustration threaded through Ben. “They’ll keep” was Sam’s standard answer for everything.
What should we do with Mom and Dad’s stuff?
It’ll keep.
Shouldn’t we go back to Wyoming? Sell the house?
It’ll keep.
Ben cast one last look at the steaming pretzels—which would be ten times better hot—before following his brother out of the house they shared. The blue May sky of Vermont stretched before him, the barns and public parking areas of Steeple Ridge Farm just steps from the house.
The pastures, however, lay to the north and west, in the same direction of the wooded area where Ben liked to let his horse wander after a long day of farm work. He strode toward the back barn, where they housed the farm’s horses, including his mare, Willow.
Her dark brown coat glistened, because Ben took immaculate care of her. He’d allow dust in the house, but certainly not on his horse. “All right, girl,” he said as he put the saddle on and cinched it. “Let’s do this quickly, okay? Because I made pretzels.” He led the horse out of the barn and swung onto her back.
Steeple Ridge boarded horses, and the five they had from a barn in northern New York had been nothing but trouble since they’d arrived last week. They seemed to have a knack for finding—or creating—weaknesses in fences and running wild through the woods until they came to the stream.
Bracken ferns grew there, and these New York horses seemed to have developed a taste for it, though if they ate enough of it they could experience a loss of nerve function. As the manager of the boarding stable, Sam didn’t much want to return nerve-damaged horses to the New York clients. With hot pretzels still on his mind, saving the horses from their own fern obsession was a toss-up for Ben.
He joined his brothers and they spread out into the woods, ropes at the ready. The owners of the farm, Tucker and Missy Jenkins, had gone into town to purchase supplies for the upcoming weekend barbeque, or they’d be saddled up and rope-ready too.
Ben whistled as he ducked under a tree branch. A rustling sound to his left drew his attention, and he had one of the New York devil-horses roped a few seconds later. One of them, though, eluded all the brothers until finally Ben couldn’t take it anymore.
“How about I take these four back?” he asked Sam, trying to make it sound like he didn’t care if he went or not. But he feared that if he didn’t go in the next five minutes, he wouldn’t even have time to scarf down a single bite of pretzel before his meeting with the recreational director.
He searched his memory for her name but came up blank. While he and his brothers had arrived at Steeple Ridge at the end of last summer, he didn’t get into town for much more than church. And even then, he didn’t always attend.
There was something soothing and peaceful about the woods, and sometimes the Sabbath simply found him communing with nature, which allowed him to feel closer to God. It had taken him a good five years to accept that God was still loving, still wise and omnipotent, after his parents’ plane crash. Sometimes being outside with only trees, birds, and sky reminded him of God’s power better than anything a pastor could say.
“Go on, then,” Sam said. “Darren, you stay with me. Logan, help ‘im get those horses properly secured. Lots of water.”
In another situation, Ben might have asked if his brother thought any of the horses had already consumed something poisonous out in the woods, but today, he didn’t. He simply set Willow toward the farm and urged her to go a little faster than he would have normally.
“Is there a fire?” Logan asked, coming up beside him.
“I made pretzels,” Ben said.
Logan laughed, a big, boisterous sound that filled the sky with noise—and Ben’s blood with annoyance. “You and your pretzels.”
“I don’t see you complaining when you eat them.” Ben nudged Willow again and she almost picked up her trot.
“Nope,” Logan said. “Never will. I don’t know how you get them so stretchy and crispy at the same time. It’s amazing.”
Some of the tension drained from Ben’s shoulders, and he grinned at his next oldest brother.
“Ah, spicy brown mustard,” Logan said. “We have some, right?”
“Dunno.” Sam did all the grocery shopping for the brothers. “If you put it on the list at some point, I’m sure we do.”
They arrived back on the farm and got the horses brushed down and properly secured in their box stalls. By the time Ben had Willow safe and secure, the very idea of a pretzel had faded to a dot on the horizon. Because he was now late for his appointment.
Sure enough, when he exited the barn, a shiny black sedan sat in the public parking lot. The car looked like it had never been on a farm.
“There you are.”
He turned at the feminine voice to find a tall, athletic bru
nette striding away from the house and toward him. She’d definitely never been on a farm either. Ben drank in the length of her legs, very aware of the pinch of interest in his chest. Her dark brown ponytail swung from side to side, and Ben wondered what her hair would feel like between his fingers.
He swallowed. This woman was so far out of his league, he couldn’t even get there in a rocket ship. She paused a healthy distance from him, cocked her hip, and folded her arms. “Which one of you is Ben?”
He glanced at Logan, who wore an expression of half-horror, half-surprise. “He is.” Logan hooked his thumb at Ben and walked toward the house. Once he’d passed the beautiful woman, he turned back and beamed for all he was worth, lifting both arms in victory. “I’ll save you a pretzel!” he called before turning around and hurrying into the house.
Ben waved at him like it was no big deal, that pretzels didn’t matter at all That river of desire built into something bigger even as he tried to tame it. “I’ve forgotten your name,” he said. “Missy told me, but.” He laughed, the sound so full of nerves he wondered how his brothers had ever figured out how to talk to a woman, hold hands with a woman, kiss a woman. Not that they dated all that much, but Sam had had a girlfriend or two, and Logan was definitely a charmer. He could talk to women all day, and Ben had watched him do it, trying to discover the secret. So far, he hadn’t figured much out.
His stomach twisted and his mouth went dry dry dry. He’d just forgotten his own name, let alone hers.
“Reagan Cantwell,” she said, coming forward again. She extended her hand toward him to shake. He did, trying not to notice the softness of her skin or the strength in her touch. Or the beauty in the lines of her face. Or the depth of her eyes.
She existed on another planet, where men with a lot of money existed. More talent. More brain cells.
“My friends call me Rae.”
“Like a ray of sunshine.” He smiled but when she didn’t, he wiped it from his face quickly, pure foolishness flooding him.
