Christmas in Three Rivers: Three Rivers Ranch Romance Novella Collection

by Isaacson, Liz

  The tantalizing scent of butter met his nose, then sweet and salty came together. His mom finally fell silent, then she plopped onto the bench next to him. “Go find her,” she said, her anger blown out. “Take this and go find her.”

  She held a zippered bag of popcorn toward him. “I can see you like her, and it was pretty obvious that she likes you too. Are you serious?”

  Tad shrugged. “Only started the relationship a few days ago.” He hated saying those words in that order, but didn’t love at first sight exist anymore?

  “You’ve always known exactly what you wanted.” She smiled at him. “It’s good to have you home, Tad.” She nudged the bag of popcorn closer and stood. “Now go find her.” She left him in the kitchen with unsaid words.

  He hadn’t told his parents about the helicopter incident. He hadn’t wanted to worry them, but now he realized that the people closest to him needed to know. They deserved to know. His mom and dad would want to help, the way Sandy did.

  “Mom,” he called. “I have to talk to you about something….” He grabbed the popcorn and went to find his mom and dad. If Tad wanted to find happiness, he needed to search for it, not just keep hoping it would show up in his life.

  Tad expected to feel lighter after he told his parents about what had happened over the Grand Canyon, after he said he was quitting, after he confessed he was moving to Three Rivers. But as he took the keys to his father’s truck and headed out into the bitter Wyoming winter, at least fifty pounds had settled on his shoulders.

  He needed to find Sandy. Needed to apologize. Needed her to forgive him.

  Tad didn’t think he could make her understand. He didn’t even understand why he hadn’t told his parents he was bringing a beautiful, talented woman home with him. Or maybe because she was beautiful and talented and successful, he hadn’t mentioned her.

  And though his mother’s caramel popcorn could charm anyone, he wasn’t sure it would win over Sandy.

  “But it has to,” he muttered as he headed down the only road that led to town. He couldn’t believe Sandy had walked this road. His fingers ached from the cold and he was in a truck with the heater blowing.

  He passed his parents’ nearest neighbor, and something screamed in his mind. He slammed on the brakes and put the truck in reverse. After pulling into their driveway, he approached the house.

  George, the patriarch of the family, came out on the porch as Tad pulled up and parked. He got out of the truck, wondering how many people needed to know of his mistake before this day ended.

  Apparently one more.

  “She didn’t want to come in.” George leaned against his porch railing. “Said she’d walk around the barn.”

  Tad nodded his thanks and headed around the house to the barn, his steps slowing the closer he got. The barn door stood ajar, and he pushed it open to find warmer air, scented with horseflesh.

  He took a deep breath, remembering how much he loved the gentle animals. “Sandy?” His voice came out low, like he didn’t want to spook her.

  She didn’t answer, and he headed down the aisle. Most of the stalls were closed, but a couple down on the end had horse heads poking out of them. He went that way, stepping lightly so as to not make any sound. The horses knew of his presence, but the soft sniffling coming from the tack room testified that Sandy did not.

  “Just go back,” she said, her voice tinny and small. It made Tad’s heart pinch when it pulsed. “He said he’s falling in love with you, and that wasn’t a lie.” She sniffled, and something moved in the tack room. “At least it didn’t sound like it was, but—”

  “It wasn’t.” Tad stepped into the doorway.

  Sandy startled and looked at him with terror until she realized who he was. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  “It wasn’t a lie.” Tad sighed and moved to sit next to her on a wooden crate. “Would you believe that men are sometimes stupid? That we do things that we don’t know matter, and then when we find out that they do matter, well, their mothers make caramel popcorn.” He held out the bag of sweets.

  “Sandy, I’m sorry. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it everyday until you forgive me.” Tad’s hands felt so heavy attached to the end of his arms. They hung between his knees, and his head bent in the same direction.

  “Men do stupid things, huh?”

  “And we don’t even know why.” He shook the bag of caramel popcorn. “You really should have some of this. It’s amazing.”

  She took the bag and opened it, selecting a few kernels and popping them into her mouth. She moaned. “Oh, my goodness. This is like magic.” She took another bite.

  A measure of happiness flowed through Tad. At least Sandy wasn’t crying, and she was talking to him.

  “Is this a story that we’ll tell at parties in a few years?”

  The bag crunched as she fisted the top of it. “A few years?”

  Tad inhaled, praying for that same strength and courage he’d used to tell his parents about his problems. “Sandy, I want to be with you. Not just today. For always.” He exhaled. “So I’m hoping you’ll forgive me, and that this will become a story that we’ll laugh about as we tell other people about it. Not right now, or anything. But, you know, years from now.”

  Moments passed, but Tad didn’t feel the same level of anxiety he had earlier. “Tad, I have some issues. You know, self-esteem issues.”

  A chuckle rose through his chest and out his throat. He lifted his arm and put it around Sandy’s shoulders. “Honey, I have a lot of issues myself.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “What a pair we make, right?”

  She snuggled into him. “I’ve never really been part of a pair.”

  He inhaled her hair, recalling the bitterness in her voice when she’d told him about her many dating adventures. “I know, baby. But you are now.”

  She sighed, and Tad’s muscles relaxed. He hoped he wouldn’t do anything else that would hurt Sandy for a good, long while. He leaned back and tipped her face up to his so he could kiss her, wanting the way he felt about her to infuse his kiss.

  Sandy walked into church on Sunday by herself, only because Tad had insisted on going out to the ranch to “check something” in the boarding stables he planned to use the following day. He’d promised to be back in time for church, and Sandy checked her watch.

  He had four minutes.

  She sat in from the end of the pew, her head held high as she tried to ignore the curious looks of the older ladies in town. It mostly worked, though Sandy still needed time to believe that someone wanted to be part of her life. Whenever she doubted, she basked in Tad’s beautiful words and lost herself to memories of his heated kiss in the barn. Just thinking about it made her internal temperature spike.

  Pastor Scott stood up, and Sandy looked over her shoulder. Tad hurried through the door, spotted her, and slid into his spot beside her. “Hey, sorry.” He drew her close to him and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

  Peace like Sandy had never known before—at least in Three Rivers—spread through her core, radiating through her whole body, coating each cell.

  And though Tad had only been in town for ten days, Sandy knew she was in love with him. Her spontaneous smile could’ve rivaled the sun in its brightness.

  “It’s good to see you smile,” he whispered.

  She glanced up and kissed him quickly. “It’s good to have something to smile about.”

  "I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust."

  ~ Psalms 91:2

  The sun had never looked so bright to Grace Lewis. Of course, she rarely saw the sun rise, what with arriving at work by three a.m. for the past several years. The life of a pastry chef, she thought as she turned out of her driveway and headed north.

  She drove slowly, not wanting to arrive out at Three Rivers before everyone else. But she already knew she would. She’d been up since three a.m.—old habits and all that. She’d baked a loaf of bread that now rode shotgun
next to her and would become lunch once noon rolled around.

  By then, Grace would be ready for her afternoon siesta, but she didn’t expect to be done in the kitchen that early. Heidi Ackerman had promised it would be a long day of baking, tasting, tweaking, and testing.

  Grace couldn’t be more excited.

  She eased up on the gas pedal when she realized her enthusiasm over today’s adventures had caused her to speed up. She enjoyed the leisurely drive through the crisp fall air, her thoughts wandering.

  And when they did that, they almost always journeyed down south to Dallas. A frown tugged at Grace’s mouth, and she did her best to straighten her lips again. So she failed in Dallas. Big deal. Many cupcakeries failed on their first try. At least that was what her instructors had warned the group of pastry chefs that had graduated from the Pastry and Baking School at New York’s Institute of Culinary Education.

  Still, Grace had thought sure she’d outbake the odds. She’d moved back to Dallas, gotten up at two a.m. for weeks perfecting her cupcake recipes. She painted the shop. Ordered the tables and display cases. Saw to every detail.

  She’d made it eight months before admitting she couldn’t put another month’s rent on her credit card.

  “Don’t focus on that,” she coached herself as she continued down the two-lane highway. She didn’t want her thoughts to spiral right before she had to rely on her sharp wit and impeccable palate. If she allowed herself to continue down that particular train of thought, she’d end up obsessing over how she should’ve chosen a better location or entered more contests or started out of her kitchen before trying for retail space.

  As the miles and minutes passed, she refocused her thoughts on the blessings that had led her to Three Rivers. Her friendship with Chelsea Ackerman—now Chelsea Marshall with two kids and a quiet life on a ranch she’d never wanted—made Grace smile.

  It also reminded her of the boy she’d left behind in Oklahoma City. She banished those thoughts before they could even take root, beyond relieved when she saw the sign indicating a left turn for Three Rivers Ranch up ahead.

  She maneuvered onto the dirt road, wishing she’d considered what the drive out to the ranch would do to her little car before she’d taken the job with Heidi. But it didn’t matter. She wasn’t in Dallas anymore and she still had the opportunity to work with baked goods. She’d be Heidi’s head pastry chef any day, under any road conditions.

  Grace pulled around the corner and the homestead Chelsea had described spread before her. Two homes, sprawling yards, a facility with a beautiful sign that read “Courage Reins,” and new construction going in on the west side of the road. She passed that first, noticing that the construction workers were already out and busy.

  Of course they would be, she thought. They didn’t want to work in the Texas heat any longer than necessary, though it was October and starting to cool off.

  She parked where Heidi had instructed, noting that she was indeed the first to arrive. Not wanting to wait in the car, she got out and took a deep breath of clean, ranch air. Chelsea had told her there was nothing like it—and Grace had to agree.

  With a smile flirting with her lips, she headed for the homestead that would be Heidi’s test kitchen for the next several weeks. Her son, Squire, now lived in the homestead, but his wife, Kelly, had insisted that Heidi come out and use the large kitchen to test her recipes. After all, Heidi’s condo in town wasn’t fit for four women to be baking in at the same time.

  With no one but the cowhands and the construction crew stirring, Grace skirted the perimeter of the yard, thinking she’d take a short walk out to the fields and back. Someone surely would show up by the time she returned.

  She noticed the calving stalls and chicken coops to her right. Beyond them lay the silos and a couple of barns and way down on the end, a large, portable building. Behind all of that sat a row of cabins, presumably for the cowboys who worked the ranch.

  To her left sat the homestead, with its sweeping lawn and full vegetable garden, along with an obviously new swing set and shed. The tamed land eventually gave way to the wild range, and Grace paused on the edge of the two pieces. She felt the same as the waving prairie grasses—without shape or form or worry or care. At the same time, she longed to be molded and cultured into something beautiful. Longed to be needed. Longed to be successful.

  She turned back to the homestead, wishing she knew how to become the person she wanted to be. She’d prayed for help, for guidance, for answers.

  And God had sent her to Three Rivers to test recipes with a retired woman who wanted to open a bakery in town. A woman who had explained to Grace that she’d given up her dream of owning a bakery almost thirty-five years ago.

  Grace took another deep breath as she heard Heidi tell her that she hadn’t really given up the bakery. God had promised her she’d have it one day. She’d decided to trust in Him, and Grace admired the older woman’s patience and faith.

  She stuffed her hands in her pockets as she headed for the house. Heidi had told her to take the steps up to the deck and enter through the French doors. As she aimed herself in that direction, something glinted out of the corner of her eye.

  Around the steps, under the deck, waited a patio. And on that patio, a guitar rested in a rocking chair.

  Her fingers suddenly itched to play. She hadn’t taken her guitar to New York with her, and she’d abandoned the instrument completely as she struggled to launch her cupcakery. But now….

  Her feet seemed to change direction without instruction from her brain. She picked up the guitar, a small thread of guilt pulling through her, and sat on the edge of the rocker. Her fingers found the strings easily, pressed chords from muscle memory, and she began to play.

  She’d hummed her way through her favorite tune, and was gearing up to sing the lyrics when someone said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Grace almost dropped the guitar. She fumbled it, her hands finally finding purchase on the neck and saving it from clattering to the cement.

  Good thing, too, because she didn’t think the glowering cowboy standing on the steps she’d come down would’ve appreciated her dropping his guitar. He definitely didn’t need to vocalize that he owned it. His offensive stance and folded arms said that.

  “I’m—I’m sorry.” Grace stood and replaced the guitar in the rocking chair. The man continued to glower, his square jaw boxy and tight. “I was waiting for Heidi to show up, and I just saw your guitar, and—it’s a real fine instrument. You must take good care of it.”

  Of course, leaving it outside in a chair didn’t testify of such things, but Grace swallowed those words. She wished she had her own cowboy hat to cover her hair and eyes, or that he would move so she could scamper past him and get upstairs and into her safe place: the kitchen.

  “What song was that?” He didn’t sound like he was about to snap, and the muscles in Grace’s neck relaxed.

  “Just something my daddy used to sing.”

  “I’ve heard it before.”

  Grace really didn’t think so, but she didn’t want to argue with the cowboy. He seemed so tall and imposing, standing on the third step as he did. And she was a tall woman at nearly five-feet-ten-inches.

  His arms relaxed; his hands fell to his sides.

  “You work here?” she asked.

  “Workin’ on the new horse training facilities.”

  Ah, so he was a carpenter. Grace had a soft spot for woodworkers—the boy she’d known in Oklahoma City had been a builder. Or at least his daddy had been, and Jon was set to take over the business once his dad was ready to retire.

  Grace once again wiped the memories from her mind. It wasn’t uncommon for her to think of what might’ve been with Jonathan Carver. She’d been infatuated with him, overjoyed to go to the homecoming dance with him, and then devastated when her family moved to Dallas before she could really find out if she and Jon were a match.

  She had only been seventeen at the time, but still. Somet
hing about him had stuck with Grace through all these years.

  Moving forward to go past him, she said, “Well, I should—”

  He stepped in front of her. “Grace Lewis?”

  She peered up into his face, searching for his identity. His dark blue eyes and strong features could’ve belonged to anyone. He swept his hat off his head to reveal dark brown hair—with a sliver of white in the front.

  Her heart tripped over itself, then catapulted into her throat. “Jon?”

  Jonathan Carver stared at Grace Lewis, the girl he’d just started to fall for as a senior in high school when her family had moved. A slow grin stretched across his face. “It is you! I knew I’d heard that song before.”

  Without thinking, without considering, he stepped down to the patio and engulfed her in a Texas-sized embrace. Though she was tall, he still had a few inches on her, and her head fit nicely against his chest, right below his neck.

  Suddenly everything about Three Rivers didn’t seem so distasteful. He’d come here against his will, because he worked well with Brett Murphy and he needed the money. But he didn’t like Texas and wasn’t planning on staying once the job was done. Problem was, nothing in Oklahoma City called to him either.

  He’d been drifting for a few years, and he knew it. Didn’t know how to anchor himself though. Didn’t know if he cared to.

  Heat bolted through him as Grace laughed and brought her hands sliding up his back. “It’s so good to see you.”

  He stepped away, very aware of how hard his nerve endings had started firing. It felt as though the temperature had shot through the roof in only a few seconds.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She pointed up, toward the deck. “I told you. I’m here to test recipes with Heidi.”

  “Right,” he said, listening now. He hadn’t before, because his fury at seeing a woman fondling his guitar had deafened him momentarily. “She’s startin’ up a bakery, right?”