by Liz Isaacson
When she’d seen his ad for a nanny, she’d applied, beyond hopeful. Please let this be our second chance, she prayed as he turned back to her. She couldn’t read his expression under his cowboy hat from this distance, but as he stalked closer, she saw the indecision, the anger, the pain.
“She likes you,” he clipped out as he passed.
“So can I have the job?” She hated seeing his retreating back as he marched into the house and around the corner into the kitchen. She’d seen enough of him walking away from her to last a lifetime.
“I’ll let you know,” he said. “I have other interviews still to do.”
She entered the kitchen to find him peering into the freezer. “I teach cooking classes at the church,” she said. “I can make dinner. Give you a sample of what a meal might taste like when you get home from work.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Desperation darted through Natalie. “Owen—”
“I’m real sorry,” he blurted. “Okay? I’m sorry I left and never came back.”
His apology brought warmth to her soul. “It’s over,” she said. “The past. Something that happened twelve years ago.”
He closed the freezer and looked right at her. He’d always been able to see past what she said to get to the root of how she really felt. “Are you over it?”
“I—”
“Because I’m not.” Agony shone in his eyes for one, two, three seconds before he erased it. “But I do want you to know I’m sorry.”
She touched his arm, and lightning sparked at the skin-to-skin contact, causing her to jerk back. “I am too, Owen.”
“Nothin’ for you to be sorry about.” He backed into the living room. “I’ll let you know about the job.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How many more interviews do you have?”
“Three.”
He’d resorted to one-word answers, so she nodded, ducked her head, and slipped out the front door.
2
Natalie exhaled as she pulled into her own driveway, only a five-minute drive from Owen’s. Had she known, she would’ve taken two lefts to drive by his place more often. She dismissed the thought. No, she wouldn’t have. She wasn’t so hung up on him that she’d stalk him.
In fact, though she needed the job, she wasn’t sure she actually wanted it. Sure, she thought Owen was as handsome as ever. He radiated strength and warmth from his very person. And the thought of kissing him again sent excitement through her in the form of tremors. On some level, she still loved him. She wondered if she always would, he being her first love and all.
But she didn’t like the trapped feelings she’d felt in every relationship since. She didn’t like wondering what mood her boyfriend or husband would be in when she walked through the door. With Jeremiah, he saved his worst self for her, it seemed.
He couldn’t treat his co-workers badly, but he could his wife. He took so much time off work, he bounced from job to job. He was a good person, constantly thinking of others and doing little things to make their lives brighter. He wrote kind cards and bought gifts—for everyone except her. She’d felt neglected and overlooked from the very first time they’d gone out.
And she’d never known who or what was waiting behind the closed door of their home on the north end of town. She knew the sick feeling deep in the gut of not wanting to go home. And she’d vowed that she’d never endure that kind of anxiety again.
Natalie liked knowing that behind her closed door sat her cat, Cranberry, her dirty cereal bowl from that morning, and the running shoes she’d worn to the gym that morning lying by the front door.
She got out of the car and stretched her back in the waning autumn light. She had liked Marie, and that was who this job was all about. She climbed the front steps to her house and entered the unlocked door. Sure enough, Cranberry mewed as she wound through Natalie’s legs and her eyes fell on the shoes by the door.
She took a deep breath and released it, none of the anxiety she’d experienced previously inside her. After her failed marriage, Natalie had finished her dance degree and taken every culinary course the local vocational school offered. In her two-bedroom house, she was able to do the two things she loved most: dancing and cooking. They both kept the thoughts of failure, the ever-looming loneliness, at bay.
She pulled the flank steak from the fridge and set about sharpening her knife. Twenty minutes later, she had razor-thin slices of beef marinating in soy and ginger and garlic. She set her hands to chopping peppers, onions, and broccoli as her mind whirred through her upcoming pie classes at the church.
She needed to meet with the new activity director and make sure she had the budget to do pecan pie. She missed Megan, the previous director. Natalie had made Megan’s wedding cake, and the whole affair was only two weeks old. She and her new husband—a cowhand from Horseshoe Home Ranch—had flown off to a tropical destination, and then they were moving to Utah.
Natalie needed to confirm times for the classes. Her cooking lessons were some of the more popular ones offered at the church, and she often did mid-day classes for the older generations and evening times were reserved for working people.
She set the broccoli to steam and reached for her phone. “Maureen,” she said when the activity director for the church answered. “When can I come talk to you about the upcoming cooking classes?”
“What does tomorrow look like for you?”
Tomorrow was wide open for Natalie—a real problem if she wanted to keep eating flank steak and paying her mortgage. She’d been scraping by for years, teaching dance and doing freelance web design. But she hated the online work—didn’t quite have the discipline needed to set her own hours and work from home.
With an appointment set for ten a.m., Natalie finished putting together her beef and broccoli dish and sat down at her eat-in kitchen table. She turned on her Internet radio and enjoyed her meal for one. Well, she enjoyed it as much as she could alone. Her traitorous thoughts kept drifting to Owen, and if he’d even fit at the only other chair at the table. She had her doubts.
“Get over him,” she muttered to herself as she moved down the hall and changed into a leotard. While lacing her ballet shoes, a memory she’d long abandoned slammed into her head.
Her senior year, she’d danced the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy in her studio’s production of The Nutcracker. Owen had come—he always attended her concerts—and brought her a nutcracker and a single red rose.
She crossed the hall to her bedroom, where that nutcracker sat on her dresser. She’d dried the rose, but she wasn’t sure where it was now. Jeremiah had asked her about the nutcracker several times, and she’d said it had sentimental value. She’d passed it several times everyday, and yet she hadn’t seized onto the memory of where it had come from.
Now, she ran her fingertips along the base and up the legs. The nutcracker wore a festive green suit coat, and a smile stole across her face. Owen had said, “I would never wear that color, but he looks nice, don’t you think?”
She’d taken the gift and embraced the boy she loved.
He’s not a boy anymore, she thought as she turned abruptly away from the nutcracker. She went back into her dance studio and moved to the barre. By concentrating on each muscle in her leg, in each slow, precise movement ballet required, she was able to drive Owen from her mind.
At least for an hour.
Owen pulled the turkey steaks off the heat and set the pan on the granite cutting board. “Marie,” he called. “Time to eat.”
The girl came down the hall from her room, a pencil in her hand.
“Got your homework done?” he asked as he got two plates out of the cupboard. “Mashed potatoes tonight.” He grinned at her, though he didn’t feel an ounce of joy in his body. “Your favorite.”
“Did you make gravy?”
He scoffed. “Did I make gravy.” He put the pan next to the turkey steaks. “Of course I made gravy.” He leaned against the count
er, the early hour at which he woke catching up to him. “You know, your mom loved gravy. She used to put it on everything. I even saw her ladle it over spaghetti once.”
Marie smiled, and she didn’t look like quite as washed out. “I know, Uncle Owen. You told me last time we had turkey steaks.”
“Oh. Well.” He busied himself getting out silverware and pulling the canned beans from the microwave. “Let’s eat, and then I’ll look at your homework.” He stifled a yawn and served Marie. He’d learned to listen to her talk if she wanted to, but he didn’t press her to. He asked her about school, her teacher, the neighbor he’d been using as a nanny since school had started a couple of weeks ago.
She wandered down the hall after dinner, leaving Owen to himself. With shorter days approaching, he felt tired earlier than normal. Or maybe that was just because of the reappearance of Natalie Lower in his life.
He’d always, always regretted cutting her out of his life in the first place. He had few regrets in his life, but that one topped the list. No matter the success he’d enjoyed in Nashville, he shouldn’t have left her the way he did. At least he’d been able to apologize, finally.
Her golden eyes played tricks on his heart all night, making him toss and turn until visions of his once-relationship with Nat drove him from bed at five a.m. He arrived at Silver Creek by five-forty-five in time to wake his boys for their six o’clock equine chores. His at-risk boys took exclusive care of the horses, something he’d insisted on from the day he’d started at the center.
He knew the healing power of horses, something he’d experienced on a deeply personal level at a horse ranch in Nashville before he’d returned to Gold Valley. Before waking the boys, he opened the barn and walked down the aisle. His favored horse was Ole Red, and Owen only allowed certain boys to work with her.
A sorrel-colored horse, Ole Red had a black tail and mane that Owen ran his fingers through as the horse nosed his shoulder. “Mornin’,” Owen said in the soft voice he reserved just for his animals and his boys. He wasn’t soft-spoken, but he didn’t need to bluster and yell to get his way. His height had always helped establish his power with the boys, and his no-nonsense attitude achieved the rest.
He thought of the tired eyes of his neighbor when he’d knocked on the door that morning to deposit a sleepy Marie on her couch. It would be so much better to have someone come to his house so Marie could sleep properly until it was time to go to school. He’d had an additional interview the previous evening, but Marie had said, “She smells like that oil you rub into your boots.” She’d wrinkled her nose, and Owen had crossed the woman off his list.
He had two more interviews that evening, but he wondered if maybe he should just call Nat and ask her to pick Marie up from school. She’d have dinner ready when he got home….
His mind played tug-of-war with itself as he unlocked and entered the boy’s cabin. “Time to get up, boys,” he called, clanging the rod through the triangle that served as an alarm clock. Groans and moans met his ears, but his boys got themselves up and in line.
“Trevor and Marcos, you’re on feed,” Owen said, moving down the line. “Stanley, saddles and tack. Guy and Cory, hay barn. Jesus, the last three stalls on the north end need to be shoveled out and fresh straw put down.” He looked down the line, a rush of admiration for these boys pulling through him. “Breakfast at seven, right back here. I don’t want to smell horse on you while we’re eating.”
“No, sir,” they chanted.
“Go on then.”
His boys set about getting dressed and heading out to their chores. Owen waited until they’d all exited the building, then he joined them in the barn, where Stanley had switched on the radio. Owen made them listen to the morning news and talk radio while they worked, claiming they needed to know a world still existed beyond Silver Creek. A world they were expected to return to, live in, contribute to.
He went around and spoke to each boy, asking them specific questions about their lives, their struggles. They saw a professional psychiatrist, but they bonded with Owen and he often got more out of them than the doctors did.
“Heard from your dad yet?” he asked Trevor when he got to the boy.
“Yeah, he’s coming next week. Doctor Richards said we can go to the football game.” Trevor flashed him a grin. “Thanks for setting it up, Owen.”
Owen clapped Trevor on the shoulder. “You’re a great kid, Trevor. Happy to do it.”
Owen wished he had someone to tell him he was great when he’d failed. When he’d tried to claw his way back to the surface. He’d achieved great success in Nashville, he knew. For every record made, there were probably fifty artists turned away.
One hit wonder, ran through his head. He’d loved every song on his first album. He’d written every one right from his heart. Thankfully, one of them other people had connected to. He shouldn’t have asked for more. Shouldn’t have expected more.
But he had, and those unrealized dreams tainted the success he’d enjoyed down south. That combined with Clarissa’s quick exit from his life, and Owen had a hard time remembering anything good associated with his five years in Nashville.
Taking a chance, the way he did with his boys, the way he had when he’d packed a single bag of clothes and all the money he’d saved from mowing lawns in high school and headed a thousand miles across the country, Owen pulled out his phone. Instead of calling, he sent a text to Natalie.
Can you get Marie after school today? Maybe we can do a trial day.
He shoved his phone back in his pocket and checked on Guy and Cory in the hay barn. The boys over there tended to go back to sleep or make a mess of the hay if Owen didn’t make it a habit to stick his head in and make sure they were working.
His phone buzzed before he’d taken more than two steps. Natalie had answered already, and Owen was impressed she was up this early. She’d never been a morning person that he remembered.
“She’s not the same person you knew at all,” he muttered as he read her text.
Sure! She’s at Lincoln Elementary, right? That’s what she said last night. She’s done at 3:15?
Right, he typed. Lincoln Elementary at 3:15. I should be home about 5. His thumb hovered over the send button before he pressed it. He added, Thanks, Nat, and sent that too.
No problem.
Relief washed through him as he sent a message to his neighbor that she didn’t need to go down the block to the bus stop to get Marie. He asked her to please tell Marie that Natalie would be picking her up after school, much happier with the day’s situation than anything else he’d arranged for the girl.
No one’s called me Nat since high school. Natalie’s text burned his retinas—another reminded of how much she’d changed.
Sorry. I didn’t know.
Just another reminder of what he didn’t know about her, and a creeping thought settled in his mind. He wanted to know all about the new Natalie Ringold.
It’s fine. She inserted a smiley face and then said, See you tonight.
For the first time since Tasha’s death, since Marie came to live with him, since Owen had been forced to leave his cabin, he felt a measure of peace slip into his system. He realized he had something worthwhile to look forward to, and he was a bit shocked, scared, spooked that he felt that way because of Natalie.
3
Owen pulled into his driveway just after five o’clock, noting Natalie’s black car leaned toward the luxury side of things. He got out of his decade-old truck and gave her a pat on the hood as he headed toward the front door.
“Evenin’,” he called as he entered. The house seemed quiet. Too quiet. He paused in shrugging out of his jacket when he smelled the evidence that someone had definitely been here cooking. The air smelled like roasted meat and butter, fresh bread and salt. He took a deep breath, a thread of pleasure passing through him. Dinner he didn’t have to make. Pure heaven.
“Stop!” The back door slammed into the wall as Tar Baby skidded through the opening
and onto the wood floors.
“No, you devil!” Natalie appeared a moment later, her hair flying wildly around her face. “You can’t dig in the mud and then run away! You’ll get—” She stopped mid-sentence when she spied Owen leaning against the wall that marked the beginning of the hallway. Tar Baby sat at his feet, dripping mud from his snout.
Owen looked from a semi-muddy woman to an even muddier dog. “Where’s Marie?” he asked, fearing the worst. He wanted to reach down and pat the dog hello, but he didn’t want mud—and who knew what else—on his already dirty hands.
Natalie glanced over her shoulder. “She’s, uh…cleaning up.” She wiped her hands together with a look of disgust and then held them out in front of her like they were covered in slime.
“Cleaning what up?” Owen started toward the back door, which still stood open.
Natalie moved to block him. “We just, uh, had a little mishap with the sprinkling system.”
He stared down at her, only a couple of feet between them. “I don’t have a sprinkling system.”
“I know that now.” She kept her pretty eyes on his without flinching.
Something bubbled in his stomach and not until the laughter burst from his mouth did Owen realize what it was. She seemed to deflate before him, whether out of embarrassment or relief, he wasn’t sure.
“So who’s worse?” he asked once he quieted down. “Tar Baby or Marie?”
Natalie sucked in a breath. “At this point? Maybe Tar Baby.”
Owen whistled through his teeth as he sidestepped Natalie, and his dog came outside with him. “Stay, Tar Baby.” The dog sat and stayed.
“I don’t know how you do that,” she said.
“I’m the pack leader.” He found Marie standing over the hose, rubbing her hands together in the chilly stream of water. “Marie, sweetheart,” he called. “Come on in. You should get in the tub.” He cast a long look at Natalie. “You can get on home and clean up, if you want.” He spoke in a kind voice, glad it didn’t sound like a command he might give to his boys or his dog.
