by Liz Isaacson
A petite woman about his mother’s age stood from behind her desk. “Mister Carr. Nice to meet you.” She wore a pleasant smile, along with a navy pencil skirt and a pink blouse.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t answer my phone,” he apologize. “I was…out.”
Miss Teller waved away his worry. “It’s fine. I called because just before Marie was sick for the first time, she told me she’d been having trouble with a boy in her class.” She perched on the edge of her desk. “I wasn’t sure if you were aware of the problem.”
“No,” he said. “No, I’m not aware. She hasn’t said anything at home.”
“I was unsure if she was really sick, or if she just wanted to go home because this boy had teased her.”
A rage Owen didn’t quite understand rushed through his head. “What’s happening?”
“I spoke with the boy, and his mother, and apparently, he’s been chasing Marie on the playground, tugging on her hair, that kind of thing. He has not hurt her, and he doesn’t call her names. I think it’s a crush.”
Owen nodded, because he wasn’t sure what else to do. “Where is she now?”
“Missy’s getting her from the nurse’s office.” Miss Teller straightened. “I just wanted you to know about the boy, Mister Carr, so you feel safe sending Marie to school. I’ve spoken with him and his mother about how we can’t touch someone else without their permission. Though he hasn’t hurt Marie, it isn’t okay for him to pull on her ponytail.”
“Right, okay,” Owen said. He wasn’t concerned about the other boy. He wanted to see Marie, make sure she was okay. His brain buzzed with what he could do to ease her discomfort, both emotional and physical. He’d probably need to run to the store. But how could he leave Marie alone?
In that moment, he realized that Natalie wasn’t standing next to him. Of course she wasn’t—she had no legal claim on Marie. She can help you, he thought as the secretary came through the door with Marie.
“Marie.” Owen dropped to his knees and ran his hands up the girl’s arms. She looked pale and shaky. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I don’t feel good, Uncle Owen.” A single tear trailed down her face and broke his heart.
He stood and scooped her into his arms. “Well, let’s go home, baby doll.” He glanced at the two women, who both watched him with compassion. “Do I need to sign her out?”
Miss Teller waved. “Just take her home, Mister Carr. Thank you for coming over.”
He nodded at them both and held Marie tight against his chest as they exited the building. This parenting gig wasn’t for the faint of heart, and the sight of Natalie waiting at the front of his truck brought him more comfort than he knew he needed.
“She’s sick,” he said when he got closer. “Stomachache.” She opened the door for him, and Owen slid Marie into the middle of the bench seat. He straightened and closed the door, leaning close to Natalie so he could take a deep breath of her perfume. She smelled as powdery and fresh as she always had, and Owen’s hands found hers.
“Will you come home with me?” he asked. “I have no idea what to do for a stomachache, and I might need to run to the store.”
“Well, how can a girl refuse that offer?” She giggled, squeezed his fingers, and stretched up to kiss his cheek before stepping around him and pulling open the passenger-side door again. By the time he got his heavy feet to move, Natalie had Marie’s head in her lap. She hummed a song to her as she stroked her hair.
Owen watched them both, and a flash of his future stole through his mind. Could this really be his life? What did he need to do to make it so?
Tell her why you left town, came into his mind, and he felt like crying as he drove carefully back to his house.
11
Owen did have to go to the store—twice. Once for ginger ale and children’s stomach medication. Once for milk and potatoes so Natalie could make shepherd’s pie. He should’ve gotten a bag of frozen peas while he was there, because the one she found way in the back of his freezer tasted like they’d been there since he moved in.
He still ate the food, because Natalie made it and he didn’t have anything else. Tar Baby had sensed Marie’s distress and had lain by her on the couch since she’d come home. Owen had watched her, taken her temperature every half hour, and kept her favorite cartoons on the television. Natalie had kept him company and then made lunch.
Now, he dozed in the recliner in the living room, everything around him a dull roar. His head ached, but he didn’t have the energy to go get something to make it stop.
“I have to go,” Natalie whispered.
Owen’s eyes jerked open. “You do?”
“Yeah, I teach dance on Monday afternoons, and I don’t have any of my clothes or shoes.”
He’d picked her up, and though her house was only a five-minute drive, it would be a fifteen-minute walk. “Take my truck,” he said. “I’ll take you home tonight after she goes to bed.” He looked at the snoozing Marie and stood. He gathered Natalie close, close, and whispered, “Thank you for your help today.”
She relaxed into him, and Owen was reminded of how easy it had been to be with her. “Thanks for taking me to breakfast.” She smiled up at him, but didn’t move to kiss him again. She stepped away from him, and he let her go, his arms empty and his world cold without her.
After she left with his keys in her hand, he collapsed back into the recliner. He felt as though he was walking on thin ice, on a lake that had no bottom. One wrong step, and he’d fall in. While part of that excited him, tempted him to take one more step, the rational side of him screamed to get off the ice. Get off the ice quickly.
But he didn’t want to. He wanted to spend time with Natalie, heal what he’d done to her, discover what could potentially make him happy.
It just couldn’t happen at the expense of Marie.
“Just don’t turn off your phone again,” he mumbled as he leaned back and closed his eyes. He slept, his dreams filled with wide, blue skies and a woman with hazel-gold eyes.
Natalie’s toes paid the price of her frustration. She’d told Owen she’d bring his truck back after her dance classes, but she hadn’t. When she’d finished teaching, she’d stayed at the studio, at the barre, with her pointe shoes on. She hadn’t danced at all that day, and whipping up a shepherd’s pie hadn’t adequately drained the emotion from the muscles in her neck.
She rolled her head from side to side, still feeling some tension along her shoulders. She wasn’t surprised. Starting a new relationship with any man would have her on-edge. The fact that he was Owen actually made things more stressful. She couldn’t exactly pinpoint why, but she felt it.
Pastor Palmer had spoken on embracing the gospel on Sunday. He’d mentioned that sometimes people take for granted what they have. She’d been thinking a lot about what he’d said, and not just in temporal terms. She was grateful for every dollar she had, and she always had been. She didn’t have many skills that would make her much money, and she’d relied on credit cards when things needed to stretch.
Problem was, those credit cards had to be paid back. During and after the sermon, she’d sent thanks to God for the job with Owen. Because of it, she could finally get out from under the pile of debt she’d created for herself.
He’d challenged them not to take their faith for granted, and she’d been thinking about it ever since. Did she just expect her faith to be there when she needed it? Was faith something she simply possessed but didn’t have to foster, develop, or grow?
Pastor Palmer had suggested that faith needed caring for, and that he’d seen faithful members neglect the care and feeding of their faith. So Natalie sat cross-legged, alone in the studio, and pulled up the scriptures on her phone. She read for a few minutes. Read until the tension and aches and worries of the day fled.
She then sent a text to Owen: I’ll bring your truck back in the morning when I come to watch Marie. Do you think she’ll go to school tomorrow?
And: I liked spend
ing the day with you. Warmth filled her heart at the memory of the day. Owen had been so stressed about Marie, and Natalie had been able to help him. A small miracle she thanked the Lord for as she typed out another text.
What do you want for dinner tomorrow night?
His response was classic Owen, mashing all his answers into a single message.
That’s fine about the truck. Yes, she’ll go. She’s doing better now. I liked seeing you today too. Whatever you want.
She smiled, her thumbs flying over the keyboard when another message came in.
I didn’t just like seeing you today. I really liked talking with you and holding your hand. Stay for dinner tomorrow?
She deleted what she’d typed and simply said Sure.
She was less sure when his next text read, I need to tell you about why I left the day after graduation, okay?
In fact, a cold pit opened in her chest, and it was filled with darkness and sadness. She’d spent that entire first summer without him bathed in shadows and doubt, shame and disbelief. She’d cried a lot. Hiked to their spot on the mountain. Sent him emails and texts he answered in vague, one-word sentences.
Life had marched forward, but she’d never really moved on. She’d dated other men, but she’d never gotten over Owen.
Back then, she’d so desperately wanted him to tell he why he’d left without her, but now, she wasn’t so sure she needed to know.
She pulled into his driveway at five-twenty-five and left the truck running. The heater wasn’t blowing warm air yet, and she pulled her jacket closed at the throat. An autumn breeze blew, signaling the beginning of winter, and she shuddered involuntarily. She sure hated the snow and cold for someone who chose to live in it for six months out of the year.
She didn’t knock, and his front door wasn’t locked when she entered. She shivered when she shut the wind out, and he poked his head out from behind the wall in the kitchen. “Hey, there.” His face split into a smile. “Cold this mornin’, right?”
“Winter’s coming,” she confirmed. “Is that coffee?”
“Cream in the fridge.”
“You don’t drink cream in your coffee.”
“I sure don’t.” He trailed his fingers down her arm, sending a different kind of shiver through her system.
“Then why do you have it in your fridge?” She poured herself a cup of coffee, relishing the warmth from the steam as it drifted upward.
He pulled her close, and said, “For you.” His lips brushed her hairline, making all her thoughts evaporate. “And Marie likes it on her cereal.” He released her with a chuckle. He swiped his jacket from the hook by the backdoor. “Okay, so you’re dancing until seven tonight?”
She groaned. “Oh, yeah. I was planning to make chicken Alfredo for dinner. I can make it tomorrow. How do you feel about Chinese takeout?”
He wrinkled his nose, triggering her memories. “Oh, that’s right. You dislike food you can’t eat with a fork.”
“It’s awkward.” He zipped his jacket all the way to his throat, covering his black and white striped shirt.
“You know you can just use the silverware you want. Chopsticks aren’t required.”
“So you’ve told me a thousand times.”
“And yet you won’t even try the tangy chicken from Pan’s.”
“I’ll pick something up on the way home,” he said. “Something you like.”
“Better not be burgers,” she called after him as he headed for the front door. “I mean, you can’t eat those with a fork.”
“You’re so funny,” he said, but his voice did broadcast a playful tone. “See you tonight.”
“Wait,” she said, and he turned back. “Will you stop by the studio and get Marie too? Or will she be staying with me the whole time? It doesn’t matter either way, I’ll just get her prepared with her homework, her tablet, all of that, depending on how long she’ll be there with me.”
“I’ll grab her too.” He smiled, tipped that new gray cowboy hat, and stepped into the morning darkness. In Owen’s absence, Tar Baby came padding into the kitchen. He sniffed around Natalie’s feet before licking her ankle. She yelped and pushed the dog back.
She left her coffee untouched on the counter and settled into Owen’s couch for another couple of hours of sleep.
12
“And one, and two, and three.” Natalie moved along the front of the room. “Lift those arms, Jade. And kick, kick, kick.” The seven-year-old class was her favorite, because they’d been in dance classes for a few years and could keep up with the choreography she used.
It was her second class of the night, and Marie sat in the corner completely entranced with these girls. The first class had been four-year-olds, and Marie had spent most of that class on her tablet. But these girls were more her age, and Natalie determined to ask Owen about enrolling Marie in the class.
She moved over to the stereo system and paused the music. “Combo two, girls.” She tapped on her music player to the next song. “Get high on those toes now. Be sure to hold the arms at the right position.” She lifted hers. “Right to the side. Left over the head.” She tapped the player. “And go.”
The music began and the girls danced with Natalie calling out corrections and praise. “Beautiful, Charlotte,” she said as the music ended. She paused it to give more instructions, but Owen stuck his head into the room. Every eye turned in his direction. After all, not many cowboys stopped by the studio.
“Evenin’ girls,” he drawled. “Nat, is Marie—?” He stopped as his niece stood and hurried toward him. She giggled as he swooped her into a hug. “See you at home, okay, Nat?”
She nodded, Stephanie hovering on the other side of the glass. She turned away from him as he turned to leave, her voice only a tiny bit shaky as she said, “Combo two again, ladies. Work those calf muscles.”
When she finished teaching, she went into the office to turn in her time card for the week. Stephanie was signing hers and glanced up. “Holy smokes, Natalie. You didn’t say Owen was dreamy and a devoted father.”
Natalie sighed, not wanting to have this conversation at the studio. “It was implied.”
“Makes him a bit sexier, don’t you think?”
Natalie signed her card and set it on the manager’s desk. She bumped Stephanie with her shoulder. “I think if he gets any sexier, he’ll have to be locked up.” She grinned. “Now, I have to go eat dinner with him, so I’ll talk to you later.”
Stephanie latched onto her arm, her orange-painted nails practically digging into her skin. “You’re eating dinner with him?”
“And we went to breakfast yesterday morning.”
“So you’re dating him.” It wasn’t a question, and Stephanie’s smile was nothing but genuine.
“I suppose so,” Natalie said. “We haven’t defined it.” She shrugged like it was no big deal, but the hand-holding, the hugging, the texting, the sweet kisses they’d shared were all a big deal to Nat.
With a jolt of fear, she realized that if things didn’t work out with Owen this time, she’d be devastated. Sure, she’d been heartbroken last time, discouraged, depressed. But she knew one thing for certain—if she and Owen didn’t end up married this time, she’d never recover.
So she smiled timidly at Stephanie and drove ten under the speed limit on her way to Owen’s. Her mind churned, and her heart warned her to put proper defenses in place so she didn’t end up losing everything. At the same time, the possibility existed that she’d get what she’d dreamed of twelve years ago. A family and a life with Owen.
She mounted the steps and knocked at the same time she entered his house. Marie sat on the couch and she jumped up as Natalie entered. “Nat, hi!” She flung her arms around Natalie’s waist. “That dance class was really interesting to watch. Uncle Owen says I can sign up if I want to, and I was wondering if I sign up, will you be my teacher?”
Natalie smoothed her hand over the girl’s blonde hair. “Yes, sweetheart. You’d be in the six o’c
lock class.” She didn’t say that was the beginner’s class, though it was. Girls from ages five to eight were in that class, as it was their first time taking ballet.
“Uncle Owen!” Marie tore into the kitchen. “Nat says I’d be in the six o’clock class.”
Natalie heard Owen’s low voice respond, but she couldn’t understand the words. He appeared a moment later, Marie at his side. “Dinner in here.” He grinned at her, a secret riding in his eyes.
She stepped in his direction, tucking her hands into her sweatshirt pockets. She wore a pair of joggers over the black leggings she wore to teach and a tank top with flimsy straps under the sweatshirt. She shouldn’t be so worried about Owen seeing her in such tight and scant clothing—he already had.
She stepped into the kitchen to see the kitchen counter covered with white Chinese containers. She gaped at the sheer number of them and then switched her gaze to Owen.
“That one there is the tangy chicken.” He pointed to one of the open containers. “You were right. It’s really good.”
“You ate it?”
“I can try new things.” He glanced at Marie, who stood watching their exchange. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s time to get in the tub.”
“You said I could have another fortune cookie when Nat got here.”
He chuckled as he reached for a cookie. “I sure did. Now go on. You said you’d take a bath and finish your homework when Nat got here.”
Something zinged through her when she realized that the two of them had included her in their lives. She picked up a plate and started scooping herself some of the tangy chicken she liked. By the time she’d filled her plate, the water was running in the bathroom and Owen had seated himself at the kitchen table.
She sat across from him, a slip of nervous energy eliminating her appetite because of the serious glint in his eye. “Good day?” she asked.
