by Liz Isaacson
“Get to your station,” she said, her tone drier than a desert. He fell back two steps when two women entered the kitchen, chattering away about their teenagers. They spied Owen, and their grins widened.
“How’s Marie?” one of them, a woman his mother’s age named Penny Partridge, asked.
“She’s doin’ just fine, ma’am.” Owen knew his manners and when to use them.
“How’s your momma?” the other asked.
“Right as rain, Miss Gurr. She’s watchin’ Marie tonight.”
“Didn’t you hire a nanny?” Penny asked.
“I sure did.” Owen cast a glance up to Natalie, but she didn’t seem to be paying attention to the conversation.
“Who is it?” Penny sure could be relentless, something Owen should’ve known from high school. Her son had mentioned it more than once.
“Natalie.” Owen nodded toward the front of the kitchen right as Nat looked up.
The two women looked back and forth between Natalie, who looked perplexed, and Owen, who couldn’t stop grinning.
Natalie took extra time to make sure she looked absolutely perfect on Sunday morning. She and Owen had been dating behind closed doors for just over a month. He brought food home on Mondays and Tuesdays, and she cooked the other nights. She rarely left his house earlier than nine-thirty, and even that was way too late.
With her new job, she’d been able to get current on her car payments, give herself a little bit of breathing room. She loved taking care of Marie, loved the little girl to pieces. And she felt herself falling for Owen with every evening they spent together.
She curled another lock of her hair and added a string of pearls around her neck. After the third pie class—where Owen had managed to complete his first edible pie—he’d asked her to sit with him at church.
It was a milestone in their relationship, because she normally sat with her friends. Which meant explanations had to be made. And he normally sat with Marie and his parents. More explanations.
And everyone in town would see them together, and start talking, and suspicions would be raised. Not only that, but he’d asked her to join him and Marie for dinner at his parents’ house following church.
She’d said yes, of course. No hesitation. But, oh the fear. She wondered when she wouldn’t be so worried about what his mom would think of her, what the ladies in the sewing club were saying about her, when she should tell her own parents about her rekindled relationship with the man they believed had broken her heart.
That was a conversation she wasn’t looking forward to, that was for sure. They had liked Owen in high school, and her mom had confessed that she knew Natalie would be marrying him very soon after graduation. But when he’d left like that, he’d lost a lot of credibility in her mother’s eyes. And her father had written him off completely.
She hadn’t told him any of that, and she hoped that maybe he’d go to Wyoming with her at Christmastime. She’d started praying for that prospect—and for the right way to ease him into the Thanksgiving conversation at the dinner table.
Natalie held her head high as she walked into the chapel, but her fingers clutched her purse a bit too tight to be casual. Hopefully no one would notice.
“Nat.” Marie stood halfway toward the front of the chapel, waving for all she was worth. “Come sit by us.”
Natalie smiled genuinely at the girl and reached for her hand when she got close enough. “Hey, sweetheart.” She glanced down the row, where she found Owen’s mother and father—but not Owen. She cast her eyes around, looking for him.
“Pastor Palmer grabbed him,” Owen’s mother said, a warm smile on her face. She stood and gave Natalie a hug. “How are you, dear?”
“Just fine, ma’am. How are you?” She looked tired as she stepped back and sat down, and a blip of worry stole through Nat.
“Oh, you know. Taking one day at a time.”
“I can imagine.” Natalie gave her a compassionate smile and sat down beside her. “I’m so sorry about Tasha and Henry.” She patted the older woman’s hand, who curled her fingers around Natalie’s and squeezed.
“Thank you.” She released Natalie but leaned in closer to her ear. “So Owen seems happier these past few weeks.”
“Does he?”
“So much happier.” His mom straightened and looked at her husband. “Bill, you remember Natalie Lower, don’t you?”
“Sure do.” He shook her hand and smiled, and Natalie remembered how much she’d liked Owen’s parents. He’d said they’d been forgiving and kind when he’d come crawling home, and she could see such charity in them. They were good people, who’d raised a good son.
Owen slid into the row only moments before the service started. “Sorry,” he whispered as he snaked his hand along the back of the pew behind Marie, who sat between them. He panted and took a deep drag of air to steady his breathing. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
She smiled and shifted a little closer to Marie, thus a little closer to Owen. His fingers brushed her shoulder, and heat flamed in her face. Within moments, he’d scooped the girl onto his lap and slid all the way over next to Natalie. He balanced Marie on his left side and lifted his right arm over Natalie’s shoulders.
A sense of safety and protection enveloped her, and she managed to ignore the weight of his mother’s eyes and instead focused on what the pastor had to say.
He spoke of ways to kindle or rekindle a passion for something or someone. He referenced his sermon from several weeks ago, the one that had prompted Natalie to re-examine her own faith. As she listened to him speak about finding the good things in life and pursuing those, her thoughts turned to ballet.
The sharp taste of regret filled her mouth no matter how much she tried to swallow it away. She was too old now to join the professional ballet company in town, and she suffered through the rest of the sermon though Owen’s arm around her was warm and wonderful.
“Marie wants to see if there are any other classes she can take,” Owen said once the closing hymn finished. “She loved that art one you brought her to.”
“Suzy is a great teacher.” Natalie glanced at Marie. “Should we go see what else they have?”
Marie slipped one hand into Nat’s and one into Owen’s and tugged them toward the aisle. “Yes, let’s go.”
“All right, turbo,” Owen said. He chuckled as he stood and moved into the aisle ahead of Marie. Natalie followed them both, feeling very much like she was part of this family, something she hadn’t enjoyed since her parents had moved to Wyoming to start their second franchise.
She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been. Or maybe she had and just didn’t know what to do about it.
She lingered at the mouth of the hall where the activity tables stood, relinquishing her grip on Marie’s hand so they could go look at the options.
“So I take it you won’t be coming to dinner tonight.” Stephanie stopped next to her. “I saw you two all cuddling up to each other.” She grinned and cast her eyes down the hall to where Owen was bent over the table with Marie.
“I texted you,” Natalie said as Owen’s parents exited the chapel. “I’m going to Owen’s mother’s for dinner.” She grinned at the woman, who came toward her. “Stephanie, this is Paula Carr and her husband Bill.”
“Nice to meet you.” Stephanie shook their hands and slipped away. Owen still hadn’t returned, and Natalie wondered if making a choice was really that hard.
“Owen said I didn’t need to bring anything for dinner,” she said. “Is that really true?”
Paula smiled, but the action didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Bill?” She glanced back at Natalie. “He does all the cooking.”
“Because I’m pretty good in the kitchen,” Natalie said. “I teach classes here an everything.” She pointed down the hall. “I just finished a pie class, and I’m starting a holiday side dish class this next week.”
Owen’s father seemed lost inside his own thoughts, and it took him several seconds to
focus on her. “Do you bake?”
“Sure.” Concern and compassion combined inside her. Owen’s parents were really suffering, and she could only assume the cause was the death of their daughter only seven short months ago. “Cookies? Cake? You name it.”
He patted her shoulder as he passed, his gaze already out the large windows that flanked the church doors. “Whatever you want, Nat. We eat at four o’clock.”
She watched them go, shake Pastor Palmer’s hand and begin speaking with him. He watched them with the same apprehension she felt pulling through her, and he didn’t release his hold on Paula’s hand until she nodded. Natalie thought she saw his mom reach up and wipe her eyes too, but Owen appeared at her side and distracted her.
“All ready.”
“What did you pick?” she asked Marie as they stepped toward the exit.
“Your class,” she said with excitement. “Uncle Owen said it’s on Saturday mornings and I can come.” She skipped ahead of them and hugged Pastor Palmer before disappearing outside.
“She was really excited about it, especially the pronto pups.” Owen slid his hand around her back and rested his hand on her hip, claiming her in front of everyone. He didn’t seem to notice how everyone looked at them, how Pastor Palmer’s eyes lingered on the point of contact between them before lifting to Natalie’s.
“It’s just a corn dog,” Natalie said. “You told her that, right?”
“I didn’t know that,” Owen said. “So, no, I didn’t tell her that. Great sermon, Pastor.” He shook the man’s hand and said he was going to figure out what he was passionate about doing, and do it.
“What about you?” Pastor Palmer gazed at Natalie with his wise eyes, and she realized how much she would miss him once he retired in a couple of months.
“I’m not sure,” she answered truthfully. “I missed out on something in my life, but I’m not sure I can still do it.” She leaned forward and grinned when the pastor did too. “I’m too old, you know?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, Miss Natalie, I understand old.” He clasped her hand in both of his. “Maybe you’ll find something new to pursue.” His eyes flicked to Owen.
“I’m sure I will.” Natalie moved past him and took Owen’s hand as they entered the chilly October air. It had snowed several times already, but the sun had managed to melt it after a few days. Now dark clouds roiled in the sky, and she wondered if this would be a week of cold rain or the first real snowfall of the year. She hoped for the former, her bones already dreading the wind chill that blew down from Canada.
“What were you talkin’ about back there?” Owen asked once they’d cleared earshot of the pastor.
“Ballet.”
“You’re not too old for that.”
She laughed, the sound not quite as happy as she’d like it to be. “I totally am, Owen. You realize I should’ve auditioned in my senior year for the company, right? Most ballerinas are retired by age thirty.”
He paused and pulled her close. “I didn’t know that, Nat. Sorry.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “At least you’re a brilliant chef.”
She shoved him playfully in the chest. “Stop it.”
“I was being serious.” He quirked a smile in her direction and glanced around. “Now, where did Marie get to?”
“She’s sitting on your tailgate.” Natalie pointed, an idea popping into her head. “Your dad asked me to bring a dessert to dinner. Can I take Marie home with me and we can bake together?”
“I don’t see why not. Am I not invited?”
“Nope, not invited.” She moved ahead of him and told Marie about their afternoon of baking. “Uncle Owen is going to go home and take a nap or something.” She gave him a flirty smile. “What do your grandma and grandpa like?”
“Chocolate,” Marie and Owen said at the same time.
“I should’ve known.” She loaded Marie into her car, grinning first at Owen, and then Marie, the two people she was beginning to think she couldn’t live without.
14
“So measure that salt into this bowl.” Natalie set the mixing bowl in front of Marie. “One teaspoon. And then one of the baking soda.”
She was making her chocolate-chocolate chip cookies, and though she had the recipe memorized, she consulted it to make sure she’d told Marie right. The girl did as she was instructed, and Natalie told her about the dry and wet ingredients. “So the oven is hot, and we’re ready to mix. You want to cream the butter and sugar?”
“Yep.” She got off the stool Natalie had set up for her and moved it to the corner of the kitchen, where Natalie’s stand mixer waited.
“Put it on three or four,” Nat said. “I measured in the butter and sugars already.”
“Nat,” Marie said, her hand poised on the mixer’s on switch.
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“Are you and Uncle Owen going to get married?”
Natalie blinked, blinked. “I—I don’t know.”
She frowned, clearly puzzling through something. She switched on the mixer, and her troubles seemed to dash away with the speed of the blade attachment. She didn’t ask any more questions that weren’t related to cooking, but Natalie couldn’t seem to move past the first one.
Would Owen ask her to marry him this time? She couldn’t imagine a scenario where she’d refuse him if he did, and a pin of fear pushed into her heart, expanding until she felt like she’d swallowed a sword.
By the time Owen arrived to pick them up for dinner, she’d managed to clear her discomfort, but she still wielded the cookies like shields, like they alone would ward off any unwanted questions about her future with Owen.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Owen worried about Natalie. “I know my parents can be a bit much.” He’d actually thought dinner had gone well. His mother didn’t ask anything embarrassing or that he couldn’t answer. Natalie had been charming, and beautiful, and accepting. But something was off. He’d felt it as soon as he’d picked her and Marie up before heading to his parents’ for dinner.
“Fine.” She twisted toward him, and his hand fell from her shoulder to her upper arm. “Are your parents okay?”
He wasn’t sure what she meant. “I think so. Why?”
“They seem…sad to me. I mean, I understand why. I was just wondering if you thought…well, what do you think?”
“I think they’re doing the best that they can.”
“You seem better than they are.”
“Tasha wasn’t my daughter.” He ran his fingertips along Natalie’s leg. “Sure, I loved her. I miss her like crazy. But it isn’t the same relationship. And I have Marie.” He nuzzled her neck, taking a deep breath of her sugary and powdery scent. “And you.” He kissed the soft spot below her ear, pleased when she melted and arched into him at the same time.
“I was just worried about them,” she whispered.
“That’s because you’re a kind person.” He traced his lips along her jaw.
She gripped his shoulders, all but climbing into his lap. “Do you think your dad liked my cookies?”
Owen chuckled, the heat and desire diving through him almost impossible to tame. “He ate six of them, Nat. So yeah, I think he liked them.” He placed a kiss on each of her closed eyes. “You’re a beautiful and caring person.”
“Marie asked me if we were going to get married.”
Owen pulled back, his eyes popping open. Natalie opened hers much slower, the sleepy, lazy quality of them sharpening the longer she looked at him. “What did you tell her?”
“I said I didn’t know.” She searched his face. “What would you have told her?”
A smile leaked across his face. “Sneaky question.”
“It deserves an answer, don’t you think?” She placed a kiss too close to his earlobe to be friendly. He wasn’t sure how to answer her—or Marie. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t just propose now. Natalie spent more time at his house than her own.
But something—no, someone—held him back.
“I’ll talk to Marie,” he said. “I don’t want her to…I don’t know what she’s thinking or how she’ll react.” He cursed himself for not bringing it up with her before he’d started dating Natalie. Truth was, he didn’t know how to parent an eight-year-old, didn’t know what they understood and didn’t, what they needed besides the obvious.
And then there was the whole sticky point of telling Natalie he loved her. It had taken him six months to tell Marie, and that love was inherent, parental. This love was in its infancy, and Owen wasn’t even sure he was quite “in love” yet.
He knew he liked kissing her, so he did that until she told him she needed to get on home. He drove her home, drunk on the taste of her lips, the scent of her skin, the feel of her beside him.
“See you in the morning.” She started to slide across the seat, but he touched her leg. She turned back to him and he kissed her again, taking it farther than he had before. She put one palm on his chest and gently pushed him back. “Owen.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
Her dark eyes burned in the dim light, and he couldn’t quite read them. “See you in the morning.”
He let her go this time, not sure why he craved her so much tonight. He felt vulnerable, and weak, and she made him feel stronger and better. By morning, the feelings he didn’t understand had vanished, and when Natalie entered his house, he stayed in the kitchen entrance.
“Sorry about last night,” he said, his voice low so as to not wake Marie. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.” He wanted to—and a lot more—but they weren’t married, and he shouldn’t compromise his standards—or hers—like that. He wouldn’t.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he insisted. “Maybe you’ll need to have a curfew or something.” He was being serious, and he hoped she wouldn’t get offended. “I mean, I want you to stay, and that’s the real problem. It’s me. Not you.” Tar Baby left his food bowl and sat next to Owen, licking his chops as they both watched Natalie.
