by Liz Isaacson
She didn’t make it out of the parking lot before plugging in the headphone jack to her phone and opening the music file Davy had sent her. The sound of Owen’s guitar playing was unique and beautiful, and Natalie closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she basked in the quality of it.
When he started singing, tears came to her eyes.
I haven’t seen you in a decade
But you’re just as I remember
That quick smile
Those deep, dark eyes
The scent of lemons and lavender
My ultimate prize.
If only I could say I’m sorry the right way
If only we could start over in just one day
But I know you need answers I can’t give you
Hopefully we’ll find a way to start anew.
She wasn’t sure what Owen wanted when it came to his music, but it felt wrong to rob the world of his talent, his voice, his influence. And she knew she’d be a bit delayed from going to Wyoming.
She flipped the car into drive and headed back to his house, thanking the stars and the Lord that he never locked his front door. She felt like an intruder, though she’d entered his house a hundred times without knocking and without him there.
His laptop sat on the nightstand in his bedroom, and she perched on the edge of his bed as she opened his Internet browser. It hadn’t been closed, and several windows popped up. Being careful not to close any, she found his email.
He hadn’t been as forthcoming about his life in Nashville as he’d been about his job at Silver Creek, but she knew the name of his record company. She typed Universal Music and two email addresses popped up. She put them both into her phone, deleted the evidence of her snooping, slapped the laptop closed, and scurried out of his house.
She made it past the city limits before her heart stopped thumping like a drum, before she pulled over and prepared the email. She let them know who she was and how she got the track, then she attached the song to the email, her heart once again tangoing in her chest.
Leaning her head against the rest behind her, she prayed, Should I do this?
She wasn’t sure if it was God or herself that whispered, “Do it.” She relied on her faith as she sent the email zipping from Montana to Nashville.
16
Natalie pulled into her sister’s ranch-style house a full twenty minutes early. She hadn’t heard anything from Owen besides a We’re on our way! See you Sunday night text. Nothing about his laptop being broken into or anything.
She’d been coaching herself for the past four hours to keep him to herself. Surely her mother and her sister would ask if she was seeing anyone. Despite the fact that she hadn’t dated a man since her marriage had ended, they asked every time one of them spoke to her. She’d confessed to Julie last year that she just didn’t think she was the marrying type.
Bracing herself for the crazy that embodied her older sister, Natalie knocked and entered the house. “Hello?”
A squeal erupted from the kitchen, and Julie spilled from it, her dark hair flying around her face as she came to meet Natalie. “You’re here, you’re here!” Julie laughed and hugged Natalie, who felt so welcome and accepted with only four words.
“How are Mom and Dad?” Natalie asked quietly.
“Oh, you know.” Julie stepped back and smoothed her hair. One of her hands bore the evidence of flour and her apron said that a massacre waited in the kitchen. “They’re Mom and Dad.”
“So Dad’s grumpy and Mom’s overly chipper?”
Julie’s peal of laughter actually hurt Natalie’s eardrums. “Yes, like that. Now come help me in the kitchen. I need you to make the gravy and then we’ll be ready.”
Natalie gasped at the state of the kitchen. Dishes were stacked on every available surface as the sink was filled to capacity. A large, browned turkey sat next to a pot covered with a tea towel. A bowl with rolls waited next to that, and she moved another covered pot next to those.
“I told Dad I needed him to carve the turkey, but he said it was too hot. So now we’re waiting for it to cool.” She gave Natalie an annoyed stare as she picked up a wooden spoon. “Meanwhile, the potatoes, stuffing, corn, and rolls are going to get stone cold.” She flicked the wooden spoon toward the stove and drops went flying. “Gravy right there. Work your magic.”
She wielded a whisk like a wand and had the gravy ready in no time flat. Unfortunately, her father insisted on having a “family talk,” where he spoke about gratitude and all they had to be thankful for.
Natalie smiled and got emotional, especially since this year had started out cloaked in bleakness and had only started to look up come summer. But she wouldn’t be saying that when it came her turn to name something she was grateful for this year.
Luckily, Julie rambled on about her job and her friends and the homeless shelter where she volunteered by sorting clothes and serving soup.
“Natalie,” her father prompted. All she wanted to do was eat, but the turkey sat on the counter, un-carved, the side dishes all covered in the hopes of keeping them warm until her father deemed them ready to eat.
“I’m grateful for a new job that’s allowed me to live a little easier.”
Her mother’s eyes squinted. “You didn’t mention a new job.”
“Yeah.” Natalie cleared her throat. “I’ve been a nanny since July.”
“A nanny?” Julie piped up. No one had asked her a bunch of follow-up questions. Maybe Natalie should’ve gone on and on about her cooking classes and the little girls she taught to dance. Sure, she was grateful for them too. But it all came back to Owen this year. Without him, she’d have lost her car in August.
“Yes, a nanny.”
“For who?”
“An eight-year-old little girl. Her dad works early in the morning and late at night. I help in the morning and the evening. He even pays me to cook dinner, and I do a little housework.” She took a quick breath and forged on as she saw her mom preparing to ask another question. “It’s nice, because it doesn’t interfere with my ballet classes, so I’ve been able to have the extra income I need and still keep teaching dance, which I love.”
She glanced at her father, pleading for him to move to Mom. They’d always shared a special connection, and he said, “Heather, what about you? What are you grateful for this year?”
The conversation moved on, thankfully, but Natalie knew it was only the first of many bullets she’d need to dodge before this weekend ended. She wondered how long she could go without telling Julie or her mother that she was the nanny for Owen Carr’s new daughter.
That night, sequestered in the guest room with the door closed, she opened her email, a twitch of discomfort in her stomach that had nothing to do with the double scoop of mashed potatoes and the two pieces of pecan pie—with ice cream—she’d consumed that day.
“They haven’t answered in one day,” she muttered as she scanned the various Black Friday emails. “Over a holiday.”
Sure enough, they hadn’t. She had no idea if Jim or Amy still worked at the Universal Music Group. Owen had left the country music scene seven years ago. She kept her hope close to her heart, especially since the emails hadn’t bounced back as undeliverable.
Happy Thanksgiving, she sent to Owen, along with three turkey emoticons. She pressed her phone to her chest as she waited for him to answer. Then she realized that it was past ten, and with the early hour at which he rose, he’d likely already gone to bed.
Sure enough, she didn’t hear from him, though she stayed up for another half an hour, waiting. During that time, her thoughts ran from one side of her mind to the other, each time inventing a new reason why he wasn’t able to tell her he loved her.
Maybe he didn’t love her.
Maybe he just needed more time.
Maybe he didn’t want to mix business with pleasure.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
She wasn’t sure what to think, and she needed to talk to Owen about his music before she did
anything else with him. Determined in her new plan, she was finally able to sleep.
Owen wanted to stop by Natalie’s when he got back into town on Sunday afternoon, but Marie had fallen asleep on the seat next to him. He thought it best to just head on home and text her. She should’ve made it home much earlier than him, because the drive from Butte was only four hours.
You home? he texted after he’d carried Marie into her bedroom and tucked her in. She’d had a great time in Idaho Falls, where a skimming of snow had dusted the ground. Henry’s two brothers had been in town too, and Marie had enjoyed playing with her cousins.
A pang of regret stung Owen’s heart as he watched her sleep. Maybe he should move to Idaho, where Marie would have family her own age, other little girls to play with instead of a grown woman and a cowboy who worked too much.
He’d been thinking about it but hadn’t quite arrived at a decision yet. He needed to talk to Natalie. Needed to really have a grown-up, intelligent discussion with her about life, and Marie, and what was best for all of them.
He froze in the process of kicking off his boots. Even when his phone chimed—probably a text from Nat—he didn’t move.
“You’re planning a future with her.” His voice seemed to echo through his quiet house. “You want what’s best for everyone. You’re in love with Natalie.”
And he knew in that moment that he had fallen in love with her again. All the way, head-over-heels in love with her.
His phone sounded again, launching him into motion. Natalie had responded. Her first text made his heart race: I’m home and would love to see you.
Her second made it fall to his boots, where it continued to freak out: We need to talk.
Though he agreed, and he had some topics of his own he wanted to address, nothing good ever came from when a woman said, “We need to talk.”
Marie fell asleep in the truck. I need to grab Tar Baby from the neighbor, and then I’ll just be at home. Come on over anytime.
Tar Baby was excited to see him, and Owen scrubbed him behind the ears and paid the teenager he’d asked to take the dog. Back at home, Owen lay down on the couch, beyond grateful and glad to be home. He was too much of a homebody to want to travel the world, as his five-year stint in Nashville had taught him.
He began to hum the song he’d written last month. His boys had inspired him, especially Davy. Working with someone else on his music was intoxicating, and something Owen hadn’t even realized he missed doing. Sure, he still loved to play the guitar and sing, and he did those things all the time. But he hadn’t composed a song in years.
Already, new lyrics ran through his mind, and he found himself inspired by the simplest things, the way he used to be when he was actively trying to write songs. Maybe he could write songs from Montana. He knew most artists didn’t compose their own music—it was something that had set him apart as more than a singer.
“Owen?”
He sat up straight up, swiping his cowboy hat off in the same motion. He couldn’t help the smile on his face or the way his heart beat against the back of his throat. “Hey.”
He stood to meet her, hugging her tight and then kissing her like it was the first time all over again. “I missed you,” he murmured, swaying with her as she pressed her cheek to his chest.
“How was Idaho Falls?”
“You know, it was really amazing. Henry’s parents are good people. His brothers were there with their families.” His hands on her back fisted and released. “It’s actually something I want to talk to you about.”
“What is?”
“Moving to Idaho Falls.”
She jerked out of his arms. “Moving to Idaho Falls?” Her eyebrows stretched so high, they nearly reached her hairline. “What are you talking about?”
“Marie has two additional uncles in Idaho Falls. They have children her age. Children she could play with.” He didn’t tell her she wasn’t the ideal playmate or confess about his guilt for working so much, for often putting his boys first.
“Well, I—” She blinked and paced away from him. “I don’t know what to say right off the top of my head.”
“Just something to think about,” he said. “It’s not like I’d be moving right away.” He was careful not to say “we.” He’d made that mistake before, grouping them together in his plans.
“I have something for you to think about too,” she said. “Well, not really, but more of a question.”
“All right.”
“Do you ever think about giving country music a second try? Like, do you want to try again for another album?”
He wasn’t sure where the question had come from, but it was obvious it weighed heavily on Natalie. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I don’t want to live in Nashville again, I know that. But….”
She waited for the time it took to breathe a couple of times before saying, “But what?”
“But I’ve been writing songs again, and I kinda want to keep doing it,” he blurted. “But then I think of how demanding my job already is, and how I’m already neglecting Marie, and I wonder how I can even consider trying to add song-writing to my already full plate.” He sighed and gestured for her to come to him. She complied, wrapping her long arms around his back and holding all his questions, all his confusion, inside.
“Something to think about,” she said. “That’s all.”
“That’s all,” he repeated, his mind whirring now when it had just been churning before.
17
Owen did a lot of thinking over the next couple of weeks. He talked to Natalie, and asked her questions, and they brainstormed about Marie and Idaho Falls. When she’d asked what he would do for a living, he’d hemmed and hawed until he finally admitted he didn’t actually have to work.
She’d paused in stirring the Alfredo sauce she’d been making. “You don’t have to work at all?”
“Not for money, no.”
She blinked and stared, stared and blinked. “You haven’t—you’ve been back in Gold Valley for seven years.”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t have to work.” At least she’d stopped asking, but the statement sounded so much worse.
“I still get money every quarter from the record label,” he said. “My album still sells, and my single does…decently well.”
“Decently well?” She laughed and turned back to her sauce. She whisked furiously, muttering under her breath. When he’d asked what was wrong, she said the sauce had started to burn, that was all.
But it wasn’t all. His money obviously bothered Natalie for some reason. He hadn’t asked her why yet.
In the end, he’d decided not to move to Idaho Falls. With that decision made, he’d been talking more and more about songwriting and if he could collaborate remotely. He didn’t know, and he hadn’t dared use any of his former contacts in the industry to find out. He hadn’t fully decided that he wanted to return to country music, even just to dip his toes into the song-writing side of it.
During his lunch break, he saw that Natalie had called. He dialed her back, a tad nervous that she’d called when she usually texted, when she knew he wouldn’t be able to answer right away.
“Hey,” he said when she picked up. “What’s goin’ on?”
“My mother wants me to come home for Christmas. I was wondering if you and Marie would come with me. Remember we talked about it a while ago?”
“I remember.” He looked off into the distance, weighing his options. “Natalie, do I need to tell you right now?”
“She wants to know, and I couldn’t think of a reason not to tell her, but I made something up about someone else calling and got off the line. I said I’d call her back and let her know.”
“All right.” He exhaled. “I was hopin’ to talk to you in person about this, but—”
“Owen,” her voice carried a heavy dose of warning.
“I love you,” he said, his voice carrying in the winter air. “For a while there, I wasn’t sure,
and I felt trapped, caught between the reins. But now I know. I’m in love with you.” He chuckled. “So yeah, I think Marie and I should come to Wyoming with you for Christmas.”
The silence on the other end of the line felt bottomless. Sounded deafening. Consumed him whole.
“Nat?” he asked. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” she whispered. “I’m just sort of stunned.”
“Why’s that?” He frowned. “You’re stunned that I’m in love with you?” He wasn’t sure how to feel, but he knew he didn’t like the pinch in his chest.
“A little bit, yeah,” she said. “Even more so that you told me over the phone.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was going to go to Wyoming without being fully committed to you.”
“Fully committed?” Her voice strayed into a higher octave, and he realized what that probably translated to in her ears. “What does that mean?”
“It means I love you, and I wanted you to know before we go visit your family. That’s all.”
“All right,” she said, and she sounded a lot like him when he said those words.
He smiled and said, “I have to go, Nat. See you tonight?”
“After hearing what I just heard, I’m having a hard time not coming over there right now.”
“You can come,” he said.
She giggled. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’m not into kissing in front of teenagers.”
He laughed, the sound bouncing up to the cloudy sky and filling his world with joy. He’d barely hung up when his phone rang again. He didn’t recognize the number, but that didn’t mean much. People had numbers from all over these days.
He swiped the call on. “Hello?”
“Is this Owen Carr?”
“Sure is.” He gave up on eating during lunch today and wondered when he’d be able to stuff a few bites of sandwich into his mouth.
“Owen, this is Jim Guthrie from Universal Music Group. How are you?”
How was he? Jim Guthrie echoed through his mind. Why in the world was Jim Guthrie—the vice-president of the Universal Music Group—calling him?
