by Liz Isaacson
Neither of them asked about Whitney, for which Jeremiah was grateful. Micah worked around the ranch on various projects, but he hadn’t done much since moving to Three Rivers from Temple. Well, much more than keeping an eye on Wyatt, driving him to appointments, or keeping him entertained, moving, and medicated.
His brother had been recovering decently well from the back surgery, and now that he was nine weeks into the recovery, he was starting to do more, move better, and return to his normal, confident self.
“I’m goin’ to town this morning,” he said to them as the three of them finished eating. “Ranch meeting.” He stepped over to the back door and let Winston and Willow back inside. The dogs came in, their nails ticking against the wood floor. Jeremiah smiled at them and sat back at the table with his brothers.
“Bring back lunch?” Micah asked, glancing up from underneath his cowboy hat.
Wyatt stood up, only bracing one hand against the table to do so, and picked up Micah’s plate and then Jeremiah’s.
“Yeah, sure,” Jeremiah said, patting Willow’s head. “What are you thinking?”
“Soup,” Micah said. “There’s a cold front blowing in today.”
“Feels like soup weather,” Jeremiah added, glad he wasn’t the only one who could feel a chill in the air. He’d thought maybe his argument with Whitney had just made everything in his life feel colder.
He’d noticed her shampoo and conditioner wasn’t in the shower. He’d read her text about where she’d be staying. Perhaps he could just swing by her house that morning….
She’ll be at the store, he told himself. And he didn’t want to have a conversation with her in public. So he finished his coffee, grabbed his keys, and headed to town. He was running a bit late, and almost everyone was sitting in the circle when he finally walked in.
“There you are,” Bear said. “I was just about to call you.”
“Yeah?” Jeremiah had missed meetings before. Not many, but he’d never been called, as if the ownership meetings couldn’t happen without him. “Why? What’s going on?” He glanced around and saw all the same people. Brit, Squire, Pete, LeRoy, Tammy, Gavin.
Bear handed him an envelope. “Seven Sons was nominated for Ranch of the Year.”
Jeremiah’s pulse raced as he took the envelope. The official seal of Texas sat in the top, left corner, and a smile started to crawl across his face. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Bear grinned at him and leaned closer. “I think Squire nominated you, so you’ll probably win. Three Rivers Ranch has won for the Texas Panhandle region four times in the past twenty years.”
“Squire’s only been running it for what? Eight years?” Jeremiah asked. He didn’t dare take the paper out of the envelope quite yet.
“Seven,” Bear said. “And two of those awards have been during that time.” Bear turned to the rest of the group. “All right, let’s talk surviving the winter.” He sighed as he sat down, and the chair groaned. Bear was not a small man. Jeremiah wanted to talk about best winterizing practices for the ranch—particularly for his fields—but he took another moment to slide the paper out of the envelope.
Sure enough, it was an official announcement from the Texas Ranching Board that Seven Sons Ranch had been nominated for Ranch of the Year for the Panhandle region. Pride filled him, as he’d worked so hard on the ranch these past few years. He’d poured all of his time, energy, and love into the animals, the fences, the land, the crops, the cabins, the buildings, all of it.
His brothers helped too, of course, but everyone knew the ranch was Jeremiah’s baby. And if they got Ranch of the Year, everyone would know it was because of him.
He wanted to pull out his phone and call Whitney. Celebrate with her.
Sadness streamed through him, and he shoved the paper back into the envelope before taking his seat next to Gavin. The other man looked at him, but Jeremiah couldn’t return the gesture.
Something seethed inside him. Something dark and dangerous and which he’d felt before. He’d worked so hard to rid himself of exactly these feelings, as they were debilitating, could overtake his mind in moments, and leave him second-guessing everything and everyone for years. He knew, because he’d felt this unsettled, this dark, this angry after Laura Ann had left him standing at the altar.
He’d brooded as he’d packed and moved from Austin to Three Rivers. He’d poured that negative energy into a relentless drive around the ranch, getting things cleaned up after the tornado, installing better systems, proven protective measures, all of it.
His hard work wasn’t for nothing, but Jeremiah liked laying in bed with Whitney a whole lot more than glaring through a ranch ownership meeting. He didn’t contribute much to the conversation, and he took the literature Bear had brought with him.
Squire and Pete appeared in front of him, creating a roadblock to the exit, before Jeremiah had even stood up. “What’s goin’ on with you?” Squire asked.
“Nothing,” Jeremiah said.
“Right.” Squire looked at Pete. “It sure seems like nothin’, don’t it, Pete?”
“I’m sure the man’s right,” Pete said, his voice way too nonchalant. “He comes storming in like a raincloud every other week.” He cocked his eyebrows and folded his arms. Gavin hadn’t moved from the seat next to him, and even Brit was watching the conversation.
The conversation Jeremiah didn’t want to have. He simply looked at the other ranch owners—his friends. Sometimes, Jeremiah convinced himself he didn’t have anyone but his brothers. But it wasn’t true. He had these men and women, too.
“I heard you caused a ruckus in the bakery yesterday,” Squire said.
“Where’d you hear that?” Jeremiah asked, his fingers curling into fists. “Because it’s not true.”
“My momma. Said you and your wife had an argument and you left real fast.”
Jeremiah’s panic reached epic proportions, and he couldn’t contain it.
“Oh, you nailed it,” Pete said. He tried to smile at Jeremiah and added, “Tell us about it.”
“Whitney was kissing someone else,” he blurted out. Everything inside him, around him, under him, was moving at the speed of light. He took a deep, deep breath and things slowed down. “It was her old boyfriend.”
“Blake Thurston?” Brit asked.
“Yeah.” Jeremiah ducked his head, embarrassment filling him. He didn’t want to tell any of the cowboys here why he and Whitney had gotten engaged and then married in the first place. They all had happy marriages, with pretty wives, and thriving families.
Jeremiah didn’t care about Ranch of the Year. He wanted Whitney, and he wanted a baby, and he wanted to be the best man he could be for both of them.
“Well, Blake’s only been back in town for three days,” Brit said.
“How do you know that?” Jeremiah looked up at the other rancher. If that was true, there was no way Whitney had been unfaithful to him to the extent that her baby wasn’t also his.
And there was no if about that. Jeremiah knew in his heart that Whitney hadn’t cheated on him at all.
“His family lives out on my lane,” Brit said. “That boy is a gypsy at heart. Always drifting from one thing to the next. A couple of days ago, he shows up with this brand-new truck and some story about how he’s been working on the premier horse farm in Lexington.” Brit shook his head, his expression dark. “I think his daddy has about had it with the boy.”
Every eye swung back to Jeremiah. “I get why,” he said. “He and Whitney have been off and on for a while. I guess I just thought since we were married…she’d be off him for good.”
“I’m sure she is,” Squire said. “What did she say?”
“About that,” Jeremiah said, misery in his tone.
“Oh, so you just ate some bad sushi for breakfast,” Pete said. “I told you that was what had happened.” He nudged Squire, who chuckled.
“Yeah, all right. Let’s go. Kelly wants lunch during an actual lunchtime today.”
Everyone burst out laughing, Jeremiah included. Three Rivers had had at least half a dozen sushi restaurants in the few years he’d lived there, and Gavin was right. None of them were ever good, and they all went out of business quickly.
His friends started to disperse, and Jeremiah stood up. He wished he had their confidence, and he wondered if any of them had been standing at the altar when their bride-to-be refused to come out.
Doesn’t matter, he told himself. He could—and had—moved past those feelings of inadequacy, abandonment, and distrust.
At least, he thought he had.
He dialed Doctor Wagstaff’s office on his way out to his truck, and said, “Can I get in with him today? It’s an emergency.”
“He has a twelve-thirty,” the receptionist said.
“Great,” Jeremiah said. “I’ll take it.” Wyatt and Micah could order food and go pick it up. Or go next door, where Callie had plenty of pulled pork left over. He texted them quickly, feeling better now that he was doing something about his situation. Sitting and thinking about something never boded well for Jeremiah.
But once he had a plan of action, he could execute it. Up first—talk to his therapist. And then…then he had to talk to Whitney and work things out between them. He loved her. He wanted her. He wouldn’t let her go this time, not if there was any chance at all that she wanted and loved him too.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Whitney piled all the cookies she’d make onto a paper plate and covered them with a piece of aluminum foil. She’d managed to put the uncooked dough in the refrigerator before stumbling down the hall to her bedroom.
She’d gone to bed far too early and managed to stay in bed until the sun started to brighten the sky. She’d showered and dressed in fresh clothes, and now she stood in the kitchen, wondering if she should toss the cookies in the trashcan on her way to Wilde & Organic or if she should take them with her.
She could put them in the office upstairs and be a hero for her family. Or she should leave them on a high shelf in the back room and take them to Jeremiah when she finished her shift.
It was the second Thursday of the month, which meant he’d be at his ranch ownership meeting in town today. The IFA stood only three blocks from Wilde & Organic, and Whitney toyed with telling her sister she had to leave a little bit early. Or perhaps she could work much quicker than she normally did and slip away before the meeting ended.
Jeremiah had once waited for her to come out of a work, and it had been dark then. She could do the same and park behind him so he couldn’t leave without talking to her first.
“It’ll be a miracle if he goes to the meeting,” she muttered to herself, swiping the plate of cookies into her arms along with her phone and purse. She took everything out to her car and returned to the house for her bag. If she left it here, it would be way too easy for her to come back here after work. Far too simple to stay away from Seven Sons, from Jeremiah.
She packed her pajamas and tucked her hairspray back into the top of her bag. With it on the backseat, she drove the short distance to the store and went in the back door, the same as she did six days a week.
Winter squash went on a main display. Pumpkins. Gourds. Purple potatoes. Broccoli crowns and heads of cauliflower. She broke down boxes and swept up the dirt from the farms around Texas where their produce came from.
The store was ready on time, and Whitney retreated to the back room. She usually marked the charts of what she put out and how many, which produce to reorder and which would probably go on the clearance table. She’d been taking things to Jeremiah for the few months of their marriage, and he could do amazing things with past-their-prime onions, slightly moldy greens, and withered carrots.
It seemed every thought led back to Jeremiah, and Whitney looked at her brother. “I have to be somewhere. I’ll come back and mark the produce this afternoon.”
Johnny waved, because it wasn’t his job to order what the store needed. The back-of-house manager, Tilly, would do that. Johnny worked the farm, and he brought in what they had on the farm, in season, no matter what the other inventory was.
Whitney hurried out to her car, wishing she’d driven away from Seven Sons in her grandfather’s truck. It was distinctive, and Jeremiah wouldn’t be able to miss it. “He won’t miss your sedan either,” she told herself, backing up quickly.
She almost gave herself whiplash she put the car into drive so quickly. The IFA seemed impossibly far away, and she had no idea how long Jeremiah’s meeting would last. He usually brought lunch back to the homestead afterward, though, and she started praying that whatever they were talking about today would run long.
She pulled into the parking lot, and every vehicle in sight was a truck. She wished she had a cake. She’d even forgotten the cookies she’d made, back on the shelf at Wilde & Organic.
But she wouldn’t be going back to get them. Jeremiah’s truck sat up ahead, and she pulled right behind the big, black behemoth. He wouldn’t even be able to back out now. Her nerves pulled tight, and she squeezed her fingers around the steering wheel.
She should go.
Just go on home. Send her brother for her cats and her computer. Move back into her yellow house, and keep taking her pictures, and somehow figure out how to move on.
You’re pregnant, she reminded herself. She could move back into the yellow house, but she wouldn’t be able to keep taking her pictures. And she’d never move on if she had to look into a version of Jeremiah’s eyes multiple times every day.
So she waited. She wasn’t going to give up on Jeremiah. She wasn’t going to walk away.
The truck a couple down from where she’d parked backed out, and Whitney watched as the vehicle eased past her, two cowboys insanely curious about staring at her.
Jeremiah would be coming soon. Whitney got out of her car and slicked her palms down the front of her jeans. The sounds of boots against cement met her ears, and she almost bolted. No, she told herself. No, no, no. She repeated the word in her mind as another cowboy passed her, this one wearing a hat much bigger than any she’d seen on her husband’s head.
Another cowboy peeled off the sidewalk, and there stood Jeremiah Walker.
Whitney pulled in a breath at the simple sight of him. The first time she’d laid eyes on him, she’d found him gorgeous and stormy, but full of a spirit she’d wanted to get to know. She could admit that their game of telephone tag had been fun for her, and she’d prayed for a long time that he would come around to her. First, so she could shoot at Seven Sons. And then so they could get to know each other better.
And they had. She knew him so well, she was carrying his child inside her.
“Hey,” she said, making her voice as strong as she could. She gestured back toward he car. “I made some cookies, but then I left them at work, and….” Her voice trailed off, because embarrassment squirreled through her.
This wasn’t what she’d come here to say.
“Look,” she said. “I love you, and I know you love me. We need to talk.” She glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention. “Will you go to lunch with me?”
“No,” Jeremiah said, taking a step forward. He glanced to where her car boxed his truck into the parking spot. “But I’ll make you lunch out at the homestead.” He continued toward her, stopping just out of reach. Whitney could see his anxiety, but he also wore an edge in her eye she’d seen before too.
He did love her. He wanted to be with her. Maybe he was embarrassed too, and Whitney nodded. “I’ll meet you out there.” She turned and stepped off the curb, almost going down with the sudden motion. Vertigo hit her, and she flew out her hand to steady herself against his truck.
“Whoa there,” Jeremiah said, his strong arm coming around her waist. “Are you okay?”
“I’m just a little…woozy,” Whitney said. Her heart raced, and she felt lightheaded. She pulled in breath after breath, bu
t she wasn’t getting enough oxygen. She leaned into Jeremiah. “I don’t feel right.”
“Let’s go to the hospital,” he said.
Whitney started to protest, but the world continued to spin. She braced herself against him and the truck, feeling very much like she was going to pass out.
“What did you eat this morning?” he asked.
“N-nothing,” she said. “Just coffee.”
“No wonder,” he said. “Whitney, you’re pregnant. The caffeine will speed up your heart rate, and you need more calories than normal.” He put his other hand on her forearm. “I’m driving your car. Give me the keys.”
“You’ll never fit in my car,” Whitney said, trying once again to breathe in enough oxygen.
“You’re right.” He looked at her car again. “Get in the truck. Come on. I still need your keys.” He helped her around the truck to the passenger side and balanced her as she climbed in. He started it, and took her key.
With her car moved, he got behind the wheel and backed out. The hospital was about ten minutes away, and Jeremiah walked her inside slowly. “Feeling better?”
“I need to sit down,” she said. Worry gnawed at her. She and Jeremiah had so much to talk about still. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to go back to the ranch and work things out with him, celebrate that their family was going to get bigger, and tell him how much she loved him.
“We need some help,” he called instead, and a nurse came forward with a wheelchair. Foolishness moved through Whitney, but she let Jeremiah push her through the doors, where a nurse took her blood pressure.
“This is low,” she said. Whitney answered the questions as best as she could while they took her vitals, and they rushed her back to a room, where one nurse put in an IV while another asked her how far along she was.
“Not far,” she said. “Maybe a month or two. I just missed my period last week.”
Jeremiah stayed at her side, his hand never leaving hers. With the fluids and lying down in bed, Whitney started to feel better quickly. Eventually, all the nurses left the room, pulling the curtain closed and turning out the lights.
