Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“And what if she says she wants out,” I say. “Could you accept that?”
“It would hurt,” Maverick admits. “Of course it would. I don’t want to lose her. But maybe we never had her—not truly in a way that counts.”
I don’t want to lose Taylor. I want to hear her sing while she bakes and laugh at Maverick’s stupid jokes. I want her to understand Clint’s reserved nature and see past my ornery exterior. I want her to know us, like us, respect us, and love us. I want what I planned for us all.
But Maverick’s right. I can’t control everything. Taylor has to choose us, or this will never work. She’ll just be looking for ways to get out, and I couldn’t deal with her leaving, not after we become even more invested. At least, like this, we’re doing the right thing.
“Who’ll talk to her?” I ask.
Maverick puts his hands up, palms forward. “I can, but I think you should.”
Clint nods in agreement.
“Even though she’s your wife?” I ask.
“She’s my wife, but this was your idea. This is your ranch. It has to be you.”
“You trust me not to mess this up?”
They both nod.
“Okay. I’ll do it tomorrow.”
For the first time since Taylor arrived, she doesn’t wake up to make breakfast. I understand why. She’s emotionally wrung out and exhausted. Instead, we do what we did before she made this house a home: fix ourselves toast, and glug down extra-large mugs of coffee to keep us awake.
When we return at lunchtime, Taylor and Molly are in the kitchen. Taylor’s fixing a meal that scents the air richly, and Molly is currently decorating cupcakes which smell like sweet apples and cinnamon. She has her wispy blonde hair tucked behind her ears and is biting her bottom lip in concentration. Everything about her is so childlike, even though she’s only a few years younger than Taylor.
“Hey,” I say.
Molly’s eyes widen at the sight of me as I remove my hat and leave my boots by the front door. Has Taylor told her about our relationship? Would she be mad about her sister being involved with us or relieved to have a safe roof over her head? Maybe she’s as fearful of us as she was of her father. The thought moves through me like a poisonous cloud. Clint and Maverick do the same, moving with more care and less noise than usual. It’s like we’re all treading on eggshells.
“Lunch will be ready in twenty minutes. I’ve already boxed up sandwiches, fruit, and cake to take to the workers.” Taylor points to a box at the end of the counter.
“Great. Thanks.”
The cupcakes on the table look so pretty with their sweet frosting and sprinkling of chopped nuts. The truth is that Taylor’s idea of running her own business isn’t a pipe dream. She has the talent, and she has the ideas. She just hasn’t had the opportunity.
Maybe it’s something I can rectify. I stroll to my office, and call Barb, hoping that Mitch will have talked to her. She answers the phone with her usual cheerfulness, and another weight drops from my shoulders. Like Mitch, she’s found a way to put her problems with our relationship aside.
“I need your help with something,” I say.
“Tell me.”
So I do. I outline what I need: someone to help research the permits Taylor will need to supply baked goods, information about what an independent bakery business will need in the short and long term in terms of equipment, and places she can advertise. Barb used to have her own cafe in town but retired around ten years ago. Things will have changed since then, but she’ll know where to look and have some useful contacts.
“That all sounds straightforward,” she says brusquely. “Leave it with me. And Jesse, can I be the first to place an order. I’m hosting a charity fundraiser next week. The idea of baking for days when my knee is bad is unappealing. Could I jot down a list of items for Taylor to make for me? Of course, I’ll pay her a fair price.”
“Taylor will be happy,” I say, already imagining her face when I tell her.
I ask after Mitch, and then we say our goodbyes, and I head back into the kitchen.
Clint and Maverick are watching Molly finish the cupcakes. Taylor’s plating up what looks like lasagna and salad. I peer over her shoulder, breathing in the rich meaty, garlicky scent. “That looks absolutely delicious,” I say. I want to kiss her cheek, and breathe in her sweet rose scent, but I hold back. Until I’ve had the important conversation, I won’t touch her again.
I take two plates and place them in front of Clint and Maverick. Molly stands with the tray of cakes, walking slowly and carefully to where Taylor has a rack set up. “What do you think?” she asks her sister.