A Bride, A Barn, And A Baby. Nancy Thompson Robards

a good, strong woman. Salt of the earth. You could rely on her like you could count on the sun to rise in the morning. But for all of her strengths, she didn’t take chances. She’d worked her way up from waitress to manager of the Redbird Diner in downtown Celebration and she did clothing alterations and freelance sewing jobs in her spare time for anyone who was willing to hire her. That didn’t leave a lot of extra time for fun.

      When Zane turned fourteen, he’d gotten a job at Henderson Farms and helped his mom with expenses. He’d hoped that the extra income might make things easier. But somewhere along the way the person Dorothy Phillips could’ve become faded away, her potential lost to the demands of life, her fondest hopes and wants and wishes set aside in a box for a special occasion that never happened.

      Lucy was quiet and Zane knew he should stop talking, but it was like he’d broken the lock on the compartment where he’d stuffed all his emotions, and everything was pouring out.

      “You think you have all the time in the world to do all the things you want to do, but you don’t.” He took another swig of bourbon. “I have to get out of this town, Luce. I don’t know what I’ve been waiting for. I’m thirty years old and I still don’t know who I am or what I want. I mean, I know what I want, but I’m not going to find it here, not in Celebration.”

      Ironically, most people thought he was doing well. In fact, one woman who dated him was surprised to discover he wasn’t rich. He’d owned a small horse ranch but had ended up selling the property after his mom got sick. The crappy insurance policy she had didn’t cover all of her medical bills and there was no way in hell Zane was going to stand down and let her worry when he was sitting on assets he could sell and use to help her out.

      Again, it wasn’t that he was so magnanimous. Bridgemont Farms, the property that abutted his, had been pushing him to sell his land. Zane had been restless and they’d made it worth his while. They offered him enough money to allow him to help his mom and put a little bit in the bank; and he got to stay in his house because Bridgemont had hired him on as their general manager. Housing was a perk of the job. It was a means to an end, but there was no chance for advancement and Bridgemont’s owners weren’t interested in breeding champions.

      Even though it was his choice to sell, it chafed to be limited by someone else’s vision when he’d once had such big plans. Once, he’d dreamed of using the proceeds of the sale of his farm to buy back the Old Wickham Road Ranch.

      Fate had different plans.

      Even so, he still had an ace up his sleeve.

      “Leaving isn’t always the answer.” Lucy pulled him from his thoughts. “Remember how I couldn’t wait to get out of here?” Her eyes sparkled with optimism, or maybe it was concern. Zane couldn’t tell. “I went away to school, and then I went to California, but nothing fit. Isn’t it funny how once I came home, I found exactly what I’d been looking for and who I wanted to be.”

      “But you have roots here,” he said. “You have your brother and your business. Of course you belong here. I have nothing keeping me here.”

      “I’m just saying you don’t always have to go away to find your heart’s desire. Sometimes it’s right in your backyard, Toto.”

      She laughed at her own joke. He knew she was trying to cajole him out of his funk, but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle.

      He was happy for Lucy, that everything was working out for her. Of all people, he’d never begrudge her success and belonging. But she was six years younger than him. He needed to get his act together.

      “I just have to get out of here—”

      Zane’s voice cracked and he swallowed the wave of emotion that was trying to escape on the coattails of his words. He hadn’t gotten emotional since his mom had died. Until now, he hadn’t realized that for the past two weeks he’d been pushing through life—through everything that had to be done—on some kind of foggy autopilot. Tonight it felt like the autopilot had died and he’d fallen from his fog into this hard new reality.

      And he would’ve been okay, but Lucy was looking at him with those huge brown eyes. The gold flecks in her eyes that sparkled a moment ago had darkened a few shades. Her expression suggested she didn’t know what to do with him. Hell, he didn’t know what to do with himself. How was she supposed to know what to do with him?

      That was why he was better off being alone until he’d sorted out all this emotional crap.

      But Lucy’s full lips quivered as if she was trying to figure out what to say to him. For a split second, all he wanted to do was lean in and kiss her so they didn’t have to talk anymore. He wanted to lose himself in the taste of her, bury his face in her silky brown hair and keep going until he forgot about everything else that was going on in his life.

      He cursed under his breath and balled up the soggy napkins he’d been using to blot the spilled drink a few moments ago. He tossed it aside before pushing to his feet and walking over to the window, where he could give himself some space to get his head on straight and stuff this damn sentimentality back into the box where it belonged.

      “Are you okay?” she asked from behind him. His awareness of her had his body responding.

      He didn’t turn around. “Yeah, I—”

      He needed to forget he’d ever wanted to do the things he was thinking about to Lucy. What the hell was wrong with him? “I need some space, Lucy. I think it might be best if you left.”

      Because putting physical space between them—moving away from her—wasn’t helping him shake it off. No matter how far away he moved, he couldn’t unsee those lips or the way she was looking at him with those eyes... Worst of all, he couldn’t unfeel the way his body was reacting to her.

      As he stood at the window, he listened to the DVD playing in the background, but it was just noise because he hadn’t been paying attention to it before now. He tried to think of anything else besides Lucy: his job, the part he needed to buy for his truck, baseball.

      Strike one had been the thought of his mom never getting to celebrate that elusive special occasion that would’ve allowed her to use those f-ing fancy glasses. Strike two was the realization that the first ping of the damn crystal was marking her passing. Strike three was even though the first two strikes hadn’t made him lose it, the way Lucy was looking at him was going to finish the job. Or make him do something he knew they’d both regret later.

      He was a mess.

      And it wasn’t her fault. That was why she needed to just leave him alone.

      “Zane?”

      A violent clap of thunder had the sullen clouds bursting open and spilling rain in angry splats.

      “Lucy, you shouldn’t be here.”

      “Why?”

      Why? He couldn’t answer her, because if he did, he knew she would see right through him.

      Thunder sounded again, this time it was like a fist pounding something hard.

      “Surely you’re not going to send me out in this weather,” she said. “Not after all that bourbon.”

      He turned to face her. She was standing so close to him now, much too close, and he could feel the heat of her—of them—radiating in waves. “You’re right. I’ll go.”

      “No.” She put a flat hand on his shoulder as if to stop him, and their gazes locked. “It’s okay, Zane.”

      He wanted to ask her how she could think this was okay. Nothing about this was okay. He turned back to the window. The rain was falling harder now, punishing everything it touched.

      “I’m sorry Dorothy didn’t get to use the glasses,” she said.

      Her words hung in the air between them. He didn’t have words of his own.

      “Life is too short to wait for special occasions, or until the time is right—” She