As he was packing, he found a portrait of himself and his father. He was young in the picture, probably about nine years old, and his father looked the same as he remembered him when he left. He traced his hand along the picture frame, as if in doing so he was reaching out to touch his father’s face, and then stored the picture carefully in one of the boxes labeled ‘to keep.’
Once Roy was satisfied with the progress he had made packing the house, he secured Iggy to the wagon and steered him in the direction of the ranch that was for sale between Lakewood and Magnolia Grove. After meeting with the developer earlier that week, this would be the first time he would be visiting the ranch in person. He had high hopes that with the sale of his father’s house combined with the savings, he would have enough to purchase the ranch and still have a small amount leftover to help himself get started.
On the way to the new ranch, however, Roy decided to make a detour to the church. Yesterday he had finished working on the garden, pulling weeds and replanting bushes of pink, yellow, and light blue flowers to adorn the front walk. Roy stopped the wagon in front of the church to once more admire the fruit of his labor. The church, with its fresh coat of white paint and revitalized garden, now looked like the place his father had once been proud of. He imagined the churchgoers of Lakewood returning to their home church, and his heart swelled with pride knowing that he had done something good for the community—and for his father. He desperately wanted to pick up Cora from her house and show her his creation, watch her face break into joy and know that he had a part in her happiness. But he also, sadly, knew that wouldn’t be a good idea.
Roy continued on his journey to the new ranch. He stopped the wagon just yards away from the main house that sat on the property, and he surveyed the land. It wasn’t nearly as large as the ranch he worked at in Wheats Ridge, but that just meant he wouldn’t need the help of as many ranch hands. Still, it was a decent-sized lot, with dozens of cattle and sheep grazing in their respective pastures.
The main house was a one-level, white structure, with green shutters, and a porch just big enough for two rocking chairs—although Roy reminded himself, he only had need for one.
He turned around as if he were sitting on the porch and faced the field. The mountains in the distance blended with the skyline, creating a serene backdrop. He could imagine himself waking up every morning at sunrise, stepping out barefoot on the porch and enjoying a steaming cup of bold coffee.
Cora’s coffee. The words intruded his thoughts. It was as if everything he saw, did, and thought somehow led back to her. She had this grip on him that he couldn’t seem to shake.
“Mr. Burns?” An older, graying gentleman stepped onto the porch, and Roy knew that he was Maxwell Jones, the current owner of the ranch.
“Mr. Jones.” Roy reached out to shake his hand. “I must say, I haven’t been here for five minutes yet, but I can tell that this is the kind of ranch that I have my hopes set on.”
Mr. Jones nodded. “This place has been good to us over the years. By us, I mean me and my wife. She passed away about a year ago, God rest her soul.”
Roy felt a sadness that matched the distant look in Mr. Jones’ eyes.
“I’m very sorry to hear about your loss, sir.”
Mr. Jones nodded. “Thank you, son. But you know what, I can’t complain too much. She was getting up there in age, just like me, but over the years, God blessed us with a great life.”
Mr. Jones gripped the handrail and took careful steps down from the porch. “My Katherine and me, we raised six children right here on this ranch. We sat on this porch and watched them grow up, running around the fields, playing childhood games, and eventually growing up and having children of their own. Thirteen grandchildren.”
Roy whistled, impressed. “You have lived a blessed life here, Mr. Jones. I feel bad wanting to buy it from you now.”
Mr. Jones swatted the air as if there were a mosquito. “Don’t be, Mr. Burns. I’m an old man now, too old to keep up this place, so I’m moving to Denver to live with my son and his wife and grandchildren. That’s where I’ll spend the rest of my days. Now it’s someone else’s turn to raise a family on this land.”
Roy looked at the ground now, suddenly feeling unworthy to buy this property.
“Do you have a wife or children, Mr. Burns?” Mr. Jones asked, as if reading his mind.
“No,” Roy admitted. “Although, I hope to. Maybe one day.”
Mr. Jones placed his hand on Roy’s shoulder the way only a father would.“‘It’s not good for man to be alone.’That’s right there in the Scriptures. God will send you a wife when it’s His perfect timing. I believe that for you.”
A lump formed in Roy’s throat, but he didn’t let on his emotion. He smiled, thanked Mr. Jones, and they made plans to settle the business of purchasing the ranch by the end of next week.
As Roy rode back home to his father’s house, he reflected on everything Mr. Jones had told him, and then he thought about Cora.
Roy thought about Cora night and day, ever since that first day she showed up in Wheats Ridge and hurt her ankle. Anytime something good happened to him, she was the first person he wanted to tell about it. When he stood at what would soon be his ranch, and he looked at the porch and imagined two rocking chairs, it was Cora who he pictured sitting there beside him. When Mr. Jones talked about raising his family, all he could think about was Cora and experiencing life with her.
Cora had walked into his life and made him want to be a better person. When he was around her, he became the best version of himself. That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?
God will send you a wife when it’s His perfect timing—that’s what Mr. Jones had said. But what if God already had? And what if he was making the biggest mistake of his life by letting Cora go so easily?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cora was absolutely miserable. While her father and Alfred were having drinks in the sitting room, Cora was stuck having tea in the kitchen with Violet, enduring the most uncomfortable conversation with her future mother-in-law—having babies.
“Now, you should know that Alfred has always wanted a big family,” Violet said, chuckling, although Cora wondered how much of that was Alfred’s desire and not Violet’s. Alfred had never struck Cora as the paternal type.
“And how do you feel about children, Cora? Do you also want a large family?”
“I do, actually.” And Cora wasn’t lying—growing up an only child, she had always dreamed of having a gaggle of children running around, balancing a baby in her lap while watching the older kids run around in circles, chasing each other with sticks and playing pretend.
