I flipped to a clean page and began listing the ideas I’d had for making the ranch run more smoothly. Ideas that I’d shoved to the back of my mind because they deviated from Luke’s plan. It suddenly seemed possible that I could make the decisions and keep the ranch successful. I didn’t need to follow someone else’s plan. I could do this on my own.
My phone dinged with a notification, and I reached for it, hoping against hope that it was a text from Julia. I longed to tell her what I’d just realized. She’d say, “I told you so,” and I desperately wanted to hear that from her. We’d beencommunicating over the past few weeks, but nothing so far today. I needed that connection with her. At this point, I’d take whatever I could get.
It wasn’t a text from her, but the notification caught my attention anyway. The baby registry had changed. I stared at the screen. She’d lowered the number of cribs needed from two to one. My heart started racing. What did that mean?
A wild hope hit me, but then I forced myself to curb it. It could mean that she’d decided to raise our child alone, but I knew her better than to believe she’d do that without first talking to me. The other possibility was that she planned to raise the childwithme in one place. Could my dreams for the future come true?
It suddenly seemed possible again. I jumped up from my desk, the papers and plans forgotten, as I focused on Julia. If there was any chance I could win her back, I’d take it. I needed to talk with her in person. I needed some grand gesture, so she knew I loved her and put her above anything else.
What could I do? I tried to think, but I was almost too excited to be rational. I tried to force myself to calm down. I’d used up all my gift ideas in the past weeks. So what was left?
Damn, I had to think about this. I figured I had one opportunity to get it right. I couldn’t screw it up. She meant everything to me, and I wanted her to know that. I started pacing the barn.
Two hours later, I was still contemplating and discarding options until I was stumped. Rafael was always good for ideas, so I called up my friend, but it went to voice mail. Before I could dial Brian and ask for help, I got a text from my teacher friend.
Attending a professional conference. With Gail. In a hotel room. Don’t expect to hear from me until Monday.The message was followed by heart emojis.
I laughed out loud. Rafael and the hot textbook editor. About damn time. But Monday would be too late for me. I felt I had to act now, so I called Brian.
“I need help with Julia again,” I said as soon as my brother answered. “I swear this is the last time, but I need something to prove my love.”
“What’s changed?” Brian asked. “I thought?—”
“I’ve got to try one last time.” I was starting to feel desperate. “Help me out here, bro. I need an idea. Something that will make her happy. That’s all I want.”
“You know I’m no good at that stuff,” Brian said, and then there was silence for a moment. “I got nothing. But you’re coming to the talent show tonight with me and Caitlin, right? Maybe something will come to you there.”
What the hell kind of suggestion was that? I wasn’t going to find inspiration from watching other people perform, no matter how talented they were. Honestly, I’d forgotten that I’d agreed to go when Caitlin had invited me earlier this week—and now I was considering cancelling. I didn’t have time to sit through a talent show when I had the love of my life to win back. “No, I gotta?—”
“Jake Thorne.” Caitlin had taken the phone from Brian. “You’re coming to the show with us. Period. We have a ticket for you, and I want to go withmy family. Do you hear me?”
I wanted to say no, but I knew how important it was to Caitlin that the Thornes were her family. Her parents had never beenvery good to her. The support and acceptance she’d gotten from the Thornes meant a lot to her.Andshe was pregnant.
I heard her sniffle, and I gave in. “Okay, I’ll be there.”
I went into the house to take a shower. My mother had already left since she was helping with costumes at the talent show, so I had the place to myself. As I scrubbed off the muck from the day, my mind still raced, searching for a possibility that would appeal to Julia. The water was pounding against my back when I suddenly saw the situation clearly.
I didn’t need a grand gesture. Julia would hate that. The last thing I wanted to do was make her the center of attention, knowing how much she disliked it. She’d want a conversation, just the two of us, maybe under the stars. That was it. The solution was so simple, and I hadn’t seen it. I dried off and got dressed as fast as I could before jogging to my truck. I wished I had flowers, but she’d want sincerity more than roses.
I reached her ranch in record time, coming to a stop right in front of her door. This time I wasn’t going to leave a package and go. I strode onto the porch and knocked. Inside, I heard Wellington’s sharp bark and Fay’s quieter one, but no footsteps.
“Julia,” I called. “Can we talk? Please.” I waited, straining to hear every sound, but I heard nothing but the rustling of her animals.
I confirmed that her truck was there, but she wasn’t home. Or she was avoiding me. My heart sank. Did one crib not mean what I thought it had? I leaned against her door, my hopes fading as fast as an autumn sunset.
Slowly, I walked back to my truck, feeling more disappointed than I’d ever been in my life. I wanted to go home, pour myself a glass of whiskey and try to forget, but I’d promised Caitlin I’dgo to the damn talent show. And I would. I’d go, watch half of it, and make my excuses before crawling home like a hurt animal to lick my wounds.
The drive into Poplar Springs felt interminable, but soon enough I pulled into the high school’s parking lot and made my way into the building. I’d missed the opening performances. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t likely to notice any of it in the mood I was in.
As I entered the auditorium, a familiar song caught my attention, weaving its way past the fog of hopelessness that seemed to surround me. It was the song I’d sung to Julia at the Squeaky Wheel all those weeks ago, back when I’d thought we would live happily ever after. It was almost cruel hearing it sung in a low, throaty woman’s voice.
I glanced up and stopped in my tracks. Julia was on stage, in the red dress she’d worn when we’d gone out. Julia, my Julia, was singing a love song in public with a crowd of people watching her. As I stood there, her eyes found me.
And I realized that she was singing tome.
THIRTY-EIGHT
JULIA
