Page 10 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

Shaking off that thought, I picked up my phone and saw that it was a voicemail, which surprised me because it hadn’t even rung. I glanced and saw that my service bars were nonexistent. Not even one.

Panic settled on me, as I found myself without having any reception. Stranded. Then I walked two feet, closer to the front of the house, and three bars popped up. I exhaled.

It was crazy how reliant I was on my phone. It was my lifeline. Figuratively, and living miles away from another soul, literally.

I pressed play on the voicemail.

“Hi Felicity, this is Selma Lockhart. I was just going over your resume, and I’d love it if you could come in for an interview. This morning, if possible. I know it’s short notice, but we need someone to start A.S.A.P. Let me know when you’re free to come in. Look forward to meeting you. Talk soon.”

The message ended, and my heart was now racing for an entirely different reason. I’d applied to Lockhart Ranch the day I decided to pack up my life and relocate. It was the only position I found online that even came close to my qualifications as an event planner, and it was right next door.

My fallback would be to try and get a customer service job, which is what I’d had before leaving Seattle. But I hated being on the phone all day. I hated disappointing people when I couldn’t help them. I hated sitting at a desk for eight-plus hours. I’d done it because it paid the bills, but I wanted to go back to my career, one that wasn’t just a job where I lived paycheck to paycheck and was miserable every one of the forty-plus hours I worked.

As thrilled as I was that I’d get to, at the very least, interview for the position, I was equally terrified because I hadn’t set up childcare for Mav yet.

The only person I knew from town was my uncle’s friend Nonna Russo. She’d seemed nice enough when I met her as a kid in Seattle, and had been the one to message me when he passed. She was in her eighties but she loved kids and used to have a childcare business. She retired about fifteen years ago, but said she’d love to have him and that she missed it. The problem was that we hadn’t set up any schedule yet. I didn’t think I needed anyone this soon since I was unemployed.

I quickly scrolled through my contacts and found her name. The phone rang three times and my stomach sank, thinking I was going to get her outgoing message. Thankfully, she answered.

After I filled her in, she said she was free for the day so I could drop him off anytime. About fifty profuse thank you later, I hung up.

“Mav, do you remember when we talked about you staying with Nonna Russo?”

He nodded.

“Well, guess what? You get to go see her right now.”

“Woohoo!” Mav cheered.

He loved meeting new people and going to new places. It was not something he’d inherited from me. I was always shy and hated going into new situations. One of the things I loved so much about my job as an events coordinator was that it was behind the scenes. I was never the center of attention.

I called Selma back, to ask what would be a good time and she said thirty minutes. I agreed before taking into account that neither Mav nor I were ready for the day and I had to drive to drop him off.

“Go get dressed and brush your teeth,” I instructed Mav as I walked back into my bedroom where four large moving bags stood against one wall stuffed with the contents of my entire wardrobe.

I rummaged through and pulled out a blue wrap dress that didn’t need ironing. It wasn’t the most professional dress I owned, it was slightly low-cut and body-hugging, but it would have to do.

Within ten minutes we were headed out the door. Nonna’s house was only a five-minute drive. We arrived, and she was making tarts called crostatas. She had an apron waiting for Mav and asked if he wanted to help. He, of course, jumped right in.

I thanked her, told her I’d be back as soon as I could, and headed out feeling much more comfortable than I probably should leaving my young child with, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.

One thing about small towns that I appreciated was the lack of traffic and easy access getting where you needed to go. Due to that charming discovery, I was pulling onto Lockhart Ranch property with eight minutes to spare before my interview.

As I looked around, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the land’s natural beauty. Not to mention the animals. In the pastures, I saw goats, cows, horses. Mav would be absolutely in love with this place.

Lockhart Luxury Dude Ranch didn't exactly sneak up on you.

It announced itself about a mile before you got there.

White fencing stretched along both sides of the road, so pristine I had to wonder if someone followed behind the horses with a bucket of paint and an anxiety disorder. Manicured hedges ran the length of the drive, trimmed into submission, while neat rows of lavender surrounded glowing lanterns.

And that was just the entrance.

Everything about Lockhart Ranch was exaggerated, almost cartoonish in its perfection. The rolling pastures were too green. The fences were too white. The horses were too glossy. Even the freaking lavender looked like it had been individually interviewed before being allowed onto the property.

Beyond the gates, the ranch spread out in every direction, the land rolling toward distant foothills beneath an enormous blue sky. Split-rail fencing divided pastures dotted with cattle, while closer in, a pair of horses stood nose-to-nose along the fence line, their coats catching the morning sun in shades of copper and dark mahogany.

Cabins lined the right side of the property, although calling them cabins felt insulting. From what I could see, they were more like luxury cottages complete with the flowerbeds I’d been imagining at Walter’s house. The five star spa I'd read a lot about sat beside the cabins, and farther up the hillside, perfectly straight rows of grapevines marked the ranch's private vineyard.