The Rancher's Texas Match

She glanced away from him, her hand going up to brush strands of blond hair from her face as the wind picked up a bit. “I don’t know.”

“Something troubling you?”

“No, not at all.” But the worried look in her green eyes said that something about the offer did worry her.

“It isn’t something you have to decide on today. The library as it is will be packed up and moved over here. We just got it put together. Now we’ll have to take it all apart and do it all over again.”

She moved to her car, and her hand settled on the door. “I can help with that, with getting things packed and then getting the new library organized.”

“That would be good. I hate to overwhelm you, since you’re new to the area, but you might have noticed if we get a willing volunteer, we use them.”

“I don’t scare easily. And I don’t mind helping.”

He reached past her to open the car door, the way Aunt May had taught him. A hint of something soft and floral, like wild roses on a spring day, caught and held him a little longer than was necessary or safe.

Chloe would have told him to stop living his life off a list he’d made twenty years ago. He couldn’t. That list had served him well. It had taken him from the gutter to the life he had now, and someday he’d find a woman to share that life with him.

He closed the car door and watched Macy drive away in her little economy car, and he smiled. She wasn’t at all the woman he was looking for. But something about her made him think about finding someone.

Chapter Three (#ulink_a35e8338-9d73-58ee-8e18-ed830aca4820)

Macy juggled her purse, book bag and keys in order to get her front door unlocked. As much as she wanted to just crash, she had more work to do and she was going to need a cup of coffee to get her through the rest of the day. It had been a few days since the reading of Cyrus Culpepper’s will. She’d been substituting at the Haven high school, so she hadn’t had much time to think about finding Avery Culpepper or even going out to the Silver Star.

Entering the house, she was met by silence. It was peaceful. But lonely. Colby should be here. He should be running to the kitchen to grab a snack, plopping in front of the TV to watch his favorite afternoon shows.

But then, in a perfect world her brother and sister-in-law would be here to greet him. Macy would still be in Dallas. Maybe she’d even be planning her wedding.

Instead she was standing in her brother’s kitchen fighting the familiar doubts that had assailed her since she’d learned that he’d named her guardian of his son. In the beginning she’d believed they would make it, she and Colby. His anger had proved her wrong. It had proved she wasn’t a parent, or even something close to a parent. She was twenty-eight, single, and hadn’t even begun the process of thinking about kids.

Grant’s and Cynthia’s deaths had changed everything. For Colby. And for her.

It had amazed Macy that her brother had found his way to the small town of Haven. Their mother, Nora, had insisted he could do better if he stayed in the city. He would have moved up, made more, had a nicer home than the remodeled craftsman house with its large front porch, complete with porch swing.

Grant and Cynthia had been happy in Haven.

She worried that she didn’t have it in her to be the small-town librarian, mother of Colby.

She turned on the coffeemaker and found her favorite mug. As she waited for the water to heat, she stood at the window and looked out at the small but wooded lot behind the house. Not a high-rise in sight. No sirens in the distance. Not a sound could be heard.

She missed Colby.

The ready light flashed, and she put her mug under the spout and pushed the button. Coffee poured into her mug. She opened the book bag that she’d brought home from school, and as she pulled out her organizer she noticed another book. She tugged it out, trying to decide where she’d picked it up and when. Yes, she’d been distracted today. She didn’t think she’d been that distracted.

A note fell out of the book. She picked up the yellow piece of paper. A creepy, crawly feeling shivered down her spine.

The book was a middle grade book about a ranch. There was nothing remarkable about the title or the story. She set it down and turned her attention to the note. The feeling of apprehension eased.

Could you read this to the boys? Thanks, Tanner.

How in the world had the book gotten in her bag? Maybe when she’d stepped out of the room to make copies? But surely one of the students would have told her. She thought about the fifteen English literature students. No, they wouldn’t have told her. All that aside, why would Tanner Barstow have a sudden desire to get her involved with the boys at the ranch? She couldn’t even raise her own nephew.

Every single day she questioned why she was in Haven. She’d given up her career, her friends and her fiancé to be here for a little boy who only wanted his parents back.

She slid the note back into the book.

Maybe Tanner thought that if she spent more time with children, she would grow into the role of Colby’s mom. That made sense because Tanner seemed to be a natural with children. He’d practically raised his own sister. He was the type who would get married, have a half dozen kids and never miss a step.

Macy worried that she didn’t have that parenting gene. There were days that she loved the idea of raising her nephew, of someday being the person he ran to at the end of school, eager to tell her about his day. There were more nights that she lay awake, scared to death that she would never be able to fill that place in his life, and that he would never want her to be that person.

Beatrice had told her to take her time. In family therapy she’d learned to give him space and to not react when he pushed her away. It was hard, because every time he pushed her away, her heart took it personally.

When it hurt, like it did just then, she reminded herself that her pain was nothing compared to Colby’s.

Her coffee was finished. She put a lid on the thermal mug and grabbed the book Tanner had left for her. She had thirty minutes to get to the ranch. She’d promised Bea she would put some finishing touches on the ranch library, and she wanted to apply for another grant.

* * *

When Macy pulled up to the main house of the Silver Star, Beatrice’s car was in the drive. Flint, the ranch foreman, was just walking down the front steps. He tipped his hat in greeting but went on, heading for the barn. Macy got out of her car and strode up to the house. Beatrice met her at the front door.

“Hey, Macy, I wasn’t expecting you today.”

Macy held the book out, and Bea took it, perplexed, her eyes narrowed as she studied it.

“What’s this for?” Bea asked.

“I thought you might know. Tanner must have brought it to the school.” She handed over the note.

“You didn’t see him leave it?”

She shook her head. “No. I found it in the book bag I carry.”

Bea motioned her inside. “That doesn’t sound like Tanner. He doesn’t do things willy-nilly like that.”

“He asked me if I would read to the boys. I told him I’d have to think about it. I thought maybe he left it, hoping I’d say yes.”

Bea led the way to the big kitchen at the back of the house. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“That would be nice.”

Bea put the teapot on to boil, and then she leaned against the counter, still giving the book her full attention. “Tanner should be here in a bit. We’re going to see what we can find on our missing ranch alumni. You can ask him if and why he would leave a book for you. But if he did do this, don’t feel as if you have to do what he’s asking. I think you already do enough.”

“I love doing what I can for the ranch, Bea. It’s my way of giving back. You all rescued us. I’m not sure what would have happened to Colby if he hadn’t gotten a spot here.”

“I think you would have found him help. Go easy on yourself, Macy. Colby isn’t the only one who has suffered. You lost your brother.”

Unexpected tears burned at the backs of her eyes, and her throat constricted. Macy nodded, because if she opened her mouth, she might cry.

Bea placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Give yourself time to grieve. I think you have a tendency to go full throttle, fixing things. Some situations need time.”