Heartbreak at Roosevelt Ranch Read online

  Heartbreak at Roosevelt Ranch

  Roosevelt Ranch Book 2

  Elise Faber

  HEARTBREAK AT ROOSEVELT RANCH

  Copyright © 2018 ELISE FABER

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  To all the rough patches and how they make us stronger.

  And for Sara. I love you and thank you so much for everything.

  1

  I straightened from putting the last plate into the dishwasher and stretched for a towel to wipe my hands. I was exhausted after twenty-four straight hours with the kids, and Rob still wasn’t home. Not to mention, I needed to make cupcakes for Max’s school—and somehow do it without sugar.

  So the ensuing crash upstairs was not welcome.

  Dropping the towel, I whisper-sprinted up to the second floor—running on tiptoes while hopping, leaping, and skipping over every toy obstacle, creaky floorboard, and rogue crayon along the way.

  The light was on in Max’s room, and considering that I had made this trek a half dozen times in the last hour, I was out of patience.

  “You need to go to sleep,” I growled, throwing open the door, my fierce mom glare already in place.

  Except the devil child was asleep.

  He’d fallen out of bed, crashed onto an entire village of Legos—scattering them to hell and back—and was dead asleep.

  My heart gave a little squeeze even as the logical part of me recognized the giant mess I’d be picking up tomorrow.

  It was just that face.

  A cupid’s bow of bright pink lips, slightly parted, rosy cheeks, and mussed hair. The boy was cute, and it was hard to believe he was part of me, that he’d come from my body.

  I clucked my tongue at myself, knowing I was being ridiculous and romantic and Melissa-like because I’d spent the day with Kelly and her toddler, Abby.

  My baby sister had a baby. And a man. And was all grown up—

  Oh God. There I went with the tears again.

  Swiping a finger under each eye, I navigated the minefield of toys as I made my way over to Max. I gave an internal grunt as I lifted the little—or not so little, anymore—monkey and tucked him back into bed.

  One hastily constructed barrier of pillows and blankets and stuffed Minecraft toys later, and I was heading back out of the room.

  I flicked the light off, started to leave—

  “Too dark, Mommy,” he murmured.

  A sigh. Back on it went. “Good night, sweetheart.”

  “Night.”

  This time I made it to the top of the stairs before a sound stopped me.

  It wasn’t the kids. No. This was more like . . . buzzing?

  I cocked my head and listened, then made my way to my bedroom, a growing pile of toys in my arms as I went.

  The door was open, and I walked inside, dumping the pile on the coverlet before stopping to pinpoint the sound.

  I felt my pockets for my cell. Not even two days before, I’d scoured the house for my phone, it somehow having fallen out of my pocket, ending up under the dresser. It had taken darn near fifty calls and a search of the entire house before I’d found it.

  Those locating apps were all well and good, but they couldn’t tell a person which room in a house their phone was. Which meant the app, for my day-to-day exploits, was pretty much useless.

  I hardly left home at all except for the kids’ activities and school pickup or drop off.

  Or if Rob needed something down at the station.

  And that was fine. My place was at home. The kids needed me, Rob needed me. It was just that sometimes . . .

  No. Don’t get sidetracked.

  My phone was in my pocket. The sound wasn’t coming from beneath the dresser.

  It was coming from the bed.

  I peered under, saw nothing, and I was reaching for Rob’s flashlight in his nightstand when I realized where exactly the noise was originating from.

  My hand slid between the mattress and box spring, jumping a little when the object buzzed against my fingers.

  “What—?” I pulled it out, saw it was an older-looking iPhone. Why was there—

  Then I saw the texts. An entire screen worth of them.

  And my heart froze solid.

  I’m heading to the hotel.

  Where are you?

  Don’t keep me waiting, honey.

  I need you.

  The question wasn’t why Rob had hidden a phone under his side of the mattress. It was why someone named Celeste was calling him honey and telling my husband that she needed him.

  Downstairs, I heard the garage door rumble open and close, the clink of Rob’s keys on the kitchen counter. “Miss?” he called softly up the stairs.

  My voice was gone, my throat tight. My eyes burned, and still, I held the phone. It wasn’t until I heard him walking down the hall to the bedroom that I sprang into motion.

  I shoved the phone back under the mattress and scooped up the toys.

  Rob stopped short in the doorway. “Oh.” He smiled. “I called you.”

  “Sorry, I was cleaning.”

  He touched my cheek, slid past me. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s my job,” I said brightly, and if it was too bright then what did it matter anyway?

  My husband was moving toward the bathroom, already unbuttoning his shirt. “Is there a plate for me?”

  I turned, saw he’d paused, and forced a smile. “Yup. I’ll heat it up for you.”

  “Thanks, love.”

  “Of course.” I walked out of the bedroom but didn’t go downstairs.

  Instead, I hesitated in the hall, silent and waiting.

  And my gut tied itself into knots when I heard Rob’s footfalls across the carpet, the slide of his hand beneath the mattress as he pulled out the phone.

  2

  “MOOOOOOOOOM!”

  The camera in my hands jumped, and that perfect angle, the perfect highlight of the sun’s rays coming through my kitchen window an
d traipsing across my gorgeous display of a salad—if I did say so myself—disappeared in a flash.

  No pun intended.

  Footsteps pounded across the floor overhead. Eight feet. From two kids and one dog. The trio was streaking across the hallway, preparing to hurtle themselves down the stairs.

  Which meant I had approximately twelve seconds to get the shot before chaos descended.

  Back up on my tiptoes, extending my arm precariously over the plate as I leaned—read: contorted—myself in such a way as to obtain that perfect angle without marring the photograph with something as egregious as my shadow.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “Ow!” Allie. She’d just turned five and was a terror on two legs. “I’m telling Mom!”

  “Almost there,” I puffed.

  “It was your fault.” Max. My sweet boy. Now eight and not so little.

  “Ruff!” The dog. The terror on four legs. Rocco was seven months old and sixty pounds of exuberant energy, potty accidents, and counter surfing.

  But Rob loved the fluffball.

  Rob.

  My eyes burned.

  The trio slid around the corner into the kitchen, Rocco colliding with the far wall.

  His brakes weren’t great yet.

  With the group’s appearance, the noise level in the room rose to deafening.

  Click.

  I checked the shot and breathed out a sigh of relief. Perfect.

  Stepping down from the stool I’d been perched on, I stashed my camera carefully out of reach of canine and human troublemakers then stowed the plate in the fridge. Another taste test wouldn’t hurt, just to perfect the recipe.

  And really, I wasn’t going to waste one crumb of that goat cheese. Not when it was so expensive and difficult to find in Nowhere, Utah.

  Or rather, Darlington, Utah.

  “Mom.”

  Max stood with his arms crossed. He was tall for his age with dark hair and eyes and the spitting image of Rob, a fact that made my bruised heart ache all the more.

  Allie was like me: slender, tall, and blond with pale brown eyes and skin that never failed to burn in the sun.

  We needed to invest in sunscreen stock. God knew we bought enough of the stuff.

  Both kids were talking over each other, furious frowns pulling their brows down as they tried to prove their point . . . or, rather, ruin my eardrums by being the loudest.

  Even Rocco chimed in with several well-timed barks.

  I did what I always did in these situations.

  I stood silently. And waited.

  It never took long, I’d found. If I tried to raise my voice over theirs, tried to shout my way for quiet, like Rob did, nothing. He used his magical cop skills to reign tough over the kids—and dog, I thought, as Rocco eyed the countertop like it held a king’s trove of treasure.

  My voice didn’t do that.

  My glare did, however.

  Rocco paused mid-leap and plunked his front paws back on the tile floor.

  Max was the first human to stop contributing to the noise. Older and wiser, he was.

  Allie went on for a few more beats before her eyes widened and her mouth clamped closed.

  “Max, explain your side first.”

  “I was playing with my Legos, and Allie barged in and broke my set—”

  “I did not!” Allie protested.

  “It’s not your turn to speak,” I told her.

  She huffed and crossed her arms.

  “She broke my house, and I’ll never be able to find all of the pieces, and I-I—” Tears welled in his brown eyes, and I had to steel my heart against those glistening orbs. He might be cute, but he was also smart.

  Too smart for my good.

  “Okay,” I said. “Allie, your side.”

  “He took my Lego set, and I wanted to get the pieces back. It was my house, and he can’t keep it.”

  “You let me borrow it!” Max said, indignant.

  “I want it back.”

  “I—”

  “You—”

  I waited.

  The second round took less time.

  “What happens when you fight over toys?” I asked.

  Two sets of eyes went wide. Rocco whined and lay down on the floor, burying his nose in his paws.

  Max glanced at Allie. “How about you use my Legos and build your own house?”

  Allie considered this. “And then when we’re done we can switch back!”

  Max nodded. “Okay.”

  They ran off, Rocco trailing their progress, leaving with as much noise as they’d entered the room.

  “Ten minutes until bath time!” I called, but they were already out of earshot.

  With a rueful smile, I pulled my plate from the fridge and a fork out of the drawer.

  “You’re sexy when you pull that stern glare out.”

  I shivered at the voice in my ear, the chest very close to my spine. My body knew my husband’s on an intrinsic level, and so I didn’t jump in surprise or shriek in fear.

  Instead, I melted into his warmth, soaked up his scent.

  “Hi, baby,” he said with a soft kiss to the side of my neck.

  “Hi, yourself.” I turned, slipping carefully out of his embrace. Because even though I loved this man with every fiber of my being, he might not feel the same.

  Text messages from another woman.

  A hidden cell phone.

  Sudden long hours away from his family.

  Cheating.

  There was a strong possibility that the man I loved was cheating on me.

  3

  The snoring was killing me.

  Absolutely killing me.

  I rolled to my side, plunked my pillow over my head, and . . . it did absolutely nothing to muffle the sound of chainsaws erupting from my husband’s nose and mouth.

  “Rob,” I said and poked him. “Roll over.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered as he turned to the other side and promptly fell right back asleep. The snoring stopped, but the breathing didn’t.

  The heavy and very loud breathing.

  I blew out a sigh and stared at the darkened ceiling. I don’t know why I bothered. It was the same thing every time. He snored; I woke up. He stopped and went back to sleep. I stayed awake.

  It was mom brain. The moment I was even partially awake, my mind raced and I started listing all of the things I needed to do for the next day.

  I forgot to pack a snack for Max tomorrow.

  Allie needs to wear orange, not the purple shirt I’d set out for her.

  Rocco needs to go to the vet for his last set of shots.

  A new blog post had to be created, new recipes tested, photos taken. All while the kids were in school. And to complicate things, Allie was in kindergarten, which was only half a day, so I got to add two trips—there and back—to school because neither of their pickup or drop off schedules aligned. So my four free hours were really only three, and now we had a dog who needed to be walked as well.

  I closed my eyes, my chest tightening, my respirations shallow.

  I’d spent so much of the last few months feeling overwhelmed. And for a girl like me—a tightly strung perfectionist who struggled to cut loose—that was almost the kiss of death.

  Unstrapped from a roller coaster that raced along the tracks, barely hanging on by my fingertips.

  My eyes flashed open. There was no way I was going back to sleep now.

  Carefully, I slid from beneath the comforter and slipped from the bed. Rocco wagged his tail in his crate, a little rap that had me shushing him as I navigated the shadows. I closed the bathroom door behind me. Only then did I flip on the light.

  Which wasn’t kind. Thank you, fluorescents.

  The woman I saw in the mirror wasn’t quite a stranger, but she didn’t look like me.

  Not exactly anyway.

  She was older. Plainer. Grayer.

  Gross.

  Look. I got it, I know we’re all supposed to be kind to ourselves, to lo
ve our wrinkles and gray hairs, but dammit, four o’clock allowed for some self-pity.

  Okay?

  I released a sigh. Not okay.

  The problem with being a perfectionist is that it carried over to all parts of my life. My skin didn’t glow enough, my stomach wasn’t as flat as it had once been, my ass wasn’t high and tight, my thighs jiggled—

  And now that was enough self-hate for this time of day.

  I glared at my pale brown eyes in the mirror, warning the inner haters to shut it before splashing water on my face and pulling a brush through my hair. I scrubbed my teeth, slapped on some deodorant, and then made my way into the closet.

  My favorite stretchy skinny jeans were fresh out of the wash, and I wrestled my way into them, pairing the dark denim with a blue floral blouse and a stack of necklaces.

  I snagged a pair of flats but wouldn’t put them on until I was well away from the Sleeping Beauties. A swipe of mascara and a quick application of blush were the final touches I added before I turned off the bathroom light and waited for my eyes to readjust to the dark.

  Rob was back to snoring when I crept through the bedroom. I shook my head and closed the door behind me, heading for the top of the stairs.

  That was when I heard the first noise.

  A moan. The rustling of bedclothes. I dropped my shoes and bolted for Allie’s bedroom.

  She began crying.

  “Mom!”