Regret at Roosevelt Ranch Page 2

  There was life to Darlington, warmth and softness, and . . . she was letting herself get lost in fantasy. She’d grown up in Italy for God’s sake. That was the definition of warm, especially in the summer months.

  Maybe it was the people.

  Or rather, the absence of some people.

  Shaking her head at herself, she braved the bright light and sat up. Isabella reached for her cell on the nightstand and groaned. Thankfully, she’d set it to do not disturb, because otherwise the sheer multitude of calls, texts, and voicemails would have turned her minimal sleep into no sleep.

  “Fuck,” she muttered and dropped it to the bed.

  It had been stupid to run, she knew that. But it had been even stupider to come back here and think that she could repair what she’d shattered before.

  Especially when she led with, “I want you to cater my wedding.”

  She wasn’t getting married.

  Or, not any longer anyway.

  That she’d thought she could go through with the whole thing had been a . . . mistake.

  Huge understatement.

  Snorting, she slid from the bed and walked into the bathroom then twisted the taps inside the shower until hot water poured out and began filling the room with steam.

  Her father was a persuasive man and the thought of being persuaded down that particular avenue—read: lifelong commitment and marriage—had finally snapped her back to reality.

  He had already prompted her to make the biggest mistake of her life.

  She didn’t need him coaxing or cajoling, or whatever synonym that wasn’t popping into her head at the moment, her into Huge Life Mistake Version Two. Isabella had been weak for the past five years. That was long enough. It was time she got her head out of her ass, act like the grown woman she was, and live her fucking life.

  And she wanted to live that life with Henry.

  Which she’d pretty much screwed up since her first words to him were about catering a wedding she’d run away from.

  But, dammit, it was the first thing that had popped into her head when she’d seen him there, looking as gorgeous as ever. Her throat had tightened, her pulse spiked, and she’d felt like she was going to faint. All she could think was this is right.

  Henry was right.

  She’d been meeting with wedding planners and florists and cake decorators and caterers and—

  She’d. Just. Blurted.

  The first thing to come to her mind.

  Which had pretty much been the worst thing. Henry had been on the defensive, closed down and eyes cold before she’d verbal diarrhead that nonsense. After? Well, his expression had been telling those ice caps in the Himalayas they were too warm.

  So she’d fled.

  Whirling around and hightailing out of the diner and back across the street to the bed and breakfast. Once safely ensconced in her room, she realized she was starving, but everything in town was closed and no room service was to be found. Isabella had not so successfully filled her empty stomach with stale crackers and tap water.

  Such a gourmet meal for a professional chef.

  Not that she’d been doing much “chefing” as of late. That had been a moment of rebellion, according to her father.

  Heaven forbid she find something she was passionate about and dive in.

  Heaven forbid . . . she have a fucking spine.

  Isabella sighed as she stripped and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water flow down her head, her hair, her nape. She rested her head against the tile wall and tried to center herself, to find the cool and calm woman she’d been since she’d walked away from Henry.

  But that woman was in hiding, camouflaged like a son of a bitch, and currently unreachable.

  Henry was mad. Hurt. Cold.

  Of course he was.

  Because he didn’t know.

  And instead of telling him, she’d waltzed in and tried to hire him. Which was so something her father would do. Throw money at a problem until it resolved itself one way or another.

  “Ugh.” She sighed again, letting the water stream over her until her stomach rumbled, protesting her last meal of crackers and the long stretch of airline and airport food before that. Her flight had been via first class, but try as they might, plane food was still just that . . . and that wasn’t great.

  She needed fuel and to shore up her mind.

  But she especially needed to stop sighing like a love-struck teenager.

  It was time for Isabella to woman-up and get her man back.

  Even if she had to hire him to cater a wedding that was never going to happen.

  Three

  Henry

  He waved as Allie jumped out of the car and then headed up to the front door of the main house at Roosevelt Ranch.

  Yup, he’d said main house.

  His best friend growing up had done well when she’d married Justin Roosevelt. While the former army medic might come across as unassuming and normal, his family definitely was not.

  The Roosevelts were richer than Croesus and way above the typical Darlington pay grade, but Justin didn’t care about his family’s money. In fact, he’d only recently stepped in to help his father with some of the business after discharging from the military.

  His focus was his family and supporting Kelly as she lived her dream of running the premier horse breeding operation in the States.

  Roosevelt Ranch was the perfect place for that.

  Kel had practically grown up on the ranch—before it had gained its current namesake. She’d always been horse crazy and had worked her way into free lessons.

  Now she had a set of stables that were so impressive and luxurious they nearly rivaled the main house.

  The huge front door opened, and his friend patted Allie’s head as she bustled inside, but when he waved and would have driven away, Kel shook her head, taking a step toward him. And considering she had a twin in each arm, Henry knew he was trapped. He’d wait—no he’d get out of the car and go to Kelly before she tripped and injured herself or one of the kiddoes on the gravel drive. He’d do it because he was a soft-hearted sucker who often got caught in women’s webs and—

  Fuck.

  He turned off the ignition, popped his door, and got out of his car.

  “Hey,” he said, slamming it and walking over to her. He slid Jessie from her arms, cuddling the little girl close. Her vibrant green eyes were sleepy. “Did you just wake up from a nap?” he murmured, and she cuddled closer.

  “Rocket ship,” she said.

  Kel laughed.

  And speaking of getting caught in a female’s webs.

  Jessie had him wrapped up tightly in hers. Not that her brother, Jax, didn’t have him just as snared.

  Henry liked kids.

  Always had. Always would.

  And since he didn’t and probably never would have any of his own, he had no problem being the fun uncle.

  “Rocket ship!” Jax said, raising his head up from his mom’s shoulder.

  “Not so sleepy anymore, are you?” Kelly said with a laugh.

  “Rocket ship!” Jessie said again, much more enthusiastically and thus, confirming her mom’s statement.

  Kel glanced at Henry. He shrugged.

  “Okay, two rocket ships each and then you need to go find daddy and bug him for letting you fall asleep.” She shook her head. “Goodness knows what this late nap is going to do to your bedtime.”

  “It’s summer,” Henry said with a shrug.

  “Yes, it is,” Kel agreed. “But that doesn’t mean bedtime doesn’t need to happen.”

  “Ah, to be a parent.”

  She smacked him, and he stepped back to prepare Jessie for her first rocket ship.

  “Don’t hit, Mama,” Jax said.

  Henry’s lips twitched. “Yeah. Don’t hit.”

  She glared, but he ignored it as he dangled Jessie’s feet just off the ground, shaking her gently like a rocket ship engine’s flaring to life. They counted down together. “Five .
. . four . . . three . . . two . . . one!” And she blasted off.

  Or rather, he tossed her high into the air, caught her, and then flew the Jessie rocket ship back and forth over the path before landing her safely in front of Jax and Kel.

  Jax immediately wiggled his way out of Kel’s arms. “My turn!”

  Henry obliged and was sweating by the time he finished the four rounds. He waved as the kids ran off to find Justin, heart swelling when they stopped mid-sprint then turned around and threw their little arms around his waist.

  “Wuv you!” Jessie said and ran off.

  “Wuv you!” Jax parroted, following her.

  This was why he’d never moved back to New York. He’d gone for an adventure, to be someone important and famous in the restaurant world, and to make a boatload of money. He’d done it, too, made the money, had begun to be somebody in certain high circles, and then . . . his dad had gotten sick.

  And he’d discovered that being a part of this circle was so much more valuable.

  “So,” Kel said. “Cobb salad?”

  Or not.

  He turned. “I’ve got to get back to the restaurant.”

  Kel caught his arm. “Is this about the beautiful brunette with the Italian accent?”

  “How do you know about Isabella?” He’d rotated back to face her before realizing his mistake. She’d called his bluff, and he’d caved.

  Kel’s smile was beatific. She swept a hand around them. “This is Darlington, remember? Plus, she’s staying at the B&B, and certain key people saw her walk into your restaurant the other day.” He groaned, but she ignored him. “And then this morning, you’re making a Cobb salad that no one ordered. Melissa checked and told me, and we put two and two together. So she’s the reason Cobb salads are anathema? Why? Did you know her back in New York?”

  He sighed, somehow following all of that and knowing that if he didn’t give her some details she’d hound him until the dogs came home, no pun intended. “Yes.”

  There. That ought to be enough.

  “Yes?” She raised a brow. “Just yes? Seriously?”

  “Bye, Kel.” This time when he turned for his car, he got his ass in gear and didn’t stop, not even when she huffed and he heard her footsteps on the gravel behind him.

  “Henry,” she began, hand on his arm.

  He brushed it off. “Leave it, Kel. Please.”

  “I—”

  He was saved by a loud crash, followed by crying from inside the house. He stopped, gestured inside. “Go.”

  Kel glared, but she was already hustling toward the noise. “This isn’t over,” she called as she reached the front door.

  Yeah, that was exactly what he was afraid of.

  Four

  Isabella

  She closed her laptop with a disgusted sigh. Her bank account was pathetic . . . as in pathetically empty.

  Her father had acknowledged her disobedience by cutting her off. Which she’d known would happen, of course. No one crossed Roberto Mariano, most especially not some helpless female creature.

  Isabella groaned then pushed herself to her feet and forced herself to take stock. Her bank account had just over a thousand dollars in it, and while her father considered the amount a pittance, she knew how to make it stretch.

  She’d done it before in New York.

  She’d make it work this time around as well.

  Her first step was to get out of the bed and breakfast because who knew how long her credit card would work—

  Isabella’s stomach growled with a vengeance.

  Okay, so her first order of business was to get some food into her belly. Then to get out of the bed and breakfast and into something cheaper . . . and hopefully more permanent.

  Because she wasn’t leaving without Henry.

  Feeling slightly less depressed, she picked up her purse and left the room.

  That mild buoyant feeling lasted the three minutes it took for her to descend one flight of stairs, cross the quaint two-lane road, and push through the diner’s doors on the other side.

  More than a dozen eyes turned in her direction, narrowed, and then flicked away, the small town’s version of a cold shoulder.

  Isabella didn’t have to be a rocket scientist—and she most definitely wasn’t smart enough to delve into aeronautics—to know that.

  Less than twenty-four hours and word had gotten around.

  She remembered Henry talking about the town gossip train, explaining that something would happen in the morning and by the afternoon, every person in Darlington would be able to recite the details verbatim. But she had thought he exaggerated. Isabella was from a small town herself and aside from a few interfering grannies, most people kept to themselves.

  She decided she rather preferred that option. Especially when faced with the onslaught of narrowed lids and subsequent dismissal.

  Click.

  The noise made her jump, her gaze darting from left to right before finally catching a flash of movement in front of her.

  An elderly woman wearing a purple sweatshirt with a pair of kittens on its front stood in front of her, the latest model i-whatever in her hand. When Isabella’s eyes met hers, she lowered the phone and smiled up at her.

  It was unnerving, that smile.

  As though the little old lady with tufts of curly white hair could see straight into her soul.

  This would be the point that Isabella’s grandmother would cross herself and pray to the Holy Ghost for protection, but Isabella herself had never been much for religion or the old ways or—

  And now she was sad.

  A hand slid into hers, making her jump for the second time in as many minutes.

  “Come with me, dear,” the woman said, tugging her in the direction of a booth. “I’m Esther.”

  “I’m Isabella,” she said and started to dig in her heels. Based on Henry’s reaction when she’d walked in before and that of the current patrons dining, she’d made a mistake coming here. She should leave before she caused a scene.

  And what was that about fighting for Henry? her conscience reminded her.

  Well, she wasn’t exactly anticipating it being so . . . public.

  She knew she had a mountain to climb and so many things to explain, but—

  Fine. She was a fucking coward.

  “I should go,” she began.

  Esther gave a surprisingly strong tug for a woman her size. “You need to eat something, girlie. You’re practically skin and bones.”

  Her father saying the same thing would have hurt Isabella’s feelings. Then again, his words were always a critique, definitely not said with the same sort of exasperated tone as Esther’s—as though she were a naughty child rather than solely a source of disappointment.

  Plus, the diner smelled wonderful.

  Sweet laced with savory, the remnants of breakfast trailing into lunch and even an early dinner. The heavy note of fried food mixed with something that made her mouth water. Tangy, spicy . . . sultry.

  Henry’s food.

  Her stomach rumbled just as Esther pushed her down into a booth.

  “See?” she said. “You’re hungry and need to eat.”

  Isabella nodded and relinquished the battle she was losing anyway. Plus, Esther was the one person who didn’t seem to hate her, so she’d be wise to not alienate a potential ally. “Yes, you’re right.”

  Esther nodded. “Of course, I am.”

  Isabella smiled and picked up the menu the woman shoved in her direction. “What do you like to order here?”

  “Oh, I’m boring and always get the same thing.” She waved a hand. “Can I call you Bella?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Only one other person in the world had called her Bella . . . and he was the person this restaurant was named after. “Um, sure,” she said and picked up the menu that lay on the scarred tabletop. “What’s the same thing?”

  The strands of jeweled necklaces that hung around Esther’s neck tinkled as she tilted her head. “Wha
t same thing?”

  Isabella smiled. “What’s the dish you always order?”

  “A fried chicken sandwich with a side of Brussels sprouts.”

  Except the explanation hadn’t come from Esther.

  Isabella glanced up and saw a very annoyed Henry standing at the end of the table, a plate in one hand.

  “Sounds delicious,” she murmured.

  Esther lifted a plastic glass of water to her mouth, two wedges of lemon bobbing in the cup, and took a long swallow. “It’s the best thing on the menu.”

  “I’d better order one then,” Isabella said.

  “No,” Henry snapped, his tone harsher than she’d ever heard before.

  Isabella’s shoulders came up, protecting herself against the onslaught that was certain to come.

  She froze and waited.

  Then waited some more because the verbal onslaught never actually came. So great, she was sitting there in a restaurant full of people who were pretending to ignore her, but in actuality were probably watching her like a hawk so they could talk about her later, with her shoulders up around her ears and her spine bowed like a pathetic ring-hoarding creature.

  “I—” she began, forcing herself to straighten.

  “Bella is hungry,” Esther interrupted, patting her on the hand. “We’ll share the sandwich until you can bring out another one.” She preempted Isabella’s argument by picking up her knife and cutting the sandwich in half. “Bring an extra plate, dear,” she told Henry then speared a Brussels sprout on her fork and held it up. “Try this, Bella. You’ll never have a tastier vegetable.”

  Isabella took the fork and bit into the green sphere.

  In an instant, flavors burst to life on her tongue.

  Salt and pepper. Oil and smoke. A light sweetness trailed by a depth of earthiness. Her eyes widened as she chewed, the slight crunch of the outer leaves giving way to a smooth center.

  She swallowed, forcing herself to smile in Esther’s direction and all too aware of Henry’s heavy gaze on her.

  After wiping her mouth with a napkin, she dared sneak a glance in his direction.

  His eyes were unreadable, but she thought that she might detect hope in the pale blue depths. Or if not that, then perhaps they were empty of anger.