Regret at Roosevelt Ranch Page 8

  After a long minute, he turned back to her.

  “Bella, sweetheart, tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t leave so my dad—”

  He broke off, pain in his eyes, his words.

  She swallowed. “I had to.”

  “Fuck.” He spun away. “Fuck. All this time I thought—” He turned, walking back toward her, head in his hands.

  She shifted, wanting to get off the boulder, to go to him, but froze when he clambered back up the rock and stopped, his face only inches from hers. “Why, baby? Why would you do that?”

  “It was the only way for your dad to have the surgery . . .”

  His eyes closed and for a moment, Bella thought he’d stopped breathing, but then he was crushing her to him, his arms wrapping tightly around her, his breaths in shaky exhales.

  “Y-you shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t—”

  She hugged him back. “I had to.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  He leaned back, eyes slightly reddened. “No.”

  She crossed her arms. “Yes.”

  Henry sighed. “At the very least, you should have told me.”

  “And you would have let me do it?” She raised one brow.

  “Of course not.”

  Bella huffed. “Well, that’s exactly why I had to.”

  “You had to unilaterally decide the future of our relationship?”

  Oh, he was mad.

  Well, tough shit.

  Because she was mad, too.

  She popped to her feet—not a smart thing to do when perched atop a boulder. Henry caught her before she toppled down the hill, gripping the tops of her arms and looking as though he wanted to shake some sense into her.

  Hmph.

  She wanted to shake some sense into him.

  “It was the only thing I could do,” she snapped. “I had the opportunity to help your father get the surgery, and—”

  “It didn’t make one bit of difference in the end!” He clenched his jaw. “All it meant was that I lost him and you.”

  Her breath caught. “I know.”

  But she wasn’t going to apologize for doing it. If she hadn’t gone, if she hadn’t gotten the money and figured out a way to get Henry’s dad the surgery, she wouldn't have been able to live with herself knowing that she hadn’t done everything in her power to help him.

  She might not have ever met Henry’s dad, but Henry was engrained in her heart and though she didn’t want to hurt him, she would do it all again in the end, if it meant that his dad had been given every chance to live. Broken hearts could heal, or at least the emotionally shattered ones could. The physically malfunctioning ones needed outside help.

  She’d done that and as much as she’d hated to be without him in her life for that many years, as painful and wrenching as it had been, it was what she’d had to do.

  “I can see it in your face,” he grumbled. “I can see that no matter what I say, it won’t change your mind that you did the right thing.”

  “That’s because I did.”

  He shook his head. “Woman,” he warned.

  “Man,” she countered.

  His lips curved, hers followed suit.

  She touched his cheek. “You’re not mad anymore?”

  “I’m furious.” He picked up her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. “But I understand why you did it.”

  Bella let out a relieved breath.

  He tugged them both back down to sitting, tucked her firmly against his side. “Why didn’t you come back sooner?”

  “I only just found out your dad died.”

  Clarity danced across his eyes. “The newspaper article about the diner.”

  “Yes.” She’d been doing her weekly search of Darlington news, living vicariously in her mind, pretending that she was part of the mix—maybe she’d take horseback riding lessons at the ranch, open a little bakery downtown—when she’d spied the article about Henry honoring the five-year anniversary of his father’s death by serving his favorite dishes for half off, with all proceeds going to a heart health charity.

  She’d seen Henry’s picture in the article. He’d been smiling down at Kelly Roosevelt as she’d held a tray filled with plates on her shoulder.

  He’d looked so happy.

  And she’d known that she couldn’t marry Sergio.

  Even if Henry never forgave her, even if they never had a future together, she couldn’t tie herself to a man who didn’t make her feel the same things that Henry did.

  She hadn’t even planned on coming to Utah in the first place. But after she’d slipped out of her father’s estate and made it to the airport, she’d discovered that the first international flight had been to Salt Lake City.

  Kismet.

  That was the only explanation.

  Now she was here, and Henry knew everything, but he was still staring down at her with affection in his eyes.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

  Her heart skipped a beat. When he said those things like that, like he believed them, she felt so damned much. “I’ve missed you.”

  He tucked her head back onto his shoulder, kissed the top of her head. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

  “Me, too,” she murmured.

  They sat like that, watching the sun sink lower in the sky, the reds and oranges of earlier transforming into navy and black. Only when the stars had started to peek out at them did Henry slip from the boulder and help her down.

  Her hip protested after sitting so long in one position, but it quickly loosened up as they hiked back up the hill then down the other side.

  “So,” he said, pulling open her door, “does this mean you’re going to be my girlfriend?”

  She smiled. “You’ve got to date me first.”

  “You’re living in my house. I think that constitutes as dating.”

  “I won’t be living there for long. Pam told me about an apartment above the bookstore downtown. She gave me the landlord’s number today.”

  He was frowning down at her, so she tugged the door closed, cutting off whatever argument he was going to throw her way. “Why would you do that?” he asked, plopping down into his seat. “We lived together in New York. We—”

  Bella dropped her hand to his thigh. “I need this time to work on me.”

  A snort. “That’s a brush-off line if I ever heard one.”

  “I need to figure out who I am without Sergio, without my father pulling the strings.”

  He made a face.

  “Also, I love you,” she said. “I’ve never stopped, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take things slow. For God’s sake, I’ve only been in town three days and we’re already playing house.”

  “I—” He shook his head. “You still love me?”

  Bella patted his cheek. “Don’t be stupid.”

  “I—”

  “Am going to give me time.”

  Henry sighed. “I love you.”

  “You’ll let me lease the apartment?”

  One brow came up. “Considering I own it? Yes, you can stay in it for as long as you want.”

  She’d guessed as much when Pam had suggested it with a twinkle in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. “And you’ll charge me rent?”

  He shook his head. “If you’ll be the diner’s pastry chef?”

  “Does a diner need a pastry chef?”

  “I need you and believe me, the customers will kill for your food. Hell, most of the pies and cakes are your recipes anyway.”

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll work for you until I save up enough money to open my bakery.” A shrug. “God knows, I need the practice. Today was my first time in the kitchen in five years.”

  “What a waste.” He touched her cheek. “A bakery?”

  “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to own one.”

  He kissed her. One press of his lips and her head was spinning, desire swimming through her body, urging her to crawl over the
console and into his lap. But before she could do that, he broke away, hot breath fanning over her lips.

  Calloused fingers on her cheek, her throat. “I can’t wait to see what you do.” Another hot kiss that sent her temperature sky high. “I know it’s going to be great.”

  And damn, if she didn’t already love the man, those words would have done it.

  “Come on,” she said, wrapping her hand around his. “Let’s go home.”

  “Will you promise to feed me?” He waggled his brows.

  She laughed. “I thought you were the fancy chef?”

  “Not anymore,” he said, way too innocent as he turned on the ignition and maneuvered the car back down the road. “I’m just a small-town cook.” A beat. “Who’s really, really hungry.”

  This man. God, she loved him.

  “You just want me to make pasta.”

  Guilty eyes flicked to hers then back to the road.

  Bella stretched over the console to kiss him on the cheek. “How does fettuccini sound?”

  “As perfect as you are.”

  She made a barfing sound, but secretly, Bella loved the sweet words.

  Thirteen

  Henry

  He stared at the angry woman glaring at him through the window of his front door and sighed.

  Really, it had only been a matter of time before this happened.

  Bella had been in town for just over two weeks, and he’d spent nearly every waking minute with her. The town was in a whirlwind between her sudden appearance, the incident with Sergio—who’d been released on bail then had promptly skipped town like the bastard he was—and the fact that Henry had spent the last fourteen plus days walking around with a stupid ass grin on his face.

  They were also in a frenzy over her baked goods.

  He couldn’t keep tiramisu in stock, her lemon cream pie had been chosen decisively over his, and her blueberry cobbler had sold out within the first hour.

  Three different people had begged Bella to make pans for their birthdays.

  And one of their birthdays wasn’t for six months.

  She’d blushed at the attention, thanking them and promising to make a fresh batch for the following day.

  So, yeah, Henry didn’t think that Bella’s dream of a bakery was that far off.

  But Bella wasn’t the one staring angrily at him as he strode down the hall to his front door.

  Nope. Unfortunately for him, that was his mother.

  He paused, considering the wrath he’d face if he turned around now and pretended he hadn’t seen her.

  “Don’t you dare!” Her voice was shrill enough to pierce right through the wood and glass.

  Girding his loins, he opened the front door.

  His mother swept inside, pausing briefly to kiss him on the cheek. “I have been hearing about this blueberry cobbler all week,” she said, striding into his kitchen. “It’s all the ladies at the Garden Center can talk about, but does my own son bring me any?” A long-suffering sigh. “No. I waited and waited—”

  “Mom, you’ve been home all of one day,” he interrupted, sliding past her to open up his fridge. He did, in fact, have a pan of blueberry cobbler hidden away. It had been Bella’s practice run and though she’d proclaimed it unworthy for sale, he’d thought it was delicious and wouldn’t let her throw it away. “Hold the tirade for a minute.”

  Now, he served up a scoop on a plate and popped it in the microwave.

  Bella would have his hide for that later, for daring to put her masterpiece in something as terrible as a microwave, but she’d just have to deal. He needed to get cobbler into his mother’s mouth as quickly as possible.

  “Up,” he told her, pointing to a barstool as the microwave dinged.

  Turning, he grabbed a carton of vanilla ice cream from the freezer, spooned some on top, and then passed the plate over.

  She all but snatched it from his hands.

  Henry waited as she ate, well familiar with her tactics. His mom was sneaky— distract, avert, wait for her opponent’s guard to drop . . . then bam, a shot directly to the head.

  Or maybe, in this case, the heart.

  Luckily for him and his budding relationship with Bella, his mother had left the morning Bella had arrived in town. She’d gone on a cruise with some of her girlfriends, returning just the day before.

  Which was the only reason he hadn’t gotten a visit along these lines before now.

  “That is delicious,” she said, scraping the side of her spoon across the plate to get every last drop.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And this Isabella made it?”

  He nodded.

  “This is the same woman who broke your heart in New York.”

  Henry took the plate and set it in the sink. “There was a misunderstanding.”

  “Hmm.” She sat back, crossed her arms. “Has Kelly met her?”

  “Not yet.” He mirrored her position. “The kids are keeping her busy.”

  “And also because you told her to stay away.”

  He could almost hear the arrow swooshing through the air, the thunk as it struck a bull’s-eye. Also, Kelly was a big, fat traitor for telling his mother that fact.

  “She’s worried about you.”

  Well, now that was a lie. Kel hadn’t swooped in like his mom, but she had been texting him and the theme of those messages wasn’t worry.

  “No, Mom,” he said. “You’re worried, and you don’t have to be. Bella is—”

  She was everything.

  Simple as that.

  But also, she made things exceptionally complicated. It had been him and his mom for so long that he didn’t know what she’d do without him. Hell, he still went over once a week and mowed her lawn, and the last time there’d been a power outage, she hadn’t known where the breakers were.

  “Fancy switches,” she’d called them.

  But it was more than that, more than the man-of-the-house stuff. His mom was alone, and if he was busy with his own life, then what would she do?

  “Oh no,” she said, glaring at him. “Wipe that look off your face right now. I’m a grown woman, and I don’t need my son to look after me.” She sighed and her expression softened. “I already allowed that to go on for too long. I took advantage of you, Henry, relied on you too much, stole you away and kept you home when I should have been pushing you to go back to New York.”

  “I wanted to stay.”

  “No. You felt like you had to stay.” She slipped down from the stool, crossed over to him. “That was my fault. I—”

  “Maybe at first I didn’t want to be here,” he admitted. “But I love this town, Mom. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.”

  “And if this Bella decides that small-town life isn’t for her?”

  “That’s not an issue.”

  “It could become one.”

  He shrugged. “If it does, then we’ll figure it out. Together,” he added when it seemed as though she’d protest.

  “Your mom is right to worry,” came a quiet voice.

  Both of their gazes shot to the doorway. Bella stood in the hall, eyes warm but expression careful.

  “It’s a mother’s job to worry about her baby.”

  Henry groaned.

  Because that was probably the only thing Bella could have said to put his mother at ease.

  It was, in fact, one of his mom’s favorite statements.

  Case in point, the beaming smile that spread across her face. “Exactly. Please come in, dear,” she said. “I’m Catherine.”

  “Isabella,” Bella replied as she walked into the room, arms laden with bags.

  She’d been sweet-talking the local farmers for extra produce and it looked as though today she’d scored—he took the bags from her—apricots.

  The sweet smell hit his nose and promptly made his mouth water.

  She kissed him on the cheek, murmured a soft, “Thank you.” Then, arms free, turned to his mother. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you,
Catherine. How was your cruise?” She smiled at his mom’s surprised expression. “I hope you don’t mind, but Henry showed me a few pictures of your travels. It looked absolutely beautiful.”

  “It was wonderful,” his mother said. “And I’ve been hearing all about you and your wonderful desserts since I got back. I’m happy to say your blueberry cobbler far surpasses the hype.”

  Bella whirled around to face him. “You did not feed your mother my reject cobbler!”

  Henry shrugged helplessly. He’d been between a rock and a hard place and plus, the reject cobbler was fucking delicious.

  “Hush now.” His mom wove her arm through Bella’s, thus saving him from his woman’s wrath. “Henry’s father was just the same way, not liking anyone to taste until the recipe was just perfect.” She started tugging Bella into the family room. “But I’ll tell you what I used to tell him. Sometimes, the perfection is found in the mistakes.”

  Bella froze for a moment then smiled down at his mom. “You know what? You’re absolutely right.”

  Approximately one minute later, they were giggling together on his couch.

  He snapped a pic with his cell, sent it to Kel.

  Traitor.

  She replied within a few seconds.

  I had to do something. Plus, it looks like they're thick as thieves already. Should I be jealous?

  He rolled his eyes.

  You turned me down, remember?

  A beat.

  Oh, I remember. So when can I meet her? Or better yet, when are you going to bring her to the ranch so I can get her on a horse? Theo’s out because he’s strictly Melissa’s horse now. But I have others.

  Henry stifled a chuckle.

  Too many others, according to Justin.

  His phone buzzed again.

  Lies.

  He smirked.

  Maybe. Maybe not. How about Monday?

  A heartbeat before her reply came through.

  Monday is good. I promise not to cook.