Page 17 of Must Love Mistletoe

Wrinkles. “Is this going to be a conversation that requires alcohol or will coffee be enough?”

“Pretty sure I had enough alcohol last night to last me a year.”

“They got you drunk?”

“They tried. I don’t want this house—that’s what I came here to say. No one does. You and Sam could continue to live here, and it wouldn’t bother anyone.”

But she was already shaking her head. “I don’t want to stay.”

“What about Sam? It’s the only home he knows.”

Not exactly one to shy away from the thorny issues, was he? “And for that, he can be grateful that he’s had that kind of security for ten solid years,” she replied evenly. “Sam will come to a better understanding that we only own a tiny part of the place if we don’t have free run of it.”

He digested that in silence, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Was that a sign of displeasure or defense?

“Maybe Jett and Mardie might like to live here in years to come,” she offered. No point mentioning Seth who was already planted in the valley, up at the Love Ranch with Maddie, or TJ who lived several states away on his wife’s family ranch. Both holdings were far more significant than hers. “Or you. If you marry and have a family, you might decide you need the extra room.” His cabin was gorgeously cozy with views to die for, but it hadn’t been designed with a family in mind.

But he was already shaking his head. “No. To me this is Red’s house. Yours and his. I’ll never live here.”

Such deep-seated certainty.

She had strong views on staying here, too. “Then you’ll understand why I don’t want to stay either. There are memories embedded in these walls I’d give anything to let go of. Not all. But some. I want to move on.”

How could he possibly understand all the things she wasn’t saying?

She tried a different approach. “Then there’s the thought of creating a smaller, easier life in Marietta. Sam could have friends over without parents having to make a production out of getting them here and collecting them. I could join a book club or go to an antique restoration class and not worry that it ran from seven till nine at night. I could ask friends around for coffee or dinner and they might even say yes.”

There was one more reason she could confess. “I want to stop feeling like a failure.”

Cal leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes narrowed. He kept his arms crossed. Did he have any idea that his stance perfectly emphasized the breadth of his chest and the muscles in his arms? Or was it simply Cal being Cal. Either way, the man wasbuilt. Football offensive lineman style strength.

“I don’t expect you to get it—”

“Beth, it’s me you’re talking to. The one with sports champions for brothers, and another brother who built a multimillion-dollar construction company from scratch. I know a little something about feeling like a failure. Even though, in the general scheme of things, I’m not. The same way you’re not. Lack of capital did you in, and you inherited that position.Notyour doing.”

She hadn’t realized how much she needed him to keep saying that.

“As for wanting a bigger social life, why is that a failing?” he continued doggedly. “You’ve identified a lack in your life, and you’re doing something about it.”

Why did she suddenly want to spill all her secrets? “I went into this life with rose-colored glasses on. If Red had lived and we’d filled this house with children and laughter… if money hadn’t been such a problem from the start… if I’d been the kind of woman who could keep his attention… maybe then I could have lived a ranching life and enjoyed it. It can be breathtakingly beautiful and peaceful out here. I know you know what I’m talking about. I love being able to saddle a horse and go riding over land Iknow. There’s nothing quite like tracking the changing of the seasons up close or feeding hungry cows in the snow and sleet and coming back into the light and warmth, knowing you’ve made a difference to their wellbeing.” She took a deep breath. “I get why you love it, and I know why I’m leaving—and it means a lot to me that you’re not going to judge me for it.”

“Okay,” he said. “Makes sense. Good to know.”

He uncrossed his arms and settled his butt against the edge of her high kitchen counter, a hand either side of him, curled over the edge of the surface. He leveled that piercing gaze on her once more. The one that never failed to make her feel understood, even when he never said a word.

He smiled faintly. “You’ll have to get used to neighbors living within yelling distance.”

Clearly a fate worse than death, in Cal’s reckoning. “Terrible. But I’ll also be able to swing by the shops for fresh milk.”

“Point.” He nodded. “Then there’s all that traffic.”

“Dude, it’s Marietta, not Kalispell. It takes ten minutes to get from one side of town to the other. Five if you’re in a rush. Five minutes to get to work!”

“Speeding tickets,” he countered sorrowfully, but his eyes smiling. “Cops.”

“Taxis,” she challenged. “Nights out on the town without worrying about how I’m going to get home.”

“And I could stay and listen to you wax lyrical about town living,” he drawled, “but I’m not going to. “I’m going to sling myself into the saddle and ride off into the wintry beyond.”

---