Chapter 15 #2
The front steps to the “main house” are as impressive as the land they sit on.
Rocking chairs line up on either side of the front door, flower pots exploding with blooms of every color sitting between them as ceiling fans—yes, multiple—spin overhead.
Unlike my little white farmhouse, there are many modern, industrial touches that hint at this house being a newer build.
Dark wood columns stand out against the light stone cladding climbing up the impressive two-story house.
Wrought-iron frames the countless floor-to-ceiling windows, and it’s as beautiful as it is intimidating.
Which is to say, very.
“So…” I drag out the word as I take in the home in front of me. “Ranching is a lucrative business, huh?”
“We do alright,” he says with a shy smile, clearly underselling their success.
Because this isn’t just a little bit of money.
This is wealth.
Before I can call him on his humility, the front door swings open and a woman who could be mistaken for Ciara’s twin, if it weren’t for the gray streaking her hair and gentle lines sprawling around her kind eyes, welcomes us with open arms and glasses of wine.
Bless this woman. The real way, not the passive-aggressive Texas way.
“You must be Luna.” She pulls me inside and shoves the glass of wine into my hand. “I’m Pam. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you as well,” I say. “You have a beautiful home.”
I lift the glass to my lips, hoping the magical red liquid inside can help quell the sudden onslaught of nerves twisting my stomach into knots.
“Well, aren’t you sweet?” She waves off my compliment with the practiced grace of a Southern beauty queen. “Not that I expected anything less. It’s not often all three of my children agree on anything, but they’ve all had nothing but wonderful things to say about you.”
Wine always makes me flushed, but it’s her words that really cause my cheeks to heat. “Wow. That’s nice to hear.”
Of course I want to make a good impression on all my neighbors, but the knowledge that a certain one of her children thinks highly of me holds more weight than it should.
“And that’s saying something, because Tate’s an asshole.” Ciara’s voice cuts across the spacious living room. “You’re either a saint or a witch with serious magic skills if you got him to say anything about you at all, let alone anything nice.”
“Ciara!” Pam scolds. “Watch your mouth!”
“Sorry,” Ciara says, but sounds remarkably not sorry. “But you know I’m right.”
“Tate is not an a-hole,” Pam defends. “He’s just quiet and discerning—you know that. It takes him a while to trust people, and for good reason after what happened to him.”
My ears perk immediately, and hope I don’t want to feel blooms anew. Did someone hurt Tate? Did I misread his grumpy exterior? Could he really be a big, wounded softy who’s just in need of love? It’s a romance heroine’s true catnip and the last thing I needed to know.
“Interesting rebrand, Mom,” Ciara says in a way that makes me think Pam is going to regret this conversation. “So if we’re calling it quiet and discerning, then does that mean you don’t have a problem with Mrs. Stewart anymore?”
“How dare you. That wretched woman is nothing like your brother.” Pam’s almond-shaped eyes narrow to slivers.
“She’s sat in that front pew with her nose high in the air, cloaked in judgment, since high school.
And she’s not quiet, she’s silent; there’s a difference.
The second those over-injected lips start flapping, she does nothing but bad-mouth every person who’s ever crossed her miserable path. ”
I’m in the middle of making a mental note to never get on Pam’s bad side when a man with an immaculately manicured beard and salt-and-pepper hair walks into the room.
Weathered skin gives away years spent under the unforgiving Texas sun, and serious onyx eyes bear a stunning resemblance to Tate.
His full lips are set in a firm line, but the second he catches a glimpse of Pam mid-rant, it transforms into an amused smile that’s so full of love, it feels like I should look away.
“Who got her started on Janice again?” he asks. “You know she always gets like this about that poor woman.”
“Calvin Malcolm Jacobs!” Pam slams her fists on her hips and turns her furious glare to him, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.
In fact, his smile gets even wider. “ ‘That poor woman,’ my behind. I’m not usually one to gossip in front of company, but you know darn well what that poor woman has done, and in this house, we don’t empathize with the Devil. ”
Empathize with the Devil is a freaking bar. I’ve never heard a more polite, more deadly read than that, and I’m not sure if I should fear or love Pam.
Both.
The answer is definitely both.
“Please.” I hold my hands up in front of me. “Don’t stop on my account. It sounds like this Miss Stewart woman deserves your wrath.”
“Finally!” Pam throws her arms in the air. “Thank you, Luna. It’s nice to have an ally in this house of traitors for once.”
“I’m always on your side.” Calvin crosses the room, and I can’t help but notice the prominent limp to his walk. “But you also know how much I like it when you get worked up.”
He sidles up next to his wife, and when I get a good look at them side by side, it’s no wonder all three of their children are so striking. He drops his hand low on her back, and Pam yelps and swats at him, before rolling up on her tiptoes and touching her lips to his.
As an unrelated spectator, watching them together is adorable and life-affirming. For Ciara, on the other hand? Not so much.
“Ewwww.” She groans and her beautiful face twists with disgust. “Aren’t you too old to act like this?”
“Aren’t you too old to pretend like you don’t know exactly how you made your way into this world?” Calvin asks before kissing his wife one more time.
“Gross,” Ciara says. “Have some shame.”
“Sorry,” Silas whispers in my ear. “They get like this sometimes.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” I tell him the truth. “You’re lucky to have two parents who are still this enamored with each other.”
My mom always told me tales about how my dad was the love of her life.
She’d tell me that she would take a lifetime of heartache if it meant having the few amazing years they had together.
I always thought it was the most beautiful sentiment in the entire world until I realized the devastation that came along with it.
Now I wonder if she clung to her grief as a shield and used it as an excuse to never find happiness again.
“If you’re done acting like teenagers,” Ciara interrupts her parents, “maybe Dad could introduce himself to our guest instead of trying to make out with mom.”
“I could do both.” Calvin smirks at Ciara before planting one final kiss on a blushing Pam and turning to me. “Sorry about my children.” He stretches out his arm and wraps a calloused hand around mine when I meet him to shake it. “Calvin Jacobs. Nice to meet you.”
His skin feels like leather. It’s rough, but worn and soft, and I get the impression his hands are capable of handling anything life throws at him.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jacobs,” I say with my manners firmly in place. “I’m Luna Starr. I bought the farmhouse next door. Well, at least as close as next door can be out here.”
“If you’re in Celestial, you’re a neighbor.” He holds my hand in his, and his commanding presence turns welcoming. “Living in the Monroe farmhouse? That makes you family.”
Tears that haven’t fallen in months lodge in my throat and make it hard to speak. It’s been years since I’ve felt like part of a family. The safety and comfort of mine died long before my mom did. The idea of family is as much a nightmare as it is a dream, as terrifying as it is beautiful.
“Thank you so much,” I manage to choke out, only pulling my hand back when his grip loosens. “Your family has already been so kind and welcoming. I just met Ciara today, but Silas brought me a lovely welcome basket, and Tate is helping with some…unforeseen home repairs.”
“You know how Mr. Monroe was always doing projects without permits or help?” Silas asks his dad, and Calvin nods in response. “The claw-foot tub in the bathroom he added on fell through the ceiling.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t great,” I say, unsure of what to add on and hoping I don’t have to explain the inspection report loaded with red flags that I ignored.
I’ve never been scolded by a dad before, and Calvin gives off big lecture-dad energy.
“Thankfully, Silas was there when it happened and called Tate. I know he’s busy with work now that the football season is starting, but he’s been coming over whenever his schedule allows. ”
I don’t know what I said, but whatever it was causes the temperature in the room to drop and the tension to rise. Ciara and Silas look like they’re holding their breath and bracing for an explosion. Pam aims wide, pleading eyes at her husband, who is visibly trying to keep a hold on his temper.
“It’s generous of you to call what he does ‘work,’ ” Calvin says, his tone dripping with disdain.
“One of these days he’ll realize football is a hobby, not a job, but until then, if you need more help, feel free to give me a call.
I taught Tate everything he knows, and now that Silas is taking over the ranch, I have nothing but time on my hands. ”
“Nothing but time to micromanage,” Ciara mock-whispers and alleviates the nervous energy filling the grand space. “Not that we’re not grateful for all your helpful advice on every single aspect of our lives, right, Si?”
“I don’t love anything more than Dad’s nightly texts making sure I didn’t forget to get the horses in the stable and ensure the gates are closed, even though I’ve been doing it for…” He pauses and looks at his mom. “How old am I again?”
“You’re thirty-six.” Pam’s eyebrows furrow together, and I note that her practically line-free skin is not due to Botox.