14

PENNY

“What is this place?” I asked, putting my hand on the back of the passenger seat, looking out the front windshield. Jamison turned off his truck.

After eating at the diner in town for a late breakfast, we’d driven out of town, the opposite direction of Steele Ranch. He’d turned off the main road five minutes ago, followed a dirt road for another few, before turning into a short driveway.

We were closer to the mountains here, the setting lush and green. A river was to our right, the water flowing high and hard from the runoff coming down through the canyon. Directly before us was a house. An old, two-story farmhouse. Crisp clapboard siding, a front porch with a swing, a steep metal roof. It was reminiscent of the house in the American Gothic painting, only larger. Based on the size, I estimated it to have at least four bedrooms. Yet it was quaint and charming. Even from the truck, it had a welcoming, lived-in feel to it. In the distance, I could see another house, so it wasn’t as isolated as Steele Ranch.

“This is where I grew up.”

“Your parents’ house?”

“That’s right,” Jamison said, taking off his seatbelt and getting out of the truck.

By the time I got mine off, he had my door open to help me down. He took my hand and led me toward the house, Boone following right behind.

“I thought they moved to Alabama.”

“They did. I bought it from them.” I stumbled at the words and Jamison stopped, looked down at me. His hat cast his face in shadow. “What?”

“You have this beautiful house and yet you live at Steele Ranch. Why don’t you live here?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

He started walking again and I followed along. He’d been waiting for me?

“You didn’t even know about me a month ago. How could you have been waiting?”

Unlocking the front door, he pushed it open, waited for me to enter first. The floors were wood, the walls a soft cream. Directly before me was a stairwell with a banister perfect for sliding down. A formal living room was on the left, a central hallway that led to the back of the house in the middle and a dining room to the right. There was some furniture, a couch and a large bookshelf, a sideboard. Curtains hung at the windows. The floors were bare. It seemed Jamison’s parents had chosen to leave some pieces behind.

With all the windows closed, the house was warm, the air a touch stale, but the interior was spotless. It appeared as if the owners were away for the weekend instead of living elsewhere.

“This house is meant for a family,” Jamison told me, taking off his hat and hanging it on the newel post, as if he’d done it a hundred—a thousand—times before. “A big one.”

“One we want to have with you,” Boone added.

I spun on my heel, looked up at him. Unlike Jamison, he never wore a hat. His hair was so dark, almost black and I knew exactly how it felt between my fingers. He’d shaved this morning, but the hint of his whiskers would appear in a few hours. He wore jeans and a t-shirt with the name of his medical school on the front. Casual, laid back. Yet his look was anything but.

He was serious. His words were serious.

“You want us to…what? Live here?”

He nodded.

“What about your house?” I glanced over my shoulder at Jamison. “Or your cabin at Steele Ranch?”

“That cabin’s for a bachelor. It’s too small for a family,” he said. “I’ve lived there because it’s easy.”

“We can live in my house if you want. Hell, we can build a house on Steele Ranch land if you want, but this place…I grew up coming here. Loved it. The noise, the chaos. Something was always in the slow cooker and the house always smelled so good. Like pot roast.”

I didn’t say anything, just glanced between them. They wanted to live here. In this house. It was tangible—and blatant—proof of the forever they wanted to have with me.

“What’s going on in that gorgeous brain of yours?” Boone asked.

“I believed you,” I said on a big exhale. “I did. But this…it’s real. You’re serious.”

Jamison huffed. “Kitten, I should sit on the steps and take you over my knee. What do you think we’ve been doing with you?”

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