Learning To Love (Triple Star Ranch Book 2) Read online

  Learning to Love: Christian Contemporary Romance

  Triple Star Ranch Romance, Book 2

  Emma Woods

  Fairfield Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 Emma Woods

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  1

  I was trying not to throw my hands up in sweaty defeat. Since I was wrestling a roll of bulletin board paper as well as a stapler, this was clearly not a good choice. But I was tempted, believe me.

  I really should have known better than to save my bulletin boards until the eleventh hour. I hate doing them. Once the bulky paper is up and the border is in place, putting things on them is not difficult. It’s the process of getting the paper up on the board one-handed, so that it isn’t weirdly lopsided, that makes me sweat and fight the urge to use bad words.

  But, no. I’d waited until the end of Tuesday to put them up. Everything else in my second-grade classroom was ready to go. The desks were in place, the books in the book buckets were neat and tidy, and I’d written a welcome message on the board in my best handwriting. Even my teacher’s desk had everything in place. It wouldn’t last more than a week, but I was starting off strong.

  And now I faced my foe: my bulletin boards.

  To make matters worse, I was touchy because my fiancé, Marco Delaney, hadn’t answered my text message. Marco was currently traveling on business. He was an international salesman for a tech company and traveled all the time. He had an apartment in Seattle, Washington, though he was rarely there. Over the past year, the novelty had totally worn off for me, and I found his being so often out of touch frustrating. Plus, the constant time changes wore on me far more than they seemed to wear on him.

  I growled at my paper roll as it refused to line up properly to the neat edge of the bulletin board’s frame.

  “I swear this thing is bowed. There is no earthly way you can actually hang a roll of paper on it straight!” I hissed as I pulled out the staples and began again.

  Marco and I had first started dating in high school. We’d been part of the same church youth group and attended Ulysses S. Grant High School together. We’d gone to the same college and dated all four years there, as I got my degree in elementary education and he got a degree in technology. Marco had proposed our senior year, and I’d been over the moon.

  Then he’d gotten an offer to work for this big tech company in Seattle. Try as I might, there were simply no teaching jobs available for a brand-new, fresh-out-of-college gal. We’d made the difficult decision that Marco would start work there, and I’d work as a substitute teacher until I could land a job.

  Things had gotten hard right off the bat. I struggled to make ends meet subbing and had to pick up an evening job at a local craft store for minimum wage. Marco started traveling for work. At first it was one trip a month. Then it became two, and within twelve months, he was gone more than he was home.

  He loved it, but I was miserable. Substitute teaching had to be the worst job in the world. I had a dinky, grungy apartment and never saw my fiancé. And when I did see him, he was flying high on his success at work, and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him how much I hated life.

  So, when my grandfather called from Birch Springs, Wyoming, to tell me that they needed a long-term substitute for a second-grade class, I was all too ready to go. Marco had been in China at the time, or was it Portugal? Anyway, he was out of reach, and so I had sublet my apartment, packed my suitcases, and went ahead and used all my savings to fly to Wyoming to take the job.

  The teacher whose class I’d taken, Mrs. Dobson, had decided to retire, and the job had been offered to me. Even though I knew that Granddad had influenced the principal to some degree, I’d taken it gladly. I was, after all, the granddaughter of the school’s past principal. Granddad had worked there for thirty years, and his legacy lived on. I was proud to follow in his educational footsteps.

  I reminded myself that I wanted to prove to everyone that I could be a great teacher. I was more than Howard Kent’s granddaughter. I was Jillian Elizabeth Kent, and I would be the best second-grade teacher Meadowlark Elementary School ever had.

  If only this dang paper would hang straight!

  Finally, flushed and irritated, I put the last staple in place and trimmed the edge of my navy-blue foe. I stood back and glared at the brown of the cork board that peeked out at the top and bottom. Apparently, I would need the colorful border to hide my shortcomings as well as to complete my “under the sea” theme for my classroom’s decorations.

  Compared to hanging the paper, the border went up fairly uneventfully. I did have a minor fiasco in which I ran out of staples after only securing one strip of border with a single staple. The border managed to curl back over and hit me in the face as I reloaded, which pushed my temper ever closer to the point of no return.

  But finally, it was finished. I stepped back and blew a lock of my curly, blonde hair out of my eyes. All I had to do was hang the carefully cut letters I’d made spelling out, “We’ll get along swimmingly!” During tomorrow night’s Open House, each student would color his or her own fish, which I would hang on the board. It would be adorable, or else the bulletin board would have to deal with my fury.

  I reached wearily for my phone. There had been no hopeful pings as I worked on my bulletin board, but I couldn’t resist checking to see if Marco had somehow responded to the text I’d sent him last night and I hadn’t been alerted. Nope. Nothing.

  It was especially frustrating because the text had been in reference to the Thanksgiving plans made by my stepmother, Ashley. Ashley had been driving me crazy for almost seventeen years now. Any conversation, email, or text from her was sure to send my blood pressure skyrocketing. She’d called the previous day and I’d ignored it, letting it go to voicemail rather than deal with her during my workday. The message had asked, in her ever-obnoxiously pointed tone, that she was trying to confirm if Marco and I would be joining the family in Vail for the Thanksgiving ski trip. She went on to explain that my half-brothers, Kyle and Tyler, were hoping to see me. Since Kyle was seventeen and Tyler fourteen, I doubted they much cared whether or not I showed up. They probably would like to see Marco, who played endless video games with them while I was stuck “helping” Ashley in the kitchen, who would talk ad nauseam about her sons.

  Marco knew how much I hated spending time with my family. I was hoping he’d respond that he had made other plans for us for Thanksgiving. That way, I could get out of the trip without having to tell Ashley the truth. I wasn’t a super-confrontational person, and I didn’t think I could bring myself to tell her that it sounded awful and I didn’t want to spend my carefully saved wedding fund money on it. But, so far, I’d heard nothing from the one man who could save me.

  So, when my classroom door opened and my principal, Mrs. Mullens, came in, I was not at my best. We don’t have a great relationship, though I’m not exactly sure w
hy. Mrs. Mullens is in her forties, petite, and always perfectly dressed and coiffed. Therefore, I put a huge amount of effort into always wearing cute outfits and taking time with my hair and makeup, hoping to get on her good side. I dealt with any student behavior problems myself without sending the students to the office, so I didn’t put too much strain on her. I even volunteered to take an extra lunch duty in an attempt to prove I was a team player.

  My plan didn’t seem to be working yet. And as she looked over my sweaty appearance, Mrs. Mullens’ nose wrinkled slightly before she turned and ushered in a man and little girl.

  “This will be Sophia’s teacher, Miss Kent,” Mrs. Mullens explained. “I’ll leave you to get acquainted.” And she bustled away. Since I was beginning to prefer the back of my principal to the front, this was fine with me.

  Hoping I didn’t look too frazzled, I stuck out my hand and gave my friendliest teacher smile to the pair.

  “I’m Tom Jerrett,” the man said as he gave my hand a hearty shake. “This is my daughter, Sophie.”

  “Hi, Sophie, I’m pleased to meet you,” I said, and gave the little girl a handshake.

  She beamed up at me, her teeth a mix of half-grown-in adult teeth and a few stubborn baby teeth. She had her father’s warm, chocolate brown eyes, and a pair of dark-blond braids and messy bangs.

  “Hi, Miss Kent,” she answered shyly after her father nudged her.

  “Why don’t you look around a little while I talk with your dad,” I suggested. “Do you like to read? We have a lot of really good books over in our reading nook.”

  I was particularly proud of the two beanbag chairs I’d splurged on and hoped they would be a hit with my students. They were an especially perfect shade of teal, which worked with the plastic bins I’d bought, which matched my Under the Sea theme.

  Sophie nodded eagerly and hurried over to the book bins, which were tucked into the shelves under the windows. In less than a minute, she’d chosen a book and settled into a beanbag chair to read, and I felt like I’d had my first teaching win.

  I turned my attention to Mr. Jerrett. “I take it you’re new in town.” Mrs. Mullens wouldn’t give a private tour to a returning family. Birch Springs wasn’t the sort of place where people moved in and out all the time. We didn’t get more than a handful of new students in a year. Since it was a smaller town, there was only one class for each grade. Every teacher knew pretty much who they’d be getting every year. In some ways this was nice, and in other ways, it caused some challenges.

  “Yes, we moved here last week. I’m the new foreman at the Triple Star Ranch,” Mr. Jerrett explained.

  “Oh, are you? One of my housemates is Rosemarie Donovan. Her family owns the ranch and her brother, Luke, runs it now.” I leaned back against a desk, suddenly weary but wanting to welcome this new family well.

  Mr. Jerrett nodded in understanding. He was completely bald and had grown a thick, dark brown beard and mustache to make up for it. He couldn’t have been more than five foot seven, but he was broad and well-muscled. His jeans were worn, his t-shirt unfussy, and his boots dusty. Everything about him said that he was a hard-working guy. He also exuded an aura of calm competency. It was impossible not to instantly like the man.

  “Mrs. Mullens wants to get some field trips together to the ranch this year,” he said.

  “I think we’ve done some in the past. The kids always seem to enjoy it.”

  “That’s one of the things I really like about Triple Star. It’s more than just a cattle ranch. They do a lot with the community.”

  I nodded heartily. “Oh, yes, they do. Rosemarie said that they have corporate training events and summer camps. Oh, and another housemate, Emily, volunteers with their special needs program.”

  We moved on to talking about the logistics of the school. I made sure the Jerretts knew about Open House, the dress code, and the start and end times each day. Mr. Jerrett promised to bring Sophie back the following evening, and then collected his daughter, helping her to get the book back in its proper place before taking her hand and heading out.

  I was impressed with both of these newcomers. Sophie seemed pleasant and sweet. Her father had a gentle way with her. Even though I was tired, a wave of excitement flooded over me, and I prayed that it was going to be a fabulous year.

  My phone rang, and I slid it from my pocket as quickly as possible. I sighed a breath of relief when I saw that it was Marco.

  “Hi,” I said immediately.

  “Hey, Jill,” he replied. “I just have a couple of minutes between meetings, but I wanted to call you back right away. I know how you get with Ashley.”

  I frowned, not at all pleased with his phrasing. Did Marco think I was the problem where my stepmother was concerned? Surely I was just being touchy. After all these years, he had to understand how nuts that woman could be.

  But we only had a few minutes. I didn’t want to confront him and waste time. “She wants to know if we’re going to Vail for Thanksgiving. Apparently, the boys want to go skiing.”

  “Sure, it sounds good to me. I can make sure I’m stateside for that week. I’ve got a lot of air miles, so I’ll meet you all there.”

  I made a face and stomped my foot, trying not to say something I’d regret. This was not at all the response I’d hoped for!

  “What? Don’t you want to go?” Marco interpreted my silence.

  I took a steadying breath. “No, I was hoping that we could maybe do something with just the two of us. You could come to Birch Springs for Thanksgiving. I’d love to show you around and let you see my school and everything. Besides, I don’t know if I have it in my budget to fly to Vail and spend five days in a resort.”

  It was my turn to wonder what Marco’s silence meant. Finally, he slowly said, “Well, I think it would be fun. I’d love to go skiing. Won’t your father pay to rent a condo or something? You’d just be chipping in for meals and skiing fees and stuff.”

  That wasn’t the big reason I didn’t want to go. If we went skiing, Marco and I wouldn’t get much time together. We hadn’t seen each other much over the summer, and we didn’t have any definite plans to see each other over the holidays. Plus, if we were around my family, I’d be stressed out the entire time. It was less than ideal.

  “Listen, I have to go,” Marco said suddenly. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  He hung up and I went back to grumpily finishing all the final details around my classroom.

  2

  “Maybe I’m just being selfish,” I said to Mae that night as we fixed supper for the inhabitants of Bumblebee House.

  Mae looked up at me with her big green eyes, shook back her red hair, and curled her lip. I’d gotten the impression a few months before that this particular housemate was not a fan of my fiancé.

  Despite the disagreement I’d had with him, I still felt the need to defend him to her.

  “I mean, Marco works really hard. It’s normal that he would want to have a break and do something fun like skiing.” I waved the butter knife around. The garlic bread I was supposed to be prepping was still mostly naked. “And I would like to see my dad. Just because Ashley makes things difficult doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t see my own father.”

  The petite redhead opened the oven door and slid the pan of lasagna in. I waited until she closed the door and turned around, hoping to gauge her reaction.

  But she just gave me a determined smile, lips tightly closed.

  “Come on, Mae,” I wheedled. “I need some feedback here.”

  She put her hands up as though to ward me off. “My memory verse of the month says, ‘Let no unwholesome talk come out of your mouths.’ And, at this moment, I have nothing but unwholesome things to say about Marco.”

  I busily swiped butter across a thick cut slice of bread. “You’ve never even met him.”

  “That’s one more reason why I don’t need to share my opinion,” she chirped. “I’ve only ever heard your side of the story. Forming an opinion at this point
would be unfair.”

  My shoulders slumped. Mae was being entirely too reasonable. I had specifically been looking forward to telling her about this latest incident, hoping for some righteous indignation on my behalf. If she was going to be mature about it, it would suck all the fun out of telling her.

  Mae put a hand on my arm, and I looked up at her.

  “Jill, it’s reasonable for you to want to do something else. Being around your stepfamily is hard. You and Marco haven’t seen each other in months. If I was in your shoes, I would want to have time on my own with my fiancé. But you and Marco need to compromise on this, and that doesn’t mean you automatically give in to whatever he wants to do.” Her gaze grew stern.

  She knew me too well. I nodded seriously. I would need to give that some thought. But now was not the time. Mae began to sprinkle garlic salt on the bread I’d buttered and soon we moved on to making a big tossed salad and setting the dining room table.

  I’d lived at Bumblebee House since I’d first come to work in Birch Springs, Wyoming. Renting a room here was one of the best choices I’d ever made. For one thing, the house was amazing. Rosa Harrington had inherited it from her grandfather. She both lived in its master suite and ran it as a boardinghouse for single women. It just so happened that Rosa had a fabulous flair for making everything beautiful and interesting. When her grandfather had been alive, she’d helped him to redecorate the place. Now it was full of glowing, refurbished wood floors, bold wallpaper, and quirky knickknacks wherever your eye might rove. I don’t know how she did it, but Rosa had managed to create a warm, welcoming home for anyone who came through the doors.