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

  Bumblebee House was a big, old Victorian house with three floors and a full front porch that just called you to come and sit awhile. My bedroom was up on the second floor, next to Rosemarie’s and across the hall from Rosa’s master suite. Rosemarie and I shared a bathroom, but we didn’t mind a bit. My bedroom had beautiful wallpaper, an antique cherry bedroom set, and a gorgeous view of the backyard and flower garden. I spent a lot of time on my little window seat, daydreaming.

  Of course, it also helped that the other women in the house were wonderful, too. Rosa insisted that we all eat supper together every night, except Sunday. We all pitched in with cooking and cleaning up, too. If things came up, it was no big deal, but we all looked forward to sitting down together with our little family so much that we made our best efforts not to miss the meals.

  Rosemarie came into the kitchen just as the timer dinged for the lasagna. She started carrying cups and plates into the dining room without even being asked. Though we’d only known each other since last March, the two of us had become the best of friends. Rosemarie was tall, thin, and quiet, with long chestnut brown hair and shy brown eyes. She’d trained as a dancer for years and moved gracefully without even thinking about it.

  “How was work?” I asked her when she came back from delivering plates.

  She shrugged. “Same as always.”

  Mae and I exchanged a smile. Rosemarie’s family owned the Triple Star Ranch —where Tom Jerrett was now foreman, come to think of it. Her older brother currently ran the ranch, and Rosemarie did just about everything under the sun out there. Her day might consist of leading a trail ride, working at the reception desk, shoveling out a stable, or fixing fences. Since she’d grown up on the ranch, it was old hat to her. However, Mae worked a desk job, and I was a teacher. Our days were far more routine than Rosemarie’s, yet she always took them with aplomb.

  The front door opened, and we heard the sounds of Emily and her fiancé, Nate, entering. The pair was working to finish the work on the cabin they planned to rent from Rosa after their wedding, which was now only a few weeks away. The two of them could be models for a wedding magazine. They have this amazing in-love glow that I am sorry to say Marco and I have never had.

  Nate flashed us a bright smile as he headed toward the half-bathroom to wash his hands. Emily sauntered in looking cool and happy, as she always did these days. She was truly the most uncomplicated person I’d ever met. The girl owned three pairs of shoes, for crying out loud! But Emily had an openness about her that welcomed new friends and seemed to just be waiting for the next adventure to come her way.

  She took the salad bowl and tongs without missing a beat and headed toward the dining room. She was one of those really lovely, part-Asian, part-Irish girls. Between her exotic eyes and adorable sprinkling of freckles which you could only see if the light was just right, none of us was shocked when Nate Weisert, the most handsome guy around, had fallen for her. Okay, and she was kind and smart, too. Not that I ever compared myself to her. Ahem.

  Rosa clicked into the room with her red vintage Mary Janes and a black, 50s-inspired polka-dot dress. She was wearing her “funky librarian” glasses, as she called them. “Smells amazing, girls. Are we ready?”

  Everything about Rosa was welcoming. She was curvy and plump, which made me feel less self-conscious about my thighs. She had a few silver strands in her dark hair, which she didn’t bother to cover. She even had a few laugh lines settling in. Every outfit she put together was full of colorful vintage flair. She was our unofficial house mother and the town librarian.

  I grabbed two potholders and lifted the lasagna pan. Mae reached for the serving spoon, and we trooped into the dining room. Once we were settled in our usual spots, we joined hands and blessed the food. Soon, plates were being passed and glasses were filled.

  “Tonight’s the night,” Mae reminded us. “The finale!”

  “I’d forgotten,” I gasped. “How could I forget?”

  I caught Emily and Rosemarie sharing a smile. Mae and I were devoted fans of the worst reality show known to man, “Are You the One?” It was one of those horrible, fake shows where the guy gets matched with a bunch of beautiful women and has to find “true love.” I was mildly embarrassed to admit I watched it, but I was completely and totally hooked.

  “Garrett is an idiot if he doesn’t choose Tara.” I dove right in with gusto. “She’s so much funnier than Hannah.”

  Mae scowled playfully at me. “Maybe Garrett doesn’t want a funny bride. Hannah is classy.”

  “It wasn’t classy when she kissed Garrett on their first date!” I shot back.

  Emily nodded in agreement with that point. She and I were Team Tara, while Rosemarie and Mae both backed Hannah. Rosa, wisely, avoided the topic all together.

  “At least she didn’t get into that yelling match with Kaci,” Mae pointed out.

  We had a good time reminiscing over the show’s entire horrible season. It had been long, with lots of twists and turns. All the Bumblebee girls, except Rosa, who had probably read Tolstoy or something in the other room, had enjoyed watching and criticizing each and every episode.

  To celebrate the finale, we’d bought a special tub of fudge brownie ice cream which we dished out before the show began. Emily waved goodnight to Nate, who seemed all too eager to escape before the cheesy music signaled the opening credits.

  As I savored my ice cream and watched the finale unfold, I found myself seeing not the glamorous sets or costumes, but the real people on the show. How much of this was pretend? Did Garrett actually like either Tara or Hannah? And how did they feel about him? “Are You the One?” often ended with a proposal, though no couple had actually gotten married in real life.

  I kept watching Emily out of the corner of my eye. She and Nate had only known each other a couple of months before they got engaged. There was no question that they were in love and well matched. Even now, she was glowing. I found myself swallowing a lump in my throat along with the decadent ice cream. I was pretty sure I’d never felt that way about Marco. Did it mean that our marriage was doomed to fail?

  In the end, Garrett proposed to Hannah. Tara left the set in tears, though a commercial for the following season revealed that she’d be the next person trying to find love, so we all wagered that she was totally faking it. I groaned along with Emily, and we laughed as Mae danced around the living room victoriously and awkwardly. Rosemarie refused to join her, giggling helplessly in a ball on the couch.

  I offered to put the bowls in the dishwasher and was all too glad to escape to the kitchen, where Rosa was looking through a cookbook.

  “How’d it go?” she asked, a smile just waiting to break onto her full lips.

  “Terrible. Hannah won.” I tried to act nonchalant.

  As I rinsed the bowls and put them in the dishwasher without further comment, I allowed myself to think that was the end of the conversation. But once the other girls called their goodnights and climbed the stairs to their rooms, I found myself alone with Rosa, who wore a knowing look.

  “Spill,” she said and patted the stool at the breakfast bar next to her.

  I slouched onto the stool. Rosa was a very good listener. I’d shared a lot with her about Marco over the past few months. My fingers toyed with an abandoned paper clip as I said, “I’ve been thinking about whether or not a marriage can actually last. My parents split up when I was young. I doubt the two on that show tonight will actually get married. I mean, how do you know who to marry? How do you know it will last?”

  The older woman nodded along with me. When I ran out of words, she said, “I think there’s a lot of belief that love will just happen. That it will grow between a couple and flourish if all the conditions are just right. Like, if you meet ‘the one,’ you’ll be perfectly happy forever.”

  I sighed and flicked the paper clip against my finger. “Yeah. That’s a lot of pressure on a relationship.”

  “No kidding,” Rosa agreed. “I think that we’re not victim
s of random romance. I think we need to be intentional. It’s easy to fall in love with someone who will make a really bad spouse. That doesn’t mean you should marry that person. And, if you do marry someone who isn’t the Prince Charming you were hoping for, that doesn’t mean your marriage is doomed to failure. You can work together and build a great life.”

  I thought about that as I kicked my foot lightly against the stool’s leg. Was Rosa saying I shouldn’t marry Marco? Or did she think we might make it? Was he my Prince Charming, or wasn’t he?

  She put her hand on my arm and I drew out of the confused vortex of my thoughts.

  “Jill, go to God with this. Pray about your fears and your hopes. If Marco isn’t the man God has planned for you, you’ll know.” Rosa seemed to think that finished the conversation. She got up, gave me a hug, and headed upstairs.

  “Yeah, but if I don’t marry Marco, will anyone else ever want me?” I whispered to the empty kitchen. The silence that greeted my question was too much like a “no,” and I scurried upstairs to get away from it.

  3

  Since it was my first Open House as a teacher, I was a big ball of excitement, nervousness, hope, and worry. I tried on outfit after outfit before deciding on a perky white dress with black polka dots. It felt cute enough for a second-grade teacher but fancy enough that parents would know I took my job seriously.

  Unfortunately, we spent the entire day stuck in professional development. The older woman who was teaching us about how to make our lessons more interactive had not taken her lessons to heart. She lectured us at length, taking time to give far too many details about her travels for this job, and then insisting that she never got through the content and so had to rush the part that was of actual interest to us.

  Julie Macomber, the kindergarten teacher, sat at my table and kept looking at her watch grumpily. “I could be working in my room right now,” she’d mutter under her breath from time to time.

  On my other side, Lisa Weeks, the first-grade teacher, kept surreptitiously playing a game on her phone under the table. When she caught me watching, she gave me a sly smile and a wink. I had to cover my mouth to keep from giggling. I was too new to do anything less than try to listen to the presenter and glean something helpful that I could apply to my teaching. Apparently, the more experienced teachers had no such compunction.

  At lunch, I had gone to my classroom and looked it over with a critical eye. Just about everything was in place. I was as prepared as I could be, wasn’t I?

  That night I was on supper duty, but Rosemarie had taken the reins, allowing me to cut fruit for a salad and little else. Since I kept forgetting what I was doing anyway, this was probably a good plan. I ate the chicken casserole and biscuits quickly and hurried to my car with my housemates’ cries of, “Good luck!” following me out the door.

  I arrived at school before I was ready. The other teachers were dragging themselves inside with varying degrees of enthusiasm. I was the only new member of the faculty. The second newest person was our PE teacher, who had joined the staff eight years previously. Open House was old hat to them, but I had an official case of the jitters.

  At ten minutes to six, I spotted cars starting to pull up in the parking lot. A little thrill of excitement shot through me, and I giggled to myself. My dream of having my own classroom was finally coming true! All those years of subbing were coming to an end. This was the beginning of my career as a teacher.

  It was such a big moment that I pulled my phone out of my pocket and took a selfie, excited grin firmly in place. Then I sent it to Marco with a text that read, “Open House starting soon! Yay!”

  I didn’t really expect to get a response right away, but I still was a little disappointed when my phone remained silent.

  Less than a minute later, though, all thoughts of Marco were pushed to the farthest reaches of my mind. The first family came to my door. I popped a friendly smile on my face and hurried over to shake hands and welcome my very first student.

  Families arrived sporadically over the next hour. Sometimes there were six kids in my room, along with their parents and siblings, sometimes there was just one. A few of the parents had concerns to share with me, others exclaimed over my arrangement of the room, and others slunk in quietly and left without staying long.

  At seven o’clock, with a half-hour remaining, Sophie and Tom Jerrett came through the door. I was engaged with a mother who was detailing her son’s special seating requirements when they arrived. Sophie twinkled up at me before marching to her desk and coloring her fish. Mr. Jerrett walked quietly around the room, reading the signs and smiling over the cute things I’d made.

  Though the mother had my attention, my eyes followed Mr. Jerrett. He didn’t miss a single thing that I’d put up on the walls. No one else had noticed many of them, but he saw each of them. I was touched that he was so interested in his daughter’s classroom.

  Finally, the overbearing mother turned and exclaimed loudly over her son’s brilliant fish coloring abilities.

  “Okay, Jayden,” she announced, more for the benefit of the other adults in the room than for her son’s, “it’s time to go to McDonald’s for that Happy Meal I promised you.” She gave me an exaggerated wink that I met with a weak smile. When she finally ushered her son out of the room, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Mr. Jerrett wandered over. “You’ve been working hard in here.”

  “It’s my first full year teaching. I want everything to be perfect,” I admitted quietly.

  “I think you’re off to a great start,” he said, voice and eyes warm. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about the pickup schedule for students. My plan is to pick Sophie up each day, but it’s possible that we’ll have some unavoidable delays at the ranch. I know that there will be an after-school program eventually. What’s the protocol if I have to be late?”

  “Does your wife work in town?” I asked without thinking.

  His eyes became unreadable. “Sophie’s mom isn’t in the picture.”

  My heart filled with compassion for the Jerretts. I leaned close and whispered, “My mom left when I was five. I understand how hard that makes life.”

  Mr. Jerrett gave me a grateful half-smile. “Yeah, it’s harder than I would have imagined.”

  “How long has she been gone?” Without noticing, I’d slid a little closer, so that our arms almost touched. The noise in the room was enough so that we could speak of sensitive things without being overheard.

  “Almost a year,” Mr. Jerrett sighed. “It’s part of why we moved here. I think that both Sophie and I needed a fresh start.”

  I nodded slowly, contemplating his earlier question. “I’m usually at school until four or four-thirty working on lesson plans and grading. If you can’t get here, I could definitely keep Sophie with me.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Miss Kent, but I don’t want to give you more work to do.”

  Shooting Sophie a glance, I said firmly, “You said that you wouldn’t need her to stay late very often. Sophie seems like she’ll be pretty quiet. I’d be happy to help you out any time I can, Mr. Jerrett.”

  “Please, call me Tom,” he said automatically. Then he rubbed his thick, dark brown beard thoughtfully. “It would be a relief to know Sophie’s okay if I can’t be here right away. What if I text you if I have to be late? Would you mind giving me your number? I promise not to abuse it!” He held up his hands as though to prove his sincerity.

  “Of course,” I said and waited while he pulled out his phone and typed in my phone number. I studiously ignored the voice of the older teacher who’d once advised me never to give my phone number to parents. Maybe I’d come to regret it, but I had a good feeling about Tom and Sophie.

  When I saw him hesitate over what to type for my first name, I chirped, “Jillian,” and then got flustered for no particular reason. I felt my cheeks heat as I amended, “Everyone calls me Jill, but it’s short for Jillian. Not that I expect you to call me that. Just Jill is fine.”
I came to a halt and felt foolish.

  But Tom’s answering smile was calm and kind. He entered my name, and then sent me a text. It was my turn to pull my phone from my pocket and add his name to my contacts list.

  Sophie bounded over to us, dark pigtails swinging. “I finished my fish, Miss Kent,” she said shyly.

  I was all too glad to turn my attention to the paper she was holding up. “Are these polka dots on your fish?” I asked.

  She nodded, giving me an adorable grin. “Like your dress.”

  “I love it,” I praised her. “Be sure to leave it on your desk so I can put it up on the bulletin board before school starts on Monday.”

  “That way I’ll know I’m in the right room,” Sophie said seriously.

  Tom and I exchanged a smile.

  A new family arrived, and Tom took Sophie around the room, helping her find where she’d hang her backpack and where the clearly labeled lunch bin was. Sophie carefully examined the pencil sharpener, the mailboxes, and the schedule that I’d posted.

  “We go to the library on Mondays,” she squealed. “That’s the best day for the library, because then you have books for the whole week.”

  The smile I gave to the newcomers was all the wider thanks to her cute response. I was soon tied up in a conversation with them and was only able to offer a wave to the Jerretts as they headed out the door.

  By the time I shut off the lights and pulled the door closed behind me, I was tired but satisfied. Open House had been a success. As I drove home, I decided that this was clearly foreshadowing for how wonderful my first year of teaching would be. I firmly refused to consider how silly that belief might be. Tonight, I wanted to bask in the glory of my first major teaching event.

  Rosemarie came into my bedroom as I was kicking off my shoes. “How was it?” she asked and curled up in her usual spot on the window seat.

  I flopped into the wingback chair next to it, pulled a worn quilt onto my lap, and gave my friend a tired grin. “It was really good.” I told her all the details of the students, their families, and all my observations. “The cutest one, though, is Sophie Jerrett.”