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“This is an amazing place,” he said, wishing Gina was there with him. She’d told him she did love his family and want to spend time with them over her own, and a pang of sadness that she couldn’t have that hit him right in the breastbone.
“It is,” Todd said. “That it is.”
Blake felt like he belonged right here, on this ranch and this land. He simply wanted Gina at his side forever and always, on this ranch and this land. He pulled behind the barn where the trailers and private area for the band had been set up, and he parked the golf cart thinking,You’ll make a plan, and you’ll figure out how to get her back where you want her…and where she belongs.
* * *
Blake peeredthrough the windshield as he turned into Gina’s parents’ driveway. Her car sat there, and he pulled behind it. An empty lane ran up to the garage, which stood open to reveal the tools, boxes, junk, and the single car parked inside.
His chest tightened, and he tried to take a big breath to get it to expand. He’d texted her forty-five minutes ago to tell her he was on his way. She hadn’t responded.
He told himself it would be fine, that she’d probably be happy to see him. She’d told him that afternoon that she appreciated him, and that seemed like a big thing to him. He wanted to be the anchor in a stormy sea for her and dealing with her parents was difficult for her.
Other than a few other sentences at lunch that day, Gina had been very quiet. Blake had let her eat and think about whatever she wanted, and he’d held her hand and walked her back to the kitchen door. He’d kissed her on the steps, and her job had stolen her away from him again.
He got out of his truck and turned back to get the plastic bag full of food he’d gone to town to get. The walk to the porch almost felt like walking toward a cliff, and Blake pressed his eyes closed as he raised his hand to knock on the door. Gina had told him the doorbell didn’t work, and he mentally kicked himself for not bringing batteries to fix it.
Voices from the other side of the door met his ears, as well as quite a bit of barking, and Blake backed up a step. It took at least a minute for Gina to open the door, and when she did, she didn’t smile and immediately invite him in. “Blake,” she said, her eyes dropping down to the food he held. “What are you doing here?”
A little black and white dog that wouldn’t hurt a fly peered up at him too, and Blake felt very on the spot.
“I texted you,” he said, lifting the food. He’d gone to her favorite Tex-Mex place and gotten the sweet pork burrito she loved. At least she’d used to love it, and Blake’s panic reared and splashed against his heartbeat. “I brought dinner, and I thought I’d just…do whatever you’re doing tonight.”
“I’m cleaning my mom’s fridge.”
Blake suddenly smelled the scent of bleach with a slight tang of lemons. “Okay,” he said. “That’s fine.”
“We ate already.”
“Then I can put this in the newly cleaned fridge,” he said, his frustration starting to grow.
“Who is it, dear?” Sarah Barlow edged in next to Gina, who glanced at her. “Blake Stewart.” Sarah gave him the smile he wished Gina would’ve and beckoned to him. “Come in, come in.”
“Mom,” Gina said, but Blake wanted to come in.
“I’ll make coffee.” Sarah turned and moved away from the door, the little dog going with her. He clearly belonged to her, and he wasn’t that interested in Blake.
“You can’t make coffee, Mom. I’m cleaning the pot,” Gina called after her before turning to look at Blake.
He raised his eyebrows, not sure what would come out of his mouth if he spoke.
“Come in, I guess.”
“Don’t sound so excited about it,” he said, stepping past her. The house smelled like mothballs and old yarn, and Blake took in the living room, where Gina’s parents obviously spent most of their time.
A hutch held all the yarn Blake could smell, as well as dozens of blankets that had been folded and stacked lovingly. A recliner sat next to a coffee table piled high with books, and her father obviously sat there.
“I haven’t been here in forever,” he said.
“It needs some work,” Gina said from behind him.
He turned and looked at her. “Is this the worst thing imaginable? Me coming with dinner and to keep you company? Heck, you can even put me to work.”
She softened, and Blake was glad he’d taken a moment to calm himself before he spoke. “No,” she said. “It’s not the worst thing imaginable.” She nodded toward the wide, arched doorway that led into the kitchen. “That fridge is the worst thing imaginable.”
A girl about ten years old appeared in the doorway. “Aunt Gina,” she said. “Grandma went outside.”
“Through the door or out to the sunroom?”
