not exactly ugly or anything, and he says he craves adult company.”
“Izza-bell isn’t like other adults, dummy,” Angie said. “She pushes me on the swings and plays house wif me.”
“Jeez, Ange, she probably plays with you because she doesn’t have her own kids or a dumb career or anything more important to do.”
Ye-ouch!
Isabel pulled into the long drive at Roger’s farm and left the car idling. She’d heard enough. Roger’s truck and tractor were parked in their usual places next to the cottonwoods, so she knew he must be inside by now.
She wouldn’t go in. Let him pull together his own dinner and tend to his own artlessly honest kids. “If your dad asks where I am,” she said, “tell him I had plans for tonight.”
And she did.
Now.
Oblivious to her changed mood, R.J. said goodbye and disappeared into the house.
Angie remained in her seat. “R.J. doesn’t know ever-thing. Daddy will marry you.”
Isabel turned around in the seat to peer at her tiny buddy, who must have realized she’d been listening to the backseat conversation. “What makes you think so, hon?”
“Cuz you’re nice, an’ Mama has a new boyfriend, anyways.” The little girl sat up straight and grinned, showing off a missing front tooth. “’Sides, I’m not gonna grow up an’ be like Mama. I’m gonna be like you.”
“How so?”
“I don’t want a dumb c’reer. I want to stay home and make stuff and play Barbies wif a little girl, like you do.”
Well, ouch, again.
Isabel had a career. She owned and operated Blumecrafts, the home-based business her mother had started. Her handmade quilts and baskets might not earn her a doctor’s or a banker’s wages, but she made enough to pay her bills and then some.
And she had time left over to entertain a certain redheaded six-year-old and her outspoken older brother.
“Well, thanks, hon.” Isabel got out of her car, then went around to the back to help Angie unbuckle her seat belt. “Just remember you can do anything when you grow up. Okay? Anything at all.”
Angie nodded, her expression serious.
As Isabel watched her young friend get out of the car and skip up the gravel drive to the house, she realized something. The impression she’d left on those kids wasn’t the one she’d intended.
Living frugally or surviving tough times or cherishing loved ones, all the more important lessons Isabel had learned over the years, weren’t the ones they’d picked up. No. They’d concluded that she had time for them because she wasn’t doing anything better.
Isabel drove the two miles between Roger’s farm and the country house she’d inherited from her mother, then plunked the bouquet into a jug of water and changed out of the lilac georgette dress she’d designed and stitched expressly for this wedding.
An evening alone sounded nice. She hadn’t ignored Roger’s unspoken expectations for a long time, but the thought of doing her own thing for change gave her a strange thrill.
Maybe it was time for Isabel to wake up and seek out a little excitement on her own.
She went into her kitchen and sorted through a stack of mail, searching for a heavy envelope—an invitation to another wedding. This one was for her friend Darla’s celebration, in late July.
She had met Darla over the phone five years ago, when the Colorado office manager had called to order some of Blumecrafts’ nature-themed quilts to use at the vacation lodge where she worked.
They’d become closer when Darla’s mother had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer about two years ago. Isabel knew the difficult length of that road. She’d nursed her own mother through the same illness.
When she found the invitation, Isabel opened the outer envelope and read the casual script on the inner one: Isabel and Guest. A first-time bride at forty, Darla hadn’t planned a huge wedding. She and her live-together boyfriend, Sam, were gathering their families and close friends for a simple, outdoor ceremony at the lodge.
Though she hadn’t found the heart to throw away the invitation, Isabel had already declined it. Roger hadn’t been interested in the idea of a weekend away from the farm, especially in July. He’d spoken of wheat he’d need to cut, alfalfa he’d need to bale. He’d mentioned his hogs and the unpredictable Kansas weather.
Isabel had left a copy of the invitation on his rolltop desk, in case they both changed their minds, but she doubted that Roger would. He’d never ask his neighbors to look after the farm just so he could go to the wedding. He took his work seriously, and she respected the fact that he’d kept his farm going during a time when small operations were dying out.
And Isabel, too, felt tied to Augusta. She had Blumecrafts to run, a garden to tend, a house to keep. People needed her here.
But maybe she should go.
Without Roger.
He’d miss her if she was gone a week. Maybe he’d be singing a different tune when she returned—perhaps a wedding song. Even if he didn’t, Isabel’s sisters would be proud of her for breaking away for a while, and Roger’s kids might recognize that she was more than a fun babysitter.
Darla was Isabel’s closest friend outside the family, and they’d met in person only once. Back when Isabel’s older sister, Callie, had lived in Denver, Isabel and her younger sister had visited Colorado for the holidays. Darla had met Isabel in the city and had taken her to lunch at a popular Mexican restaurant that boasted cliff divers. The two women had sat for hours, ordering rounds of chips and sopaipillas and chatting. Isabel would love to see Darla again, even if it meant traveling alone.
Before she could think of a hundred reasons not to, Isabel picked up the kitchen phone. Darla and Sam were gearing up for their busy camp season at the lodge. They might be at the office, even late on a Saturday afternoon. She dialed and listened to the phone ring.
“Burch Lodge.” The man spoke quickly, as if he answered the phone that way a hundred times a day.
“Sam?”
“This is Trevor.”
Ah! That voice had sounded different. Deeper than Sam’s, but less growly. Sam’s buddy directed the summer boys’ camp at the lodge, but normally he was a law professor out in Boulder. Darla talked about Trevor all the time. He sounded like another great guy.
“Hello, Trevor!” Isabel said, excited at the thought of meeting Darla’s friends.
“I’m sorry, should I know you?”
“No. This is Isabel, a friend of Darla’s. Is she there?”
“Sure. Hang on.”
After a moment, Darla came on the line, greeting Isabel with such patent pleasure that she found herself smiling into the phone, certain now that
