Delivery to the Farmhouse (Havenwood Cowboys Romance #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter On e

I was feeling my way through the dark.

Seeing my home full of boxes and then helping my parents, brother, and sister-in-law, Jenn, lug those boxes to the big moving truck outside was like a ticking time bomb in my chest.

The pin had been pulled. The timer was marking down those formidable red numbers. When that thing went off, there would be debris everywhere inside of me.

Dad had been the postmaster for Bridgewater’s little post office for longer than I’d been alive. After thirty-eight years, he’d retired. Mom wasn’t far behind him—she’d also retired as a postal clerk. And now, they were leaving town.

Leaving me.

It was fine. Totally. Completely. Happily. Fulfillingly.

This was natural. They’d earned it after so many years.

Besides, I had my own plans. I was ready to move out, to live on my own, to pave my own way through life.

If only I knew which direction that should be.

I gazed around the empty apartment. It had never been this clean .

Footsteps and voices preluded Dad’s appearance at the open front door. He panted, winded from the climb up the post office’s back steps to where we lived above it. I peered past him at the moving truck’s boxy trailer parked on the street below.

Dad was nearing seventy—that was a lot of steps for someone his age. Just another reason he and Mom were relocating to live in the new house they’d had built in Saint Anthony.

“All right, Natalie. I think that’s it,” Dad said, resting against the wall.

My brother, Isaac, strode in behind him and handed him a bottle of water. Dad took it with a grateful nod and swigged it back.

“That’s it,” Mom said on a breath, coming out of their bedroom with a box in hand. Her hair—dyed brown—was pulled away from her face.

They didn’t look that old to me, but then again, I saw them every day. Their faces, hair, and the tiredness behind their expressions were all things I’d gotten used to. This was a new light, though.

They were “getting up there,” as Isaac had said earlier today when he’d arrived with the empty U-Haul.

“You could come with us, you know.” Dad shuffled toward me. He peered through his thin-framed glasses with kind eyes. “It’s not too late.”

“That’s right,” Mom perked up. “We just moved you over to that rental. You’re still all packed. We could haul your things out to the U-Truck?—”

“It’s U-Haul, Mom,” Isaac said.

“That’s what I said, haul them out to the truck. Just pack you right on up with us.”

“I already paid my lease with Dorothy. I need to move out on my own sometime,” I said.

Along with moving my parents’ things, Dad, Isaac, Jenn, and I had already lugged my belongings and the few random pieces of furniture I owned into my new apartment in Dorothy Erikson’s basement.

Besides, I wasn’t all that eager to live in Saint Anthony. Winters here in Bridgewater were moderate, for the most part. Sure, we got snow, but that sometimes melted by February—or like a rare instance a few years ago, didn’t come at all.

Winters up near Saint Anthony? They could start before Halloween and last through May. I liked snow—but I didn’t like it that much.

While I loved my parents, their house was going to be a lot smaller than the three-bedroom apartment I’d grown up in. One bedroom, to be exact. The two of them had one room .

Mom insisted it would be cozier—but I knew it was a matter of cost. Building supplies were pricey.

Which was totally fine. Who needed a huge house anyway?

The fact was, I was not about to move all the way into Saint Anthony’s snowy climate and sleep on my parent’s couch for the rest of my life.

I didn’t care how close to Island Park and West Yellowstone the town was.

That was one of the reasons Dad wanted to go there. He’d said he couldn’t build in Island Park.

“Too expensive,” he’d said.

“But Saint Anthony’s just a hop, skip, and a jump away. We’ll rent cabins anytime we like,” Mom had said.

“And fish on Henry’s Lake,” Dad had added. “Don’t forget Henry’s.”

Mom had nodded. “How can anyone forget Henry’s?”

I shook away the memory with a sad smile and found my parents eyeing me with… What was it? Worry?

“Nat will be fine,” Isaac told them.

I wanted to hug my brother for saying this. For being on my side. I tucked my hands into my pockets and stepped forward.

“I’m looking forward to venturing off on my own,” I added.

And I was. It was all new for me—paying rent and all that adulting. A lot of other people had a ten-year leap on me on that. I couldn’t complain that I’d lived rent-free thus far in my life.

It had all worked out great. The Eriksons’ renter had recently moved out, leaving me a vacancy for their one-bedroom basement unit. It had a kitchen, bathroom, and a cute little sitting area. It was perfect for just little old me.

“You know, I think they’re still taking applications for carriers now that the new postmaster is moving in,” Dad added, bending for one of the final boxes.

Isaac treaded toward him and took the box before Dad could reach it.

“These go in Nat’s car,” Dad said.

Isaac nodded and carried the box out into the May afternoon.

Dad turned back to me. “It could be yours, if you want it.”

I didn’t. I didn’t want it.

I stared out the window as Bex Holden and her soon-to-be sister-in-law, Allie Vreeland, walked down the sidewalk across the street. Bex pushed a stroller while several small children circled the wheels.

A little pang of longing pricked my chest. Bex had three beautiful kids, and her rounded stomach showed a fourth baby on the way. She and Dawson Holden had gotten married almost a year ago now.

Bex had thought she was stuck. Allie had, too, before she’d gotten officially engaged to Bex’s brother-in-law, Bryce. Now, though?

Reaching the end of the street, Bex and Allie joined the other two women waiting there, laughing and smiling. Allie’s smile struck me the most. That happy expression was so different from how dejected she’d looked when we’d talked on Christmas Eve.

It seemed like everyone was moving on with their lives.

This was my way to do the same. If I moved up to southeastern Idaho to live on my brother’s property—with my parents —I’d never get a life.

“Any word from Jensen?” Dad asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“You know he hasn’t contacted me since he left.” Not that I wanted him to.

“Ah, well. It’s a shame. Always liked him.”

That much was obvious. Dad asked about him more often than I liked. Jensen had ditched me just before Christmas, throwing a wrench in my plans when he broke up with me instead of proposing like I’d thought he was going to.

The thought still hurt as though the rejection had happened yesterday instead of five months ago. Maybe that was one good thing about my parents leaving. At least this way, Dad could stop asking me about the son-in-law he’d almost had.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Isaac appeared, not looking winded in the slightest.

“Looks like we’re loaded up,” he said. “We’d better hit the road. Jenn needs to get back before the babysitter has to leave.”

My sister-in-law waved from her place at the bottom of the stairs. The two of them had left their kids with a sitter while they drove up to help our parents move.

Mom, Dad, and I all exchanged glances. The moment stretched between us. It was like an overstuffed piece of furniture bursting at the seams.

This was it. They were leaving.

“You know where to find us,” Mom said, dusting her hands and giving me a little smile.

“We’re only a few hours away,” Dad added.

This separation was going to be hard for him, too. I was Daddy’s girl. I’d never been apart from them for longer than my weeklong trip to Disneyland when I’d toured with my high school choir.

“I’ll be okay,” I told them. “I promise. ”

After doing a final sweep, Dad bustled out with a box in his hand. “Can’t forget this one! I’ll load it into your car, sugarbean.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, feeling relieved that he caught it before the new postmaster and his wife moved in. I didn’t want to leave anything behind.

We said our goodbyes. Dad hugged me extra tight, and then I stood on the street and watched as they climbed into the moving truck and drove away.

It felt as though my ribs were detached from my spine, like every breath I took rattled against them. I can handle this, I told myself.

I’d never been on my own before. But I was now.

I lifted my eyes to the sky, wondering if this was what God had in mind. I’d been praying to know the right path I should take in my life.

I’d thought that path was wherever Jensen was. The truth was, I’d placed all my hopes on Jensen, and he’d let me down.

Did everyone?

My parents hadn’t, necessarily, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was adrift.

Standing on the street just outside the chain-linked fence that blocked the way to the stairs leading up to the apartment I’d grown up in, I stared at my car. Everything I had left in this world had been packed in.

I almost laughed because it resembled just how clogged and crammed my chest felt. In any case, I drove my very packed car to Dorothy Erikson’s basement.

It wasn’t far. I passed The Elkhorn and The Mercantile, turning onto Sycamore Street. Several kids played in the yard next to the Erikson’s house, kicking a ball. I waved at them and then pulled into the driveway to the back of the house where the basement entrance was.

I’d assured my parents I was okay with this, but the truth was, I didn’t have a direction. I didn’t have a job. I felt more alone than I had in a very long time.

“Guess I’d better head inside,” I said, though in truth, I sat in my car, feeling listless.

Finally resolving on it, I stepped out. The spring winds we’d been battling for weeks now had ceased, allowing the air to still. To stay warm. It’d been raining the past few days, too, so I basked in the afternoon’s hazy glow.

I stared at the stuff in my back seat, inhaling more of those rattling breaths. Time to bring this load of things in. At least all of this unpacking would give me something to do.

Opening the back door of my car, I reached for the box stacked on top of a pile of blankets only to pause.

“What’s this?”

The box didn’t have the typical Sharpie-marked name I’d labeled all of my stuff with. No, this had a label that was all too familiar. It featured an Amazon swoosh on the side, and was addressed?—

Not to me, but to Belle Holden.

Uh-oh. Not good.

“Where did this come from?” I asked, which was a stupid question because, hello, post office?

I knew exactly where it had come from.

A better question to ask would have been why Dad mistook it for my box. Or why it’d been in the apartment in the first place.

He’d worked in the postal industry for years. It wasn’t like him to make such a drastic mistake.

What was I going to do?

Legally, I knew I should return this box to the post office itself, but this was Bridgewater, Idaho. I knew exactly where Belle lived. As a previous employee, I’d delivered packages and letters to her house more times than I could count.

Why not just take this out to her myself? It’d save me the trouble of having to talk to the new postmaster, or worse, catch him and his wife as they were moving in.

There was only so much change in one day a girl could handle.

During my days as our mail carrier, I passed from house to house, stopping and slipping designated mail into the coinciding mailboxes. Some were in front of houses, some were at their doors. Others were out on the street.

I got chased by the occasional dog, but I’d learned to keep dog treats in my pocket to waylay them—or at least their teeth.

Fortunately, Bridgewater was small, with only a handful of streets. Once I made it through town, I’d delivered mail to the outlying homes and ranches. That had been my favorite because for the most part, I could stay in my car and slide mail into mailboxes from my window rather than trekking it out.

Belle’s farmhouse was up a long unpaved road, and thanks to the recent rain, it was muddier than usual. With new leaves and blossoms budding on the trees, the lane was picturesque. A large mud hole took up more than half of the road where it dipped down just before climbing up toward the house.

This was a single-lane road, lined by trees on one side and Belle’s property above on the other, but there was enough of a shoulder. Maybe if I got at least two wheels on that grass, I could make it through.

I tried it.

I angled my car up onto the bank and gunned the gas. My Honda made a little headway, but too soon, the mud caught hold, sucking my tires and pulling me in like quicksand.

“No,” I muttered, slamming the gas and working the steering wheel.

My car managed to worm its way free, and in relief, I drove the rest of the way over the plateau when Belle’s farmhouse came into view.

I’d always loved her house. It was old, classically white with a honeycomb-shaped wraparound porch at the front, and offset by a large red barn to the right. Several other paddocks spread their way around the opposite end of the drive. Belle’s husband Luke—decked out in jeans, a t-shirt, and a cowboy hat—was leading what looked like a llama around the gravel drive.

He lifted a hand to wave to me, and I waved back as I circled around the gravel and the bed of spring lilies, daffodils, and tulips in the center to stop before the farmhouse’s front door.

I got out of the car, hearing roosters crow and goats bleating. Chickens wandered the yard, pecking at something in the grass and fluffing their feathers. After retrieving the package from the backseat, I climbed the steps to Belle’s house.

Before I could set the package down, Belle appeared at the door, eyes bright and smile shining.

“You’re here! I’ve been watching all day for this to arrive.”

“I’m here,” I said, reaching for the scanner from my back pocket only to realize that was an old habit. Dying hard, and all that.

I didn’t have it, and she didn’t need to sign for this one.

She didn’t wait another minute before tearing into the box and ripping it open to remove a set of pajamas. A set of… baby pajamas.

They were adorable, tiny and cream-colored with stripes. Were babies really that small?

This must’ve been a gift for Bex, except Belle said, “We don’t know what the gender is yet, but I couldn’t help myself. These are a nice neutral color, so whether it’s a boy or a girl, they can wear it no matter what!”

“You’re having a baby?” My heart went all squishy. A festering, green color of squishy that reminded me of the spoiled asparagus I threw out of the fridge yesterday.

First, Bex? Now, Belle was pregnant, too? I knew it was selfish and unfair to her, so I pushed the feelings aside.

“Yes!” Belle said. “We only just found out. Baby Holden is due in November.” She made a squealing noise.

“Congratulations. ”

“Thanks. I’ve been sicker than a dog, but it’s so worth it. I can’t wait to see miniature Luke. Our baby is going to be beautiful.”

“I’m happy for you,” I said, smiling and hoping she believed my words.

I was certainly trying hard to believe them.

I wanted this. I so wanted this. The adoring husband. The houseful of children. The moving on with an actual life.

Belle beamed at me. “Thanks! Speaking of babies, I was going to send this to you, but since you’re here—wait just one sec.”

She dashed inside, leaving me on the porch for only moments before returning and handing me a small card.

“It’s for Bex. She’s due at the end of July, so since it’s nearly June, we’re throwing her a baby shower. Please say you’ll come!”

I kept my smile up and took the card. It was made of textured paper and had a large pacifier on the front with Rebecca Holden in large letters below it.

“This is great. I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for the invite.”

“Of course!”

Bidding her goodbye, I strode down the porch and back to my car.

I really was happy for her, but for some reason, after Mom and Dad’s departure, after seeing Bex and Allie, and now Belle having a baby, it was too much.

Life was moving on for everyone but me. The worst part was, not that long ago, I’d thought mine was, too.

I’d been knee-deep in Hope Land, banking all of my dreams and future life plans on Jensen Cummings, only to have him lead me right into a sinkhole that I was still trying to swim my way out of.

Before I reached my car, Luke appeared from behind the paddock—no llama this time. Belle called to him, waving the tiny pjs like they were wet, and she was wringing the water out.

“It came! ”

Having secured the llamas’ gate, Luke turned and jogged to join her on the porch, dashing as quickly as if she’d just announced she’d baked chocolate chip cookies or something.

And on that note…

I couldn’t get out of there soon enough. One gushy future parent was enough. I didn’t need to hang around and watch them start kissing or something.

Luke had been kind back when I’d dated his brother Bryce. I’d always liked the Holden brothers, which made the betrayal that much more of a letdown. Then when I’d met Jensen, I’d thought I was moving on; I was happier with him than I had been in a long time.

The farther away I got from the Holdens—or any man—the better.

Was there anywhere in the U.S. where men didn’t exist? I supposed the male species of homo sapiens served their purposes. They held jobs that contributed to society; men like my dad were sweet and good at fixing things; Dad offered me great advice, and I loved him; and they were kind of necessary for that whole having-a-baby thing.

But was any man really that necessary?

That was a harsh thought, and I knew it. Which is why I took it back the instant it began spiraling in my brain.

But seriously. I’d never been physically attacked by a man before—but that whole man vs. bear thing circulating the internet lately? The one where if a woman had to choose between coming across a man in the woods or a bear?

I could see why so many women said they’d take the bear.

Once I was back in my car, I bumbled my way across the rain-softened gravel drive and down the muddy albeit beautiful lane. The mud hole that had nearly sucked me in on my way here gaped before me—all brown and squelchy and deep. Several tread marks cut through it, making ruts.

Were those mine ?

Uncertainty strapped itself into the passenger seat beside me. There wasn’t really another way around. This road was my only way back to Bridgewater proper.

I’d made it through once before. I could do it again.

Gripping the steering wheel, I tapped the gas and took it at a steady speed. I tried tipping up on the side of the bank—only to slide right down into it. Farther this time.

“No!” I screeched.

The large mud hole I’d nearly been eaten by before succeeded. My wheels stuck.

“No,” I said again, choking the steering wheel and jamming my foot into the gas pedal. “Not now. Please not now.”

But the more I tried, the more my wheels spun. I wasn’t going anywhere.

Despair gripped me. Ordinarily, I’d call my dad. He’d get John Scott from up the field to bring his tractor and pull me out. But Dad was gone, halfway to Saint Anthony right now.

My lip trembled. I didn’t want to have to go back to Belle’s and ask for help. That would require trekking through mud and enduring more gushing about babies and happiness.

Heat seething through my chest, I rested my forehead against the wheel.

Please, God. Help me out of this mess.

Except, I wasn’t sure if I was talking about the mud or my meaningless life.

I felt stuck in my life. Go figure I’d get stuck in the mud to boot.

I pounded a fist against my steering wheel, fighting the emotion threatening up my throat, and then paused. Just my luck, right at that moment, a large red pickup was making its way down the single-lane road.

Toward me.

Tears blinded my eyes. I squeezed them shut and blinked away the emotion so I could see who it was .

Please not Bryce. Anyone but Bryce.

The pickup slowed and pulled to a stop. Its driver opened the door and hopped out.

Hm. Not Bryce. But Colton would be just as bad. Because the last time I’d spoken to Colton, I’d slipped on the ice on the way back to my car just after Belle and Luke’s wedding.

Why did he always catch me at my most embarrassing times?

I wasn’t sure there was any way out of this situation, but I had to try. I slammed my foot into the gas once more. If I could get out of this, there would be no need to talk to him.

Too bad in doing so, mud sprayed in all directions, including all over the handsome cowboy.