Page 47 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

TAYLOR

I force a smile as I stand behind the refreshment table at the town Valentine’s Day dance.

The event is a fundraiser coordinated by Iris in her role at the Byrne Family Foundation, raising money for local youth literacy programs. Despite my strong desire to curl up on my sofa, Pop-Tart in each hand, I’m watching couples spin around the parquet floor set up in the center of Skylark’s community barn.

Molly is volunteering with me, and if nothing else, I’m happy to be here for her.

She’s had an even worse week than me. Her twins were off school for several days with strep throat, and her mother-in-law—who begrudgingly helps with childcare when Molly is desperate—is away on a cruise with her Bunco group.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you right now,” my friend says as she fusses with the handmade decorations and dried flower bouquets.

“I can’t believe you grew all these flowers on the farm. They’re gorgeous, Mol.”

She takes a deep breath and wipes the back of her hand across her forehead. “I haven’t slept in four nights, so maybe it’s a fever dream, but I’m pretty sure I just got booked to do the flowers for a wedding next month.”

“That’s amazing,” I tell her as pride swells in my chest, a nice change from the hollow ache lodged there since last weekend. “You don’t even need a bucket list challenge because you’re already kicking so much ass.”

She laughs and tosses her long red braid over one shoulder.

“I have plenty of challenges,” she assures me.

“You can tell me which is worse. The fact that my kids are seven, and I’m still wearing nursing bras, or that I can’t afford to move out of my mother-in-law’s house.

She finds a way to remind me that her son’s death is my fault at least once a week. ”

I gasp and instinctively reach for her. “What are you talking about?”

“Ooops.” She shakes her head and moves away, her smile forced. “Forget I said that. Too heavy. We’re at a Valentine’s dance. This evening is all about love. Do you have anyone special you’re hoping to be your Valentine?”

“Molly.”

She groans. “Another screw-up. I’m sorry, Taylor. Blame it on my lack of sleep. Or you can smack me if you want. Either way works.”

Before I can answer, an older couple approaches, matching red scarves, hands clasped together like they were always meant to be. I try not to feel jealous . The man hands a glass of punch to his wife, then takes a cookie for each of them.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I say.

They beam back at us.

“You two are the prettiest things behind a punch bowl,” the woman says.

“Thanks for making the event so festive,” the man adds, giving Molly a small wink before they head to a nearby table.

Molly continues to smile but doesn’t move, and I can feel the pressure building like she’s barely holding herself together .

I grab my friend’s wrist when she starts to turn away. “You were not responsible for your husband’s death.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But you did.”

She exhales sharply. “His death was...”

“An accident.”

I know the story of her late husband’s tragic death.

We all do. Teddy McAllister was an expert rafting guide.

He’d run that stretch of river a hundred times.

But that spring, after a major runoff, the water was too high—too fast. Conditions weren’t safe.

He wasn’t wearing a life jacket. The raft capsized, and he hit his head on a rock.

It took the search and rescue team three days to recover his body.

“Molly.” I squeeze her wrist but release her when she tugs out of my grasp.

She reaches for a vase of dried flowers on the table, adjusting the blooms, but her fingers tremble and several of the stems snap in two.

“Seriously, it’s the sleep deprivation.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“Or having the twins sick while I was prepping for tonight.” Her hands clench into tight fists.

“Or maybe it’s because dearest mother-in-law has convinced herself—and me—that Teddy would have left Colorado for some far-flung locale if it wasn’t for me and the kids holding him back.

She’s so sure that having a family stifled his adventurous spirit and led him to take unnecessary risks. ”

I hate seeing Molly like this. She’s the glass-half-full member of our book club. The first to offer a hug and remember your favorite snack. She’s the kind of friend you don’t expect to become your ride-or-die until one day she is.

After losing Teddy two years ago, she moved in with her mother-in-law because she didn’t have anyone else. She’s been clawing her way forward ever since. Making her dream of a flower farm a success while trying to prove she can take care of her kids without relying on anyone else.

I step closer, lowering my voice. “You’re doing an amazing job, Molly. Seriously. You created this entire event. You’ve kept your head above water when a lesser woman would have drowned. And the twins? They’re thriving because they have you.”

Her chin trembles, and she blinks fast. Then, finally, she nods and pulls me into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around me with a strength I wasn’t expecting.

“I don’t want to talk about my late husband tonight,” she says firmly as she steps back and straightens her shoulders. “But I do want to know whether you’ve seen Eric.”

I shake my head, wiping a hand under my eye as discreetly as possible. My heart is still quivering after everything she just shared. “Only in passing. He’s spending most of his time fixing up the house he bought for his sister. Also avoiding me, not that I blame him.”

We pause in our conversation to hand out a few more glasses of punch, and I imagine we’re both grateful for the buzz of the crowd and the band playing another ballad.

“You need to talk to him, Taylor. Explain what happened in that prop room. That Bryan kissed you but you told him no.”

I think about the shocked look in Eric’s eyes when our gazes met after I pulled away. Disbelief, hurt, and a flash of something more he couldn’t hide.

“Why?” I ask softly. “I’ll just make a bigger fool of myself. He’s leaving. He made it clear I was convenient. Who needs love anyway?”

“Only saps and country singers,” a deep voice says.

I turn toward the voice, and Molly lets out a sharp yelp beside me.

“This is a first.” The man reaching for a cookie tips his wide-brimmed hat, a crooked grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “ Not sure I’ve ever caused a woman to shriek. Not the kind of sound you just let out, anyway.”

“I didn’t shriek,” Molly’s whole body locks up like she’s bracing for a hit. “And you shouldn’t sneak up on people and listen to private conversations.”

“Not exactly sneaking,” he clarifies with a smile that fades as his gaze lifts and settles on her. “Molly.”

“Hello, Chase. It’s been a while.”

“Your wedding day,” he says quietly.

I recognize Chase Calhoun, of course. He’s a living legend in Skylark, and built like a cowboy fantasy with rugged features, a cleft in his chin, and steely gray eyes that miss nothing.

In another life, he could have graced the pages of a magazine spread.

Instead, he survived a bull’s wrath and lived to tell the tale.

He was a national champion before a brutal accident here in town last October when he got thrown and trampled during one of Skylark’s local rodeos.

His leg was shattered in three places and he spent several days in a coma from a head injury.

I didn’t realize he was still in Skylark.

I also vaguely remember that he and Molly’s late husband were practically inseparable as kids.

“I’m surprised to see you at a Valentine’s Day dance. Seems a little tame for your taste.” Molly’s tone is as cold as snow melt coursing through a high-mountain stream. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this way, like she’s caught in an invisible snare.

“My sister needed help bringing my mother. I heard you’re living with Teddy’s mom on the farm.”

“Temporarily.” She tries to sound casual, but her voice has an edge. “Have you moved back to town?”

“Temporarily.” He shrugs. “Just until my body heals or I figure out what a broken bull rider is supposed to do when he can’t do the only thing he’s good at.”

They stare at each other so long the air crackles. I clear my throat when I can’t take the tense silence another second.

His gaze shifts to me, and he offers a small smile and another tip of his cowboy hat. It’s charming but also holds an edge, as sharp as Molly’s tone.

“You’re the Maxwell baby, right? Toby’s sister.”

“That’s me.” There’s something about Molly’s reaction to this man that makes me shift closer like she needs protection. “For the record,” I say primly. “We aren’t saps or country music fans. Would you like a glass of punch?”

“No, thank you.” His full lips twitch but thin as his steely gray eyes focus on Molly again before he turns and limps away.

“I didn’t shriek,” she whispers. “Just surprised. Chase Calhoun is a lot, you know?”

“I know.” I take her hand. “If there’s any breed of man that has more testosterone than hockey players, it’s bull riders.”

Her shoulders relax slightly, and she wraps an arm around my waist. “Not all love is for saps or country songs, Taylor.”

“Are you sure?” I ask as I rest my head on her slim shoulder.

“One hundred percent. I still believe.” She glances around to make sure no one else can overhear our conversation. “There’s a good chance my hoo-ha will have cobwebs in it by the time I get back on the market.”

I choke out a laugh and hug her tighter.

“But I’m not giving up,” she continues. “Neither are you.”

I wish I had her faith, but I can’t imagine opening myself to anyone else after Eric. Not when I know what it’s like to fall for him.

“I might have to live vicariously through you when it comes time for your cobweb clearing.”