Eleven Year Reunion: Three Rivers Ranch Romance™, #10

By Liz Isaacson

Pastry chef extraordinaire, Grace Lewis has moved to Three Rivers to help Heidi Ackerman open a bakery in Three Rivers. For Grace, this venture represents more than just a professional opportunity; it's a chance to escape the remnants of a failed cupcakery and start anew, far away from the judgmental gazes and whispered rumors that haunted her past.

 

She doesn't expect to run into Jonathan Carver, her high school sweetheart and now a skilled carpenter at Three Rivers Ranch. Jon's return to town is not entirely voluntary, yet the prospect of reconnecting with Grace ignites a spark of hope in his heart. As they navigate the challenges of their eleven-year reunion, Grace's devotion to her baking clashes with Jon's disdain for small-town living.

 

Between the aroma of freshly baked treats and the rustic charm of Three Rivers, Grace and Jon find themselves at a crossroads. Can they reconcile their differences and forge a new path together, or will the scars of the past prove too deep to heal? The town becomes a silent witness to the delicate dance between their shared history and the uncharted territories of their evolving emotions.

 

Within the charming backdrop of Three Rivers and the delectable creations of their bakery, Grace and Jon embark on a journey of self-discovery and second chances. Can they overcome the obstacles that threaten to pull them apart and, against all odds, turn their eleven-year reunion into the sweetest love story Three Rivers has ever seen?

 

Only time will tell whether the magic of love and the aroma of freshly baked delights can pave the way for a future filled with warmth, understanding, and the promise of forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AEJ Creative Works
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224150892

Liz Isaacson

USA Today bestselling author Liz Isaacson writes clean and inspirational romances, and has multiple #1 bestsellers in half a dozen categories.

Book preview

Chapter One

The sun had never looked so bright to Grace Lewis. Of course, she rarely saw the sun rise, what with arriving at work by three a.m. for the past several years. The life of a pastry chef , she thought as she turned out of her driveway and headed north.

She drove slowly, not wanting to arrive out at Three Rivers before everyone else. But she already knew she would. She’d been up since three a.m.—old habits and all that. She’d baked a loaf of bread that now rode shotgun next to her and would become lunch once noon rolled around.

By then, Grace would be ready for her afternoon siesta, but she didn’t expect to be done in the kitchen that early. Heidi Ackerman had promised it would be a long day of baking, tasting, tweaking, and testing.

Grace couldn’t be more excited.

She eased up on the gas pedal when she realized her enthusiasm over today’s adventures had caused her to speed up. She enjoyed the leisurely drive through the crisp fall air, her thoughts wandering.

And when they did that, they almost always journeyed down south to Dallas. A frown tugged at Grace’s mouth, and she did her best to straighten her lips again. So she failed in Dallas. Big deal. Many cupcakeries failed on their first try. At least that was what her instructors had warned the group of pastry chefs that had graduated from the Pastry and Baking School at New York’s Institute of Culinary Education.

Still, Grace had thought sure she’d outbake the odds. She’d moved back to Dallas, gotten up at two a.m. for weeks perfecting her cupcake recipes. She painted the shop. Ordered the tables and display cases. Saw to every detail.

She’d made it eight months before admitting she couldn’t put another month’s rent on her credit card.

Don’t focus on that, she coached herself as she continued down the two-lane highway. She didn’t want her thoughts to spiral right before she had to rely on her sharp wit and impeccable palate. If she allowed herself to continue down that particular train of thought, she’d end up obsessing over how she should’ve chosen a better location or entered more contests or started out of her kitchen before trying for retail space.

As the miles and minutes passed, she refocused her thoughts on the blessings that had led her to Three Rivers. Her friendship with Chelsea Ackerman—now Chelsea Marshall with two kids and a quiet life on a ranch she’d never wanted—made Grace smile.

It also reminded her of the boy she’d left behind in Oklahoma City. She banished those thoughts before they could even take root, beyond relieved when she saw the sign indicating a left turn for Three Rivers Ranch up ahead.

She maneuvered onto the dirt road, wishing she’d considered what the drive out to the ranch would do to her little car before she’d taken the job with Heidi. But it didn’t matter. She wasn’t in Dallas anymore and she still had the opportunity to work with baked goods. She’d be Heidi’s head pastry chef any day, under any road conditions.

Grace pulled around the corner and the homestead Chelsea had described spread before her. Two homes, sprawling yards, a facility with a beautiful sign that read Courage Reins, and new construction going in on the west side of the road. She passed that first, noticing that the construction workers were already out and busy.

Of course they would be, she thought. They didn’t want to work in the Texas heat any longer than necessary, though it was October and starting to cool off.

She parked where Heidi had instructed, noting that she was indeed the first to arrive. Not wanting to wait in the car, she got out and took a deep breath of clean, ranch air. Chelsea had told her there was nothing like it—and Grace had to agree.

With a smile flirting with her lips, she headed for the homestead that would be Heidi’s test kitchen for the next several weeks. Her son, Squire, now lived in the homestead, but his wife, Kelly, had insisted that Heidi come out and use the large kitchen to test her recipes. After all, Heidi’s condo in town wasn’t fit for four women to be baking in at the same time.

With no one but the cowhands and the construction crew stirring, Grace skirted the perimeter of the yard, thinking she’d take a short walk out to the fields and back. Someone surely would show up by the time she returned.

She noticed the calving stalls and chicken coops to her right. Beyond them lay the silos and a couple of barns and way down on the end, a large, portable building. Behind all of that sat a row of cabins, presumably for the cowboys who worked the ranch.

To her left sat the homestead, with its sweeping lawn and full vegetable garden, along with an obviously new swing set and shed. The tamed land eventually gave way to the wild range, and Grace paused on the edge of the two pieces. She felt the same as the waving prairie grasses—without shape or form or worry or care. At the same time, she longed to be molded and cultured into something beautiful. Longed to be needed. Longed to be successful.

She turned back to the homestead, wishing she knew how to become the person she wanted to be. She’d prayed for help, for guidance, for answers.

And God had sent her to Three Rivers to test recipes with a retired woman who wanted to open a bakery in town. A woman who had explained to Grace that she’d given up her dream of owning a bakery almost thirty-five years ago.

Grace took another deep breath as she heard Heidi tell her that she hadn’t really given up the bakery. God had promised her she’d have it one day. She’d decided to trust in Him, and Grace admired the older woman’s patience and faith.

She stuffed her hands in her pockets as she headed for the house. Heidi had told her to take the steps up to the deck and enter through the French doors. As she aimed herself in that direction, something glinted out of the corner of her eye.

Around the steps, under the deck, waited a patio. And on that patio, a guitar rested in a rocking chair.

Her fingers suddenly itched to play. She hadn’t taken her guitar to New York with her, and she’d abandoned the instrument completely as she struggled to launch her cupcakery. But now….

Her feet seemed to change direction without instruction from her brain. She picked up the guitar, a small thread of guilt pulling through her, and sat on the edge of the rocker. Her fingers found the strings easily, pressed chords from muscle memory, and she began to play.

She’d hummed her way through her favorite tune, and was gearing up to sing the lyrics when someone said, What do you think you’re doing?

Grace almost dropped the guitar. She fumbled it, her hands finally finding purchase on the neck and saving