Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“What in tarnation?” Grayson sounded like a cartoon character, missing only the smoke pouring from his ears, as he greeted me at the bunkhouse door. The door had swung open before I could knock.
“Reporting for duty, boss.”
“I’m not your boss.” He glared at me. His stern tone sure sounded boss-like. “Maverick is both of our bosses.”
“Well, you’re my temporary boss.” I grinned at him. Boss or not, I continued to find him the hottest thing in a pair of faded Wranglers. I held out the only slightly smushed plate of cookies. “And I brought cookies for the bunkhouse.”
“Kat did mention you cook.” Grayson took the plate from me and ushered me into my first real live bunkhouse.
“Cooking might be a stretch.” I was so excited that, as usual, the rambling just happened. “I make cookies. I got into it in high school. Easy way to entertain the younger siblings, make friends, and improve moods. Everyone loves cookies. Try one.”
“I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.” Grayson led me into a combination large kitchen and dining area. He set the cookie plate in the center of a long wooden table surrounded by mismatched wooden chairs from differing decades, taking up much of the room’s real estate. A variety of faded license plates and metal signs with cowboy sayings served as décor, adding to the homey but worn vibe.
“Somehow I’m not surprised.” Continuing to cart the bulk of my worldly possessions, I rolled my eyes at him. “You probably drink your coffee black, eat your steak barely kissed by a flame, and consider pepper all the spice a dish needs.”
“You really think you’ve got me figured out, don’t you?” He stared me down, not even giving me the courtesy of the barest smile.
“Am I wrong?”
“Moving on.” He gestured at a chart on one of two giant refrigerators. “We rotate cooking duties. Used to have a dedicated cook, but Melvin couldn’t keep one around once Maverick was grown, so we make do. Your cookies will get eaten, but be prepared to make and eat some pretty basic grub.”
“I’m not a princess. I grew up one of nine kids. I’ve eaten my share of simple, crowd-pleasing dinners.”
“One of nine?” Grayson did an almost comical double-take. “There’s nine of you?”
“Oh, there’s only one of me,” I said airily. Nothing like a house full of kids and fitting in with all and none at the same time. But people seldom wanted the reality of large family living, so I stuck to my light tone. “But eight siblings, yeah. I’m the middle kid. I like to think of myself as the best of the bunch.”
“Or the trouble.” Grayson shook his head. “Something tells me your mama couldn’t keep you in line like the rest.”
“Good guess.” My siblings were indeed better at following rules, whereas I’d chafed at a household with never enough time, money, or attention to go around.
“Let’s show you to your bunk.” Grayson led me and my parade of luggage through the kitchen to a large room lined with bunk beds on one side and dressers on the other. A hallway at the far end of the room led to more doors, one of which was likely the shared bathroom. “Senior hands get a room, but newbies and seasonal workers get a bunk. You okay with an upper?”
Grayson pointed to a bunk at the end of the row. If we were going to bring in guests, these Spartan accommodations wouldn’t impress many. Maverick and I had also discussed the idea of tiny cabins or some sort of separate bunkhouse. At least the bunks featured privacy curtains and sturdy construction, but I was already making a mental list of possible upgrades and leaning toward the cabin idea.
“Sure.” Growing up in the middle of nine kids, bunk beds had been a way of life, but in truth, I hated the upper bunk and had wheedled my way out of it whenever I could. However, Grayson’s glower told me he wasn’t about to let me charm him into giving me a better bunk.
“And these are your drawers.” He pulled out two empty drawers in the dresser opposite the bunk he’d indicated. “You might find them a bit cramped, but I’m sure Maverick would let you keep some stuff at the house.”
“It’ll fit.” I projected confidence despite there being no way on earth one of my duffel bags of clothes would fit, let alone all my belongings. No way was I asking Maverick to keep my stuff back at the house, not with Grayson watching to see how long it would be before I found the bunkhouse an uncomfortable fit and ended up back in the guest suite. “If nothing else, I’ve got my car.”
“That car ain’t gonna survive the winter.”
My little hybrid was the first brand-new car I’d ever owned, and I’d managed to keep it through the rest of my life falling apart. That I hadn’t lost my license to my very public DUI was something of a miracle. First offense, no one injured, not speeding, but I had parked a hotel van in the middle of a fountain. Keeping my car and license had been an incentive on my sobriety journey. However, I wasn’t about to explain that to Grayson and risk him scoffing further.