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)
“Yeah.” Tonight, though, Adler seemed slightly less chipper than usual, worn down. “A bit more work with the horses being indoors more because of the snow.”
Guilt prickled at the back of my neck. Not over the work as that was a fact of ranch life, but over my undeniable role as to why his sunny demeanor had taken a hit.
I opened my mouth to commiserate on the workload, but what popped out was, “We’re not gonna leave six figures of horse flesh—each—out, even blanketed. You can put up with scooping more poop.”
“I can.” Adler nodded, drawing his slim shoulders up and back as if trying to hide some of his weariness. I ached to touch him, rub his shoulders, make him smile again. But I couldn’t, so I let him continue, “And I went over and let the dogs out at lunch.”
“Making yourself right at home, I see.” I’d intended to keep my voice stern, but a gentle tease slipped out.
Predictably, Adler grinned, his smile warmer than hot coffee on these snowy mornings. “Hey, at least the dogs love my visits.”
“What’s not to love?” I scoffed, but there was no real censure to my voice. This was always the way. I started out stern, but I always ended up drawn into the banter despite my best intentions. “You bring treats, toys, and an endless supply of kisses.”
“You sound jealous.” Adler adopted a singsong voice as I gave his work with the stalls a cursory check. Didn’t need to do more than that as he’d returned to his reliable self after our Halloween encounter, and I could trust him to do a good job with stall mucking, tired or not.
“I’m not jealous.” I gestured toward the barn doors. “Casey said chow’s on for dinner. Let’s go eat.”
“Okay.” Adler bounced along next to me. “There’s homemade chocolate chip cookies for dessert.”
“Cookies?” I turned toward him. He was the only one in the bunkhouse liable to turn out a batch of those. “When did you find time to bake? Ain’t I keeping you busy enough?”
“Eh. My chocolate chip recipe is worth losing a little sleep over.” Adler made an airy gesture, clearly not cowed by my gruffness. “Besides, the others love my cookies.”
“They’ll eat anything sweet.”
“You can give me a compliment, Gray.” Adler snorted as we braved the bitter wind on the walk to the bunkhouse. “I’m not going to jump you in the bunkhouse. And don’t make me withhold your cookie.”
“Fine.” I did want one of his cookies, along with everything else he had on offer. I’d come to look forward to his baked good offerings like the dogs awaited his visits, but I wasn’t admitting that much. “Reckon this batch will be as tasty as the others.”
“There? See?” Adler gave me an utterly angelic smile as we reached the bunkhouse. “Not so hard to be nice.”
He was wrong. Each compliment was another step closer to a repeat, another crack in the wall I used to keep the rest of the world at a distance. I didn’t want to like him as much as I did because liking was a slippery slope to needing, and we couldn’t have that.
Inside the bunkhouse, I had less opportunity to brood over Adler as we were greeted by a warm, meaty smell and most of the hands gathered around the table.
“Seemed like a good night for stew and biscuits.” Casey nodded a greeting as we hung up our coats and removed our snow-crusted boots. “I set up the crockpot before we headed out this morning.”
“Smells good.” I moved to help Casey retrieve bowls and plates. Aware that I’d been a grump to more than Adler, I added, “Bein’ cook suits you.”
“Thanks. I got the stew recipe from a cookbook Adler picked up for me at the library.”
“Did he now?” Just like that, I was back to cranky. I had a love-hate relationship with Adler doing sweet things for me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him doing them for others. He was nice to everyone, so I doubted the gesture meant anything, but I bristled nonetheless.
“I was near the library for a meeting and needed some books for myself on dog training, so I got a card.” Adler reached around me to get the spoons, a quick brush that sent a sizzle up my spine.
“Oh, and Adler talked to Maverick.” Casey carried the stoneware crock of stew to the table. “With guests coming in, I might be able to move to cook full time and hang up my spurs.”
“I see.” I’d been meaning to have that talk with Maverick myself for weeks now. I’d been distracted, but that was no excuse for dropping a ball Adler had picked up and run with.
“I didn’t mean to overstep,” Adler said quickly, undoubtedly sensing my frustration. “I was speaking with Maverick earlier about the ranch’s Thanksgiving plans and how to involve Casey, and we got to talking about feeding the guests too.”