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)
Instead of asking questions I didn’t want answers to, once we were inside, I threw myself into helping. Maverick already had a big pot of chicken chili bubbling away. I glanced out the kitchen window toward the bunkhouse. What was Casey cooking tonight?
I felt caught between two worlds, not belonging in either. Here, I was a friend or possibly an honorary uncle on a good day, but I wasn’t part of the tight quartet of Colt, Maverick, and the girls. On the outside looking in. Faith had described that feeling perfectly. At the bunkhouse, I was a temporary hand, an easy mark for cards, an extra pair of hands, and good for a laugh, but I wasn’t sure my absence would register with most.
We ate dinner, and my latest batch of Christmas cookies was a hit, but I couldn’t seem to shake the weird funk that had settled over me. Rather than inflict my mood on others, I busied myself with cleanup until Maverick found me as I shut the dishwasher door.
“You didn’t have to do dishes,” he chided, lightly slapping my shoulder. “Thank you. This was a perfect night, thanks to your help. I hope the wedding is as seamless.”
“It will be.” I forced the smile he undoubtedly expected from me. “Trust.”
“And after the wedding, we need to schedule some time to sit down, really hit the ground running for a spring launch for guests.”
“Sure.” Another faked smile on my part, but his seemed real enough.
“You’ve got to be tiring of being a hand.” Maverick had no clue, not that I was about to enlighten him. I liked my work, and not simply the time with the horses. I liked the physicality of the work, being too tired at night for my overactive brain to run away with my thoughts, having camaraderie with my fellow hands, and most of all, I liked the nearness of Grayson.
“Eh.” I waved away his concern. “It’s not that bad.”
“Well, we’ll need to meet anyway. I’m looking forward to talking about tiny cabins and guest activities.”
I nodded, and I should have been excited as well. Hospitality was a much more natural fit for me than cowboy life, and I’d be happy working with the ranch guests. However, I couldn’t stop the feeling of dread that washed over me every time I thought about moving on from my time as a hand. If he didn’t have to supervise me, would Grayson still make time for me? Even the dogs needed me less and less these days, and I was desperate for an excuse for Grayson to keep me around longer. Sure, I’d still be on the ranch, but I’d miss the close contact with Grayson, and I could already feel him slipping away.
“Going to stay for some Christmas movies?” Maverick asked.
“Not tonight.” I managed a cheery tone. “This Santa is exhausted.”
“I bet.” Maverick patted me on the back before releasing me to go fetch my coat. However, I already knew exactly where I was headed, and it certainly wasn’t to my bunk.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Grayson
I wouldn’t say I was shocked by the knock on my door or who was standing on my front step, but I was a little surprised by the timing.
“Everything okay?” I asked as I ushered Adler in. “Thought you were hanging with Maverick and the family today for Christmas Eve?”
December twenty-fourth was largely simply another day of the work week for me—chores to do, horses to see to—but when Adler had asked to be let off early to go to a meeting with Faith and do dinner with Maverick, I’d assumed I wouldn’t see him again today. And I’d been happy to grant the request. Good on him, doing his meetings. It was a rough time of year for those in recovery, as I well knew from my dad’s journey.
“Yeah. Dinner was good.” Adler didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about a night I knew full well he’d planned for weeks. Something must have happened, but I didn’t press as he dug two stuffed candy canes out of his coat pockets. “I wanted to bring the dogs their Christmas Eve treats.”
“My place is drowning in dog toy carcasses.” Groaning, I stepped aside so he could give one to each dog. They’d made a full recovery from their spaying, and without their cones, they were back to their attention-hound ways. Rory was growing by the day, and both dogs had put on much-needed weight. For the most part, they were well-behaved housemates, except they did love a good joint toy murder, working together to send fluff all around my living room.
“But tearing apart the toys makes them so happy.” Adler threw his coat in his usual spot, setting a wrapped plate on top. “You wouldn’t want to deprive them of their joy.”
Nor would I want to keep him from his obvious love of spoiling the dogs, so I merely nodded. “True.”