When we finished, I cleared the table and did the dishes—exactly like at Mama’s, whoever didn’t cook, cleaned. Reagan should’ve been used to the dance by now, but she still tried to help me. I had to shoo her out of the kitchen with a pat on her ass—and, okay, maybe I snuck a squeeze, which had her squealing before heading down the hall and disappearing into her room for the night.
Once I finished cleaning and got the dishwasher running, I shut myself in my own room and called my mom.
“You’re calling late,” she said when she answered. “Everything okay?”
“Everything is fine,” I assured her. “But…I’m taking Reagan on a tour of the ranch tomorrow, and I was hoping you’d help me put together a picnic.”
Mama was silent for a moment. “You’re not proposing, are you? The last time I had to make a picnic for one of you boys, he came back with a fiancée.”
“No!” I said, a little too loudly. Dropping my voice, I repeated, “No, I’m not proposing. We’re not…” I sighed. “It’s not like that.”
“But you want it to be.”
“Have you seen her?” I responded with a chuckle.
Mama laughed as well. “I have, and I’ve seen you together. There’s something there, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “Hence this phone call.”
“I’ll have it all ready in the morning,” she said. “Swing by before you head down to the barn.”
“You’re the best, and I love you so much.”
“I love you too, my boy.”
The following morning,Reagan and I rode over to the barn together. I parked at the big house and told her to go along to the stables so I could run inside and grab the picnic.The basket was ready to go, and I didn’t bother to question what was inside, knowing Mama would take good care of us. I gave her a peck on the cheek, ruffled Aria’s hair, and set off across the yard.
When I walked into the barn, I found Reagan standing at one of the stalls, cooing at and scratching the nose of one of the horses.
As luck would have it,myhorse.
“That’s Raider,” I said when I reached her side. “He’s a sweet old thing.”
“He really is,” she agreed as Raider leaned in to nuzzle her cheek. Reagan giggled, and it might’ve been the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
“He’s mine.”
“Makes sense.”
“How so?”
“Soft guy, soft horse.”
With a smirk, I patted my stomach and adopted a thick, country-boy drawl as I said, “Baby, there ain’t nothin’ soft about me.”
“Don’t I know it,” she agreed with a grin.
“Let me get him out and tacked up, then we’ll pick one for you.”
As I led Raider out of his stall, plying him with a few peppermints, Reagan asked, “Are all of these yours?”
“My family’s and the remuda for the ranch hands, yeah. West has stables on the dude ranch that hold a dozen more, but since this is closest to the big house, it’s where we keep ours.”
“What are all of their names?”
“Outlaw, Rebel, Bandit, Raider,” I said, pointing at each stall in turn and pausing to brush a hand along Raider’s coat. “Rogue, Rascal, and Scamp.”
Reagan chuckled. “Really leaned into the whole ‘lawless’ thing, didn’t y’all?”
