“Mr. Wheaton,” she says. “Do you have a business office herewhere I can use my laptop? I noticed the Wi-Fi connection is spotty here at the lodge.”
“Only strong Wi-Fi is at the caretaker’s house, and you are more than welcome to use it anytime you need.”
“Oh, uh, I think it’s been down, though,” I interject as I’m halfway out the door. “Yeah, Wi-Fi is out at the house.”
“It works fine, ma’am,” Rusty corrects. “In fact, the library would be the perfect, quiet place for you to work.”
“I tend to write in the late-night hours,” Roxanne says. “I don’t want to disturb anyone.”
“Library closes at 8,” I snap, too fast.
Roxanne puts her hands up. “Never mind. I don’t want to be a bother, especially since it’s your house.”
Rusty cuts in before I can respond. “Technically, Duke and I share the house office space. I say, you’re welcome anytime, ma’am.”
“Oh.” She glances between us. “In that case… thank you.”
“I can show you around the house tomorrow,” Rusty says.
“That would be lovely, thank you.” She smiles politely, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek, and I have to look away. I leave to get ready for dinner before I start staring again.
After cleaning up, I head back to the lodge early to help Thatcher finish prepping in the kitchen, and by the time we start walking about with the wine we’re serving with dinner, the space has filled up with happy faces ready to enjoy the evening.
the nook
DUKE
The Nook isone of my favorite small spaces on the sprawling ranch. These more intimate areas make me happy that a movie star once owned this home. The vets living here get to feel like they’re royalty, and they always do after one of our special dinners in this space. We hold these dinners as little reminders that healing doesn’t have to feel clinical. Sometimes all a person needs is good food, a soft place to land, and someone who listens.
The scents of rosemary and grilled peaches linger in the air, carried on the soft hush of a Colorado evening breeze. Overhead, strings of warm Edison bulbs stretch between beams and tree trunks, their golden light flickering against the deepening blue of dusk. It casts everything in a glow that feels half fairy tale, half homecoming.
Two long wooden tables wait under the canopy of light, set simply but beautifully with white enamel plates, black placemats, and sprigs of fresh herbs tucked beside each fork. Down the center of each table, leafy green garlands frame glass hurricanes flickering with candles, the flames swaying gently in the breeze.
The head of the table is always reserved for Rusty and mymother when she’s here. I set my beer down at my spot in the middle of the table and that’s when the breeze seems to shift.
I hear her before I see her.
Soft footsteps crunching over gravel, the low hum of her laugh as she replies to something Allie says behind her. I don’t turn my head. Don’t need to. Every molecule in my body already knows she’s coming.
And then she walks into the light of the evening.
She’s wearing a black dress that hugs all the right curves, and her blond hair is pulled into a crisp bun. Her ruby red lips seem to call to me from across the yard. I take a long pull from my beer and force my eyes to focus on something else.
Rusty and Topper help introduce the World Explorer crew to some of the residents who have joined us for the evening. The person most excited to meet Roxanne is Georgia Lennox. We served together on more missions than I can count. She came home after her convoy and hit an IED. She lost part of her right leg, but you’d never know it from the way she moves. Tough as they come, and one of the best medics I’ve ever worked with.
Georgia shakes Roxanne’s hand hard enough to pull it out of the socket. “You’re Roxanne Denning, aren’t you?”
Roxanne glances at Allie and Leo and then back to Georgia. “You know me?”
“I know your articles. I have a subscription toWorld Explorermagazine. Your stuff is so real. No fluff, no prose, just what you see and experience. I love it.”
“Why, thank you,” Roxanne says.
Over dinner, Georgia and Roxanne fall into easy conversation, swapping stories like they’ve known each other for years. Roxanne asks tactful questions which Georgia is excited to answer.
“You’ve got good questions,” Georgia says, smiling. “Most people don’t ask about the right things.”
Roxanne shrugs, a little embarrassed. “It’s my job to ask the right questions.”
