The sandy brown mare had trotted along easily enough, even if she did tend to meander a bit. But so far, Trish had ducked those occasional branches she steered her into without incident. “I’m wool gathering.” She rubbed Daphne along the neck, hoping the mare’s mane might help warm her fingers without Wade noticing.
Wade adjusted the brim of his worn Stetson. The color of it reminded her of a faded leather wallet Mindy’s grandpa used to carry. Trish had only known him a very short time, but he was always handling that wallet. “Wrong kind of ranch.”
“It means I’m taking in the details,” Trish said, happy to have something to talk about that made her sound semi-intelligent. It shouldn’t matter what this brooding cowboy thought of her, but she didn’t want him thinking she was some nitwit. “You know, tucking away ideas for later use.” She leaned to her left to avoid a small branch full of yellow leaves. “Some writers call that wool gathering.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Never mind,” she said. “It’s beautiful out here.” Easier to change the subject than brew up another argument. Besides, Wadewassupposed to be telling her all about the Holbrook Ranch. “Start talking. What’s the scoop?”
“The scoop?”
“It’s on the itinerary. The one you said I didn’t read. You’re supposed to tell me all about the history of the family ranch and such.”
“You writers are sure an odd sort.”
Trish frowned at that. Just what she needed, another Henry. On impulse, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. The bars bounced back and forth between one and three, but it was enough for a text to come through. There was nothing from Henry.
It’d been over two weeks. She should be happy to be rid of someone who didn’t support her dreams, but a small part of her wanted him to come around.
“Hey, you even listening?” Wade snapped his fingers.
“Thought my phone dinged.”
“Out here?” Wade almost shook his head but seemed to catch himself. “Not likely.”
At noticing that small non-gesture, Trish stashed her phone back in her jacket pocket. “I have two bars.”
Wade led her to a small clearing a few yards off the trail and stopped the horses. Rolling hills peeked from beneath the cover of trees. A few cattle grazed below. “From here, you can see the entire south pasture,” he said, removing his hat. “This was the pasture my great-great-grandfather put his first herd in, same day he bought the ranch. He lived in a tent then, while they built their house.”
“A tent?” Trish snuck her phone from her pocket, blushed, but all the same, snapped a couple of pictures. She wanted to have a visual later when she got back to her story. This setting . . . it was perfect. A smile eased across her lips, and for a moment she forgot her fingers were uncooperative icicles.
“Well, the tent was for my great-great-grandmother. She wasn’t about to spend all of her nights under the stars, especially with my great-grandpa on the way.”
“It’s truly a family ranch. I’m impressed.”
“Yep. Generation after generation of Holbrooks.”
What must it be like, to have a family with such strong roots? She’d never connected with any of her foster families. Mindy was the closest thing she had to family. “I can’t imagine what it must be like, living one place your whole life, surrounded by a big family.” It sounded wonderful.
It occurred to her that she had yet to meet Wade’s parents. Curiosity overcame her instinct to leave the question unasked. “Where are your parents? Did your dad take a turn running the ranch?”
Wade’s eyes locked on something invisible in the distance, and he seemed choked for words. “C’mon. More to see.”
“Wade—”
“Got to keep moving or I’ll miss the farrier.”
“Where are we going?” Trish asked, having to yell a bit with Wade ahead of her by a couple of horse lengths.
“To the east pasture. It’s where the calves are. Need to do some checks, make sure everyone’s healthy. We were supposed to start the booster inoculations today, but that got delayed.” Wade didn’t explain further, but Trish suspected she was part of that delay. For as sweet and charming as he acted around his grandma, Wade seemed pretty bitter about the whole chaperone thing. Might this shift be a nerve she struck, asking about his parents?
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
Wade turned to glance over his shoulder. “Doing what?” But he didn’t look directly at her. Better that way. Those blue eyes, the color of a clear Wyoming sky, unsettled her.
She rubbed her hands together again. The sun was rising higher, but they’d stopped in a shaded area. “Pl-playing chaperone?” She tried to fight the chills, but now they were affecting her speech.
“You know, there’re gloves in that saddle bag.”
