Kicking off his dirty boots at the door, he tossed his hat onto a hook and braved the writers’ ambush.
Someone gasped. “Is that him?”
Wade wasn’t close enough to see Grams’ face, but her hands clapped together in excitement. “Wade, you made it!” The smile she wore faded at the sight—and likely, smell—of him.
Wade scanned the gathering, noticing that of the strangers at his table, three likely had kids his age. Maybe even grandkids, though he’d not dare speak that observation out loud. The other woman looked to be about Trish’s age, maybe a couple of years older.
“Broken water line in the north pasture. Had to get it fixed today.” Wade felt it unnecessary to mention that he’d handled that problem shortly after lunch. The writers were eating up his words, so maybe Grams wouldn’t call him out in front of them. Trish had her eyes turned toward the table, hands fidgeting with a plastic spoon. “There’s no water up there otherwise. Not enough to go around anyway. We don’t want to give the cattle a reason to seek standing water.”
“What if you weren’t able to fix the line?” a woman with purple-rimmed glasses asked, pen poised at the ready. It was then that Wade noticed the lack of dinner plates. They’d finished their meal and were picking at bite-sized finger desserts, little cheesecakes and mini cupcakes.
“It was either fix the water problem or move the cattle. Didn’t have enough help today to accomplish that quickly,” Wade explained. His eyes wanted to land on her, this introverted blonde, which forced him to look at everyone else instead.
“I’d like to formally introduce everyone to my oldest grandson, Wade Holbrook, ranch foreman. He runs the operation here.”
“He’s so young!” one of the writers cooed to Grams.
“Wade knows the place better than anyone,” Grams boasted. “He’s worked on the ranch since he was old enough to walk.”
When the doting looks were too much to take, he spread his hands wide. “Better get washed up for you ladies.”
“Please do,” Grams said, a teasing edge to her voice. “Don’t want to frighten away our guests on the first night.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled his dazzling smile for the writers as he promised Grams he’d do a few times during their visit. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me.” He nodded at them and could’ve sworn one made some kind of swooning noise.Oh, brother.
Most nights, Wade settled for washing his hands in the kitchen sink, warming a plate of leftovers, and eating at the dimly lit kitchen table with a view of the backyard. That was how life would be one day, once his cabin overlooking the north pasture was finished. Okay, maybe there wouldn’t be many leftovers unless he occasionally commandeered some. But frozen dinners and the occasional grilled burger or steak sounded doable. He could live with that.
Wade passed through the kitchen, heading toward the bathroom near the back door. He probably should have snuck in through there and showered first, but he’d wanted Grams not to worry. She did that more often now that Grandpa was gone.
A couple of his cousins who doubled as ranch hands came out to help every day, but today he had been down one. The hot water did its job reviving him, the steam easing the ache of his muscles from a hard day’s work.
It was too much to hope that hiding in the shower would make those women disappear, so when his fingers started to wrinkle, Wade dried off.
He slipped on the clean jeans and a worn T-shirt he’d left there this morning, wondering what the romance writers would think of a cowboy who looked an awful lot like an ordinary man.
Wade went in search of leftovers in the dark kitchen. He’d just stuck a plate of pot pie to heat in the microwave oven when he caught sight of a shadow.
From the opposite end of the island, Trish reached toward a plate of cookies.
“Stealing cookies?”
She startled, a tiny little mouse squeak of surprise, and hopped back. “You weren’t supposed to see me.”
“You haven’t answered my question.” He tried to ignore how cute she looked with those wide eyes and her reddening cheeks showcased in the glow of the light over the kitchen sink. He doubted she’d ever gotten away with much in life considering how easily the slightest guilty thought showed in her expression.
Her hand hovered above the tray, fingers curled in the cookie-grabbing ready position. “I thought I might get hungry later.”
“You have something against s’mores?”
“I love them.” She finally swiped a cookie. “And cookies.”
“You might have to fight Kate for them,” he said. The timer dinged on the microwave and he pushed at the open button. “She’s eating Grams’ cookies like they’re potato chips.”
“Kate,” Trish repeated, as though the name meant something to her. Wade couldn’t read what else was there, but he did notice it was. He wondered if they met before dinner. Kate didn’t leave the house much these days if she was still there after dark. He asked, “You met her, I assume?” She hated the bumpy roads, and her belly was having a harder time fitting behind the steering wheel.
“Yes.” Trish stuffed two cookies inside a napkin. “Very lovely woman.”
Wade laughed at that. “If you say so.” Leaving Trish with her puzzled expression, he carried his plate over to the high-top table set against a window. It overlooked the raised flowerbeds between the house and the garage. The setting sun always made the flowers appear as if they were ablaze.
