Cash cuffed him on the back. “Welcome home. Jace says you had a successful trip.”
Sawyer shrugged. “The work half of the trip was productive. The other half was a lot of drinking and catching up with old colleagues. You know the drill.” He grinned because Cash, a former FBI agent, had had a one-night stand with a cop at a law-enforcement conference and along came Ellie.
Sawyer suspected there was more sleeping around at law-enforcement conferences than there was at journalism conferences. Either that or Sawyer was an unlucky bastard.
“You met your new neighbor yet?” Sawyer probably should’ve talked to Cash before foisting her onto his cousin’s side of the ranch.
“Not yet. We saw her car parked at the cabin this morning and Aubrey’s been hanging out on the porch in hopes of catching a glimpse of her.” Cash rolled his eyes. “Have you ever seen this cooking show she’s so famous for?”
“A few times.” More than Sawyer liked to admit, given that his idea of cooking was nuking a frozen burrito in the microwave or driving over to the coffee shop in Dry Creek.
“I guess I’m the only one on God’s green earth who hasn’t seen it. Even Ellie knew who Gina DeRose was.”
If her reputation continued to take a beating, she’d be filed away in the unemployed has-been pile. She was perilously close now. Then her name would be as obscure as one of those one-hit wonders who no one remembered except for the song.
Sawyer suspected the only reason she’d survived thus far was because Dalton and Associates—i.e. his parents—were master crisis managers.
“No great loss,” he told Cash and stifled his own eye roll.
“Who wants burgers and who wants steaks?” Jace called. He was wearing hisMr. GoodLookin’ is Cookingapron that Aubrey had given him years ago and that he hauled out at every barbecue. The thing had been washed so many dang times the letters were starting to fade.
“Steaks,” Aubrey and Charlie shouted from the picnic table, where they’d already made a good dent on a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
The kids all called for hamburgers. Sawyer checked out the offerings that had been laid out on an old wooden trestle table: At least three different salads, a fruit platter, snacks of assorted varieties, and a dozen condiments. He filched one of the bags of chips and joined Jace and Cash at the grill.
“Any of you have time tomorrow to help move the herd to the lower south pasture?” Jace asked. “I took the morning off but could use a hand or two.”
“Sure,” Cash and Sawyer said in unison.
Sawyer was gone the most and tried to make up for ranch work whenever he was home by doing double duty. They couldn’t afford hands and for the most part did everything themselves, including mending the never-ending deterioration of fencing across their 500 acres.
There wasn’t anything Sawyer wouldn’t do to save the Dalton legacy. Besides a truckload of happy childhood memoires of weekends and holidays on the ranch, it was their grandfather’s dying wish that they hold on to the land and make it prosper again.
Jasper Dalton had been larger than life, an almost mythical figure. Cowboy. Rancher. A symbol of honor and integrity and all that was right in the world.
When Sawyer’s job took him to the dankest, darkest places on earth, all he had to do was think of his grandfather to keep him centered. To give him hope.
They stood over the fire, eating chips and drinking beer in companionable silence. Cash and Jace had always been more like brothers to Sawyer than first cousins. And with them all living on the ranch together, the three of them had grown even closer. But now that both men had women in their lives, Sawyer sometimes felt like a fifth wheel.
Jace raised his chin and shielded his eyes with his hand to block the sun as he stared out over the fields. “Looks like we’ve got one more.”
Sawyer followed Jace’s gaze. Gina was crossing the field, carrying something in one hand and swatting the air with the other. She didn’t seem too steady on her feet and Sawyer wondered if she was drunk. “I sort of invited her.”
“I thought you didn’t like her.” Jace jabbed Sawyer in the ribs with his elbow.
“I don’t. But she showed up this morning to use my stove and somehow I let our barbecue slip out. What was I supposed to do; say you can’t come?”
“Nope. You did the right thing.” Jace exchanged a glance with Cash and the two of them grinned.
Sawyer shook his head and stared out over the pasture. Gina had stopped dead in her tracks. Big Bertha stood about a foot away, her bovine nostrils sniffing the air, curious about the interloper crossing the field. The old Angus was well past her production days, but had more than earned her keep on the ranch.
Grandpa Dalton had never been sentimental about his breeding herd. When his cows stopped producing calves, he culled them. But Big Bertha had worked her way into his heart and he’d turned her loose on the ranch to live the rest of her days, grazing under the Sierra foothills sun.
Nice work if you could get it.
“What’s she doing?” Cash watched Gina with a quizzical expression on his face.
“I think she’s afraid of Big Bertha,” Sawyer said.
