“He did?” Lane asked, surprise filling his voice.
Monty offered the brownies to Ivo, who nodded in response, taking one out of the tub. “He said he doesn’t eat sweet things, but secretly I think he does, the way he devoured it. Monty, do you think you could teach me to make them?”
“Of course. Maybe you could teach me to sew?”
The clatter of boots alerted to someone coming. Otis arrived first, pursued by the others. None of them looked at Lane as they zeroed in on the tub Monty held. It was extremely flattering.
“Brownies. I knew I could smell them.” Otis was across the room so fast that if Monty had blinked, he would have missedit. He reached into the tub and snatched out a brownie, giving Monty a solid whack to his heart at the joy written on his face when it went straight to his mouth.
“Is this why you didn’t come outside where we were waiting?” Eric questioned, elbowing past Ivo to get to the tub, holding a large brown sack in one hand.
It was all so normal, Monty got an ache at the back of his eyes with the urge to cry. He was helping; it made all the difference after leaving these men in purgatory.
Monty sniffed twice, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze in case they noticed his eyes were sheened with tears.
Lane dashed a hand over his own eyes before reaching to nab a brownie. “I better grab one before they all disappear,” Lane said gaily, not looking directly at anyone but somehow including all the men, who then appeared to notice him.
They were getting much better at being in places with strangers—just not alpha strangers. “This is Lane Starling, Rue’s Popi. His dad is in the office with him,” he advised softly, so no one else got a shock if Derick appeared. “This is Eric, Otis and Cace.” Monty did the introductions despite knowing Lane knew the names.
It helped him stop thinking about whatever conversation was happening between father and son while he was out of the room.
Categorically not thinking about that.
“Hi,” Otis mumbled around a mouthful of brownie.
“Hi.” Lane glanced at Eric. “Why were you waiting outside? Is it something to do with the bag you’re holding, Eric?”
“We were off to see Cass—”
“Have you got what you made in the sack?” Monty interrupted Eric, forgetting himself in his excitement, dropping the tub to come around the counter, keen to see what Eric had made.
He pulled the sack to his chest, pouting, which was hard when he was still chewing on the brownie. “I want to show Lynda first.”
“Lynda?” Lane questioned, looking between the two men. “Is there a Lynda working at the ranch?”
Monty bit the inside of his cheek to hold off laughing at Lane, who looked bewildered. There were only men employed on the ranch, so Monty got it.
“Of course,” Eric stated. “She’s a La Fleche chicken.” The way he spoke, it was like it made total sense to him.
Lane nodded, a twinkle coming to light in his eyes. “I see. What are we showing Lynda?”
Eric blushed to the roots of his hair. “I made her and some of the other chics outfits, like the ones Cass makes for his girls.”
Monty saw the second the penny dropped as Lane’s smile widened. “Cass is a treasure the way he looks after his girls. I bet he’s super pleased with the offer.”
Eric eyed Lane with suspicion, but he must have decided a second later that Lane was being genuine as he offered a timid smile. “He is, and he’s letting me dress some of his girls. Lynda might not let me, but he said she likes me,”—his rail thin shoulders moved up jerkily—“so maybe she’ll allow it.”
It was heartbreaking how hopeful he sounded. Monty prayed to whatever chicken god there was that Lynda played ball and allowed Eric to dress her.
Monty really wanted to see what was in the sack and for Lane to witness first hand what his sons had done for these men. “Shall we head over there now?”
The eagerness didn’t miss any of the men who all giggled, including Lane.
“We can,” Eric answered before shoving the last of the brownie in his mouth, then dusting off the crumbs on his fingers down the leg of his jeans, heading towards the door eagerly.
Monty was right behind him, and could hear the others following.
They weren’t as skittish about walking around when men were busy dealing with horses and other general tasks, and he grinned at Lane, who beamed back.
