His eyes shine, and he blinks a few times before he responds. “Jenny always did love that garden.”
“I remember.” I tuck a leg up underneath me, getting comfortable. “Sawyer and I went to North Platte yesterday to pick up some rescue horses.”
“You get some good ones?” he questions, interest piqued.
“I think so. They look healthy, just need some work with a good trainer.”
He nods, eyes following a bird outside the window. “Good.”
I wince. “I might have rescued a pig.”
“A pig?” His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
“A pot-bellied pig,” I clarify, swiping to a picture I took on my phone. “I named him Winston.”
He squints at the screen and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, Quinn.”
He’s likely remembering how often I used to try to bring the barn cats into the house. I smile at him sheepishly. “I wanted to set him up with a little pen outside the barn. I thought by those apple trees might be a decent spot,” I suggest. “What do you think?”
He shakes his head, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “Sure, Quinnie girl. That spot sounds fine.”
We watchLaw & Ordertogether and chat about Wes’ newest plans for the ranch until a nurse comes in, announcing it’s time for occupational therapy. Pops groans like she’s sentenced him to hard labor.
I help him into the wheelchair, and he rolls toward the therapy room, muttering about everyone conspiring against him. I lean against the doorframe and watch him go until the thought of Mrs. Mackey’s chocolate chip cookies finally pulls me away.
Mrs. Mackey slides a cookie the size of my face across the counter and waves away my wallet.
“Put that away, hun. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten to feed you.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Mackey. I’ve been dreaming about this cookie since I got into town.”
She beams at me, then zeroes in on my hand. “Now tell me why a pretty girl like you still doesn’t have a ring on her finger.”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “Guess I just haven’t found the right one yet.”
“Or maybe you just don’t realize you’ve found him. Have you thought of that?”
God, the people in this town could be absurd.
“So, Pops is doing better,” I blurt out, trying to extricate myself from this convoluted conversation.
“Well, that’s very good, dear.” She gives me a tight smile that tells me this conversation isn’t over and I’m likely to have a list of eligible bachelors in a twenty-mile radius by the time I finish this cookie—but she lets me go and I retreat to a corner booth with my phone.
I consider revamping my resume, but before I can type a single word, my best friend’s bright pink hair fills the screen.
I answer the video call with a smile. “Marlowe!”
“Hey, girl. How goes it in the middle of nowhere? How’s Pops?”
I prop my chin on my hand. “Cell service here sucks, but Pops got transferred to the nursing home for some in-patient rehab. He’s impatient to get back home.”
“I’m sure.” She wrinkles her nose, the diamond stud in her nostril glinting. “The food is always awful at those places.”
I huff out a laugh. “You sound just like him.”
She squints at me as I shove a chunk of cookie in my mouth. “Doesn’t look like you’re suffering with him.”
“This is heaven. The owner of this place is the queen of baked goods. Best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever had.”
