"A secret one," Emma says, grinning at Boone.
Tucker looks torn between wanting to know what his daughter is planning and wanting to spend time with me. I make the decision for him.
"Actually," I say, an idea forming, "what if instead of going to Maria's, we did a picnic here at the ranch? You could show me more of the property, we could eat somewhere with a view. Save the Italian restaurant for another time when I'm actually dressed for it."
Tucker's face lights up, and I realize I've said exactly the right thing.
"That's perfect. There's this spot on the hill overlooking the valley that Frank used to say was the best view in Montana."
"Then let's do that."
"Yeah?" He's smiling now, that warm, genuine smile that makes him look younger, less tired. "Okay. Let me just… I need to grab some food from the house. Give me twenty minutes?"
"I'll help."
"You don't have to—"
"Tucker, I just invited myself to a picnic on your ranch. The least I can do is help prepare it."
He grins. "All right. Come on."
Boone takes Butterscotch's lead rope from Emma. "Come on, kiddo. Let's give your dad a chance not to be nervous for five minutes."
"Daddy's always nervous," Emma announces cheerfully. "He changed his shirt three times this morning."
"Emma," Tucker says, his face now fully red.
"But you did! And you kept asking me if—"
"Okay, that's enough." Tucker gently steers Emma toward Boone. "Have fun with your secret trick. Don't teach him anything that's going to get us sued."
Emma giggles and follows Boone out of the stable, and suddenly Tucker and I are alone in the dim, hay-scented space.
"I'm sorry," he says. "Emma has no filter, and Boone thinks he's being helpful—"
"Tucker, I also changed outfits three times this morning. Called my best friend at seven AM in a panic. So, if you changed your shirt three times, we're even."
His expression shifts from embarrassed to surprised. "Really?"
"Really." I adjust my glasses. "Now come on. Show me this kitchen and let's make a picnic."
We walk to the main house together. A large log structure that looks like it's been here for decades, and Tucker holds the door open for me. Inside, the kitchen is spacious and lived-in, with mismatched chairs around a large wooden table and children's drawings covering the refrigerator.
"Sorry about the mess," Tucker says, immediately moving to clear dishes from the counter. "Emma and I had breakfast before you arrived and I didn't have time to—"
"Tucker, it's fine. My place looks worse." I set my bag down by the door. "What do you have for a picnic?"
He opens the refrigerator and stares at its contents like they might reveal the secrets of the universe. "Uh... sandwich stuff?Some fruit? There's leftover pasta salad from yesterday that's actually pretty good—"
"That sounds perfect. Why don't you handle the sandwiches and I'll pack everything else?"
When everything's packed, Tucker loads it all into a backpack, and we head outside. The morning has warmed up, the sun bright and clear, and Tucker leads me toward a hill that rises behind the main ranch buildings.
"This was Frank's favorite spot," Tucker says as we climb. "He proposed to his wife here. Said you could see the whole world from up here, or at least the parts that mattered."
The climb takes about ten minutes, and when we reach the top, I understand exactly what Frank meant. The valley spreads out below us—rolling hills dotted with cattle, the ranch buildings looking small and perfect, the mountains rising in the distance like sentinels.
"Wow," I breathe.
