Page 29 of Old-Fashioned Rancher

“Best decision I’ve ever made, if I’m honest, sir,” he replied without missing a beat. “God only knows how I got so lucky.”

I glanced at Birdie’s profile, her eyes gleaming bright, her breath frosting in the cold air. It struck me that I had no clue how I ended up with this beautiful, thoughtful, incredible woman on my arm. For twenty years, I was convinced I would remain a bachelor for the rest of my days. Then she appeared in a cloud of flower petals and honeysuckle perfume and I was lost forever.

God only knows how I got so lucky.

I couldn’t agree more.

Saturdays were designated for sleeping in. Unless it was an emergency, my ranch hands knew not to approach the house with anything business related until noon, at the earliest.

Birdie and I browsed a light breakfast in bed—fruit, toast, and muffins. She managed to figure out the coffee maker on the first try, making frothy, vanilla-scented cappuccino for herself. I remained devoted to my black, bitter coffee.

All night long, I stared at the ceiling, replaying the interaction with Beau in my head. I knew in my gut that I wanted Birdie to be my wife. I knew it within the first week of that whirlwind flirtation during the Harvest Festival last month. The question of a marriage proposal weighed heavier on my tongue with every passing day.

I scrubbed a hand over my mouth and rose from the bed, grabbing my jeans.

“I was thinking,” I said. “You should start planting some flowers around here in the spring.”

Birdie glanced up in surprise, a slice of strawberry halfway to her mouth.

“At High Plains?”

“Why not? There’s plenty of space. You could grow more, which would benefit your business.”

She considered for a moment and put her fork down, adjusting the sheets as if that would make her more presentable even though I was fully aware she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said.

I tugged my jeans on, zipped up the fly, but left my belt unbuckled.

“Which is…?”

“You’re going to convince me to sell Lavender Lane and move in with you.”

Well. She wasn’t wrong. That was part of my plan.

“You can set up a new shop,” I offered. “A bigger one. It would cut down on expenses, travel time…”

Birdie shook her head.

“I don’t want a bigger one.”

I paused, confused. Maybe I needed to back off. Maybe I was taking this too fast.

“I love Lavender Lane, Grady,” Birdie continued. “I built it. I repaired the house. I weeded that garden until my hands were bleeding. It might look shabby to you when you have this grand ranch, but it’s mine. I’d like to keep it.”

I nodded, moving to the closet to grab a shirt. I understood what it was like to feel fiercely protective of the dream you had fought to build for years. I would never ask her to give that up to be with me.

“Then keep the shop,” I said. “You can still grow more flowers here, right?”

Birdie fiddled with the edge of the sheets. I could tell she liked the idea, restraining herself from pouncing. I placed my hands on the mattress and leaned in, kissing her forehead.

“There is plenty of room for flowers and cattle to exist on a spread of land this size. I promise.”

She beamed and wrapped her arms around my neck, nuzzling into my cheek. I palmed at her breast through the thin fabric of the sheets until her nipple stiffened beneath my hand. I desperately needed to put a ring on this woman’s finger, sooner rather than later.

“Come to town with me today,” I said.

Birdie hedged.

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