Page 28 of The Way to a Cowboy's Heart

“Cooking is like love. It should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”

–Hariett Van Horne–

Chapter Five

She arrived ona spectacularly cold, sunny Wednesday, three days after their phone conversation. Her flight was not direct, and it was long, but as the Montana landscape appeared below the plane as it landed, Emily had to remind herself to breathe.

This whole idea of this trip was mental. Impulsive and risky. She’d convinced herself of that while somewhere over the Midwest.

Which brought her back to Liam and all the feelings he aroused in her.

As she disembarked from the plane, her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. All thoughts of Wall Street and money, right and wrong choices fled her brain as soon as she saw him waiting for her at the baggage claim, holding a small handful of fresh flowers wrapped in paper. Seeing him, she remembered feeling this giddy years ago when a boy she had liked for months smiled at her in school. Liam’s slow, sexy smile when he caught sight of her told her she’d been right to come. At least they’d find out what this was. If it was anything.

“Hi,” he said, pressing the flowers into her free hand. Irises and roses with some yellow lilies in the mix as well.

“Hi.” She’d rehearsed this moment in her mind for days, imagining what she’d say or do. But now that the moment was here, heat crept to her face and all she could muster the courage for was a kiss on his cheek. He pressed a kiss to hers, as well, and lingered there for a moment.

Finally, he pulled away, smiling. “It’s good to see you. Don’t take the flowers the wrong way. Just thought you’d need something to cheer you up after all the puddle jumper flights it takes to get out here.”

“I love them,” she said, burying her nose in the flowers momentarily. “And thank you for picking me up. I googled it. It’s a long drive.”

“You didn’t think I’d let you try to find your way there on your own? How was your flight?”

“Puddle jumper describes it. But it was fine.”

He nodded. “I wasn’t sure this would ever happen.”

She said, “Neither was I. My sister, Muriel, though, is all for it. She’s in New York, packing what’s left of my apartment for now, bless her.” She pointed out her bag on the turnstile. He grabbed it and they headed to his truck. “She’s enjoying the city while she’s doing it.”

In April, the winter snow had mostly melted, but one could still see it on the mountaintops that lay ahead. But his truck was steady and warm and as they drove, he filled what could have been awkward silences by pointing out landmarks and wildlife grazing in the meadows.

“It’s gorgeous. Brilliant,” she said, taking it all in. “The sky is so… so huge!”

“Big Sky Country. That’s what they call it here, because the land just goes on forever, wide open to the horizon. In the city, the sky gets crowded out by the skyscrapers. But here… it’s what I love most about it.”

“You’ve never lived in a city then?”

“Nope. Country, born and bred. Our ranch has been in the family for four generations. It fell to me in the end, after my father passed, but my brother and sisters are all part of it now that we’ve started the guest ranch. It’s still a working cattle ranch but we’ve pared back that operation.”

He’d given her the brief and difficult history of their late father on a phone call late one night. And she was anxious to meet this family of his that, by his account, loved one another madly, though when there were that many people together, there was surely bound to be drama.Dramawas her own family’s middle name.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “It’s been a long day for you already.”

“I had a bite on the plane. I’m more thirsty than hungry, but I could eat if you’re hungry.”

He pulled directly into a drive-thru coffee shop, and she ordered a fruity thirst quencher of a drink. “If you can wait until we get over the pass, I’ll show you Marietta. We’ll find something to eat.”

“That sounds perfect.”

It took nearly an hour to make the drive over the pass, but the little town of Marietta was waiting on the other side. She’d never really seen anything quite like it, though certainly it more closely resembled little villages in the Cotswolds—minus the cobblestones—with tightly packed shops and doors with bells jangling over them as people walked in.

They popped into a restaurant called Main Street Diner where the owner seemed to know him and they got sandwiches, and he ordered her a milkshake, something for which the diner was famous. And it was, indeed, delicious.

They sat in a booth by the window overlooking the street, watching people go by. The streets were quite busy, and pedestrians often stopped to chat as they passed one another. Almost as if everyone knew everyone.

“This town,” she said, taking in the western-looking store fronts and its diagonal parking slots. “It’s quite charming.”

“The town itself is. But it’s not the place. It’s the people. Watch out. People here will smile at you, look you in the eye, and even say hello.”

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