Page 11 of Ryder
“And this... contraption?” He points at our top-of-the-line mixer with the same expression people usually reserve for toxic waste, pointing his phone at it.
“That’s a Hobart Legacy mixer,” Elise says through their video call. “As I’ve mentioned. Three times.”
“Mhmm.” He makes another note. “And you’re certain it wasn’t damaged before the flood?”
I jump in before she says something she shouldn’t. “Actually, sir, that mixer has quite a history. Would you like to hear about the Great Meringue Disaster of 2024? I believe that was the day we discovered exactly how waterproof it is.”
Mr. Peterson’s head snaps up. “Disaster?”
“Oh yes.” I nod solemnly. “You see, we had this order for a hundred pavlovas... Elise, you remember? The day Ryder came in and got distracted watching me pipe meringues?”
Elise’s murderous tone softens. “As I recall, he was distracted watching something, but it wasn’t the meringues.”
“Anyway,” I continue, feeling my cheeks heat, “long story short, that mixer survived being doused with not only water, but also three dozen egg whites and what I maintain was a totally reasonable amount of panic.”
“I... see.” Mr. Peterson looks like he very much does not see. “And this is relevant because...?”
“Because,” Elise cuts in smoothly, “it demonstrates both the value of the equipment and its previous exposure to water damage. Which, as per section 12B of our insurance policy...”
While Elise handles the technical details, I start documenting the specialty ingredients we’ve lost. The imported vanilla beans alone make me wince.
“You know,” Elena murmurs beside me, “I hear Ryder’s pretty good at tracking down rare ingredients. When he’s properly motivated.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the last time you mentioned wanting Thai vanilla beans, a case mysteriously appeared the next day.”
I nearly drop my clipboard. “That was him? But Rachel said—”
“Of course Rachel said it was her. Because her brother’s an idiot who’d rather secretly buy you expensive vanilla than admit he’s crazy about you.”
Before I can process that, there’s a crash from the back room followed by some creative cursing.
“Everything okay back there?” I call out.
“Fine!” Ryder shouts back. “But, uh, anyone know if that wall was loadbearing?”
Mr. Peterson’s clipboard clatters to the floor.
I’m fighting laughter. Because really, what else can you do?
“I don’t suppose,” Elena says while fighting giggles, “that your insurance policy covers acts of well-meaning but destructively helpful ranchers?”
Mr. Peterson looks like he’s developing an eye twitch. “I believe I have enough information for today.”
As he flees (there’s really no other word for it) I hear him muttering something about “crazy Montana people” and “should have stayed in accounting.”
“Well,” Elena says brightly, “that went well.”
“Define ‘well’.” I start gathering my notes after ending the call with Elise. “Because I’m pretty sure we just traumatized that poor man for life.”
“Please.” Elena waves a hand. “That’s not even the weirdest thing he’ll see this week. This is Heart River. Yesterday I watched Ryder nearly walk into a pole because you bent over to get a pan out of the oven.”
“He did not!”
“Oh honey.” She pats my arm. “Why do you think he suddenly needed six muffins at that exact moment?”
I open my mouth to protest, then close it again. Because now that she mentions it, Ryder does seem to have suspiciously good timing when it comes to fresh-baked goods...
