Page 14 of Her Grumpy Cowboy
“Does Mary know?”
“Nothing gets past Mary,” Callie scoffs.“I’m sure she’s placing bets with Christopher as we speak.”
I laugh, then pause as something clicks into place.“Wait.Nate and Grady were both?—”
“Naughty List Ranch boys.”Callie smirks.
We both stare at each other for a second, then say at the same time:
“Oh, no.”
Then: “Oh,yes.”
I grin.“What are the odds?”
Callie leans back and sighs.“And to think, we moved to this town to bake and brew and mind our business…”
I raise my mug.“To surprises we didn’t see coming.”
Danny lets out a happy squeal that feels like agreement.
Callie clinks hers to mine.“And to falling for the good ones.”
“I never said I was falling,” I object, although I know I am even as the words leave my mouth.
Callie snorts.“Girl, he fixed your door and checked your windows.He might as well have proposed.”
* * *
By early evening, Silver Bell Hollow has that hush it gets when even tourists know better.I wave Jamie goodbye, flip the sign onMistletoe MugtoClosed, and hobble up to my apartment.After texting Mary a picture of the star topper gleaming on the tree she sent over with Grady (now decorated to within an inch of its life), I settle on the sofa with my foot elevated.
My phone buzzes.
Grady:Lights at the ranch before the wind picks up.Ride along?
My heart does a showy cartwheel.I glance at my ankle, which replies in throbs.I should say no.
Me:Yes.Five minutes.
Outside, the world is blue-gray and glistening.Grady’s truck idles at the curb, heat already on, headlights a warm gold.He hops out the second he sees me and lifts me like it’s something we’ve now agreed to, something that makes my chest go bright and tight.
“Hi,” I say into his collar.
“Hey, Shortcake.”He sets me gently in the passenger seat and tucks the blanket around my legs like I’m precious cargo.“Seatbelt.”
“You’re very commanding.”
He shuts the door with a low laugh, rounds the hood, and slides behind the wheel.The cab smells like cold air and cedar and him.He drives as he lives, steady and sure, watching for the things other people miss.I want to lean closer.Slide my hand under his flannel and map the warmth beneath.I wonder how many scars he hides under all that calm.How many parts of him crave gentleness and don’t know how to ask for it.
At the ranch, the spruce avenue throws shadows on clean snow, and the main yard glows with that pre-storm urgency.Men and boys move lines and stakes and planks like a choreographed dance.
I can’t help it—I laugh.
Grady glances over, amused.“What?”
“Nothing,” I say, still grinning.“It just… it reminds me of that barn-raising scene inSeven Brides for Seven Brothers.All muscle and sawdust and coordinated chaos.”
He gives me a look that’s half smirk, half disbelief.“You watch old musicals for fun?”
