Page 44 of Fairy Tale Husband

Dusty’s jaw dropped. “Have you lost your mind?” he asked. “You’re movin’ them over to the Chesterfield spread because of one little ol’ snake?”

“Yes.”

“What for? That diamondback happens to be the most common in the whole da—” His gaze swung toward the boys and he cleared his throat. “Gol’ dern state of Texas. It’s not like you can put up No Trespassing signs to keep them off Chesterfield property, you know.”

“We’re moving and that’s final.” Jake glared at his foreman, daring him to argue further. “Any other objections?”

Wynne cleared her throat. “What about my cookies?”

He stared at her blankly. “Come again?”

“We have cookies to bake for Mrs. McCracken.” She gestured toward a large ceramic bowl sitting on the table. “I have the dough ready and everything.”

Jake frowned. “Who’s Mrs. McCracken?”

“You know,” Dusty said. “That cranky ol’ bitty who lives next to the schoolhouse. Enjoys poor health. Always has some ailment or other to moan about.”

“She’s laid up with sciatica. Isaw a notice at Belle’s. Ithought the boys and I could take a few things over to her. I’m sure she’d enjoy the company.”

“You’re jes a regular ol’ Polly-butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth-anna, ain’t you?” Dusty muttered. “Cookies for this charity, brownies for that. Cakes for the poor little orphans.”

Wynne looked alarmed. “What orphans? Ididn’t hear about them.”

“There aren’t any orphans, ya dang...” Dusty yanked his hat so low it hid half his face. “Never mind.”

She tilted her head to one side, asudden thought occurring to her. “You know, Ithink I made way too large a batch. Ijust might have a few cookies left over. Idon’t suppose...” She heaved a sigh. “No, Iguess not.”

Dusty clutched the limp snake to his chest, agreedy expression creeping across his wrinkled countenance. “Don’t suppose, what?”

“That you and the men might like some.” She gave him an innocent look. “Or don’t cowboys eat cookies?”

Dusty scowled, clearly fighting a battle between pride and stomach. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings by refusin’,” he said at last. “I guess we could rid you of them if nobody else will.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she said, deciding then and there to have extra cookies available on a regular basis. “Oh! Ialmost forgot.” Crossing to the ceramic bowl, she fished out her wedding ring and slipped it back on her finger. She peeked over at Jake. “That snake distracted me so badly, I’d almost forgotten it had fallen off.”

“We should have that sized before you really lose it.” He turned to scowl at the woodbox. “As for your cookies, load your dough into the truck. You can bake them over at my grandfather’s.” That should help the ranch house smell like a home. That and Wynne’s heady brand of scent. “Let’s move, people. We have work to do.”

Dusty shook his head, muttering, “First we live here for a spell. Then we up and move to Mr. Chesterfield’s place when he got hisself sick. Then we move ev’rbody to Lost Trail ’cause you’re gettin’ married. Now we’re goin’ back again after jes ten bitty days.” He stomped toward the door. “I wish you’d make up your blasted mind, Boss. I’m gettin’ dizzy.”

The shift from Lost Trail to the Chesterfield ranch took longer than anticipated, the move not finalized until the day of the dinner party. Wynne didn’t bother unpacking her personal possessions, instead focusing on getting ready for the evening. Carrying a stack of plates into the dining room, she placed them on the sideboard and glanced around in satisfaction. The table could seat a dozen people, which was more than adequate for their plans. It would also be perfect for Thanksgiving.

“Hello? Anybody home?” A man carrying a huge bouquet of flowers appeared in the doorway, stopping dead at the sight of her. “You’re Wynne?” he demanded. “Jake’s wife?”

“That’s right,” she confirmed, wondering why he found her identity so amazing. “And you’re...?”

“Sorry.” Recovering swiftly, he offered an engaging grin. “Peter Bryant, Jake’s lawyer and occasional friend. Ididn’t mean to stare, but you aren’t quite what I expected. Ididn’t know Jake had such good taste.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She tilted her head to one side. “Why occasional?”

“Pardon?”

“You said, ‘occasional friend.’ Why?”

“I have this annoying habit of ticking him off,” he confided.

Her mouth twitched. “And when that happens you’re not his friend anymore?”

“So he claims.”

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