by Liz Isaacson
Sure enough, a few minutes later, Cache declared the shoe done, and Carson kept a grip on the reins until the other cowboy moved out from behind the horse. Cowboy huffed and wandered away as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Cache chuckled at him and clapped the dust from his hands. “That horse.”
“He’s a character,” Carson said, moving down the fence where they’d tied all the horses. It was inspection day, and then he had work to do in LlamaLand for Hudson, who’d taken Scarlett to the beach.
He checked the next horse while Cache held the reins, but Hero still had good shoes. He also had long scars down his right flank, and Carson lovingly traced his fingers along them as he moved toward the horse’s head. “All right, boy,” he said. “You’re good to go.” He unbridled the horse and let him walk away to a greener patch of grass.
“So what brings you to Last Chance Ranch?” he asked Cache. Carson had loved the sense of family on his ranch in Montana, and since they had a baker’s dozen of cabins over in the U-shaped Community, he wanted to feel that sense of belonging again.
Cache had come to the ranch a day or two before the Fourth of July picnic, and he’d been assessing the needs of the cattle and getting his own dairy cows situated since.
“You really want to know?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Carson said as they switched places for the next horse.
Cache checked the front feet while Carson unlooped the reins from the fence. “Why do I always get the ones who need work?” He flashed a quick smile at Carson and reached into his tool belt for a chisel. “Lady Godiva, where have you been, huh?” He started working on the mare’s hoof. “So I grew up on a dairy farm in Nevada. My dad was the meanest old man you ever knew.”
Carson seriously doubted that, because Cache’s smile was so quick. He went to church with the others too. And he didn’t carry an ounce of darkness in him. So his dad didn’t drink himself to sleep every night, after a rage about how poorly Carson had been running the ranch.
He expected the flood of familiar bitterness to overtake him, drown out Cache’s words. But surprisingly, it only lifted through him a fraction of what it used to. And it receded quickly too, so Carson only missed a bit of Cache’s story.
“Anyway, the Bureau came in, and we went to court over grazing rights.” He shook his head, his face turning hard for a breath as he moved around to Lady Godiva’s other side. “Years we spent in court. We stayed on the land that whole time, despite the BLM’s threats to kick us off.” He lifted her leg, deemed that hoof okay, and moved to the back leg.
“We had to leave when the courts ruled in favor of the government. My dad had been farming that land for fifty years.”
“How’d he get it if it wasn’t his?” Carson asked.
“He bought it from an old guy. Turned out the guy worked for the BLM and should’ve never sold the land.” Cache came back around the front of Lady Godiva. “Those back hooves look great. You’re good to go, Lady.” He unlatched her bridle and she lumbered away.
“So I loaded up all the cows I could and brought them here. It’s been a real blessing.”
A real blessing. The words reverberated through Carson’s head. He smiled at Cache, and they moved to the next horse. “Surely you had more than a hundred head,” he said.
“Yeah, my brother took the rest to his buddy’s place in Colorado. Shiloh Ridge. I thought sunshine sounded better than snow.” He chuckled. “So here we are.”
“And your parents?”
“Mama died a few years back.” Cache quieted for a minute, and Carson worked on Reddington’s front hooves, both of which needed to be re-shod. He filed and shaped and nailed before Cache spoke again.
“Dad went with Leo to Shiloh Ridge. It’s a bigger operation, already running cattle and with all the milking equipment. They took about five hundred cows with them.”
“So you had a decent sized operation.”
“Oh, yeah. We were doing great.” Cache sounded the teeniest bit wistful.
Carson finished the shoes in the front and moved to the Reddington’s back feet. He was grateful he didn’t have to look at Cache when he asked, “What about you? Where’d you come from?”
Carson flinched, but the lump that usually blocked his throat from telling the tale of how he’d lost Cobble Creek didn’t form. So he opened his mouth and told the story. By the time he’d finished, he and Cache had checked the rest of the horses and the sun was beating down from its pinnacle in the sky.
He took off his cowboy hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “So now I’m here.”
Cache shook his head, gazing out to the pasture where the horses were. “Wow.” Their eyes met, and Cache shook his hand. “I’m glad to have met you.”
Carson wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but something warm started in his chest. “Likewise,” he said. “Now. I have to go water the llamas.” He drew in a big breath. “And goat yoga starts up again in the evenings tonight.”
“Yeah, tell me more about that,” Cache said as they walked back to the barn to put their shoeing tools away. “Scarlett said something about cow cuddling, and I thought she was speaking Japanese.”
“Cow cuddling?” Carson asked. “That I haven’t heard of. But people are really getting back to the wild these days. Adele was telling me about that. They love living in the city, but they want a farm experience too.”
“I guess I better look it up. I told Scarlett I would.”
“Good luck,” Carson said before he left the barn to get his work done over in LlamaLand.
He loved the slower pace of life. Of course, he’d never lived in a city before, so he couldn’t really know if he’d like to escape the hustle and bustle of it to experience something else.
The thought of living in a big city terrified him. So many people. So much traffic. And noise. And trash. How did anyone think or feel like they mattered?
His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he pulled it out to see he’d gotten several texts while he’d been working with Cache and the horses.
Terry.
His brother hadn’t contacted him in so long, and Carson couldn’t imagine that it would be good now. So he ignored that message and tapped on Adele’s name instead. They’d been getting along great since he’d come back from the mapping expedition and kissed her.
She’d opened up to him more about her ex-husband, but she still hadn’t invited him inside her cabin, nor told him what she was doing in there. His mind had wandered down every path he could think of, from photography and how she needed a private, dark place to develop the photos to something illicit.
But he’d never seen her take a picture with more than her phone, and she’d hired a photographer to come out during one of their goat yoga sessions and get professional pictures for the website.
So that couldn’t be it. And she didn’t seem like the type of woman to be doing anything illegal. No, Carson knew she wasn’t doing that. She liked to cook, but he couldn’t fathom why she’d need to keep a chili recipe under double lock and key.
Busy for lunch?
Not at all, he said. I just need a few minutes to finish my chores.
Text me when you’re ready. I’ve got lunch for us.
His heart ba-bumped out an extra beat. She had lunch for them? Had she made it? Would they eat inside her cabin?
He’d also been thinking a lot about her debts and her desire to go to culinary school. He had billions. He could take care of both for her without even missing the money. His financial advisor had told him the investments Carson had opened would made six figures in the first year. That was more than enough to cover Adele’s money problems.
But he’d seen her face when he’d offered. Adele would have to be dead before she’d take a dime of his money, and he didn’t want that wedge between them.
He went through the gate and into LlamaLand, realizing that he hadn’t kept it as neat as Hudson did. So instead of wasting the afternoon with Adele in his arms, und
er the shade of a tree somewhere while they kissed and talked, he’d come back over here and get things put back together.
After all, he’d told Hudson he could manage his parts of the ranch while he was gone.
He hurried through emptying the troughs and rinsing them out. Then he set the hose to fill them, and it felt like the water was coming out in a trickle. Working quickly, he managed to clean out two stalls while filling the troughs, and then he pulled out his phone to text Adele.
All ready. I just need to wash up. Where are we eating? He looked at the words, wondering if he was being too pushy. But she’d said she had lunch for them. The natural place to eat it would be her cabin.
So he tapped send, hoping—and praying—that he’d done the right thing. A calm feeling blanketed him when he realized he could pray without feeling bitter or disappointed.
“Thank you, Lord,” he said, the gratitude flowing freely now. He’d never thanked God for the financial solution he’d provided Carson and Cobble Creek. Never acknowledged the Lord’s hand in his escape from his father and brother.
Now, he did. Standing there on the fringes of LlamaLand, he poured his heart out to God in thanksgiving for the blessings he’d been given over the past year.
No, they had not been the specific blessings he wanted, but they were blessings nonetheless. He swallowed and sniffed as his emotions threatened to overtake him.
Then he looked at his phone when it buzzed with Adele’s message.
My cabin. Knock on either door.
“Holy cow,” he whispered to the screen. He looked up, his soft emotions being replaced with half excitement and half terror. “Her cabin.” Then he took long strides, each one accelerating his pulse to the point where he thought he’d arrive panting and out of breath, almost over-eager to get inside and see what she was doing in there.
So he slowed down, took deep breaths, and prayed that his reaction to whatever was behind those locked doors would be precisely right.
Chapter 17
Adele stirred the beef stew she’d put together that morning. In between steps, she’d sketched out her grilling week menu, as well as a whole week on using corn. The yellow vegetable was so farm-like and rustic, and she could use it in salads, as sides, and even in a main dish.
She’d made grocery lists, paid her bills for the month, and edited a video before inviting Carson to lunch.
The scent of the rolls in the oven drew her attention to them, and she pulled them out just as they were golden brown. She slathered butter over them, sure Carson would be knocking at any moment.
Her heart leapfrogged around in her chest, never settling on just one beat. She wasn’t exactly sure where he was working that morning, but it had to be over in Horse Heaven or LlamaLand, because he was doing Hudson’s chores.
And she didn’t live that far from either.
Yet he hadn’t arrived yet.
A quick glance at the clock showed that her text was only two minutes old. So maybe she was a little jumpy. Maybe her anxiety over sharing this part of herself with him was insane.
“Of course it is,” she said. “It’s just cooking and some video editing.”
But she knew Carson didn’t have any social media accounts—she may have tried looking him up a couple of weeks ago—and as she’d pondered why she didn’t want him to know what went on inside this cabin, she’d realized something.
If she let him inside her physical space here, she was opening the door to her whole soul. Her whole life. There wouldn’t be anything between them—no more secrets—and thus, no more barriers or defenses against falling all the way in love with him.
And that absolutely terrified her.
Knocking sounded on the back door, causing Adele to drop the tongs she’d been using to transfer the rolls from the baking sheet to a basket. They clattered on the floor with an ear-splitting metallic sound, and her pulse went ballistic.
She hurried to pick them up and toss them in the sink. Then she wiped her hands through her hair, which only reminded her she hadn’t showered that morning. Swiping the straw hat she wore around the ranch off the side table, she positioned it on her head as she moved toward the back door.
It was locked, of course, and her fingers trembled as she unlatched them. With her hand still on the knob, she took in a deep breath, held it, and twisted the doorknob.
Carson stood there in all his cowboy glory—dark jeans that were actually dirty today, summer sky blue T-shirt, cowboy boots, and that delectable hat.
“Hey,” he said easily as if he’d come to her cabin for lunch countless times before.
Adele gripped the doorknob tighter and backed up a step, opening the door wider than she ever had before. “Hey. Come on in.”
Carson didn’t move. He looked at her, and then peered over her shoulder for a quick second. “Just like that?”
“Better come in now before I freak out and slam the door.”
That got him to move, and he put one foot right beside the door so it wouldn’t close even if she tried to do so. He entered her personal space, his eyes locked on hers. “It’s good to see you.” He leaned down and kissed her, his mouth urgent and soft at the same time.
His kiss relieved some of her nerves, and she clung to him as if he was providing the very oxygen she needed to survive.
“Smells good in here,” he murmured, his lips catching on hers with the words.
Adele smiled and ducked her head. “You’re letting out all the air conditioning.”
He entered the cabin fully and closed the door behind him. “So, you wanna give me the grand tour?” He was already looking around, and Adele couldn’t blame him. She’d kept him out for so long. Yelled at him. Denied him any entry.
“Okay, so it’s just a normal cabin,” she said, sweeping her hand toward the living room. “Living room here. That’s the front door—this place severely lacks closet space.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Kitchen.” Around the wall from the back door, she indicated a hall. “I have one bedroom and one bathroom down there.”
“So I can wash up in there.”
“Sure.”
He flashed her a smile and went down the hall a few steps and into the bathroom. Adele sagged against the countertop in the kitchen, wondering why it had been such a big deal to invite him in.
“You know why,” she told herself as the water started to run.
“So I don’t really see anything going on here,” he called.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, no dark room. No brown-paper packages.” The water turned off, and a few seconds later, Carson emerged into the kitchen. “So what are you doing in here that I can’t see?”
Being me, Adele thought. She bit back the words, because they felt too personal, too intimate. “Cooking,” she said instead. She stepped away from the island, where her body had been blocking the hot plate. “I cook here.”
“Okay,” he said. “You’ve already told me about the cooking.”
“Um, not even close.” Adele pointed to the hanging rack over the island. “I film everything I cook. I make food videos and post them on the Internet.” Her energy and excitement flared to life. “I’m getting a good following, and this next month, I’ll be able to pay for my groceries to make the videos as well as one of my bills.” He probably didn’t understand how huge that was, but to Adele, making enough to pay a bill was a massive accomplishment.
“Food videos,” he said, as if he’d never thought to put those two words together before. He stepped closer to the island and gazed up at the camera equipment she had there. “Lots of lights here too.”
“Yeah, you want to have good light for filming,” she said. “It makes the editing so much easier.”
He looked at her, but his eyes seemed a little glazed over. “I know you’re speaking English,” he said.
“Here, let me show you.” She grabbed her phone and swiped to get TastySpot open. “So I’ve been using a lot of my grandmother’s and mother’s rec
ipes. I make theme weeks, and I cook the food, filming everything. Then I edit the video down to about fifty seconds. So you can watch me make a chicken pot pie in less than a minute.”
She tilted the phone toward him, and he took it from her, his eyes wide and glued to the screen. Fifty seconds later, he looked at her. “This is amazing.”
Until that moment, Adele wasn’t sure how she wanted him to react. But now that he had—and done it exactly right—tears gathered in her eyes. “You think so? You don’t think I’m wasting my time?”
“Adele.” He glanced at the phone and then set it down on the counter. “Why would I think that?” He slipped his hands along her waist. “You can do what you want. And that looks professional. Brilliant.” He glanced around and nodded toward the computer she’d set up on the dining room table. “You edit there?”
“Yes.” The word caught in her throat, and she pressed her face into his chest. He smelled like horses and sweat and fabric softener, and it was everything Adele hadn’t known she needed in her life.
She allowed herself a few moments of softness and emotion, and then she drew herself up to her full height. “So I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss her like he was drowning and she was his life preserver.
Later that day, Adele moved straw around the arena as she prepped for the goat yoga session starting in a couple of hours. Lunch with Carson had been perfection. He’d said all the right things, enjoyed her stew and homemade rolls, and spent an hour listening to her as she showed him how she took her raw footage and edited it down to a bite-sized video.
He seemed interested in everything she did, and that was so foreign to her. She was trying to understand it, but she didn’t, and her mind needed some open space to sort through things.
“Heya.”
She glanced up to see Jeri at the fence.
“Hey, Jeri.” Adele smiled at her.
“You need some help?”
“Sure,” she said, though she didn’t. “You’re not working this afternoon?”
