Sweet Mountain Rancher

by Loree Lough

  He echoed her laugh. “Her mom threw her one in LA a month or so ago…her agent, some people she worked with back in the day. This one is for our family and friends, so I’m sure you’ll get an invite.”

  She’d thrown a few showers for friends, and knew firsthand how much work and time was involved. Which raised the question of hired help. They brought in caterers for big bashes, yet did their own housework, cooking and laundry?

  “I wonder why the Marshall women don’t have maids,” she said, mostly to herself.

  “’Cause they’re Marshalls, that’s why, and Marshalls take pride in doing for themselves and for their own.”

  A spark of understanding flared in her mind as Carl ended the call. Nate had spent his whole life surrounded by independent women. She’d seen them together often enough to know he didn’t just love them. He liked and respected their strength and grit. Before she’d allowed fear and uncertainty to shake her resolve, Nate had liked her, too. For every instance of his impatience or short temper he’d shown toward her, Eden could see a direct link to her own display of weakness.

  Eden analyzed people for a living, so why hadn’t she acknowledged before now that she was the proverbial fly in their relationship? He liked her. She liked him, so…

  But who was she kidding? She didn’t just like Nate. Eden had fallen in love with him, months ago.

  She stepped into the barn’s fully equipped kitchen, thinking, If you’d just act like an adult and admit it…

  What was the worst that could happen, she wondered, making note of dinnerware and flatware, tablecloths and napkins, if she told him how she felt?

  He could say she’d misunderstood his intentions. That he wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship. How would she cope with that?

  She peered into the double-doored fridge, saw four fat turkeys on the shelves.

  “Only one way to find out,” she said aloud.

  *

  EDEN KNOCKED QUIETLY, not wanting to wake Maeve.

  “Come in, Eden.”

  She put the tray on the dresser and walked toward the double-wide windows. “I made some soup,” she said, opening the blinds.

  “And tea and a sandwich and fruit, I see,” Maeve said. “My goodness, aren’t you sweet!”

  On the table were an unfinished puzzle, a paperback novel and a journal. Eden flapped one of the two napkins she’d brought and carefully covered the puzzle.

  “That should keep it safe,” she said.

  “Oh, the books are mine, but the puzzle is Royce’s. He’s been working on it for months.” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes he sits there for hours, humming, whistling, sliding pieces back and forth while I’m trying to sleep.” Maeve laughed. “Biggest decorating mistake I ever made was putting that table by the window.”

  “Is this too much light for you?”

  “No, no, it’s just fine.” She inhaled. “Mmm, that soup smells like a little bowl of heaven.”

  “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

  “‘Alice’s One of a Kind Chicken Soup’?”

  How could she have known?

  “She shared that recipe with me years ago, and it’s always a hit around here.”

  “I didn’t realize you and Gran knew one another.”

  “Oh, yes. We go way back.” She counted on her fingers. “Sang with the Sweet Adeline’s. Volunteered at the hospital. Worked in the soup kitchen. And we were members of the same book club.”

  “You know, I do remember those things.” Eden pulled out the chair nearest the window and slid a stool from the vanity for Maeve’s ankle. “Gran loved to sing. And I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t reading a book.”

  Maeve threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. “So how are the Thanksgiving plans coming? Is everybody running around like headless chickens?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but they’re busy.”

  Eden helped her limp over to the table. “You’re going to sit with me while I eat, right? It’ll save you the bother of coming all the way back up here later to get the tray.”

  “Well, I have a cake in the oven,” she said, checking the timer on her phone, “but I can stay for a while.”

  “So tell me, Eden Quinn, how did you get into the business of saving lost boys?”

  “Oh, I don’t save them. They save themselves. I just make sure they have a safe nest and food in their bellies until they’re ready to fly.”

  “That isn’t the way Nate tells it, but please. Continue.”

  Nate had discussed her? With his mother? Eden didn’t know what to think about that. “After college, I worked as a patient advocate for a while, but that didn’t work out.”

  “I imagine it can be a stressful job, especially when you’re working with families that sometimes refuse to cooperate, even to help their loved ones.”

  “That did happen, but it’s not why I left. The guy I dated in college ended up working at the same hospital as me, in human resources. Jake’s suggestion to merge that department with patient advocacy saved the hospital a lot of money, and they rewarded him with a promotion…which made him my boss.”

  “Ah, the old ‘familiarity breeds contempt’ thing, eh?”

  Eden smiled. “Something like that.”

  “So you moved on to a job that’s not only challenging and complicated, but dangerous, as well.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Well, it stands to reason,” Maeve said. “The boys come to you because abuse and neglect have put them on the wrong path. It’s only natural they’re angry and mistrustful of adults.”

  “I don’t know what Nate told you,” Eden said, “but I’ve never felt as though I’m working in an unsafe environment.”

  “Oh, he didn’t say a word. Having grown up in a house full of boys, then marrying into a mostly male family, I notice things others might not.” She patted Eden’s hand. “I never meant to imply the Pinewood boys aren’t good kids, or that you aren’t capable of caring for them. It was just an observation, that’s all.”

  There had admittedly been a few close calls—boys getting into fistfights, making idle threats when people gawked at them in public. But she took pride in having defused every altercation and watched the troublemakers even more closely to prevent future disputes. After what she’d overheard between Connor and Thomas the other evening, Eden knew she had to pay extra attention to both boys. But what had Nate’s mother seen to inspire her questions? Something that Eden hadn’t?

  “This is delicious, Eden! Alice must have left out a key ingredient, because mine doesn’t taste nearly as good!”

  “Just between you and me, I altered her recipe by adding a jar of store-bought chicken gravy and half a teaspoon of light brown sugar.”

  “Oh, how clever! Your secret’s safe with me. And you know? I can count on one hand—and have fingers left over—the number of people willing to divulge their secret ingredients. That son of mine was right about you.”

  Eden stared at two puzzle pieces that looked like mates. Sure enough, they snapped together. Was there any hope she and Nate might fit together that well someday?

  “Horrible thing that happened to your Mr. Burke. I’ve tossed and turned for days, thinking about that poor little boy seeing the whole awful thing. He’ll probably have nightmares for years.”

  It had been fifteen years since her parents were killed, and although Eden hadn’t witnessed the shooting, she still had an occasional nightmare. “He’s doing as well as can be expected, but you’re right. Even adults raised in loving, stable families would suffer aftereffects from something like that.”

  “I can’t think of anyone better suited to get Thomas through this. And he seems like he’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

  Would Maeve say the same thing if she knew about Thomas’s “thing” for fire?

  The image of Thomas, staring wide-eyed into a fire of his own making, sent a shiver down Eden’s spine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 
; “I DON’T BELIEVE my eyes,” Cora said. “Four-alarm Texas chili? As the main course at a Marshall family Thanksgiving? What were you thinking, girl!”

  There were fifty-seven people gathered in the Marshalls’ barn, and even the youngest of them was looking at Eden now.

  “Well, there’s turkey, too, and all the sides.” Three point five-six-two turkeys, Eden thought, recalling Connor’s math lesson. “It’s just that the boys made the chili, and there was so much left over from the other—”

  The room erupted in laughter, whistles and applause.

  “Congratulations,” Summer said, lifting her goblet of apple juice, “you’ve just been tricked by one of the trickiest tricksters this side of the Mississippi!”

  Her gaze went instantly to Nate, whose innocent expression was meant to imply he’d had nothing to do with it. But clearly, he’d enlisted the assistance of Cora and the boys in the whole “let’s razz her about serving a Lone Star dish at a Denver Thanksgiving feast,” and their happy, slightly guilty faces were all the proof she needed.

  Eden raised her goblet. “I read somewhere that at the conclusion of a good prank, the victim—ah, prankee—is supposed to sing the praises of the pranker. But I have a terrible voice, so…happy Thanksgiving…Cora!”

  “Another point in her favor,” Nate’s mom said. “She can take a joke!”

  Handshakes, hugs and kisses were followed by a volley of holiday-related jokes.

  “What’s the most musical part of the turkey?”

  “Drumstick!”

  “Why did the turkey cross the road twice?”

  “To prove he wasn’t chicken!”

  “What kind of music did the Pilgrims listen to?”

  “Plymouth Rock!”

  As bowls and baskets and platters were passed from table to table, Eden smiled. She’d grown up in a happy home, but nowhere near as happy as this one. Of all the emotions swirling inside her, envy seemed strongest, because this soul-stirring cacophony had begun generations ago in the shadow of Sweet Mountain, where it took root, sprouted and spread, producing family unity, love and loyalty. What they’d built…this was what Eden had longed for since childhood.

  Eden glanced up and caught Nate looking at her, blue eyes gleaming and lips slanted in a tantalizing, flirty grin. For one heart-pounding, soul-stirring instant, they were connected. When he broke eye contact, her wish drifted away like a bluebird feather sails on a calm breeze, only to fade into the morning mist.

  Eden had a whole new reason to tell him how she felt.

  Because if she couldn’t share her dream with her hero cowboy, she’d rather not dream it at all.

  *

  ON HIS WAY back from delivering Travis to Fort Collins, Nate stopped at Pinewood to return Connor’s backpack and Ben’s retainer. He hadn’t peeked into the bag, but based on the little he’d picked up about the newest kid, it was a pretty sure bet it contained at least one electronic device. It was just as likely that Eden had noticed something missing when Ben smiled. So why hadn’t she called to see if anyone had found the appliance?

  The minute Kirk opened the door, the robust scent of tomato sauce greeted Nate on the doorstep.

  “Lasagna?”

  “Spaghetti and meatballs.” The young teacher waved him inside. “With salad, garlic bread…” He leaned closer to whisper, “And chocolate cake for dessert.”

  And if he knew Eden, she’d brewed a big pitcher of old-fashioned sweet tea to wash it all down. Nate held out the retainer case and backpack. “Couple of the kids forgot stuff at the house over Thanksgiving, and since Pinewood’s pretty much on my way home, I thought I’d drop them off, save you or Eden having to pick them up.”

  Eden breezed into the foyer. “That was nice of you,” she said around a stack of bed linens. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Pinewood’s practically on the way,” he repeated.

  “If you’re not in a hurry, you’re more than welcome to join us for supper.”

  Why did it seem that 90 percent of their most pleasant interactions took place over food? He remembered his plan to lay it all out there—admit how he felt about her—and hopefully interact over a couple of kisses, instead.

  “I should have it on the table in half an hour or so.” Her tone was polite and friendly, but Nate noticed tension in her brow. “The kids will be thrilled to see you again so soon.”

  The kids, not her. Nate wondered if his disappointment showed.

  “This will only take a minute. Make yourself comfortable, and help yourself to…whatever.” Eden disappeared into an upstairs room.

  “It’s fresh sheets day,” Kirk explained, leaning on the newel post. “I’d help, but I have a class to teach. See you at supper.”

  Eden had fourteen beds to change, counting her own. If he helped, they’d finish in half the time. And maybe she’d have a few minutes to sit and talk when there wasn’t a mountain of food on the table—or thirteen nosy boys sitting around it.

  He took the steps two at a time and followed the sound of soft, sweet humming. He found her in a room where two sets of bunk beds dwarfed the space and knocked lightly on the open door so as not to startle her. Nate waited until she’d flapped the sheet over the mattress cover before grabbing a corner to help her tuck it in.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said.

  “Yeah, I kinda do.”

  And there it was again, the arched left brow that said back off.

  At least she let him pitch in, and as predicted, they made quick—and mostly quiet—work of the bunks. When they finished, she handed him a stack of folded sheets.

  “Since you seem determined to help, could I get you to change just the top bunks in the rest of the bedrooms? That’ll save me having to drag my stepstool around.”

  “If it’ll get me to a couple minutes alone with you sooner, I’m happy to…shorty.”

  “Thanks, Nate,” she said, ducking into the room behind her.

  For a moment, he stood in the hallway, sheets pressed to his chest, wondering how things between them had gotten so far off track. They’d argued after the pizza party, but that didn’t explain everything. A woman in her line of work didn’t just go ballistic over a little ill-timed advice. He’d known her for months before that, and they’d connected. He licked his lips, remembering the way she’d kissed him. The way she’d kissed him. Nate shook his head and headed into the nearest room. Would he ever feel comfortable in her presence again? Did he really want to?

  Yeah, he did. In truth, he wanted to feel a whole lot more than comfortable. He wanted to feel connected.

  Forget the rules, he told himself.

  *

  DOWNSTAIRS, WHILE EDEN prepped the pasta pot, Nate set the table.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Can you remember a time when I didn’t foist a household chore on you?”

  He grinned. “You’re feisty. But foisty? No way.”

  “Well, one of these days, I’ll surprise you, invite you over and treat you like a real guest. No washing dishes, no setting the table, no making up bunk beds.”

  “That’s the last thing I want. Helping out makes me feel like family.” He laid out the last plate. “I like feeling like family, because—”

  “Please. You’ve already got enough family to populate a small city.” Then she surprised him by flopping into a chair at the end of the table.

  “How’s your mom? Still limping?”

  “Nope. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she only ducked into her room to get out of making Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “Really? But I thought you said she loved parties. The bigger, the better, you said. Everything, from the planning to the cooking and even the cleanup!”

  “I have a theory about that.”

  “And I thought the Marshall women loved getting together to make those big parties happen. Especially family gatherings.”

  “I have a theory about that, too.”

  She got up, poured two glasses of sweet tea and carried them
to the table.

  “So these theories of yours,” she said, sitting down and hugging her knees to her chest, “they wouldn’t have anything to do with a test, would they?”

  “I haven’t confirmed it, but yeah, maybe.”

  “See, now that makes sense.” Eden laughed. “All weekend, I felt like the little red hen.”

  Nate only vaguely remembered the children’s story, and when he admitted it, Eden provided a plot summary. The hen asks for help from the rest of the barnyard animals, first for planting and harvesting grain, then to mill the wheat into flour, but each request is met with “Not I!” Until, of course, she asks who’d like to help eat the bread she bakes after all her hard work.

  “On second thought,” she said, “that’s a terrible analogy.”

  “How do you figure? The hen worked alone, and so did you.”

  On her feet again, she poured the noodles into boiling water. “The hen asked for help,” Eden said. “I didn’t. I’m sure if I had asked for any, an army of Marshall women would have shown up.”

  Nate knew they would have, but their help would have been beside the point.

  They hadn’t asked him, but he had a feeling everyone at the Double M knew how he felt about Eden. They’d probably known before he admitted it, himself.

  But a rancher’s life could be hard, so they’d put Eden through her paces to see how well she’d stand up under pressure, thinking that if she managed to pull off a traditional sit-down dinner for fifty-seven family members and friends, all by herself, with no whimpering or whining, they could rest easy, knowing Nate had chosen a woman strong enough to stand beside him, no matter what life threw at them.

  Eden had passed their test, but she hadn’t passed his: he wanted the old Eden back, and wouldn’t settle for anything less. First chance he got, he aimed to get it all out in the open and let the chips fall where they may. If she passed that test, he’d ask her to marry him.

  *

  DURING THE DRIVE HOME, Nate made a decision, and the moment he reached the ranch house, he dialed Stuart’s number.

  “The older I get,” her brother said, “the more I believe everything happens for a reason. I’ve been meaning to talk with you, explain a few things about Eden. Things that go back to our childhood. Can’t talk now, ’cause I’m on duty. But I’m off tomorrow.”