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A voice spoke up behind Jess. “Dinner’s ready. You all should come sit down.”
Hearing the unexpected voice, she pivoted to find a blonde woman standing in the doorway to the dining room. A curly-headed little girl peeked around her hip.
“Susannah and Amber Bradley are staying with us for a while,” Dylan explained as they moved toward their seats. “And Susannah’s making sure we’re all going to have to buy a larger size in jeans.”
Jess couldn’t believe the table full of food, all for an ordinary evening meal. A steaming bowl of stew occupied the center of the feast, surrounded by dishes of mashed potatoes, rolls, green beans and a tossed salad. “I can see why. I’m sure it’s all delicious.”
Before she could pull out her chair, Dylan had done it for her. Garrett did the same for Susannah, after she’d gotten the little girl settled in a booster seat. Opening doors, pulling out chairs—compared with everyday manners in New York, all this chivalry would take some getting used to.
A sense of unreality stayed with Jess as she ate. When had she last sat at a family table? For Thanksgiving or Christmas, maybe, at the last foster home she’d lived in. Not in the middle of the week, though. And that foster mother hadn’t been very skilled in the kitchen.
“I was right. This food is amazing,” she said, taking another helping of stew. “It’s a lucky thing I’ll only be here a few days.” She met Susannah’s gaze across the table. “You’re a wonderful cook. Or maybe I should say chef.”
Susannah laughed. “Cook, definitely.” Her crisp accent hinted at an East Coast upbringing. She wore her fair hair in a knot at the crown of her head, with wisps escaping to frame her face—a beautiful woman in a household of handsome single men. The possibilities for romance were certainly plentiful, but she must already be married.
“Does your husband work on the Circle M?” Jess asked, following that train of thought.
Susannah winced. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, till Dylan stirred in his chair. “Susannah’s husband is...trouble. She and her kids are here to stay safe.”
She felt her cheeks heat up. “I’m so sorry. Being nosy is a job qualification. But I didn’t mean to touch on a sore subject.”
“Of course not.” The other woman had recovered her control. “You couldn’t possibly have known. Don’t worry about it.” She glanced around the table. “Can I get anyone more to drink? Do we need more food?”
Groans answered her and for a few minutes they all concentrated on their meals, which Jess figured was a polite way to allow her to save face. She was quite sure she’d never met a family so mannerly.
But then, the families she’d grown up with weren’t always the most respectable members of society. Some of them had tried. Some...had not.
“Jess, you’re from New York, is that right?” Garrett sat directly across from her. “You’ll find it a lot less crowded out here.”
She nodded. “Wyoming has the smallest population per square mile of any state, doesn’t it? I’m not used to walking around without dodging other people.”
“When the teenagers congregate, you can find yourself doing some dodging.” Ford winked at her. His dark gold hair glinted under the light of the chandelier. “They take up a lot more room than you might expect. Especially now that they’re more comfortable with the place.”
“How long has your program been operating?” Surely that would be a safe topic, after the disaster she’d created with Susannah.
“This is the first year,” he said. “And we’re in week three. The first days were pretty rough—”
“Try ‘impossible,’” Dylan said in a low voice.
Garrett glared at him. “We got through them. And things get better every day.”
“Till the next disaster,” Dylan nodded, as if he agreed. “You can bet there will be one.”
Garrett started to respond, but Wyatt spoke first. “What about this cattle drive you’re planning to take the kids on?” His deep voice broke up the tension. “Where do you intend to go?”
Jess couldn’t follow the references to different fields and pastures and fence lines and gates, but the brothers evidently reached a consensus about the route they’d be following with kids and cows. Susannah and Amber would be driving to meet them on the way with lunch.
“Wyatt can ride with you to give you directions,” Ford said. “Think that’ll work, Boss?”
“Sure.” His glance across the table seemed almost shy. “If Susannah doesn’t mind.”
She gave him a soft smile. “Of course not.”
Jess raised her hand. “Can I ride in the truck, too? I’d hate to miss the excitement.”
Dylan frowned at her. “Now, I was planning to teach you to ride directly after dinner. You should be ready to join us on horseback by Friday.”
Ford grinned. “In case that doesn’t work out, you’re certainly welcome to a seat in the truck.”
“Thank goodness,” Jess said with relief, and earned a general laugh.
Susannah stirred in her chair. “I’m amazed at how well you all understand the land and its character. What a privilege, to take care of your own piece of the earth.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “I’ll clear the dishes. Garrett, the ingredients for ice cream are ready.”
Jess started to rise. “Let me help.”
But Dylan put his fingers over hers on the table. “Not a chance. You relax.” The skin-to-skin contact shocked them both, and they jerked their hands apart again. He cleared his throat and reached for her plate. “We’ve got minions to spare.”
“Everybody should have minions,” she said, and he smiled without meeting her eyes. Jess realized she was holding the hand he’d touched in her other palm, and quickly laced her fingers together, setting both hands on the table.
Caroline appeared in the doorway of the dining room. “The kids are ready for ice cream,” she said. “More than ready.” To Jess, she said, “Come outside and meet everybody. They’re pretty mellow after dinner.”
Outside, a group of boys was playing catch in the open space in front of the ranch house. Three girls sat on the floor of the front porch staring at their phones. “Lizzie Hanson, Becky Rush and Lena Smith,” Caroline said, indicating which name belonged to whom. “Girls, this is Jess Granger. She’s a journalist who’s come to write an article about Mr. Dylan.”
Lizzie, a slender blonde wearing far more makeup than necessary, looked up from her phone. “A journalist? You mean, a writer?”
Jess nodded. “Yes. I write articles for a magazine.”
“Did you have to go to school for a long time to do that?”
“Four years of college.”
The girl heaved a sigh. “That’s a lot.”
Redheaded Becky nudged Lizzie with an elbow. “You could do it. You like to write.”
“Do you?” Jess sat in the nearby rocking chair. “What do you write?”
Lizzie shrugged one shoulder. “Just stuff. Things I make up.”
“Well, that’s the way to start. The more you write, the better you get at it.” She caught Lena’s gaze. “You were riding the bucking barrel this afternoon, weren’t you? That’s pretty impressive.”
The girl shrugged. “It’s fun. Women can do the same things men do.”
“Absolutely.” Jess grinned at Caroline when Lena’s attention returned to her typing. “Are the teenagers churning the ice cream?”
“That’s the plan.”
“I’ve seen pictures,” Jess confessed. “But I’ve never actually eaten homemade ice cream.”
“That’s okay,” Becky told her, with a grin. “I never had any till I came here, either. But it’s awesome.”
“Thanks.” Jess grinned back at the friendly girl. She really didn’t seem to be the troublesome type.
Garrett had carried the ice-cream maker out to the area in front of the porch and was adding ice and salt to the bucket. “Okay, guys,” he called. “I need some strong arms over here.”
The boys sauntered toward the porch. “Not exactly a stampede,” Jess commented. “Typical adolescents.”
“They wouldn’t want you to believe they were enthusiastic.” Caroline smiled while shaking her head. “Cooperation is not cool.”
“How well I remember.” Jess caught Caroline’s quick glance in her direction, but she didn’t say anything else. She didn’t want her memories to disrupt the peaceful evening.
Thomas, one of the boys she’d watched this afternoon, took the first shift on the ice-cream crank. Caroline introduced another boy, Justino, who gave her a solemn “Hi,” before sitting down next to Lena. They immediately became completely absorbed in each other, locking gazes and murmuring a conversation for their ears alone.
Jess looked at Caroline with a raised eyebrow.
“They kept it a secret,” Caroline said quietly, “until after they got here. Ford and I have been standing guard duty to be sure they stay where they’re supposed to be after lights-out.” She gave a mischievous grin. “That has its pluses and minuses.”
Ford opened the screen door at that moment and came to stand beside Caroline. Although they didn’t touch, the meeting of their gazes was as warm as a hug.
With an uncomfortable fluttering in her chest, Jess shifted her attention to the ice-cream process.
“It’s getting hard,” Marcos said.
“Let me,” Thomas ordered. “You been doing it forever.”
Marcos shook his head. “You started. I’m still doin’ okay.”
The other boy pushed at his shoulder. “Give somebody else a chance.”
Marcos rounded on him, fists clenched.
Seeming to come from out of nowhere, Dylan stepped between them. “It’s my turn, guys. Stand aside.”
Both boys retreated as Dylan bent over the ice-cream churn. He grabbed the handle but groaned as he cranked it. “This is hard. Can’t be too much longer till it’s done.”
Jess couldn’t decide if he was faking it to make the boys feel better. He did continue to rotate the handle for a while. But he’d averted a fight. She had to admire his presence of mind.
Once the churn was open, he came across the porch to hand her one of the two bowls he carried. “Enjoy.”
“Thanks.” She sampled cautiously, discovering a rich, smooth treat that rivaled any vanilla ice cream she’d ever tasted. “Wow. You must have the magic touch.”
“A great recipe helps.” Dylan settled into the rocker beside hers. “Lots of eggs and sugar and cream. Susannah makes a mean custard.”
“Mmm.” Jess didn’t want to confess she didn’t understand what he meant.
“What’s your favorite flavor?” he asked.
“At home by myself with a movie? Mint chocolate chip. For my birthday, I go to a shop in Brooklyn and order Earl Grey tea ice cream. How about you?”
“As far as I’m concerned, the more chocolate, the better. Dark chocolate with dark chocolate chunks and dark chocolate syrup. On a dark chocolate brownie.”
Jess found herself watching as he licked his spoon clean. Swallowing hard, she shifted her gaze to the darkness beyond the reach of the porch light. “I believe I get the idea.”
Most of the kids had settled down separately to eat their dessert, except for Justino and Lena, who sat hip to hip. Susannah Bradley had brought Amber outside to sit on the other side of the porch, where they were joined by a boy Jess hadn’t seen this afternoon.
“That’s her son, Nate,” Dylan said, when she asked. “He’s a natural horseman—has taken to riding like he was born in the saddle. Speaking of which...” He grinned at her. “Are you ready for your riding lesson? The moon’s rising.”
She decided to call his bluff. Standing up, she said, “Sure. Let’s go.”
“Great.” If he was surprised, it didn’t show. “I’ll take our dishes inside.”
In a moment, he reappeared. “Right this way, ma’am.”
As they walked away from the house, she frowned at him. “Do I remind you of your mother?”
“I don’t remember much about my mother. She died when I was six.” His solemn expression revealed more than he probably realized. “Why?”
“You called me ‘ma’am.’” Now she felt foolish. “I’m not that old.”
“Sorry. It’s just a habit—we tend to say it to women of any age out here.” He sent her a smile. “I’ll try to remember you’re sensitive about that.”
“I’m not sensitive.”
Dylan gave a snort.
“Just accurate,” she insisted. “I’m only thirty-five.” Eight years older than he was, in fact, which was another reason to keep their relationship strictly platonic. Except her reactions to him weren’t following that rule.
Jess decided to change the subject. This was supposed to be an interview, after all. “I understand both your parents passed away when you were all quite young.”
He nodded without turning his head. “Wyatt was sixteen and I was eight when our dad died.”
“You didn’t have family to take you in?”
“Not that we knew of.” He shrugged one shoulder. “We did okay by ourselves.”
“Have you always lived on the Circle M?”
“Not in the beginning. Wyatt got a job with the owner, Henry MacPherson. We all eventually came here to live and work.”
They reached the top of the hill and headed toward the barn. Dylan strode ahead to reach inside the big, open door, and light poured out into the evening.
Jess stepped through and then stopped in surprise. “I’ve never been in a working barn before. In fact, this is only the second barn I’ve ever entered in my life.” A high-ceilinged aisle stretched along the side of the building, its beams and paneling aged to a rich, deep brown. She took a deep breath. “What is that sweet smell? Kind of grassy, only...more, somehow.”
“Hay.” Dylan pointed up to a loft filled with stacks of rectangular bundles. “About five hundred bales of grass hay.”
“Ah. Bales. No wonder horses enjoy eating it. Must be delicious.” Walking forward, she started down a cross-aisle with partially enclosed rooms on each side. The lower halves of the walls were built of boards, but the upper halves consisted of iron bars. The entrance to each room was a sliding door. “These are stalls where the horses stay?”
Dylan had followed her. “Yes, they’re stalls, though we don’t usually keep the horses in here unless they’re hurt or sick. They prefer being out to roam around.”
