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“When did you decide to become an interrogator for the police?”
“I’m curious,” she said. “First of all, I don’t get to talk to very many people. Or I haven’t talked to anyone in a while. I’ve been by myself for a couple of weeks. Second of all, I really don’t meet very many people like you.”
“Grumpy assholes?”
“Cowboys,” she said. “Assholes are par for the course, at least in my experience. Though not very many that are so aware of what they are.”
“I didn’t really decide to do it,” he said. “My brother decided to revitalize the ranch. I hated my job.”
“What did you do?”
“I worked in the office for the power company.”
“Well... That does sound boring.”
“It is. Pays well. Retirement. Benefits. All that.”
“I bet this doesn’t.”
“Yep,” he agreed.
She stopped talking for a while as they walked on the trail that wound down toward the river. The smell of the frigid water filtered through the heavy, damp scent of pine around them, the sound of the rushing rapids a comforting whisper beneath the wind in the trees. She had that look on her face again. That one that made his own eyes feel new.
He wasn’t sure that he liked that.
Wasn’t sure he liked at all that this stranger had the power to affect anything in him.
The path they were on led to the back of the mess hall, to the outdoor seating area that had a good view of the river. Even though it was just the beginning of November, his sister-in-law had put up white Christmas lights around the perimeter. Because, she said, winter was dark and any cheer was welcome. And she had also argued that white lights were not necessarily holiday specific.
She had argued these things with Wyatt, Bennett, Bennett’s wife, Kaylee, and the youngest Dodge, Jamie.
She had not argued it with Grant.
Because Grant didn’t care.
He wasn’t going to waste a moment of damned breath arguing about the appropriate date to string lights.
In the end, he’d been the one to put them up.
Somehow, he’d been the deciding vote, since he was seen as neutral ground in some ways.
Funny, he wasn’t sure he considered himself neutral. Just apathetic about pretty much anything that didn’t involve alcohol.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He liked to ride horses. In some ways, he thought that this endeavor at the Get Out of Dodge ranch had saved him. Sitting behind that desk had been a slow path to hell. When he’d been working at the power company still, his only solace really had been drinking.
He had spent so many years ignoring the way that other men his age lived their lives. Had spent so many years pushing down the kinds of appetites men his age had. Had honed his entire focus onto his wife. Not on the things they didn’t have, but on what they did have.
Their small, perfect house down in town, within walking distance of all the cute little shops that she loved so much. Cozy dinners in on the nights when she felt like eating. And sometimes, Ensure shakes on the couch with a movie on when she didn’t.
On those kinds of nights he waited until she went to bed, then heated up a TV dinner after she fell asleep. Not because he was hiding the fact that he was eating. She wouldn’t want him to do that. He just didn’t like to remind her of anything she might be missing.
He’d stripped his life down to the essentials because he didn’t want to be out living a life that Lindsay couldn’t. There was no one on earth he could talk to about it. And anyway, he spent as much time as possible talking to Lindsay when she had been alive.
The problem was, after she’d died, after he’d clawed his way out of the initial fog of grief, what he’d found on the other side was that he didn’t exactly know how to live anymore. Not like a normal person. He didn’t have a confidant, didn’t know how to talk to anyone about it.
And there had been so many things he had mentally put a blockade around. Things he couldn’t do. Things he couldn’t have.
Hell, staying at his job was a prime example.
He didn’t love it. Not even a little. But when Lindsay had been alive it had been a necessity. He’d needed that exact amount of money to keep up payments on their house. Had needed that specific kind of job so he had the kind of health insurance required to pay for her extensive treatments.
When she was gone, he hadn’t needed the job. Not anymore.
But he’d stayed in it. For years longer than he needed to. Had stayed in the house, too.
Routine, as much as anything else.
Sometimes he’d even had those chocolate meal-replacement shakes with a shot of whiskey for dinner because he’d missed them.
Realizing he was stuck, realizing that he didn’t have to live that way anymore, had been the first realization on the other side of that initial punch of grief.
That was when he’d started boxing things up. Returning some items to Lindsay’s parents, keeping just two things for himself.
Her wedding ring set and the country Christmas snowman, carved from wood that she had insisted on setting out every holiday season. He’d hated it. Had given her a hard time about how god-awful it was. Made from knotty wood, with wire arms, and strange, knitted mitten hands. He thought the thing was everything that was wrong with a holiday craft bazaar.
In the end, of course, it had been one of the things he hadn’t been able to part with.
It lived in a box up in his closet, but he had it.
The rings he kept on a chain around his neck, along with his. Hidden under his shirt, but there all the same.
It had been three years before he’d taken his own ring off his finger. He hadn’t done it for a specific reason. Not really. It was just that at some point he realized he was putting on a wedding ring every morning, and he wasn’t married.
That was when he’d added it to the chain that had her rings.
The chain seemed right.
He wasn’t married. But it was impossible not to carry that marriage with him.
It had shaped him. Changed him.
Even if there was no reason for him to live like she was still here.
Sometime after deciding to put the house up for sale, while he was still working at the power company, his drinking had gotten worse. Mostly, because he didn’t know what else to do with himself. He’d gone from one box to another.
And it was only Wyatt deciding to make some changes on the ranch that had really pulled him out of that dark, well-worn routine he’d found himself in.
His older brother had saved his life.
Damned if he’d ever tell him that, but it was the truth.
“Is this where you...eat?”
It took him a moment to realize he’d been standing there in complete silence while McKenna poked around the deck.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes we eat in the mess hall. Because it’s a little bit more centrally located than the main house. Though, when we have guests, not as much.”
“Do you have guests right now?”
He nodded. “Some. So, if we eat inside, we just make sure to avoid mealtimes. Though the appearance of ranch hands adds to the experience, I guess.”
“I would think a lot of the women would pay extra for you guys to come wandering through.” She smirked, her expression taking on an impish quality he hadn’t seen before.
He didn’t know quite what to make of that. He supposed she was saying he was good-looking.
He didn’t know why.
And he didn’t know how to feel about it, either.
“I’ll suggest Wyatt and Bennett pencil being living props into their schedule.”
“Not you?” she asked.
He shifted, feeling uncomfortable. “I think I might scare them away.”
She shrugged. “Some women dig the asshole thing.”
He cleared his throat. “I’ll make a note of that.”
He pushed open the back door, led her into the dining hall. No one was in the large room. There were rows of vacant tables and benches, all clean and ready for the next meal.
Two large dispensers of coffee from Sugar Cup were set up on a long, bright blue table that was pushed up against the back wall, along with fixings for cider, hot chocolate and tea. In exchange for sending people on to the coffeehouse, they provided the ranch with coffee. And as far as Grant was concerned, it was a pretty good deal. An employee brought out fresh urns in the morning, and picked them up in the afternoon.
Caffeine that he didn’t have to make was about the best thing he could imagine.
Except for possibly a self-refilling whiskey bottle.
“You can get coffee here in the morning,” he said. “That’s what most of us do. Wyatt and Lindy have coffee at their place, but most of the ranch hands come here.”
“Am I a...ranch hand?” she asked.
“I guess so,” he said.
The corner of her mouth tilted up, a dimple denting her cheek. “How funny.”
“Mostly, you’ll be doing chores in here, or housekeeping type stuff. Not a whole lot of heavy lifting.”
She lifted her arms, which were slim like the rest of her. “For the best.”
“Come with me, I’ll show you to your cabin.”
They walked down a long dirt road that led away from the guest cabins. Not all of the Get Out of Dodge staff lived on the property, but depending on weather or projects that were happening, it was convenient to have the lodging.
This particular little house was set far away from most of the main buildings, nestled into the trees.
It was small, with a tidy porch and a red door. It was near one of the ponds, providing a nice view from all angles. The mountains at the back, the water out the front.
He found himself looking back at her, to see if she had that look on her face again. She did. A little bit of wonder. A whole lot of awe.
“Is this it?”
“Yes,” he said.
He imagined that was an opening for witty banter of some kind. But he honestly couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t have enough experience with that kind of thing.
He walked her up to the door and punched in a code. “Four three six,” he said. “That will get you in. I’ll write it down for you.”
He pushed open the door, and held it for her. Her expression went blank as they walked inside. Like the rest of the cabins, this one had been furnished with all new stuff.
Hell, it was nicer than his place.
Small, but nice.
“Think this will work for you?”
She blinked several times in rapid succession. “Yes,” she said, her voice sounding a little bit tight. “Yes, this is fine.”
“Are you okay?”
“Are you really letting me stay here?”
“Yes,” he said. “Though, to be real technical about it, Wyatt is letting you stay here. He’s in charge. I’m just a shareholder, so to speak.”
“But I mean... You’re letting me stay here for... Nothing?”
“For work.”
She sucked in one side of her cheek, looking away from him. “I don’t have to sleep with you or anything, that’s what I’m asking.”
Heat shot down his spine, pooling in his gut. The shock of her bringing up sex, and the fact that he might be looking to trade lodging for it, caught him off guard.
“Hell, no,” he said, the denial vehement and easy.
She lifted her hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be offensive. But you know, women on their own have to look out for these things. Most situations that seem too good to be true are. And most of the situations I’ve been in that were too good to be true fell apart because... Some guy expected a form of payment I wasn’t that interested in.”
“That’s not going to happen here,” he said.
She took a deep breath, clasping her hands together and looking around. “Okay. So, when do I need to start work?”
