“Yeah. How’d you know?”
With the baby steady on its legs, Mama stood also. Snoopy stumbled to her side, stretched his head under her belly, and began to nurse.
Malachi lifted his hat off his head and set it on Sierra’s. “I would’ve given him the same handle. If ranchers named their cows, that is,” he said as he strode away.
I watched Malachi’s retreating back. The enigmatic man was a puzzle.
One I found myself increasingly wanting to figure out.
12
Malachi
Just when I’d started to get a little more comfortable with the number of females on the ranch, they’d multiplied.
Burgers sizzled on the grill, Miriam at the helm with a spatula in hand. My focus narrowed on the cooking utensil. Any minute now, one of the guests might see me sitting on this patio chair with nothing occupying my hands, an invitation for conversation. And now that the guest dynamics had changed, the probability of exchanging small talk with a woman increased. As did the likelihood of making a fool of myself. I had, after all, spelled out in great detail the problems related to mastitis in nursing cows last time I’d been cornered at a ranch barbecue. The poor woman had turned green as I described the red, swollen mammary glands in the udders. She’d walked away, her arms crossed as if she were protecting her own chest.
I didn’t need a repeat of that fiasco, and I doubted any of the unsuspecting women wanted to be subjected to such dialogue. Not that I planned to speak on such topics. I never did. But somehow my nerves in a woman’s presence severed the channels of common sense from my brain to my mouth, and all kinds of awkward dialogue jumped off my tongue.
Better to avoid conversation as much as possible.
I stood and walked across the deck to Miriam and the grill. I’d learned long ago that if a person was busy—namely, me—then other people were less likely to approach. One of the pleasant side effects of productivity.
“Need some help?” I eyed the patties charring and reached for a slice of cheese on a plate.
Miriam smacked my hand. “Step away from the grill if you know what’s good for you.”
“I was only trying to help.”
“Last time you ‘helped,’ two burgers crumbled and fell between the grates.”
A pit master I was not.
Laughter floated on the open air, drowning out the sputter of meat juices falling to the charcoal below the grates. Across the patch of grass in front of the house, Jocelyn and her friends approached the rest of the group gathered for an outdoor dinner. Except this was a version of Jocelyn I had never seen before. Gone were the boots too polished to have seen a muddy paddock and jeans with no wear marks brightening the denim. Instead, a long, flowy dress cascaded down her lithe body like a waterfall artfully draping itself down a regal cliff. The gentle slope of her smooth shoulders was exposed, as was the slender column of her throat. She moved with a familiar grace, but seemed a carefree, almost uninhibited version of the person she’d been the last few days. As if she were sayingThis is who I am without any pretenses.
My throat tightened. Jocelyn had always been a beautiful woman, but like this…she was stunning.
An elbow jammed into my side. Miriam grinned at me. “You should go talk to her.”
“Easy for you to say.” My gaze snagged on two very round, very symmetrical, very not-beef patties on the grill. “What are those?” I pointed.
Miriam slid her metal spatula under one of the circles and flipped it. “Veggie burgers.”
“Someone brought veggie burgers to a cattle ranch?” I sputtered.
She flipped the other patty. “Nicole said they’re made from pea protein. I might try one.”
I bit my tongue against saying anything further and turned. The grill hadn’t been my escape after all. I glanced up and jolted to a stop. The small army of women had arranged themselves on the outdoor sectional.
A little general in my brain orderedRetreat!and I stumbled to obey. About face. March.
Maybe Gran needed help in the kitchen. I rounded the side of the house and slowed my steps at the sight of the young girl sitting in one of the rocking chairs, a chess set on a barrel between her and another rocker. Sierra spun the rounded bottom of the queen in a bored circle.
“Know how to play?” I asked, lowering myself into the empty chair.
Her head popped up, and she stared at me across the game board. “Yeah.”
I advanced one of the white pawns up two spaces to f4 then sat back and raised an eyebrow in challenge.
