‘And she was an excellent cook. I’ll dig out her Yorkshire pudding recipe when we get home. It’s in the back of my closet somewhere.’
The road is swarming with beeping cars, red buses and an endless stream of bikes delivering evening meals to hungry people all over the city. The pair of us wait for the traffic light to go red and as we do I notice that River shifts his body in front of me slightly, as if to protect me from the traffic.
‘Shame I don’t have time to cook back home,’ River says once we’ve safely crossed the road.
‘Surely you must have some time? Don’t ranch owners have days off?’
He laughs lightly. ‘Not really. I mean I do, technically. ButI’m usually called in for one thing or another. A sick horse, a contractor needing to be paid, staff issues, unexpected repairs. And, you know, I live there on the property. It’s beautiful and I’m a lucky man. But, see, even when I’m not at work, I’m literally at work.’
We turn onto my street, the traditional amber-lit lamp posts lined up on either side making it look like Victorian London. ‘But you love it, right? You love your work?’
The River in my books adores Oakley Ranch, is obsessed with it, wants full control at any cost, even if it means icing Cassidy out of her rightful heritage.
River shrugs. ‘It’s what I was born to do, I guess. Ranching is in my blood. And Oakley Ranch? Well, that place matters to a lot of people. Now that my father’s gone, there’s only me to take care of things the way they ought to be taken care of.’
‘Cassidy can help!’ I suggest, thinking of lovely Cassidy who wants nothing more than to become a real part of the family business, show what she’s made of. ‘If you’d just stop pushing her out, she’d be a great asset.’
River stops on the front step and turns to me, jaw tensing. ‘Look, I know that for whatever kooky unknowable reason, you seem to have some insight into Bedlam Creek and its inhabitants. But I reckon you only really know one side of things. And that’s Cassidy’s.’
I bite my lip. ‘Sheismy protagonist. Everything I write is through her eyes.’
‘So then you don’t know the whole story.’
‘Tell me then!’ I demand as we trudge up the stairs. ‘Tell me the whole story.’
Once we’re outside my door, River turns to me. His eyes flash. ‘It’s …private. Family business. And anyway, we need to focus on what’s going on over here. Operation Windbag needs more preparation before we leave for … what’s it called? Crumble? Tomorrow.’
‘Little Crumpet.’
River shakes his head. ‘I thought Oatmeal was the twee-ist town name I’d ever heard, but Little Crumpet? That takes the cake.’
‘Over here we say “That takes the biscuit”.’
River side-eyes me as I slot the key into the lock. ‘Biscuit? Like biscuits with grits?’
‘No, a biscuit. A sweet baked biscuit.’
‘Ah, you mean a cookie.’
‘No, that’s something a bit different here.’
‘Fucking England.’
‘Speaking of biscuits though …’ I sway over to the kitchen to flip the kettle on, then I open up the cupboard and grab a big tin full of treats. I take it over to the kitchen table and open the lid with a flourish. ‘Here are some of the best we have to offer. I especially recommend this one.’ I point out a custard cream.
River grabs the biscuit and takes a tentative bite of the corner, crunching thoughtfully. He quicky grabs another and stuffs it into his mouth, eyes closing with hammy, over-the-top bliss. ‘Mmmmm! Holy cow.’
The unexpected silliness of it makes me snort. ‘You know, you’re funnier than I thought you’d be,’ I muse, helping myself to a chocolate digestive and eating it with as much grace as someone four vodkas deep would.
River’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Funny? Now that’s not a note I’ve had before.’
‘No?’
‘Natural leader? Yes. Insanely good-looking but also impossibly bright? That one comes up a lot. Expert horseman, strong as an ox,verygenerous lover? Ye—’
‘Argh, I take it back,’ I laugh-shout over him. ‘I didn’t mean it, I take it back!’
River shrugs and this time, in an even more exaggerated way, stuffs another two custard creams in his mouth and pretends to keel over onto the floor with the pure delight of it. ‘You can’t take it back now, Gertie,’ he protests, mouth full of biscuit. ‘It’s out there. It exists in the world, floating about as a matter of fact. You think I’m funny.’
