“You know damn well when she arrives.” He gave me the days off for that reason.
“What’s her name again?”
I sigh, having blocked out my impending idiocy. “I was having a good morning,” I grunt, taking my plate toward the back windows to have a quiet lunch alone.
No such luck.
Keith settles his big ass across from me and takes a huge bite of his chicken. “Come on,” he waves his chicken. “Gotta get you prepared for when she arrives. Everyone in this mountaintown will suddenly have nothing better to do than inquire about the grumpy-ass, recluse wrangler with the cute daughter and his new bride.”
“I fucking hate you,” I groan, biting into my slaw salad. “Anna make this?” I ask.
“Luke Davis’ girl? Yeah. Stop deflecting.”
Might as well satisfy him so he’ll shut up and let me eat. “Raven Clarke. Twenty-eight. Widowed. Caretaker for her family farm. No children.”
Keith nods. “Geez. Like reading off a menu, huh?”
“Brennan,” I bite, losing patience.
“You’re fired.” Keith tips his head at Lee from across the hall. “You leading the afternoon trail ride?”
“TJ and Kenna are with me that shift,” I confirm, grateful to move on from the topic.
“Did they send a picture?” He, in fact, does not move on from the topic.
My throat growls impatiently.
“Ellis, come on, man. She arrives the day after tomorrow. How much longer are you going to avoid it?”
“I’m not avoiding.” I stab my chicken with the fork. Keith’s brows rise watching. “I’m compartmentalizing.”
“Oh. Big word, cowboy. I still claim your daughter’s smartness is from her mother,” he laughs, but the sting still pierces deep and fresh. “Fuck. I’m an idiot. Sorry, man.”
“It’s fine,” I grunt, staring at my plate, needing to get the fuck out of there so I can breathe.
“It’s not. That was insensitive.”
“It wasn’t,” I insist. “You’re right. Olive definitely got her brains from Gillian. Almost five years should be a long time?—”
“Grief doesn’t have timelines. That shit jumps up at ya whenever it wants. I’m busting your balls, Ellis, but know thatI support this. Hell, we all do. The ones that know, of course. You’re doing right by your little girl.”
My throat closes. I realize how much I need to hear that again. “Thanks, man.”
Keith gets up, having finished his lunch, and pats my back before squeezing my shoulder. “This Saturday. Angela and I will BBQ at our place. Invite the guys and some of their women. We’ll welcome her in, vouch that she isn’t a psycho, and help Olive feel comfortable too.”
“The agency does thorough background checks and interviews. I wouldn’t fuck with my daughter’s safety otherwise.”
“It was a joke, Michaels. Now get your ass back to the horses. You’ve socialized with humans enough.”
“Fucker,” I grunt without heat.
“You’re fired.” He smiles big around that bush of a beard.
Shaking my head, I exhale the rock lodged against my ribs. Walking back to the stables, I make a list of last-minute to-dos before she arrives. Yes, they sent a picture. She’s a conventionally attractive woman, but I’m grateful not to feel an ounce of attraction. That’s not what this is about. I already loved one woman for this lifetime, and life snatched her away. Not just from me but the most precious, precocious little girl who doesn’t understand how her mother was here one minute, went to sleep, and didn’t wake up.
We never say goodbye when parting now. Only, see you later. She needs that assurance. One time, when she was almost four, she had a breakdown, refusing to let me leave her for work. I was just starting to sleep better at night until that day. I didn’t know until then how much losing her mother affected her.
Still doesn’t feel good. Being a thirty-six-year-old man, seeking out a mail-order bride. Feels like some sick shit old men do. Hence, I insisted she be older and widowed. A woman who could understand my need to do something like this. Practical.No love connection expected. Just two lost souls helping each other out.
