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“Yes,” Hattie says. “A lot of people are booking houses and cabins, but then they have to do everything themselves, so the goal is to be part guest ranch, part bed and breakfast.”

“But without the community bathroom,” Rowe says.

“Oh, that’s not really true,” Hattie says like this is a fun fact she learned. “Most bed and breakfasts do have private bathrooms.”

Rowe frowns. “Oh.”

I lean in and kiss Hattie’s cheek. “Can I steal you for like, twenty minutes?”

She looks around the kitchen, which is a tiny disaster. “Now?”

“Twenty minutes,” I say. “Twenty-five tops.”

Hattie looks at her sister.

Rowe raises her eyebrows and looks at me. “Where are you taking her?”

“I just want to show her something cool,” I say, then reach over and mess up Rowena’s hair.

She swats my hand away. “Fine, you two go be gross somewhere else.” Then to Hattie, “I don’t think anyone is going to be up for a while.”

“You sure?” Hattie asks.

She nods. “Yes, go.”

Hattie takes off her apron and hangs it on a hook in the pantry, then pulls on a big work jacket, picks up her mug, and follows me outside.

In the truck, I cheers my own mug, both of us saying, “Open muuug cluuub” in unison as I start the engine and drive toward the main entrance of the ranch.

She scoots a little closer, as I hit a dip in the road and we both have to move with our open mugs so we don’t spill. I take a second to appreciate the casual interaction of an inside joke that’s starting to feel normal.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

I mutter a quiet, “So impatient,” under my breath.

“I’m not impatient,” she says.

“So nosy,” I say with the same inflection.

She grins.

We’re about five minutes from Copper Ridge when I turn onto another rural gravel road, this one on the opposite side of the highway. Beside me, Hattie sips her coffee quietly, but I can see her trying to piece together what we’re doing out here.

When I make the turn toward another one of Silverwood’s most beautiful ranches, she looks at me. I stop the truck and put it in park.

She frowns. “What are we doing at the Ashbury’s ranch?”

“Come on,” I say, opening the door.

She gets out and meets me in front of the truck, frown deepening.

“Do you like it?”

“I mean, yeah, I love it,” she says. “Look at that view.” She turns, and I follow her gaze to the valley behind the house. With mountains in the distance and plenty of space for horses, it’s second only to her parents’ place.

“Nice, right?” I stuff my hands in my pockets, feeling like I’m a kid who just handed over a picture I painted in art class and I really, really hope she likes it.

She looks at me as I pull two silver keys on a ring out of my pocket and toss them to her. “I bought it.”