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There's half a dozen long tables formed into a U-shape and the food is starting to pile up. Though the Starr family is hosting and has insisted no one bring anything, that doesn't seem to be an option. A steady stream of cars and trucks pull up and someone jumps out with a cake or pie or plate of brownies, as well as salads and sides of every variety.
Midge is in her element, greeting people and overseeing the arrangement of the different dishes. Chastising people for bringing too much and oohing and ahhing over each item as it makes its way to the tables.
"It's my grandma's recipe," one woman says with pride as she sets down a big bowl of bean salad.
One table is outfitted with cooling trays. "To avoid the awkward salmonella incident of '06," Boone explains. "Oh, it was bad. Real bad."
I laugh. She's in a good mood and it's rubbing off.
It's a party, after all.
Off to the side, between the food tables and the main house, there’s a massive stone barbecue pit. Boone told me it’s been there for years, even before the original house was built, her great-great grandparents used it for cooking and feeding the ranch hands. A load of mesquite arrived two days ago and Woody, one of the senior ranch hands, has responsibility for the pit.
They started roasting the meat yesterday and the aroma of the wood and roasting meat permeates everything.
One sure sign I’m not in Connecticut anymore is the two sides of North Starr Ranch beef slowly spinning on a motorized spit.
Woody looks up and gives me a smile. I smile too and nod. It feels good that the people on the ranch are comfortable with me.
And it feels heartbreaking too. My plane leaves tomorrow and I'll never come back, no matter what lame promises I might make to Boone about another visit in the future.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Adam's broad frame. He's shaking hands with people as they arrive. Relaxed and confident. People treat him with respect and I'm sure he's earned it. Not a lot of false flattery in Chickadee Ridge, even for the head of the billionaire Starr family.
My traitorous gaze lingers on him just a moment too long and he looks up and catches me, then returns his attention to his guests. But for a nanosecond our eyes meet and my skin tingles.
He's kept his distance. I suppose I should be grateful he's respecting my decision.
But I'm not.
Well, what do you want, Kit? You tell him it's over and he doesn't push it. And now you're mad. What's wrong with you, girl?
That's a damn good question.
"The band's here," Boone says and grabs my arm, dragging me over to the dance floor. "Come on, before it gets too crowded. I'm going to show you how we dance here in Montana. Not that fancy stuff you probably do at the country club."
Crap. I hadn't thought about dancing. I knew there would be music and I watched yesterday as the dance floor was installed, but somehow in my muddled brain it didn't occur to me I'd be expected to dance.
It's not like I had a date or anything.
Again my gaze darts toward Adam, but I bring it back before he notices. Or so I hope.
It's going to be a long night and I need to get myself under control.
The band is warming up and Boone is at least thoughtful enough not to make me stand in the middle of the wooden dance floor while she gives me a lesson. We stand in one corner and she turns her back to me. "Follow my steps," she says. I've borrowed a pair of her well-worn cowboy boots, again trying not to look like too much of an outsider, and I mimic her moves while she counts out the beat. "It's a rhythm like this," and she moves and calls out, "One, two, three..." as though the numbers make sense to me the same way they do to her.
The drummer for the band starts tapping and that helps, more than Boone and her damn counting.
I feel someone nearby and my heart skips a beat.Maybe it’s Adam, I tell myself with a combination of hope and dread.
I take my eyes off of Boone's feet and glance over and find myself staring into a camera. As it clicks away I gasp and stop moving, Boone doesn't notice and bumps into me, then looks up at the guy with the camera.
"Oh, hey, Justin," she says. "This is my friend, Kit."
This makes me curious. For someone who tries to keep a low profile, I'm surprised Boone is okay with having what appears to be a professional photographer snapping away.
"Justin is our new social media guru for The Love Knot," she explains and it all makes more sense. "I figure we need to have a big online presence in order to attract people from all over the country. All over the world." Boone has big dreams for this place.
I did too, for a few days.
