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“But that won’t work now, so I’m reading ingredients and making things without them. I’d be lying to say I’m good at it yet.”
“And she hates not being good at stuff.” Braxton enters the room with Colt in his arms, a sleepy head on his broad shoulder.
“That’s the truth. I’ll have this figured out as quickly as I can.” She lifts her arm and flexes her biceps.
“Thank you. But you didn’t have to do all this.”
“Oh, but we did. Otherwise, you’d have bread for dinner.” She turns her megawatt smile on me.
“Wouldn’t be the first time. Or the last.”
“Right. But not when you’re here. Grab a seat. I’ll bring it over.”
“Unca Lay.” Colt leans around Brax’s face to see Layton. He points at me. “Bibbi.”
All eyes turn to me, and I do my best not to burst at the seams. I’ll take it. A nickname I didn’t give myself from someone who gave it freely. Like uncle, like nephew.
Over dinner, Emberleigh and Braxton tell me about how they met, about how she and Colt came to the ranch, and the craziness the last year has been for their family.
They serve salad and fruit, along with sweet potatoes, a quinoa concoction, and avocado. To theirs, they add a roast with chimichurri.
“How did you come to be a physical therapist?”
“I was pre-med at Delaware. I had an aptitude for science and enjoyed the biology and chemistry classes. But traditional Western medicine just wasn’t my thing. Much to my parents’ chagrin, I’ll say. My sister, Natalia, is an attorney. They would’ve been happy had I become a doctor for sure.” I work to keep any snark or anger out of my voice.
“I wanted to help people and be hands-on, but I wasn’t about to become a prescriber or a biller. Both are necessary in the business these days. Right or wrong, it’s how people make a living, so I had to engage or find another path. And I found another path.”
I spear an asparagus on my plate.
“How did you end up in PR?” I switch the subject to a more interesting topic.
“It didn’t feel like a job, you know.”
Braxton clears his throat. “Oh, it’s definitely a job, all right.”
She hitches a thumb toward Layton’s brother. “He says I work too much.”
“You don’t have to work at all.”
She looks at me and rolls her eyes, stabbing a bite of roast and giving it a chew.
“He keeps repeating that. I think a week or two of downtime would be fine. A month or two, and I’d go crazy. I own my own business. I can set my schedule and work around Colt’s and his, ahem—” She clears her throat. “Twelve-hour days most of the time.”
“Ranching isn’t nine to five Monday through Friday.”
“You’re lucky Bright wasn’t here to hear you make that reference,” Layton cuts in.
Braxton extends a fist, and they bump. “Truth.”
My mental list of “What’s that about?” gets longer the more time I’m around this family.
“Brax, it might be time,” Layton starts. “Promote Cyler. Figure it out. This dude—” Layton points at Colt. “Won’t be small for long. You’ll blink, and he’ll be grown. You have a luxury most don’t have. It’s worth thinking about.”
“I’ve never told you how to train,” Braxton retorts.
“I may not have an MBA like you, but I have a degree in business and I’ve done okay for myself. Present situation excluded. I’m not telling you what to do, but pull your head out of your ass long enough to consider it.”
Layton and Braxton have gone from jovial to tense in thirty seconds.
