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Reyes rolled his eyes. “You have absolutely no taste in movies.”
“Yes, I know, you’ve been telling me that since we were fourteen.”
“You saidPulp Fictionwas terrible and overrated.”
“It is.” Mack had wanted to set fire to that VHS after Reyes forced him through the film.
Reyes grunted. “You were mad thatD2: The Mighty Ducksdidn’t get an Oscar nomination. Your film taste carries no weight with me. Ever.”
Mack laughed at the familiar rebuttal. At fourteen, he’d been too busy obsessing over the male cast of a teen hockey comedy to really care about art films or cinematic storytelling breakthroughs. He’d wanted to watch Joshua Jackson ice skate. He still kind of did. The actor had barely aged a day sinceDawson’s Creek.
“Anyway,” Mack said, “no, I doubt the Wes Bentley who made the reservation is the actor, but I guess we’ll find out in the morning.”
“True. How many guests total?”
“Sixteen, so almost a full house, and one of them’s a family.”
Figuring out the rooming arrangements wasn’t usually Mack’s job, but he’d been taking more responsibilities to help his aging grandfather work less and enjoy his ranch a little bit more. Arthur Garrett was a proud man, and even though he’d never admit out loud that he was slowing down as he neared his seventy-eighth birthday, his age and newfound forgetfulness worried Mack. After all, Arthur was the only blood family Mack had left.
Reyes had been family ever since they were twelve years old and jointly put cherry bombs in the girl’s bathroom toilets at school. Mack’s other best friend, Colt, had been in his life far fewer years, but he was family, too. Within the same six-month time period, each man had quit his previous career and moved to the ranch to find...something. Something new.
And to start over, away from the pain in their pasts.
Mack was still getting used to figuring out the sleeping arrangements for guests. He was in charge of overseeing the horses, guest interaction with horses and the camping trips. Simple things. Putting warm bodies into rooms in a way that made sense didn’t come naturally to him, so he waved Reyes over.
“Tell me how this looks,” he said, handing him the tablet.
Reyes scanned the rooms and the names attached, which was linked to the guest registration information that asked: Are you comfortable sharing a room with a stranger of the same or opposite sex? Other variations of the question gave Mack enough information to guess. The second floor of the guesthouse had four four-bunk rooms, each with a private bathroom. Sometimes strangers ended up bunking together—which also meant every other week, someone had an issue on arrival day and bunks had to be switched around.
Arthur had always rolled his eyes and muttered about tourists being coddled.
“No, this looks good,” Reyes replied. “The bride said she didn’t mind sharing with strangers, so putting her into a four-bunk room with the three single ladies is good. It all looks good.”
“Always looks good on paper.”
“Or pixels.”
“Whatever.” Mack took the tablet back. “Food delivery here yet?”
“Truck pulled up a few minutes ago. It’s actually what I came to tell you. Arthur, uh, put the order in wrong.”
Mack groaned. “Shit, what are we missing?”
“We’re light on flour, eggs and bacon.”
All breakfast staples for the guesthouse kitchen. “Great.”
Every week, Arthur placed a food order for the next week’s guests, and the food was trucked over Saturday afternoon. Arthur had been placing the order for years, and it was another weekly ranch task he was hanging on to tightly with his wrinkled, arthritic fingers. But this was the third mistake in four months.
He followed Reyes out of the barn and into bright May sunshine that had him squinting the whole hundred yard walk to the guesthouse. Their usual delivery guy, Juno, was standing by his truck talking to their cook, Patrice, and they both went perfectly still at Mack’s approach. Mack was well aware that his squint made him look perpetually pissed off, but there wasn’t much he could do. It was the only face he had.
“I’m so sorry,” Juno said as soon as he was within earshot.
“It’s not your fault,” Mack replied, trying to put the guy at ease. He looked like he was ready to jump out of his skin. “Give me your list.”
Juno handed over a paper printout from the grocery store that handled their business. Arthur preferred dealing locally, so Mack had to be nice and fix this without accusing anyone—not his best act. Mack logged into the business records and found their copy of Arthur’s order. They matched.
“Our mistake,” Mack said, handing the list back. “Go ahead and accept the delivery, Patrice. Figure out the difference. I’ll run into town and buy what you need.”
