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“Almost there. A perk to Paradise Ridge being one of the bigger ranches in this part of Texas is that we have a lot of land, including some interesting landscape. The downside, of course, is some take longer to reach than others.”
“The ranch is called Paradise Ridge?”
He nodded.
“I wondered what the PR stood for on the entry columns. Couldn’t figure out where Baron fit it.”
“It doesn’t. The land belonged to my grandmother’s family. They’d traveled all the way from Ireland. Settled first in Tennessee, and then when an opportunity to keep pushing west came, the Conroe’s made it as far as Texas. Another day I’ll take you to the ridge that the original homestead was on.”
“Ooh, is there anything left of it?”
Smiling, he nodded again. “Just a single room log cabin, but it’s still there. My grandmother makes sure of it. Anyhow, when all those settlers reached the ridge, my many times great-grandmother declared they’d reached paradise. They christened the original cabin on the hill Paradise Ridge. The name stayed with the ranch as they outgrew the cabin and acquired more land. It’s always seemed fitting.”
“I like it.” She settled back in her seat and took in the pastures and scattering of cattle around them. The land wasn’t the only thing about Paradise Ridge Ranch that she liked.
“Here we are.” Craig drew the Jeep to a stop at the crest of a sloping hillside. “If you’ll grab the blanket from the backseat, I’ll bring the basket.”
“Done.” She reached over and grabbed the only blanket available, a soft but heavy patchwork quilt. The weight of it surprised her. It also told her that this sucker wasn’t a store-bought polyester filled coverlet, but more likely a cotton filled quilt that had probably been in the family for generations. Helping Craig spread it out on the ground, she casually examined the stitching. As she’d suspected, it was hand sewn. “I hate to put this lovely piece on the grass.”
The basket open and a bottle of wine in one hand and a large container in the other, Craig glanced down at the blanket. “We have a ton of those. I think every relative on all sides of the family that ever was, spent their entire lives sewing blankets to pass down for generations.”
“Still.” She fingered the colorful patterns.
“I’m not kidding. Grams has closets and blanket boxes overflowing with family quilts.”
All set to argue that the old quilts were still something to be treasured, she was quickly distracted by the whiff of fried chicken that came her way. Having taken off the lid, the still warm chicken smelled absolutely heavenly.
“These are great too.” Craig held out an open container of orange chips. “Hazel is a whiz at homemade potato chips. Looks like she opted for sweet potato chips tonight.”
“Oh my.” Kate took one bite and decided homemade was a bazillion times better than store-bought.
“She adds cinnamon and some other secret ingredient she refuses to share with anyone.”
“If she could package and sell these, she’d make a killing.”
“Like all processed foods, I’m sure once someone tries to mass-produce it, they’ll lose that special quality.” He opened the lid on another container and waving a fork at her, extended his arm. “Cole slaw?”
Her mouth full of her first bite of chicken, she swallowed quickly. “Thank you.”
“Also homemade. I wish Hazel made it more often.”
Reaching for the proffered food, her hand lightly brushed against his. A spark of electricity shot up her arm and down her spine robbing her of her next breath. Just like an old-time movie, she’d have sworn she heard a string of violins playing. It took every ounce of will power she had not to lean forward, pull him close and see what the rest of the orchestra would sound like.
The way Craig’s eyes darkened and his jaw tightened, she was pretty sure she wasn’t the only one who felt the unexpected connection. The question, of course, was what the heck was she going to do about it?
Not that she had a chance to even think it through. Clearing his throat, Craig pulled away and replaced the lid on the container. “I think you’ll like it. The cole slaw.”
Reason and good sense pushing spontaneity and playing with fire aside, all she could do was nod and take a bite. “Oh, my.” She waved her fork at the plate. “I honestly think this is the best cole slaw I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Don’t doubt it.” Setting his overflowing paper plate on the blanket, Craig let out a long sigh, whether it was at the lost opportunity, or something else, she had no idea. “The sun will be setting soon.” He pointed down the hillside. “I want you to keep your eyes on that crop of mesquites down by the foot of the next hill.”
A fried chicken wing in hand, she squinted down to the trees he gestured toward. “What’s down there?”
“Not much.” Something in the way the twinkle in his eyes matched his lazy smile warned her there was definitely something going on down there.
So intent on understanding what was so important about a clump of trees at the bottom of a hill, she forgot all about the food.
“More chicken?” Craig held the container out again.
