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“Put that energy to good use, why dontcha,” Simona says, shoving a bowl of washed vegetables and a peeler across the island at me.
I nod, pulling out a stool and settling in to skin enough produce to feed a small army. “Jesus, Simona. Are we feeding the entire state tonight?” I ask, grinning across the granite at one of my favorite people.
She narrows her eyes at me, one hand on her plump hip, the other waving a paring knife non-threateningly in my direction. “We’re feeding you and your boys, and we’ll be lucky if they don’t wipe us clean out, as you well know.”
She’s not wrong. “Maybe I should make extra. Lord knows your guest could use some home cookin’ to fatten her up,” she says,setting the knife down and going into the large, walk-in pantry to grab more ingredients. I return to my task, listening to her clucking about Quinn as she quickly washes them and slides a second bowl my way.
“Better safe than sorry,” I agree wisely, keeping my head tucked, watching the peeler gliding over the veggies to hide my grin. We work quietly, only Simona’s sporadic mutters breaking the silence.
“Uh, Simona?” I ask, realizing I’d just spent the last fifteen minutes of my life peeling half the potatoes in Idaho for a meal that should be on the table in less than two hours. “Not to question your…culinary brilliance, but how exactly is this feast gonna be done in time for dinner?”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes at me. “Magic, dear. It’ll be done in no time!” She flounces back to the pantry to retrieve a large, shiny metal contraption that I’ve never seen. “It's a pressure cooker,” she scoffs when she catches me eyeing it suspiciously.
“If you say so,” I say, shaking my head, passing her the bowl full of vegetables and holding the other one full of scraps in my hand. Making my way toward the back door to toss them for the chickens, I freeze with my hand on the knob, indecision wracking my body.
“She’ll be fine for a few minutes, West,” Simona says firmly. “Take the scraps to the ladies.”
I stare at my unmoving hand, willing it to turn. After a long moment, I finally force myself to open the door and walkthrough, my long strides eating up the distance between the back door and the side yard where the chickens often spend the afternoons. Blindly tossing the contents of the bowl, I move quickly back toward the house.
Voices greet me as I walk inside, and I rush forward toward the stairs, worried that they’ve been waiting for me, despite the fact that I’ve only been gone for a minute or two.
“Ah, there he is,” Doc says, smiling broadly at me and reaching his hand out to shake mine. I observe the niceties, though I’d rather he just get to the point and put me out of my misery.
“Hey, Doc. How’s she doing?” He and Simona glance at each other before he answers me.
“With a little rest and keeping off her foot, she’ll be right as rain soon.” A whoosh of relief leaves me, and suddenly, he’s my favorite person. “She’s clearly been through something, so tread lightly, son,” he cautions, clapping his hand on my shoulder.
I nod, grateful she’ll be okay and she’s not leaving.Yet, the snarky voice in my head supplies.Yeah, yet.Of course, she’ll leave. She’s got her whole life ahead of her, and this ranch is my life. “Thanks, Doc,” I grit out, extending an arm toward the front door to usher him out.
When he reaches the porch, he turns and leans in to speak quietly. “It’s lucky you found her when you did, Westley. I didn’t want to say so in front of Miz Simona, but another night out there, and you’d have found her body.”
His blunt statement isn’t surprising, but the pain in my knuckles as I clench my hands into fists is. Now that I know her, I can’t imagine the world without her.Oh, boy, I’m in trouble.
Doc gives me a few care instructions, and I commit each to memory. The sound of boots on the stairs draws my attention, and Doc takes a moment to greet the newcomers before turning back to me. “I’ll be back to check on her in a few days.”
With a quick nod, he descends the stairs and walks to his lifted truck. It takes him a few tries to pull himself into the cab, and I feel the men standing behind me, all of us watching to make sure he doesn’t require assistance.
We breathe a collective sigh of relief as he finally settles himself behind the wheel and pulls the door shut before gunning the engine and spraying gravel on his way down the drive. I chuckle and turn, seeing my boys on the porch.
“Requiring house calls, now, old man?” Beau teases, shaking his head and walking quickly through the open front door before I can smack him upside the head for his impertinence. He may not be my son by blood, but he grew up with my kids, and he and Gage have been best friends since kindergarten, so he’s good as.
“Wait up!” Gage calls, giving me a cheeky grin and a mock salute before turning and dashing after his friend. A few seconds later, a loud thud, quickly followed by colorful curses, floats out to the porch. I grin when I hear Simona reading them the riot act, followed quickly by profuse apologies from deep within the house.
“Idiots,” Kain says, rolling his eyes and walking inside without another word to anyone. Of all my boys, Kain is the most reserved. I watch him go, wondering what’s pissed him off now. He’s a man of few words, but he’s usually at least cordial with family.
“Don’t worry, Pop,” Brooks says, his arm circling my shoulders as he leans into me and watches his brother disappear into the house. “He’s just pissed that you made an excuse to stay home and sent him out to the north range.”
“Come again?” I demand, turning to look at my youngest. He’s twenty now and is the one that most closely resembles his mother. His hair is dark like mine, though it’s several shades lighter, but her moss green eyes shine back at me from his chiseled features every time I look at him.
“Calm down, Pop,” he grins, backing away slowly, hands held up defensively as I prowl after him into the house. “You needed a day to relax. At your age, that’s perfectly natural. You don’t have to explain yourself to us.”
“Why you—” I start, reaching out to grab him, tucking him under my arm and rubbing my knuckles on his shaggy head. I don’t remember the last time I gave any of them a noogie, but his peals of laughter elicit my own, and as the grin spreads across my face, some of the stress finally leaves my body.
“Uncle! Uncle!” he shouts, trying to free himself. “Okay, you’re still young! Barely over thirty!”
“Damn straight,” I say, releasing him and standing up straight. He’s got about an inch on my own six foot three, and I wonder when the hell that happened. Suddenly, it feels like just yesterday that he was looking up to me with his toothy smile like I was the greatest dad in the world.
We walk into the kitchen, playfully bumping shoulders on the way, listening to the other guys trying to sweet talk Simona out of whatever baked goods she has on hand. She swats at them but gives in easily, as always, producing a tin of delicious cookies from a hidden stash to tide us over until dinner is ready.
