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“To explain why you’re here.”
“Right.” Maisie searched her brain for a minute, but after the long drive and the massive culture shock of moving from a big city to a ranch with four people on it, her brain was pretty much wiped out. “Anything other than that we’re married.”
“I told you only my father knows, and that’s because he was sitting next to me when the lawyer told me.” Drew pressed her lips together, their rosiness disappearing into a thin, grim line.
Maisie put a hand on her hip and narrowed her eyes at Drew. “What you’re really saying is you’re embarrassed for anyone to know you’re married to me. Is it because I’ve never ridden a horse?”
“I’m not embarrassed of—wait. You’ve never been on a horse?” Drew staggered back a step like Maisie had punched her right in the gut.
Maisie chuckled, unable to keep a straight face any longer. “What’s harder for you to wrap your brain around? Our marriage or the horse bit?”
“Honestly, they’re tied.”
“Yeah, I get it. Maybe we can say I’m doing something for coll—er, business school.” Maisie changed her word choice as she remembered Drew was under the impression she was actually qualified for this endeavor and not making shit up on the fly. While it didn’t feel good to hide the truth from her wife, did the marriage really count if you got hitched not even knowing the woman’s last name?
“Right. Like an internship.”
“Uh…” The dreaded word brought a wave of nausea over Maisie, but she forced herself through it. It was only a cover story, not real life. “Like that. I could be a brand expert or something.”
“I think we can make that work.” Drew looked her up and down. “Although, you’re not wearing a suit.”
“Is that your kink?” Maisie bumped her elbow into Drew’s side. Not certain where this playfulness was coming from all of a sudden, except maybe from relief that her future felt a little more settled than it had twenty-four hours before.
“You did have this one skirt suit in Vegas…” Drew blushed, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t suppose you could wear that to work around here?”
“It’s not the 1950s. Women don’t have to wear skirts on the job.”
“Daddy?” a voice called out, followed by the slamming of a door.
“Hannah?” Maisie gave Drew a questioning look.
“Yep. Which means it’s dinnertime. So, brand expert. Got it.” Drew seemed to be reinforcing the details into her brain.
In the kitchen, a man Maisie hadn’t met yet wore a dainty and faded apron that didn’t at all match his stubbly gray beard and plaid shirt. There was also a teenage girl who appeared to be a carbon-copy of Drew, right down to her ponytail, although hers was brushed and smooth instead of wild like her older sister’s. Belatedly, Maisie wondered if she should have mentioned something about the state of Drew’s hair to her before they’d come into the kitchen. Too late now.
“Cord. Hannah.” Drew turned to Maisie. “This is Maisie. She’s here because…” Apparently, the details had fled her mind because the usually composed Drew was opening and closing her mouth like a guppy who’d jumped from her bowl, but no words were coming out.
“I’m a business student,” Maisie filled in, “and Drew has been gracious enough to offer me an internship to help me earn my branding certification.”
Sure. That sounds legit.No one would guess that was a totally made-up thing because Maisie had no idea what people had to do to get an MBA.
“Branding?” For some reason, Cord seemed way more surprised than he had any reason to be.
“We don’t do that until later in the year,” Hannah chimed in. “If you’re a branding specialist, maybe you can settle something for me. What’s your opinion on the merits of a squeeze chute and calf table compared to head and heel roping? Because I was reading the other day that the cortisol levels—”
“Wrong type of branding,” Drew explained, coming to Maisie’s rescue from an onslaught of words that held no meaning to her. “She’ll be doing brands like the company type, not the hot iron type.”
Suddenly understanding the disconnect, Maisie added, “Ya know, more like marketing, like Wendy’s snarky Twitter account. You do know what Twitter is, right?”
It was only when Cord and Hannah exchanged looks that could only mean,she’s fucking kidding with this shit, right?that it struck Maisie how stupid a question that was. Did anyone on the planet not know what Twitter was?
“Of course, you know it,” Maisie mumbled, wishing she could go back to her room. Drew’s family was going to hate her.
“Twitter’s for oldies.” Hannah held up her phone. “I much prefer TikTok.”
“Perfect!” Maisie’s spirits brightened at this news. “Does the ranch have a TikTok account?”
“No, and I don’t have Twitter, either. Who has time for that sh-stuff?” Drew cast a guilty look at Hannah, whom it was clear she still treated like a small child who needed protecting.
