Stranded Ranch : A Sweet Cowboy Romance (A Pride and Pranks Romance)

Chapter 5

My face hurt from smiling. We had been sitting at the table for an hour longer than needed after we finished dinner, exchanging stories and laughing about his adventures with his friends in Eugene. I even told him about my painting. And how much I loved it, even if I wasn’t any good. How I loved to drive out by this one spot outside of Livingston that had the prettiest view of the mountains and the Yellowstone river and paint, just like I’d seen people do in the movies. I didn’t tell him I had only done it once because somebody drove by and saw me. Which led to my over-anxious brain questioning everything I was doing, worrying over being alone in the mountains, and telling myself that my painting wasn’t any good anyway. Most people didn’t even know I liked to paint, but I told him.

Maybe it was the whole confessing things to a stranger idea that was so freeing, because to be honest, I kept having to remind myself that other than a few shared childhood memories, I didn’t know this man at all. No matter how cozy it all felt sitting at the table exchanging stories and laughter, he was a stranger to me. But on a scale of one to ten, my comfort level with him was probably a six. And honestly, that realization startled me. A six. After 4 hours. I stared at him while he told me about his move to Eugene from Wyoming when he was fifteen. Months after our infamous kiss. About the escapades he and his friend Jake got into. Calf and steer roping for his high school rodeo team. The ranch and the people he loved and worked for. It was catnip to me. I couldn’t get enough. Maybe it was his low, easy voice. Or his natural confidence. Maybe it was his large hands moving in animated gestures as he spoke. Or maybe the little smile he would send my way. Usually, something like that would send warning signals to my brain, but I got nothing. No signs of distress at all.

Safe.

That’s what it was. He felt safe. I was willing to bet he could handle himself in just about any situation and something about that knowledge calmed me. Soothed me. But it was more than that. I had to hold myself back from sharing too much. While we were talking, my mind kept buzzing back and forth, filtering all the information I found myself wanting to share. The past year or so, after a disappointing dating life, I had learned to keep myself more guarded and cautious. But something in his manner seemed to crack my chest open with all my secrets threatening to spill out, and the sensible me, the one who had been burned so often, was trying to keep them locked inside.

My eyes met his and found that he was looking at me expectantly. Crap. How long had he been done talking?

“What did you ask? Sorry?”

“I just asked if you like teaching kids.”

“Yes. I love it. Kids are the best.”

He leaned forward on the table, kitty corner to me, and intertwined his long fingers together. “Really? That’s impressive.”

“You don’t like kids?”

“Oh, I love kids, but I’m imagining I’d like my own a lot better than a room full of other people’s kids.” He smiled at me. Heat bloomed on my cheeks. “But I think it’s great that there are people in the world who can take on the challenge. I can remember my favorite grade school teacher. She still calls me by name twenty years later.”

I nodded, solemnly. “Teachers always remember the naughty ones.”

Laughing, he readjusted himself in his seat, his leg brushing mine. “You’re not wrong.”

“I’m sorry. The hard chairs get uncomfortable after a while. We can go to the couch if you want?” Who was I? Why didn’t I want him to go?

The wind howled across the house at that moment, shaking the windows. The lights above us flickered on and off.

Dusty glanced at the lights and out the window. “I’m worried about the power staying on. Maybe we should do the dishes real quick and then check the weather report. We could be in for a doozy.”

I jumped up and grabbed our plates. “Why don’t you turn the TV on and I’ll do the dishes.”

He stood, grabbing our empty glasses, and followed me into the kitchen. “How about I help you here real quick and then we both sit on the couch?”

My skin prickled as he stood next to me at the sink. He turned on the faucet. “Do you have extra drinking water somewhere? In case something happens?”

“Yeah, plenty. I checked it earlier today. Grandma and Grandpa have a half dozen cases of water bottles and fifteen or so gallons of water.”

He rummaged for dish soap under the sink. “I saw the stacks of firewood out back. I figured they’d be prepared, but just wanted to make sure.”

I brought the pans we used for bacon and pancakes over to the sink and dropped them in before stepping back, suddenly feeling shy. He was definitely in my space here and seemed to be comfortable taking charge, and I didn’t know what to do.

As if he realized that, his green eyes met mine. “I’ll wash and you dry? You’ll probably have an easier time than I will trying to figure out where everything goes.”

“You really don’t have to help. You’re my guest.”

He laughed. “Unwanted guest.”

“Eh. I’m getting used to you.”

We were both facing forward now, his hands deep in the water washing a plate, and he bumped my shoulder. My breath hitched while I tried very hard to keep the smile on my face a normal, friendly type. Not the psychopathic sunbeam trying to burst through my hands and face that made me want to turn on nineties pop music and flail about.

“So did you still come here in the summers after I left?” he asked, handing me a plate.

“No,” I admitted, taking a freshly rinsed dish with soap suds still clinging to it. “That last summer with you was the last time we spent a whole summer here as a family.” No way was I going to tell him why we stopped coming.

“Couldn’t bear to endure a summer here without me, huh?”

He seemed to find a quiet delight in unsettling me. I settled into a confusing mix of wanting to bare my soul to him while at the same time feeling my mind go blank anytime he teased me. Thankfully, I could turn my face away and hide while putting the dishes back in their cupboards.

Eventually, we made our way back to the couch. I turned on the TV to the news to find a loud commercial blaring at us. I looked for a way to fast forward but realized that while my grandparents might be living in the 21st century, their home did not reflect that. I sat in the corner of the couch, trying to make myself smaller for some reason—arms folded, legs crossed. I didn’t want to appear forward in any way, so I took the side of the couch expecting him to do the same. Much to my surprise, he plopped down in the middle. His legs sprawled out, his arms folded behind his head, staring at the annoying car salesman giving us the rundown on all the amazing deals at his sleazy lot.

I glanced benignly at him a time or two, watching him watch the TV, undetected. Dusty Bennett was sitting on my grandma’s couch. He had been a part of our summer on the ranch every year from twelve years old until I was sixteen. Four summers of spending most of our days picking rock, fixing fences, moving sprinkler pipe, and fishing at the creek. My dad was a school teacher by day and a cowboy at heart, so every summer we were able to, he packed up his family and moved us out to his parents’ ranch and cowboy motel to help out during their busy season. The summer Dusty first showed up had been awkward only for a day. Even as a kid, he had an easy friendliness which led to natural playmates. Normally, I would have been too shy to talk to a boy, but that was at school, with hundreds of kids everywhere. Here on the ranch, it was only him and Julia. We grew to be friends, as you do when there is nobody else to play with within a twenty-mile radius. We helped with chores, rounded up cattle on the mountain, fished in the stream, drove tractors, and went on horseback rides.

The last time I saw him, I had been sixteen, my sister Julia fourteen, and Dusty fifteen. And yes…I had kissed him. My body threatened to cave in on itself just thinking about that brazen force of impact. After that summer, I got a job at our public library in town and finally convinced my dad not to uproot us for any more summers I had left at home. And for once…he listened. We stayed and only came to Grandpa’s ranch on long weekends or holidays. I told myself I didn’t miss it, but the truth was, a small part of my heart had broken when we stopped going back, even though it was my doing. Grandpa’s ranch was as much a part of me as any home I had ever lived in.

“Geez, they’re predicting ten more inches tonight.”

My head swung toward the TV where the same animated weatherman from earlier was gesturing wildly and pointing to the exact region my grandpa’s ranch was located. Ten more inches of wet, heavy snow.

“Are the cattle going to be okay?”

Dusty’s eyes stayed on the screen, but he nodded. “They should be fine. I’ll bust open the troughs once more before I go to bed and then I’ll get up early tomorrow and put more straw down for them to lay on. Push the snow back in the corrals.” His voice trailed off as he listened intently to the weatherman’s torturous predictions.

I clutched my grandma’s burnt orange fringed decorative pillow close to my chest. He shouldn’t have to do that. He was a guest here. He shouldn’t feel like he had to do it all.

“If you think my grandpa would let you do all that on your own, you”re crazy.”

His eyebrows lifted as he looked over at me. “He’s sick, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but that’s never stopped him.”

“Probably because he’s never had another man here to take care of his chores.”

That was true, he didn’t have another man—but he had me. “I’m here. It’s my responsibility. You’re our guest. You don’t need to do that.”

“Oh perfect. So I stay inside and watch from the windows, while you and your sick, elderly grandpa take care of all the chores?”

My voice came out weak. “Yup.”

“No dice, Lou. I’ll be out at first light and will start feeding cows. You’re welcome to stay in or come join me, but I’m going to try my hardest to make sure Bob has no reason to set foot outside.”

Guilt began to drip into my heart. He was right. Last year my grandpa was nearly hospitalized for pneumonia. “You’re right. I’ll meet you out there.”

Reports of accidents and freeways with cars scattered throughout the darkened road oozed from the reporter’s mouth. So calmly giving his report as though he had nothing at stake. As though he didn’t live in Wyoming. As though he weren’t the one stranded on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. The snow was piling up outside, the lights began to flicker, and my grandpa was sick with nowhere to go. Not to mention the cattle who needed to be fed, strawed, and watered.

My chest began working overtime trying to pull air into my lungs.

“You alright?”

My eyes shifted to his and found him watching me, curiously. My anxiety had gotten better over the years, with breathing techniques, learning to calm myself, and occasionally some medication. But oxygen. There was not enough oxygen.

“Sorry. I’m just getting worried about the storm and everything.” Big breath in, big breath out. “Aren’t you nervous?” I asked him, trying to feign nonchalance at my breathing.

He leaned back down against the couch and looked back to the TV as if knowing I didn’t want him watching me. “Yeah, a little, I guess. But we’re not in any real danger. Your grandpa has everything we need to get through this. Plenty of food. Water. Electricity.”

“For now,” I interjected.

He smiled gently. “If we just take it a little at a time, the big problem will be over. We can map out our day tomorrow if you want. After we hog-tie your grandpa to his bed, getting the animals fed would be the first thing. I’m assuming there are some animals in the old stable?”

I nodded and he continued. “So maybe while you feed the horses and calves in the stable, I’ll get in the tractor and start clearing a path in the corral so we can feed hay. Whoever gets done first can start busting up the water troughs. Then we’ll put straw down for the cows. We can figure it out together.”

He was so confident. So calm. My breathing slowed to eventually match his. He was right. Bit by bit. Nothing was insurmountable. The weight on my shoulders began to lessen.

“You’ll make your grandpa proud.” His hand snaked over to my neck and began rubbing for a brief moment. I froze, my eyes locked on the TV in front of me, before he removed his hand, almost as if he hadn’t meant to in the first place.

I cleared my throat, desperate to not make things weird. “Except I had to have help from some stranded cowboy.”

“You could have done it by yourself. I’m just an added stress for you.”

“No. You’re really not,” I told him. He only smiled, before turning his attention back to the TV.

“You know what would make your grandma proud?”

“What’s that?”

“If we tested your pie-making skills.”

“You might be very disappointed.”

He was grinning at me now. “I’m like Pavlov’s dog. I get it fed to me every time I’m here. My mouth is salivating for it.”

“Does it feel better for you to know that we had the last few pieces of chocolate pie tonight? Just before you got here?”

Dusty groaned. “I think your grandma needs to feel like she’s taught you something. She’d be so proud to know you made me a pie.”

“You act like I haven’t cooked a pie ever in my life.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Well, you’ll have to distract me then. I can only think of chocolate pie now.”

My eyes drifted briefly down to his lips before I yanked them back up. “I have other ways I could distract you.”

I didn’t understand words anymore. I especially didn’t understand the verbiage gushing from my mouth that could only be described as seductive.

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? This sounds interesting.”

“Not what you’re thinking.”

“What was I thinking?”

“Stop it.” I leaned forward, my hands clutching my flaming cheeks.

He laughed again. Did he just lean closer to me? His arms were folded and his body was turned toward me and when his green eyes clashed into mine once more, my breathing stopped.

“So about that kiss?”

For all my efforts the grin spreading across my face could not be controlled. “I think it’s time for me to call it a night.”

“I thought your grandpa didn’t have chickens on the ranch.”

At my glare he admitted defeat and stood up, smiling.

“Alright then. I’m headed to bed unless you have something else to distract me?”

I bit my lip, pink covering my cheeks. “Get out, you flirty cowboy man.”

I stood and followed him to the door, bumping his shoulder in the process. I felt like some sort of addict. I hadn’t thought about Dusty Bennett for years, but now, four hours in his presence and I wanted to touch him. I wasn’t the type to want to touch anybody. But these accidental brushes and nudges were giving my life sparks. And I hadn’t had sparks in a very long time. If ever.

“I’ll be up as soon as it’s light, busting up snow troughs and shoveling snow,” Dusty told me as he pulled on his coat and boots by the doorway. “This storm’s gonna be a doozy.”

“Do you need to call your family? Or your uncle? Will they be alright without you?” The thought of his family missing him or needing him suddenly dawned on me.

“I called my uncle and my parents earlier in my room. They were glad to know I was here.” He put his cowboy hat on his head and put his hand on the door handle before looking at me. “They felt better about me being stranded when I told them that Bob and Susan had a granddaughter here to keep me warm.”

My eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

He gave me a roguish grin, tipped his hat, and stepped out into the snowstorm. “Goodnight, Lou.”