Chapter Sixteen
I wave at a few guests as I make my way to my vehicle, Granddad’s dinner tucked under my arm.
The late afternoon sky is turning that soft honey color. The air is cooling as the sun dips toward the mountains.
I take a deep breath. Nothing beats a Saturday evening.
I turn the corner toward the back of the hotel, and that’s when I see her.
Harleigh is standing on the sidewalk just outside the employee parking lot.
She’s holding her phone in one hand and pacing slightly, her shoulders tight.
Even from a distance, I can tell she looks tired.
And irritated.
I slow instinctively.
For a second, I consider just continuing to my ride. It would probably be easier. Less complicated.
But then she lifts her hand, runs it through her hair, and lets out a silent scream before tossing her phone onto the leather bag resting at her feet.
And just like that, my decision is made.
I walk over to her. Approaching cautiously.
“Miss Storm.”
She startles slightly, turning toward the sound of my voice.
When she sees me, she straightens. “Oh. Hi, Porter.”
Porter.
Not Mr. Garrison.
I guess that’s progress. But there’s a faint hint of frustration lingering beneath the greeting.
“Everything all right?” I ask.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m just waiting for a ride.”
The way she says it tells me that ride is taking its sweet time.
“Do you need assistance?” I ask.
“No,” she says quickly. “I’m fine.”
She glances down the road. “My cousin is coming to get me—eventually.”
I nod slowly, then look past her toward the employee lot. “Where’s your truck?”
She sighs. “It started running hot yesterday. So, Daddy took it into town this morning to have someone look at the radiator. Every other ranch truck we own is currently being used, so …”
“So, you were dropped off.”
She nods. “Yep.”
I glance at the takeout container I’m carrying.
“Has he left yet?” I ask.
Her mouth tightens slightly. “Not yet.”
I suppress a smile.
“He says he’ll be on his way in about fifteen minutes. Which can mean anything from ten minutes to two hours in Cabe speak.”
“Well,” I say after a long pause, “have a good evening, Miss Storm.”
“You too,” she mutters as I step off the curb.
I make it about ten feet.
Then sigh.
And stop.
Because leaving her standing there, waiting on a cousin who hasn’t even left the ranch yet, feels … wrong.
I turn back to her.
She’s pacing with her head down.
“Actually,” I call, “I could take you home.”
Her head shoots up, and she blinks at me.
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m heading into Wildhaven anyway.” I hold up the cardboard box. “I just need to stop by my grandfather’s place first to drop off his dinner. So, if you don’t mind a quick pit stop, I’d be happy to give you a ride so you don’t have to stand around, waiting.”
She hesitates. “I really don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“It’s no inconvenience.”
She studies my face for a moment. Like she’s trying to decide. “Okay.” She bends and picks up her bag reluctantly. “Thank you.”
She follows me, and I lead her to the passenger door and open it.
“Hop in.”
She climbs into the seat. The interior lights briefly illuminate her face. She does look tired.
But still beautiful.
Which is not a helpful thought.
I hand her the food once she’s secured her seat belt, shut her in, and make my way to the driver’s side.
“This is a very nice ride,” she says as I back us out of the parking space.
“It gets me where I need to go.”
She laughs softly. “Very comfortably, I’d imagine.”
I pull onto the road.
The first few minutes of the drive pass in silence.
Comfortable but slightly awkward.
Finally, she speaks as she stares out the window. “So, your grandfather lives in Wildhaven?”
“Yes.”
“What about you?”
“I live about twenty minutes from him in Moose.”
She raises a brow, but doesn’t ask more.
About ten minutes later, I turn onto a long gravel road lined with old cottonwoods.
Harleigh straightens in her seat. “Wait.” Her head swivels as the ranch house comes into view. “This is where your grandfather lives?”
“Yep.”
She stares out the windshield. “I was expecting a mansion or something,” she mutters. “Or at least a sleek condo downtown.”
I chuckle. “Nope.”
I pull up in front of the porch.
“This is my mother’s parents’ place. This is where she grew up. It used to be a working cattle ranch. Granddad built most of the structures, including the house, with his own hands.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Wow. It’s incredible.”
There’s admiration in her voice.
Which catches me off guard.
Most people are awed by the Garrison side of my family and would just see this place as nothing but an aging homestead and assume it’s beneath someone with my financial standing.
But Harleigh seems … impressed.
I climb out of the vehicle and walk to her side.
The evening air is growing cold now, the sky painted pink and gold.
She opens her door.
“I’ll drop this off,” I say, taking the container from her. “You can wait here. I’ll just be a minute.”
But she’s already stepping out.
“I want to meet your grandfather.”
I pause. “You do?”
“Of course.” She shuts the door and joins me at the base of the porch steps. “You can’t just casually mention a rancher grandpa and expect me not to be curious.”
I study her. Then shrug. “Fair enough.”
We climb the steps together.
The familiar scent of old wood and coffee greets us the second we enter the house.
Granddad is exactly where he always is.
Sitting in his worn recliner in front of the television.
The volume slightly too loud.
He glances up. And immediately brightens. “Look who finally decided to show.”
His eyes shift to Harleigh and lighten even more. “Well now, who do we have here?”
I clear my throat. “Granddad, this is Harleigh Storm. She works at the hotel.”
I turn to her. “Miss Storm, this is my grandfather, Josiah Rayburn.”
Harleigh smiles warmly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rayburn.”
He grins like a man who just won the lottery. “Call me Josiah, pretty lady.”
I hold up the container. “Brought you dinner, old man.”
“Bless you, boy.” He takes it eagerly.
Harleigh moves toward the armchair across from him. “So, Porter tells me you built this house,” she says.
His chest puffs up. “Sure did.”
They fall into conversation instantly. Which doesn’t surprise me. The man could talk your ear off.
“Um, Granddad,” I interrupt, “we have to go. I need to get Miss Storm home.”
He frowns. “Before you go,” he says, “there’s a leak in the kitchen.”
Of course there is.
“I’ll cut off the main valve and send a plumber on Monday.”
He scowls. “I can’t go without water for two days.”
I sigh. “Where is it?”
“Under the sink.”
I glance at Harleigh. “Sorry about this.”
She waves a hand dismissively as she settles into the chair. “Don’t worry about me.”
Granddad grins. “Have you ever had Joyce’s country-fried steak?” he asks her.
“I have not,” she replies.
I head upstairs to my old room. It hasn’t changed much over the years. I still keep a few clothes in the closet for situations like this.
I ditch the suit jacket and tie. Swap my slacks for jeans, pull on a flannel shirt, and slip into a pair of boots.
Back downstairs, I grab my tool belt from the mudroom.
As I head toward the kitchen, laughter drifts from the living room.
Harleigh’s laughter.
Warm. Lively.
I pause briefly and listen.
“Were those chokecherry trees I saw as we drove in?” she asks.
“Yep. I planted a mess of ’em for my Della. She made the sweetest chokecherry pie in the county,” he tells her.
Granddad hasn’t sounded that happy in forever.
Then I shake my head and get to work.
The leak isn’t complicated. Just an old pipe that’s finally given up after decades. I use a fitting to patch it. Hopefully, it’ll hold until I can get the entire thing replaced.
About forty-five minutes later, I wipe my hands on a rag and stand.
That’ll have to do for now. Thankfully, the water is flowing normally again.
I step back into the living room.
And stop.
Harleigh is sitting crisscross on the floor in front of the recliner. Granddad’s plate of country-fried steak balanced on his lap between them.
They’re sharing it.
Granddad is smiling like a man who’s just had the best evening of his life.
And Harleigh is laughing again at something he said.
For a spell, I just stand there, watching them.
Because somehow, in less than an hour, she’s managed to charm the grumpiest old rancher I know.