Chapter 15
15
Conrad Strauss
M y day has been non-stop since I stepped outside of the house this morning. It’s late afternoon, and I’ve barely had time to eat, let alone catch my breath. The semi-annual production sale is in a couple of weeks, so I’ve been busy checking out all the bulls and making sure they’re ready for that. Thankfully, it’s not something I have to go to myself; one of my guys who works on the ranch goes on my behalf. It’s an auction that happens twice a year; once toward the end of fall and another in the spring.
I’m finishing up some paperwork in the office inside of the barn when my phone buzzes on the desk beside me. Swiping it up, I glance at the screen before accepting the call.
“Yeah?”
“Hello to you, too,” Will drawls, humor in his tone.
“I’m working. What’s up?”
“Well, was hoping to catch you in a good mood because I got something to ask you that you’re probably not going to like.”
Blowing out a breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What?”
“My dad found out your nana was in town, and now he wants you guys to come over for dinner on Saturday. All three of you.”
“What do you mean, all three of us? How does he even know Whit is living here?”
“Blame Colt.” Will huffs out a chuckle.
“Of course. Well, I can’t see Whit being too happy with this idea.”
Although, I can’t deny the thrill it sends through me imagining it. Us having to pretend to be a couple outside of the house. Going out with him, even to a dinner with my nana and our friends, it would feel like old times.
“I know, but my dad really seemed excited about seeing Nora, so can we at least try to make it happen? It’ll be one night.”
My lip tugs into a grin as I imagine the scowl Whit will give me when I bring it up. “I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks, man. How’s it going over there anyway?”
“Not too bad. Auction’s coming up, so I’m slammed with the shit to prepare for that. I’ve gotta cut this chit-chat short if there’s nothing else.”
Will chuckles. “Alright, fair enough. Let me know as soon as you can about Saturday.”
“Will do.”
Hanging up, I get back to my paperwork, getting a decent chunk of it done before I hear footsteps approaching.
“Why don’t you have any chickens or goats?”
Glancing up, I see my nana standing in the doorway. “Because I have no use for them.”
“You eat eggs, don’t you?” she throws back. “Chickens make eggs.”
“Yes, I eat eggs, Nana. But I get my eggs from down the road, and then I don’t have to clean out chicken coops.”
“I think you could use a couple goats. Maybe even a duck or two.”
Flicking my gaze up to her again, I nod. “I’ll take it into consideration,” I deadpan. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Actually, yes, there is.” I lift a brow questioningly, waiting for her to continue. “Can I borrow your truck to run up to the store? I want to make Whit’s favorite for dinner tonight. Poor boy, he looked haggard this morning when he left for work.”
“He didn’t sleep well last night,” I tell her. “And yes, go ahead and take the truck. The keys are hanging in the kitchen.”
“Is everything alright with him?”
I’m never going to finish this goddamn paperwork at this rate.
“He’s dealing with some stuff, but he’s fine.”
Lifting my gaze, I watch concern swim in her eyes. It warms my chest, knowing how much she loves him. How much she’s always loved him. It reminds me of the first time the two of them met. It was right before mine and Whit’s wedding, and he was so nervous about making a good impression. As if anybody could not love him.
It feels like just yesterday.
Twelve Years Ago
“Does this look okay?” Whit runs his gaze over his own appearance in the mirror before turning to face me. Two nervous hands smooth down the front of his mustard-yellow cable-knit cardigan. It’s an absurd color, but somehow, looks ravishing on him.
“Yes, it looks great,” I murmur as I unbutton the wrist of my plaid shirt, rolling the sleeve up my forearm.
He turns back toward the mirror, cocking his head to one side as his eyes trail up and down his body once more, the nerves he’s feeling radiating off of him like the heat off of an asphalt road on a hot summer day. “I just want to make a good impression.”
“She’s going to love you,” I assure him, meaning every word.
As he brushes his fingers through his hair, I catch a glint from the ring on his finger. The one I presented to him five months ago when I got down on one knee and asked him to be my husband. Our wedding, which Whit has taken full control of planning, down to the very last detail, is one week from today. Love and something else entirely—anticipation, maybe, or excitement—warms my chest as I take in the man before me who will be my husband in seven days.
Huffing loudly, Whit rips the cardigan off his body, tossing it onto the bed to our right. “This is hideous,” he murmurs. “I can’t wear this.”
He grabs a hanger out of the closet, sliding the plastic through the arms of the sweater before placing it back in his color-coordinated side of the closet. On paper, Whit and I couldn’t be more different. He’s very particular about many things, while I’m particular about hardly anything.
Everything of his has a home. His clothes must be hung up in a special order, folded a certain way, and washed using a specific type of laundry soap. He despises dryer sheets. Before living with Whit, I had never seen a person get so angry with an inanimate object before the way he does with dryer sheets. In the bathroom, his toothbrush must sit on the left side of the sink, and the toothpaste must stand up. God forbid, it lie down on the counter.
He’s orderly. Most would probably find it annoying, but I find it endearing. Even if I don’t possess the same sense of order that he does. Although, that’s not to say I don’t have my own schedule that I must follow. I do; it’s just a bit more cut and dry, and less complex than his.
After flitting through the clothing hanging on the rack, he settles for on an army green cardigan, less cable knitty than the last one. “That color looks nice on you.”
Glancing up at me, his eyes wide underneath his glasses, cheeks flushed, he smiles. “Thank you.”
“Nana is going to love you,” I reiterate.
Pursing his lips, he gives himself one more last once-over in the mirror. “I hope so.”
Peering out the window from our loft apartment above the barn, I spot my dad’s truck driving down the gravel road. “They’re here.”
“I’m going to puke,” Whit mumbles as his arms dangle at his sides and he drops his head back onto his shoulder, making me chuckle.
I look at him through the mirror, placing my hands on his shoulders as I lean in and press a kiss to the top of his head. “Breathe. It’s going to be okay.”
Whit holds my gaze, shoulders rising as he drags in a lungful of air. He mentally counts to five before blowing it out.
We take the stairs down into the barn side by side, his nerves still rolling off him in waves. My dad’s closing the passenger side door of his truck as we get outside, and my eyes find my nana immediately, a smile curving my lips. Standing at barely five feet tall, she walks with a cane that’s fully bedazzled.
Nana is nothing if not eclectic and bold in her style. Bright, blinding colors, big, gaudy jewelry, and a mouth not afraid to say exactly what is on her mind. Like Whit is to me, Nana was always the opposite of my grandfather. Where he was stoic and a bit grumbly, she was loud and bubbly. She was the sunshine to his storm up until the day he died.
“Connie!” she shouts when she spots me. She and Whit are the only two people who call me that, and when I was a kid, I used to hate it. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve leaned into not only tolerating it, but loving it. Not that I’d ever tell either of them. “My gosh, boy, have you gotten taller since the last time I saw you?”
She pulls me in for a hug, and her small arms wrapped around my wide middle is almost comical.
“I’m in my thirties, Nana,” I drawl. “I stopped getting taller over a decade ago.”
“Jack the Bean Stock over here,” she teases as she pulls back, giving me a good, hard look before turning her attention to Whit at my side. He’s stiff as a board, face void of any color as he stares at her wordlessly. “Oh, and you must be the Whit I’ve heard so much about!”
His eyes fly to mine, wide with panic, as she pulls him in for a hug next. Nana is a big hugger… Whit is not.
“Nana.” I touch a hand to her shoulder. “Not everybody is as affectionate as you. Let him breathe, would you.” I chuckle as she lets him go, and I see the way his shoulders sag in relief.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Strauss,” Whit says so formally.
“Oh, please, honey,” she waves him off. “You’re family now. Call me Nana.”
“Oh, um…” Eyes darting to mine again, I see the unease. “Okay, then.”
Helping Dad with Nana’s bags in the back of his truck, we all make our way inside. The hearty aroma of my mom’s cooking surrounds us, my stomach rumbling. Lapskaus is a favorite of my family’s, and something my mom always makes when my nana comes into town to visit. It’s a Norwegian beef stew, and the smell is so comforting.
After I help Nana settle into the guest bedroom at the far end of the house, we all gather in the living room for a while before dinner is done. Mom loves going all out when we have company; nobody ever goes hungry with her around. By tomorrow morning, my nana will also be in the kitchen helping her, I can almost bet on it.
“So, I hear you’re going to school at Copper Lake University,” Nana says to Whit as she sips her first of what will probably be many dry martinis with extra olives. “How are you liking that?”
Whit lights up with the question. He loves school, and talking about school. “It’s going great. I’ll be graduating this year, and then in the fall, I’ll be starting veterinary school.”
“Following in your daddy’s footsteps?” She smiles.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s the plan.”
“Oh, enough with the ma’am,” she scolds teasingly.
The rest of the evening goes by smoothly, and more than once, I catch myself stopping for a moment, noting how nice it is to have all the people I love here under one roof. I can already see a connection forming between them, and it makes my heart swell. My nana is staying until after the wedding, and I’m so thankful she was able to fly in and not miss it.
Whit excuses himself around eight-thirty to head back up to the loft to go to bed. On busy days when he has to be around several people at once, his social battery drains faster than usual. I’m not at all surprised that he wanted to call it a day so early. Typically, he stays up later than I do.
I’m finishing washing the dessert dishes, about to dry my hands, and go up to bed myself, when Nana waltzes into the kitchen.
“Figured you would go to bed early tonight,” I say. “Jet leg and all.”
“Oh, it’ll hit me soon enough,” she replies. “I know it, but I think I’m too amped up from seeing all of you.”
I chuckle. “I can understand that.”
“I’m so happy to finally meet this boy of yours.” There’s a glint in her eyes as she watches me from across the kitchen. “He’s a sweet one. You hold on to him.”
“I plan to,” I mutter with conviction.
“The way he looks at you…” Her smile widens as she appears lost in thought. In a memory, maybe. “Reminds me of how I used to look at your grandfather. Like there’s nothing we couldn’t conquer as long as we were together.”
I don’t know what to say to that. My throat tightens.
“He loves you dearly, Connie boy.” Emotion is thick in her words. “You hung the stars in his sky. It’s clear to see.”
“I love him too, Nana.” My voice cracks, the words hard to get out.
Her glassy eyes find mine. “I know you do, Connie.” Crossing the kitchen, she reaches up, hand flat on my chest. “I know you do. Well, I’m going to head off to bed, and I suggest you do the same. If you’re anything like your grandfather and your dad, you’ll be up before the sun.”
Chuckling deeply, I cover her hand with mine, squeezing gently. “Life of a rancher, nana. You know that.”
“That I do.”