Chapter 8
If there was a sticker that read, ‘I’m dating Ellie Blaire,’ Nash was wearing it on his forehead.
Not that he was dating-dating her, but they had seen each other every day for a week. Riding, talking, flirting, holding long gazes that made him weak with desire.
The trouble was, it seemed that no matter who he came in contact with, Nash couldn't keep the I've-got-a-secret expression off his face. At least, it felt that way to him.
He still hadn’t made the big move yet—that being the kiss, of course, but that didn't mean things weren’t progressing. On the contrary, Nash had never felt so instantly connected to another woman in all his life.
It was funny; with as different as their lives and backgrounds were, they totally clicked. Nash was fascinated by the stories she told, and Ellie seemed to be intrigued by his in return.
Since the regular ‘horse guy’ was back from his vacation, Tucker gave Nash a new position.
He was now a horse specialist assigned to work one-on-one with the celebrities as they came through; for the time being, that was Ellie.
Nash had already signed the NDA, and, according to the feedback Ellie gave Tucker, Nash seemed an appropriate fit.
Tucker did, however, insist that Nash move into the lodge for the duration of his time—at least until Ellie was gone. Nash had done so gladly. It wasn’t bad either. The lodge had nice rooms, its own cafeteria, and a large foyer where the staff hung out during their off time.
Nash had spent most of his off time with Ellie.
Rather than text each of his family members separately about his temporary move into Wild Buck’s, Nash had called Uncle Lloyd and asked if he and the ranch hands could manage things without him for a while.
When Uncle Lloyd assured him that they could, Nash asked him to tell the others and explained that he wouldn't be on his phone much during the month ahead.
So far, Nash had received encouraging texts from Grandma C, Thatcher, and, oddly enough, his brother Wyatt, which made him wonder if Thatcher had spilled the beans.
Grandma C and Thatcher’s texts had a similar I-think-I-know-why-you’re-staying-away vibe, while Wyatt’s simply said he was thinking of him and hoped he was having a nice day.
He’d been having a whole lot of nice days since he’d been spending them with Ellie.
For the weekend, Nash had a little something up his sleeve. He’d already gotten special approval from Tucker, and now it was time to see if Ellie would say yes. What better way to ask her than a good old-fashioned invite tied with string?
If she said yes, he had a few follow-up items to give her.
And he was counting on her saying yes. Of course, Nash had spent way too much time creating a logo on his laptop over the week and far too much money getting it printed onto the apparel he planned to present to her, but he’d enjoyed putting it all together with Ellie in mind.
This is how he was when he really liked someone, Nash realized, recalling the elaborate dates he used to plan. It’d been a long time since he’d liked someone this much.
It felt odd driving to the private cabins along the east side of the ranch.
So far, he’d only gotten to her place through the back trails while walking her home.
Now, he’d be pulling into the driveway and knocking on her door, which felt very date-like compared to the regular riding meet-ups they were used to.
Nash sucked in a deep breath as he shut off the truck engine. They were supposed to meet at the stables two hours from now, which meant she wasn't expecting to see him yet, and she definitely wasn't expecting to have him show up at her door.
Nash grabbed the invitation, along with the brown paper package he'd also tied with string, and stepped out of the truck.
He rolled his shoulders back as he stared at the cabin’s front door. Then, with the package and invite in one hand, he reached up and knocked.
"Did you seriously order room service again?" came a female voice, probably Geneva, Ellie's assistant. Nash hadn't met her yet, but he'd heard a lot about her.
"Well, I didn't order anything,” the woman came again. Suddenly, the door flung open, and Nash's eyes widened as he took a step back.
It was none other than the middle-aged woman he'd seen thumbing through the tabloid at the main office. A misplaced dose of guilty heat flushed over his face.
"Why, helloo, cowboy," the woman said in a singsong voice. She eyed him up and down with an accusatory grin on her face. "I'm going to assume you're here for Ellie."
"You assume correctly. How are you, ma'am?" He tugged the brim of his hat and lowered his chin.
"Good, though not as good as Ellie’s going to be when she gets a load of you." The woman turned her head over her shoulder. "Ellie? You’ve got a package here, and it’s too big for me to carry in."
Nash's eyes widened as his face went hot with another round of embarrassment.
Ellie came trailing into the entry room behind Geneva, wearing no more than a towel. Make that two towels—one holding her hair on top of her head and the other wrapped around her slender frame.
Nash watched her face as she spotted him, amusement working his mouth into a grin. He gave her a gentlemanly nod while pinching the brim of his hat, playing off what Geneva had said about their guest.
"Special delivery."
Ellie stared at the sight of Nash on the front porch.
She couldn't remember a time that any guy had just shown up to her door.
She hadn't connected with a lot of kids in her youth or teen years, and by the time she was old enough to date, she was already living in gated communities with guarded entrances.
Nobody ever just dropped by like they did in the movies or on TV.
"Well, are you going to invite him in or just stare at him all day?"
Geneva’s comment snapped Ellie out of her stupor.
"Yes, of course, come on in." She was glad she'd reached for the cover-up towel after her shower, the one with an elastic band above and below the bust to secure it. She never did have any luck making towels stay in place for long.
Nash stepped inside, and Geneva closed the door, craning her neck to observe him from behind.
"Should we go into the kitchen, and so I can pour you some iced tea?"
Behind Nash, Geneva shook out her hand like it was burning hot.
Ellie shot her a glare and mouthed the word cougar.
Geneva laughed.
"Actually,” Nash said, “I just came to give you this." He handed her the roll of paper that was tied with string. "Go ahead and open that first," he said, keeping hold of the package in his hand.
Ellie untied the string, glad Geneva was giving them their privacy. Not that the nosy woman would go any farther than the kitchen, where she could still hear everything.
Ellie unrolled the paper and read.
“You are formally invited to Wild Buck’s summer camp trip, an abbreviated simulation to give you the true summer camp experience in a fraction of the time.
Join your leader, Nash, for a night of hobo dinners, roasted marshmallows, exhaustive camp songs, and a night spent in a pup tent (separate tents, I promise)."
Ellie's insides erupted with chaos. A thrill of excitement quickened her pulse while an appreciative pool of warmth buoyed her heart. Her delight was showing on her face, she knew it.
Nash eyed her tentatively as he lightly bounced the package in his grip.
"Is that for me, too?” she asked.
"If you accept the invitation, it is.”
"Are you serious about the two tents? We’re not going to get there, and you suddenly realize we only have one tent and one sleeping bag?"
Nash shook his head. "You've starred in too many movies."
Ellie laughed out loud; she couldn't help it. Time with Nash was the perfect escape from her stifling life. The ideal sample of the sort of romance she'd only dreamed about, and feared she’d never really have.
"Okay, I’m officially accepting your invitation."
Nash quirked that sly grin as he handed over the package.
Ellie rested the invite on the entry table and tugged one end of the string to unravel the bow.
She flipped the rather light bundle within one palm to expose the taped side.
She’d barely caught sight of the fabric within when it registered.
Ellie gasped and stared at Nash as her heart began to hammer. "You did not."
"Go ahead and look,” he said with a nod toward the package.
Ellie rested it next to the invitation and removed an oversized T-shirt.
A logo on the front read ‘Wild Buck’s Buccaneers.
’ In smaller print below, the words Summer Camp were followed by that day and tomorrow's dates.
She glanced down to see that there was another shirt in the package.
When she looped the first one over her arm and pulled out the other, a small object tumbled to the ground.
Ellie glanced down to see a neon green cord with a silver whistle attached. "Oh my gosh, is this for me?" She reached down to pick it up.
"It sure is. And that second shirt you’re holding is the smaller of the two. I figured you’d like that one."
"I don't know,” she said, holding up the smaller shirt. “You might look kind of cute in this one.” She inspected the fun, camp-vibe logo once more. “Are you the one who created this logo?"
"I am, but they’re not quite finished. Anyone who's ever been to youth camp knows a good camp shirt has to have your name on it."
Ellie flipped the shirt from one side to the next.
"That's something you add yourself at camp,” he amended. “Can you be ready to go in one hour?"
"I think so. What do I need to bring?"
"Something warm to sleep in like flannel pajamas or sweats, and a change of clothes for the morning. Bring a sturdy pair of shoes, too."
Ellie's grin went impossibly wider as another round of excitement cycled through her. "You’re going to come back and get me?"
"I am."
She considered all the movies featuring summer camps for kids, musing they often included a little romance on the side—flirty banter amidst a competition, a hidden hand-hold in the shadows of the campfire, or a swoon-worthy kiss behind the tent. Another thrill shot through her at the thought.
"Sounds good,” she said, resisting the urge to squeal. “I can't wait."