Chapter 12
MATTHEW
W hile Gigi spent the morning riding and giving Lauren two-stepping lessons, I finally got caught up on some office work.
It was the first uneventful day I’d had in a long time, and it occurred right when my brain kept wanting to return to the moment Lauren threw herself into my arms. I’d felt her heart pulsing against my chest as she clung to me, and I didn’t want to let her go.
I wasn’t about to manufacture another cow stampede, but I was hoping the two-stepping party would allow me an opportunity to hold her in my arms again.
So much for distancing myself from my beautiful guest.
After his morning trail ride, Walt and I finally had a few minutes to get together in the staff mess hall to discuss the campfire cookout we were planning for the following week.
Lauren said she’d ride up with us this time, so I wanted it to be extra special.
More importantly, nothing could go wrong, which was a big ask at a ranch where I was putting out one fire after another.
“How about we bring your guitar and do some cowboy songs while dinner is cooking?” I suggested. During my parents’ day, Walt often sang at our cookouts in his deep baritone voice, and guests loved it.
“My singing chops aren’t what they used to be.” He loaded up his baked potato with a huge slab of butter. “And don’t tell me it’s the cigarettes, cause I already know I need to quit.”
“I could sing, if you’ll play.”
Walt gave me a grave look. “The moose might think it’s mating season if you sing, son.”
“Very funny. My voice isn’t that bad.” He raised his bushy grey eyebrows. “Alright, maybe Tyler would sing for us. Is that better?”
“Why all the fuss?” Walt asked.
“I just want to make it special for the guests. The Shahs and Jernigans are here for two weeks, and they came to one cookout already this summer, and the Mason family is back at the ranch for the first time in several years. I feel like we should do something different for this one.”
“Uh huh.” Walt’s mouth slid into a half smile. “Nothing to do with impressing a certain New Yorker?”
My mouth hung open as I struggled to find the words to convince him otherwise. “Of course not. Although now that you mention it, I would like her to give us a rave review. She probably has a lot of wealthy friends back home who would?—”
“Enjoy a no-frills ranch experience?”
I groaned and leaned my elbows on the table, letting my head fall into my hands. “Give me a break, Walt.”
He laughed as he slapped my back. “No shame in admiring a beautiful woman. I once had feelings for a ranch guest.” He smoothed two fingers over his mustache. “Her name was Lola. She was a showgirl.”
I glared at him. “That is a Barry Manilow song.”
“Fine, she was a bookkeeper from Tucson, but her name was Lola, and she came to the ranch one summer with her sisters.” His eyes got a faraway look in them. “She had the prettiest smile, as well as some other lovely…assets.”
This was the most Walt had ever told me about a woman he’d dated. “So what happened to her?”
“We actually met up in Telluride that winter for a little ski vacation. That was the last time I ever saw her.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Turns out I don’t enjoy skiing.” He picked up his fork, took a bite of potato, and that was the end of his story.
I knew I’d get nothing else out of him. The truth was, Walt was terrible at relationships.
Everyone knew that about him. If anyone spotted him in the company of a woman—for example, leaving The Mangy Marmot on a Saturday night—he never spoke about it afterwards, at least not to me.
Sometimes I thought my brother Bowie had taken on Walt as his romantic role model in life because he seemed to be cut from the same cloth.
With a loud bang and a strong breeze behind her, Gigi slammed through the mess hall’s screen door. “I need two sandwiches, some apples, chips, and two drinks.” She hurried past us toward the hot bar. “Potatoes? Those aren’t good on a picnic.”
“Sure they are,” I said. “And who are you going on a picnic with?”
“Lauren. I’m taking her down to the creek again. Don’t worry, we’re walking this time.” She reached for the bag of bread that was always present in the staff kitchen, in case someone wanted to make a sandwich. “We might bring fishing poles too.”
“Wash your hands first!” I scolded.
Gigi grumbled but went over to the small sink basin on the other side of the room. The two of them on a picnic was pretty cute to envision, and I longed to go with them. Unfortunately, I had a date with a caulk gun and a new shower pan in one of the guest cottages.
“You’ve taken a shine to Mrs. Wagonblast, huh?” Walt asked as she dried her hands and then headed toward the bread and peanut butter.
“She’s great,” Gigi said as she got to work on the sandwiches. “She picked up the two-step right away. Did you know she speaks French?”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “What else did you discover about her?”
Walt started to chuckle, but it turned into a coughing spell.
Gigi turned and shook a piece of whole wheat bread at him. “You need to quit smoking, Walt. It’s terrible for you.”
“I’ve cut down,” he mumbled sheepishly. Being shamed by a child was humbling indeed, and I might have felt sympathetic toward him if the topic was a different one. Maybe Gigi could eventually get through to him about his smoking, because I certainly hadn’t been able to.
Tyler’s voice crackled through my walkie. “Come in, Boss.”
“I’m here, Ty. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a faucet in cabin three that won’t shut off. I’m here now, but I believe I’m going to have to shut off the water supply to figure out the issue. Over.”
Indeed, I could hear running water in the background. Wonderful. Guests who wanted a shower in the next hour or so would not be too happy, but there was nothing else to be done about it. “Copy. Do what you have to do.”
“What’s that saying?” Walt asked. “Heavy is the head that wears the toilet plunger?”
“Real funny. It’s more of a dunce cap at this point.” I was falling deep into self-pity.
“You’re doing your best,” he said. “Just keep on keeping on. What else can you do?”
In addition to the faucet that kept on flowing, the next few hours presented me with a tearful Kyra, who had been chewed out by Chef Damon, and a bird who flew into the dining room and refused to exit.
As I finally cornered the wayward chickadee and shooed him through the back door, I asked myself what else could go wrong that day.
Turns out, you should never ask yourself that question.
* * *
Instead of dinner in the dining room that evening, we had what I called poolside grill grub so Chef Damon and Serenity could get a well-deserved night off.
Tyler and I manned the grills and Kyra did the serving.
It was nothing fancy—hamburgers, veggie burgers, corn on the cob, and a sideboard full of salads prepared by Serenity earlier in the day.
Families seemed to appreciate a break from the formality of the dining room, and I did, too.
Gigi sat down to eat at a table with Lauren and, to my surprise, Walt came and joined them.
He had a policy of not dining with guests, preferring to eat his meals casually with other staff members, but he was always a favorite with the people who came to stay at Silver Sage.
Walt fit the western stereotype with his bushy mustache and worn Stetson, not to mention his skill with horses.
People always enjoyed his sly humor and nuggets of cowboy wisdom.
Why had he broken tradition by sharing a meal with a guest?
As I tried to figure that out, my attention repeatedly strayed over to their table where there was lively chatter and laughter.
It didn’t take a genius to see that Walt had been charmed by Lauren, too, and he was thoroughly enjoying her company.
After supper, Gigi and our guests went to the Round Room to listen to a local bluegrass duo play acoustic guitar music.
Hiring musicians for such a small crowd was expensive and probably foolish on my part, but it was important to me that everyone had a good time and left positive reviews.
We couldn’t build a business if people gave negative accounts of us on social media and travel websites.
Besides, we’d always had evening entertainment in the Round Room for guests, and I wanted to keep the Silver Sage traditions alive.
After making sure the performers had everything they needed, I headed back to my cabin to take a shower and rid myself of the smell of grilled meat.
When I was alone, the warm water soothing my tired muscles, I finally let myself feel the full weight of the day.
It was time to acknowledge that this ranch I loved so dearly was falling apart piece by piece.
The pool, the cabins and the tennis courts were all in need of major renovations or replacement.
The plumbing needed updates too, and the first thing our groundskeeper had done when I took over the ranch was hand me a long list of improvements he’d been trying to get my father to make for years.
We didn’t have the money or the staff to stay afloat much longer, and I wasn’t sure I could do a damn thing about that.