Chapter Thirteen
When Seth pulled into the parking area at the ranch, the on-site plow had already cleared spaces, but unlike usual, only half were full of the employees’ vehicles.
He pulled in beside a pickup truck and took the last bite of the frittata Andrea had sent with him, enjoying the fluffiness of the eggs and the tangy cheese.
She was a terrific cook. He only wished he was sitting across the table enjoying it with her, instead of what was going to be a huge backlog of farm chores to deal with over the next several hours.
Seth entered the barn and surveyed the situation. The feed bags had been cleared—that would have been priority one—and judging by the two empty wheelbarrows near the door, there were still several stalls in need of mucking out.
Buck lived on-site in the house behind the barn, so there’d never be a situation where he couldn’t make it to the ranch and care for the animals. Today was proof in the pudding that it was a necessary arrangement.
“Seth,” he said, extending a fist bump. “Thanks for coming out. Hope you aren’t inconvenienced.”
Inconvenienced? More like he had a major itch that he knew was going to go unscratched for a good long time. That he now lived in a world where being in Andrea’s presence felt more right than anything he’d ever known, and every moment away would be spent in anticipation of being together again.
“No sweat,” said Seth. “How’re things going? Looks like you guys have been grinding.”
Buck tossed the feed bin he was holding on the ground. “If Brick Oven Pizza’s delivering, today might be the day.”
“10-4,” Seth said. Bronco Brick Oven Pizza was the best pizza joint in Bronco, and every now and then, during the busiest seasons where the work was extra demanding or there was a sense the staff needed a morale boost, they’d put in a big order and make sure there was a reason to celebrate at the end of the shift.
“I’ll go make a call, then let me know what needs doing. ”
The rest of the afternoon was grueling and fast-paced, and by the time the pizza was scheduled to be delivered, Seth was ready to collapse into a heap and would have been happy to make a bed in one of the empty paddocks.
His phone buzzed. He opened it to find a message from his mother. Can you come by the house? I need to talk about Thanksgiving.
Seth braced himself. Thanksgiving at the Taylor household carried a legacy involving his father making a point, over several times during the evening, of reminding his children how very thankful they should be to be a part of the Taylor family.
For all the privileges they’ve been given.
The comfortable life and all the access.
Basically, how thankful they should be to have him as a father.
While most people saw Thanksgiving as a time for togetherness and pumpkin pie and some great games on television, Seth just saw it as another performative occasion and tinder for what would usually devolve into some kind of unnecessary family drama.
If it were up to him, they would convene in smaller units, where the simmer of underlying feelings was contained to fewer people, and less likely to ignite Taylor family drama.
But at the end of the day, as always, he hated saying no to his mother, and the fact that Andrea would be coming made the situation a whole lot more palatable.
He washed up at the sink in the barn, then walked the winding path up to the house, which overlooked the farm’s fields like a watching eye.
When he entered the house, he found his mom sitting on a chaise lounge in the great room, very unusually wearing a sweatshirt, fireplace on and book in hand. His surprise at her casual appearance must have been visible on his face.
“This is my snowed-in attire,” Imogen said, gesturing toward what was likely a $200 designer sweatshirt.
As though with a quick phone call, she wouldn’t have access to a helicopter or something that could fly her out to anywhere her heart desired.
“Come, sit.” She patted the plush couch beside her.
Seth sat down, and Imogen placed her tented book on the coffee table in front of her. “I have a bone to pick with you.”
Uh-oh. Imogen was routinely the softie in his parents’ dynamic, and it was rare for her to find fault with her children. What could he have possibly done to screw up?
“Then there’s been a mistake, obviously,” Seth said, grinning. He always knew how to get out of trouble with his mom.
She sat up and fixed him in a disapproving gaze. “I heard that you,” she said, pointing one of her red manicured nails, “have been in possession of some very important information about Daniel’s plans to propose to Mike for over a week now.”
“I don’t—”
Imogen held up her hand. “Don’t interrupt me.”
Seth waited. He knew she was mostly kidding. But he’d go along with it. “So, he told you?”
“He did. But I heard you were the first to know.”
“I just happened to be in the right place at the right time,” said Seth.
“And,” she said, holding her hand up again. “And.” She gave him a pointed look. “I heard that you were at the party in Tenacity with a woman.”
Oh no, Seth thought.
“A woman that your brother described as Jessica Chastain’s look-alike.” Seth had no idea who that was, but he knew she had to be beautiful.
“I was,” he said. “And so?”
“And so, as an apology for jumping the line in getting the scoop on a very important upcoming event, I’d like you to bring this woman to Thanksgiving dinner next weekend.” She paused. “It’s been a while since you’ve brought someone home.”
Should he reveal to his mother that he’d already invited Andrea, and she’d agreed to come? Or let his mother take the win? “Alright,” he said. “I’ll bring her. For you.”
Imogen smiled, satisfied. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll have Lina set another place.”
“How did Dad take the news about Daniel’s plan?” Seth asked.
Imogen waved her hand. “He’ll be fine,” she said. “He’s just happy that at least one of his unattached sons is making a commitment.”
“Mom,” Seth warned. But before he could continue, the sound of cowboy boots on a hardwood floor and keys jingling approached from down the hall, where Thaddeus Taylor’s office was situated.
Seth straightened his shoulders, an involuntary reaction to so many years spent preparing to be on defense around his father.
Unlike his wife, who’d accepted the fact that they wouldn’t be going far the day after a major snowstorm, Thaddeus was dressed as usual, always seemingly prepared for one of two events: going into battle with a business rival, a subcontractor who was trying to take advantage of him or a member of his family who in his mind was stepping out of line, or ready to jump in and manage the business on the floor.
He wore the blue jeans of a worker, and the blazer of a businessman, with an immaculately cut dress shirt underneath, his silver-and-white beard freshly trimmed and his eyes full of suspicion.
“Hello, son,” Thaddeus said, passing through the living space to the kitchen, where he pulled a bottle of white wine from the fridge and poured himself a glass.
His voice was gruff, the way it was after he’d spent the day with his head buried in papers.
Seth remembered those times as a child, when if anyone so much as dared to breathe near the door of their father’s office, there’d be hell to pay. “Drink, anyone?”
Imogen shook her head. “No thanks,” said Seth.
“Seth here’s bringing a date to Thanksgiving,” Imogen said, smiling at her husband, then looking back at Seth and winking.
“That right?” said Thaddeus, not betraying any emotion. “She the one you’ve been talking about this harebrained dinosaur park idea with? Your brother gave me the scoop.”
Seth felt his blood start to boil, but there was no use engaging his father in any kind of debate. Instead, he took a long breath through his nose while doing the best to unclench his jaw. “She’s a paleontologist,” he said. “And I’m hoping she’ll enjoy a nice family dinner here.”
Thaddeus chuckled and took a sip of his wine. “Shots fired,” he said. “Message received.” He held his drink up in a salute. “We’ll look forward to meeting her. Lots of new characters around the dinner table this year, that’s for sure.”
“Darling,” said Imogen, a hint of warning in her voice. Seth knew exactly what that was all about. Thaddeus was to play nice with Mike.
Seth saw his out. Best to exit while his parents’ focus was on Daniel.
Sorry, big bro, he thought, as he gathered his phone and keys, then stood in the entrance.
“I’m going to go back out and check on things,” he said.
“Then I’ll head home. From what Buck told me, the full team’ll be back tomorrow. ”
“You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner, honey?
” said Imogen. Part of him felt a pang of guilt like he should stay and keep his mom company.
Who would want to hang out with Thaddeus all night?
But the other part of him knew she was just fine.
For whatever reason, the two of them worked. All the power to them.
“I ordered pizza for the guys. I should get out there and eat with them,” Seth said.
Thaddeus nodded. “Yes, you should. Got to keep things on the same level sometimes.”
Seth resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As if, even for a second, he saw himself to be above the workers that busted their asses all day to keep his family’s business going.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, then made his way back down to the barns.
On the snowy path that led from the compound, he checked his phone to see if there was anything from Andrea. Nothing.
He’d detected a shift in energy before he left.
That untethered, carefree Andrea in front of the fire during the storm was once again the slightest bit guarded.
He wanted her to feel safe in his presence.
Fully able to be herself. So he resisted the urge to message her.
She’d reach out when she wanted to. She’d agreed to Thanksgiving dinner, which was only in a matter of days.
He just wasn’t sure he’d survive not speaking to her until then.
He shook his head as he entered the barn, to find the workers sitting together at a picnic table, eating pizza and trading barbs.
He accepted a slice on a napkin from Buck, then slid into a spot at the picnic table and tried his best to keep up with the conversation.
But he found it impossible to keep his thoughts from turning to Andrea.
The sweet scent of her hair as it hung in his face while her head was dipped, legs on either side of his body.
The certainty with which she told him what she wanted.
The steady, soft sound of her breathing once she’d finally slipped into a dream, and he lay luxuriating in the warmth of her soft skin under the blanket.
“You in some kind of coma?” Buck asked, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Uh, sorry,” Seth muttered, snapping back to reality. “Didn’t sleep well last night.”
Buck smirked. “Sure you didn’t.”
Seth just shook his head, a wry grin tugging at his lips. He was a goner, and it was written all over his face.