Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
I will not be grouchy. I also will not let my guard down.
As though Weston could accomplish both those things at once. But still, he knew all about the Apostle Paul’s orders to rejoice always, and that wasn’t compatible with grumpiness.
Did Paul have any idea how hard it was for a naturally reticent guy to even contemplate happiness?
Weston glanced at Paisley riding beside him. For once, she wasn’t looking at him but was scanning the forest around them. A smile creased her face as the chitter of a red squirrel reached his ears.
He appreciated nature. He did. Why did it seem like she loved it more than he did? How could she simply live in the moment without worrying that the other shoe might drop?
Maybe she didn’t live in that sort of limbo.
But she did. She worked seasonal jobs and had a messed-up family with a mother she thought might possibly be sober right now. That right there must mean Paisley was aware her fragile hope could be lost if her mother slipped again.
Wasn’t it better not to hold onto hope? Then you couldn’t be disappointed.
But then you also never enjoyed anything good. You just waited for the bad.
He lifted his Stetson and scratched his head. Too deep of thoughts for a trail ride that was supposed to have been solo. Instead, he had to be on guard against Paisley rather than relaxing into nature.
Could he appreciate the moment even if she was here? The next thought came unbidden. How about enjoying it because she was here?
Startled at this unaccustomed thought, he glanced at her again.
This time her wide smile met his eyes.
Would it be so terrible to have a friend? Not a girlfriend — he couldn’t see that much happiness in his life — but a friend would be okay. Would she be satisfied with that?
Her eyebrows quirked upward. “Like what you see, cowboy?”
A flush crept up Weston’s neck. Did she have to be so smug? Being Paisley, she probably did. “I’ve seen worse at the freak show.”
She burst out laughing. “They don’t even have those anymore. Go ahead, cowboy, just admit I’m pretty.” She lifted the end of one of her two blond braids and waggled it at him.
Weston shook his head and looked away. “I’m admitting no such thing.”
“It won’t kill you to be nice. ”
It might. A guy could never be too careful cracking open doors. First pleasantness, then friendship, then what?
But Paisley Teele didn’t know why she should avoid him. All she saw was the surface, and he couldn’t completely hate that she liked what she saw there. She thought she saw beneath the surface a little, that there was a guy worth knowing beneath the gruff exterior.
She didn’t know that he was a lousy relationship risk. He wasn’t enough to hold someone as inherently filled with light and goodness as Paisley.
The horses rounded a bend in the trail, revealing a view down the length of a valley with a small lake nestled at the bottom. Weston jerked his chin toward it. “Our destination.”
“Excellent.” Paisley stretched in her saddle.
Weston averted his gaze, not that he’d been looking. “We’ll scout around and make sure that meadow is a good spot.”
“After a sandwich.”
He shrugged. “Sure.” He could eat. He could also wait. Didn’t much matter. “Then dig a couple of pit toilets.”
Paisley angled a look over her shoulder as Enchantment began to pick his way down the slope ahead of Ranger. “You brought shovels?”
“I brought one. I didn’t expect company.”
“Today turned out better than you expected.” She smirked.
He scowled, but it wasn’t as heartfelt as usual. “Only if the site is suitable. If not, I’ll have to do this again another day with my second choice.”
“You mean, we’ll need to.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant.” Paisley grinned and turned forward to focus on the trail.
Fine. Have it her way. She wasn’t completely wrong.
Ranger followed Enchantment down the steep slope. Could greenhorn kids manage this trail? Yeah, if they trusted their experienced horses. Their homeschool co-op leaders must realize this wasn’t a manicured ranch with paved paths, right?
This was backcountry. God’s country, with very little evidence of human tampering. Even the path they were on might be a game trail made by deer or moose heading toward water.
Twenty minutes later, they emerged onto the somewhat level area beside the lake. Weston’s heart quickened as he scanned for evidence of wildlife or previous humans.
There. A few weathered boards tied to two trees created a low screen on the far side. He nudged Ranger toward the manmade object.
In his peripheral vision, Paisley dismounted.
He wasn’t watching. He was too busy checking out — aha! Yes! The boards shielded a pit toilet, which was far from a full outhouse. Was there a second one for a mixed-gender group?
Weston slid off Ranger and scouted the perimeter, but there was no evidence of a second latrine. No matter. He’d fully expected to dig two. Now he only needed to dig one.
He led Ranger to the still, turquoise waters and lengthened the lead. The horse ambled in to drink alongside Enchantment .
Paisley rolled up her jeans, kicked off her boots, and waded in.
Weston’s eyes bulged. “Are you some kind of crazy? The ice is barely off the lake.”
She arced a kick of water and hustled back to shore. “A person has to live in the moment. But, yeah, it’s cold.” She sat on a rock, brushed pebbles off her foot, rolled her sock back on then tugged up her boot. She started on the second foot and glanced up to catch him watching. Her eyebrows arched.
Yeah, she’d caught him. Again. Weston shook his head. “You’re nuts.”
“That’s what they say. Also, I’m hungry.”
“There’s a latrine over there if you need a moment first.” He pointed. “I’ll have to dig a second one, but it’s still a help.”
Paisley’s eyes brightened as she unrolled a picket line and tied Enchantment to it. “Be right back!”
Weston gathered a few sticks for a fire then rummaged in Enchantment’s saddle bags and hauled out the cooler bag. He’d grabbed a sandwich from the kitchen himself, but Paisley had come much better prepared. He’d happily consume his share of the contents. He might even thank her for it, but was that the same as thanking her for inviting herself on today’s expedition?
Would it kill him to admit he liked having her along?
It might.
Paisley rubbed her hands with disinfectant then turned to where Weston had laid out the contents of her cooler.
“What’s in the thermos?” He lifted it.
“Uncorrupted Earl Grey tea.”
He sent her a questioning look. “Uncorrupted?”
“Tea the way God intended. No sugar. No cream. Just black as sin.”
“Sin is corruption.”
It took her a moment before she burst out laughing. “Did you just crack a funny, cowboy? I’m impressed.”
That lopsided grin nearly hit both of his cheeks before flattening out. Progress.
“If you want some tea, I can share.”
Weston shuddered. “Coffee all the way over here. I brought a billy can.”
It was her turn to wonder what he meant. “Billy can?”
“For cowboy coffee. Who needs a thermos when they can brew up their own when they want?”
She settled on the pebbles and unscrewed the thermos’s lid. “Yet here I sit with my hot tea and don’t have to work for it right now.” She poured some into the cup that formed the lid and saluted him with it.
Weston had gathered a few twigs at some point. Now he added a handful of dry moss from the lower branches of a nearby tree and struck a match to it.
“Oh, a match! I thought you might rub two sticks together.”
He glowered at her but then bent to puff gently on the tiny flame. It quickly caught on the moss and then the twigs before flickering to ignite the slender sticks. Weston cracked a couple thicker pieces against his knee and fed them in as the fire grew.
“Impressive.” She munched a handful of trail mix as she leaned back against a nearby log.
Weston shot her a glare and held out his palm. “Can I have some?”
“ May I?”
“Never mind.” He pulled his hand back.
“Teasing you, cowboy. Here. Have a handful, and I’ll get out the sandwiches.”
When he didn’t reach out again, she tossed the bag at him. Whatever. He might have loosened up a little, but it seemed the big bad wolf was still present and in no mood to be teased about his grammar.
He accepted the sandwich she passed him then she set the bags of veggies and cookies between them. He leaned against the log himself, long legs stretched out beside the small fire.
Leisure looked good on him.
But she couldn’t resist the dig as she took a sip of her Earl Grey. “Something hot sure does hit the spot.”
He lifted his hand and made a yapping motion with his thumb and fingers but didn’t look her way. He was too busy taking a ginormous bite of thick ham sandwich.
Paisley had a smaller bite of her own. No need to choke on a huge mouthful like Weston likely would. After swallowing, she said, “Your mom makes the best bread. I can’t believe how lucky we are to have her at Sweet River.”
He grunted around the food in his mouth.
“The cook the Smiths hired brought in flats of pasty white bread from a bakery in Missoula. Last summer with your mom in the kitchen was a very welcome change. Must have been nice growing up with her home-cooked meals.”
Weston glanced at her. “Do you talk all the time?”
“Not always. See?” She held up her sandwich. “I’ve had two bites, and I didn’t talk with my mouth full.”
“Any more of those?” He reached into the cooler.
“No. You ate them all.”
“Glad I also came prepared.” Weston surged to his feet with effortless grace and rummaged in Ranger’s saddlebag before lifting a sandwich in triumph. He unwrapped it as he settled back in his spot.
“Got another for me, too?”
“No. I wasn’t expecting company.” He eyed her food. “Besides, you’re nowhere near done because you keep talking .” He nudged another couple of sticks into the fire.
“I’m not hungry for more, anyway.” Paisley chewed on another bite, watching the crackling flames. A sandwich might fill her stomach, but it did little to quench the longing she felt toward this cowboy.
Ugh. Why couldn’t she have set her sights on a guy who might potentially reciprocate before they both died of old age? There were plenty of men around the ranch working in nearly every department. Some of them were good-looking and pleasant enough a girl should snap them up.
Not her.
She balled up the sandwich wrapper and stuffed it into the cooler before snagging a handful of peas and carrots.
Weston finished his second sandwich and ambled over to the lake with a small, fire-blackened bucket. He came back and settled the bucket into the edge of his little fire. Then he stretched out with his head against the log and tipped his hat over his face.
Not only was the guy was going to be all day making his coffee, he was having a nap in the meantime?
Men.
She put away the remnants of lunch and eyed his bucket. A wisp of steam rose from it. Whatever.
Paisley went over to Ranger and groped in the saddlebags until she felt a folded shovel. She pulled it out and locked the handle into place. So, one latrine was on the far side. That meant the other should be — she turned slowly, scanning the perimeter — over there.
She headed a few yards into the forest. If she dragged a few logs nearby and stacked them, that would provide a little privacy. As far as she knew, Weston didn’t have any boards along to build a screen like the other one had. Of course, they could bring them along next time. It wouldn’t take long to put them up.
With that in mind, she selected a spot near three smaller trees and began to dig. Of course, there were roots in the way. How on earth was she supposed to dig through them?
A twig cracked and she whirled around to see Weston standing far too close with his hand stretched out for the shovel. “Give it here.”
“I can do it.”
Amusement — wait, really? — twinkled in his eyes for a second before fading. “I’m sure you can, but we don’t have all day.”
She tightened her grip on the handle. “You were having a nap and waiting for your bucket to boil.”
“I’m done napping, and the coffee will keep.” He stared at her and removed the shovel from her suddenly weak grasp.
“Fine.” She backed away. “I thought this was a good spot and we could bring boards and attach them to those trees and?—”
“You’re babbling.” He glanced at the hummus she’d messed up in her abortive attempt to dig, shrugged, and jammed the vee deep into the dirt.
It took him fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, and there was a decent-sized hole with a narrow log across it. “That’ll do.” He looked at her. “Didn’t you have anything better to do than stare at me while I worked?”
Paisley shook her head. “Nope. Nothing.”
“Get a life,” he muttered as he unlocked the handle, folded the shovel, and strode toward Ranger.
“I like the one I’ve got,” she called after him.
His step hesitated, but he continued on without turning back.
It was kind of a lie. She liked the possibilities in her life far more than the actual facts. But today had proved he wasn’t completely immune. He’d even cracked a smile once or twice.
Weston stowed the shovel and turned back to the fire, where the water in the bucket was bubbling merrily. Shielding his palm with the sleeve of his denim jacket, he lifted the bucket away and set it on the ground before measuring coffee grounds into it and giving it a swirl with a stick.
“That’s it?” Somehow, she’d crept closer until she was next to him, breathing in his woodsy scent mingling with the stink of coffee.
“Yeah? Want some?”
She kept her nose from wrinkling. “I prefer tea.”
“You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted cowboy coffee.”
Maybe she hadn’t lived until she’d tasted cowboy lips. But coffee made by Weston’s hands and offered by his own voice? She’d have to give it a try… another time.