Chapter 9
Ellie sucked in a deep, satisfying breath, reveling in the smoky smell of the campfire.
When they first arrived at the campsite, Nash took her to the overlook and pointed out the spot where they had talked on the blanket during sunset.
He’d also pointed toward the opposite side of the lake, explaining that his family owned a cabin along that side with its own private dock and boat for leisure and fishing.
Ellie had lived in high rises that only a sliver of the world’s population could afford, and yet she found herself wishing she could trade it all to live in a quiet lake house instead.
It seemed that within each conversation Ellie had with Nash, he revealed another common life experience that Ellie hadn't yet tasted. That, along with the undeniable appeal of Nash Copeland, made him a very addictive person in her eyes.
Ellie glanced over to see him hunched beside the fire pit, inspecting their tinfoil dinners with the nudge of a stick.
He propped one onto its side. "I'd say these are probably just about ready."
“Does that mean we get to break out the tinware now?"
Nash lifted his gaze to meet hers, sending a hot thrill like rapid fire through her chest. "Yep, it’s time."
Ellie hurried over to the box loaded up with their supplies. "I’ll set the table," she offered, retrieving the appropriate dinnerware before making her way to the picnic table nearby.
It was here that Nash introduced her to glow-in-the-dark puffy paint, a camp staple, he assured her.
It was thanks to that puffy paint that Ellie's name was now written across the back of her shirt, along with colorful shapes like flowers, butterflies, and hearts.
Nash took a more masculine approach with block letters in all caps and a few pine trees.
Afterward, Ellie helped prepare the tinfoil dinners, a task she enjoyed nearly as much as painting. Nash had turned meal prep into a game, the two competing to see who could peel the carrots and potatoes the fastest.
It was obvious Nash knew his way around a peeler better than Ellie did. In fact, her first few attempts were downright comical. But she got the hang of it soon enough.
As they moved on to slicing the veggies, Nash shared a memory of helping his mom peel potatoes for her special clam chowder, one of his favorites.
It’d been a snowy day, so snowy, in fact, that they’d canceled school.
He’d since come to see that snowstorm as a God-given gift, giving him an entire bonus day with his mom, a memory he now cherished.
“You should have seen how many aprons she had,” he’d said fondly while shaking his head.
“My pops used to tease her about the collection, but she said she liked picking out her apron depending on her mood—like most women did with a closetful of clothes. The day we made chowder together, she wore one that had all our handprints on it with some quote about helping hands.”
It was a sweet memory, shared with such adoration that Ellie had to fight back tears.
It seemed each time Nash shared a part of his past, Ellie felt that much closer to him.
She grew fonder of him, too, which seemed impossible.
Usually, the opposite would happen; a guy would reveal more of himself, who he was underneath the facade, and the image she’d hoped to see started to crack.
She and Nash piled the sliced vegetables on top of seasoned hamburger patties while cans of condensed vegetable beef soup topped it all off.
Once the foil dinners had cooled, Nash used a hand shovel to place them on their tin plates. He set a bottle of ketchup on the table and tossed some salt and pepper packets beside it.
"If we go camping like this again,” Nash said, “I'll have to make you my famous cast-iron cobbler."
Ellie peeled back the foil as the aromatic steam drifted up and over her face. "Mmm, that sounds good. What kind do you make?"
"Peach, apple, or cherry. In the summer, we use fresh fruit, but thanks to my Aunt Jackie and all the canning she does, we’ve got the perfect filling to make cobbler all year long. She’s a great cook like my mom was. She made sure we helped out around suppertime, so we learned a lot.”
"Hmm,” Ellie managed, repeating his words in her mind while squirting a plop of ketchup on the edge of her plate. “I don't think I've ever heard anyone talk so fondly about their family before."
Nash gave her a questioning look. "Really? Most of the people I know are crazy about their family. Nothing will get a man swinging faster than family diss in these parts. Even the ones I don't get along with so well, I’d go to blows defending them all the same."
"That’s interesting,” Ellie said thoughtfully.
"It's just another example of how very different an upbringing in the industry is. It can be a competitive and selfish world. Kids often have to pick sides between parents who are battling it out over one thing or another. They have jealous siblings that they either feel sorry for or resent.” She shrugged.
“It seems like you have a lot more harmony in your life than I’ve had. "
She pinched her lips closed and looked down at her food, worrying that she’d said too much.
In the quiet pause, she loaded her fork with a mix of roasted vegetables and meat.
She was partly embarrassed for complaining and a little worried that she might have offended Nash with what she said.
After all, the guy lost his parents in a car accident when he was young.
Before bringing the food to her lips, Ellie spoke up. "I'm sorry if that came off wrong. I'm not saying you had some charmed life or anything."
"No, it didn't come off like that. From what I gather, you haven't had a taste of the simple life. Out here in the country, it’s just as you said—harmonious." He sucked in a deep breath and locked his eyes on her. "You could be part of it too, you know?"
A rush of tingles swirled in her chest at Nash's comment, which felt like an invitation when played back in her mind. With his honey-hazel eyes locked on hers, it almost felt more like a promise. She wished he was right. Wished she could abandon the life she knew and call a place like this home.
The fact that she couldn't, the fact that she was stuck in a contract with a dangerous man pulling the strings…that could ruin Ellie's night if she let it. But Ellie refused to let that happen. Tonight, she was enjoying a less-complicated life, a fuller life, courtesy of a magnificent man who’d stumbled onto Wild Buck’s Ranch at just the right time, and Ellie planned to enjoy it.
With that, she took her first bite of the savory food, complemented by the sweet touch of ketchup. "Oh my gosh," Ellie said once she was ready for another bite. "These things are genius!"
"Good?" The grin on Nash's face said he already knew the answer.
"So good," Ellie assured him, not even realizing how hungry she’d been.
As the two of them ate, sharing pieces of their past in turn, Ellie noticed a different sort of appetite—a hunger for all-things-Nash.
And with each unique memory or silly tale, Ellie sensed a deep feeling of gratitude settling over her.
Sure, she wasn't proud of herself for doing what she’d done to get there, but God had watched out for her all the same.
And it had to be a God thing because heaven knew her father was too busy watching out for himself.
Was it possible Ellie was meant to be here when Nash was? That they were destined to find one another despite the odds?
She chuckled to herself; Ellie really was like one of the silly characters she’d played over the years, falling fast in love with someone who’d been a stranger to her when the month began. It was crazy; the best part was that she wouldn’t trade it for the world.
That mindset stayed with her throughout the night, a mantra regarding her time at the ranch.
Once dinner was through, Nash taught her a few camp songs while they set up the tents side-by-side.
And then, as the fire had dwindled down to embers, they rounded up a couple of stray limbs, and Nash presented one last keepsake from their camping adventure—her very own pocketknife.
“I couldn’t give it to you with the shirt and the whistle,” he explained, “because pocketknives are something you have to earn.”
“Where’s yours?”
Nash lifted the hem of his jeans, slid a hand into his boot, and produced a pocketknife of his own. “Got it in my trusty, hidden compartment.”
As Ellie sat on a stump beside Nash, whittling her roasting stick with her brand-new pocketknife, she had the great urge to tell him just how much this all meant to her.
"Hey, Nash?” she started, gently letting the side of her leg graze his.
Nash made another flick with his blade before looking up at her. He'd removed his cowboy hat, and a lock of hair had tumbled over his forehead where it obscured part of one eye. Still, he held her gaze as that feeling of gratitude and something she couldn't quite place bloomed and swelled.
"Thank you for this. Really, I don't know if anybody's ever done something this nice for me."
"You’re welcome."
The conflicted look in his eyes said he was holding something back, but Ellie wouldn’t press.
She’d revealed some unsavory aspects of her life, and as much as she’d like to change a lot of those things, mainly the way her dad had run her career, Ellie knew she’d defend him if it came down to it.
Nash was probably too much of a gentleman to make her do that.
Ellie recalled her meeting with the caseworker.
It had gone well. Geneva had great things to say about Ellie’s progress, and Tucker, who’d jotted a few lines about that progress as well, had agreed.
She hadn’t spoken to her dad since the drive there, but he’d been part of the Zoom call too, and said he was proud of her and excited to tell the studio that she’d have no problem making it to Dallas in time for the filming.