8. MATTHEW
Chapter eight
MATTHEW
A FAMILY DINNER UNLIKE ANY OTHER
“Good boy, Loki. There, you’re all clean and dry and brushed now,” I tell the horse as I lead him back into his stall.
Skye is off brushing down the wild horses.
Most of them are still too skittish to stand still long enough for a proper bath, but the younger ones and Frigg—their matron of sorts, a large golden mare who’ll get between you and any one of them if she isn’t sure you’re to be trusted—are normally happy to be brushed if it’s done out in the paddocks.
Loki, however, still plays dead around everyone except Atlas and me.
I have no idea why, and while Skye has begged me more than once to tell him my secret, there just isn’t one to tell.
I pack up the wash equipment and head over to check in with Connor. I am, after all, his assistant.
I find him coaxing the mini highlands back into the shed at the back of the cuddle cove, and I climb over the rail to help.
“Did you have a good day in the cove?” I ask him as one of them slips past me. Wow, these guys are fast.
“Not bad. We only had a handful of guests in the session today, but we’ve got the rest of the cabins checking in on Friday night, so we’ll have lots more cuddles on the weekend for these guys,” he replies, patting one of the dark brown ones on the hind as it passes him on its way into the shed. “How was your day?”
“I helped deliver a foal.”
“Wow, really?”
“Well, I talked to the mom while Atlas helped pull it out, but he says I helped.”
“Then you helped. Atlas doesn’t give credit when it isn’t due.”
“Okay, then, I guess I helped. I got to name it too. I chose Pluto—the planet, not the dog.”
“Wow, you must have really impressed him, then.”
“Why?” I ask as I finally usher the caramel-colored mini cow into the shed section.
“Atlas usually claims naming rights on all the new foals, and the adopted ones too. Basically, if the horse doesn’t come with a name to Beaker Brothers, he names it.”
“He was probably just being nice because I’m helping him figure out the horse trail, and I’ve been helping Skye out with his stable jobs too,” I reason, but judging by his raised eyebrow, I don’t think Connor believes me. It’s true, though. Isn’t it?
“Have you heard anything from the board?” Connor asks as he herds the last of the mini highlands into the shed and closes the lower door to stop them escaping back into the open area.
“Not since your purchase of that cattle ranch in Texas went viral. The company was up two points, so they can’t really complain.”
“Funny how not destroying people’s lives can actually turn a profit,” he laughs.
I filled Connor in a few weeks ago about the board’s plans to send me here to spy on him.
It didn’t feel right keeping it from him.
It wasn’t like I was actually doing it, but I needed him to know that they thought that’s what I was doing all this time.
He could have sent me packing then and there, but he asked me point-blank if I wanted to go back to the city or stay and help him change things, make the company better.
I didn’t even have to think about it. I knew I wanted to be part of the future of the Richmont Group with Connor’s morals steering the company into a new, better future.
“The auction house will let us know if any lots don’t sell, then you can decide what to do with them.”
“I set zero reserve on everything, so they’ll just keep lowering the asking price until it’s sold,” he replies, and I feel the frown lines etching deeper into my forehead.
“You did what?”
“Yeah, I told you, I already picked out the couple of things I wanted from the estate; the rest doesn’t mean anything to me. Better for other people to have it.”
“Speaking of other items, the art has arrived at the gallery in Boston. They’re setting up an exhibit to show it, and then they’ll rotate it with other items loaned from collectors. Was there anything you wanted to bring here, for your place or the main house?”
“Not from that stuff, but there were some old plans of Bellerelle that were in my grandfather’s things from when he tried to buy the land from the Beakers. Have they arrived yet?”
“Yes, a few days ago. They’re at Lyall and Sons being framed. Should be ready in a few days.”
“Good. I’d like to give them to Dean for his birthday next week.”
“Is he doing anything special for it?”
“Can you keep a secret?” he asks, and I laugh.
“I think we established that I can’t. How quickly did I spill the beans about the board’s plan?”
“Right, but that was an ethical secret; this is a fun one.”
“Then sure, I can keep a fun secret.”
“We’ve invited Gramps and his brother and sister to come stay next week for his birthday. We’ll have a party and movie night here on the ranch. You’ll have to come.”
“Sure. I’d love to. I should probably get him a present. What does he like?”
“Preston.”
“He already has one of those.”
“Then your guess is as good as mine,” he laughs.
“I’ll think of something,” I say. A throat clears behind me, and I turn to find Atlas.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“A gift for Dean’s birthday,” I say, and then cover my mouth. “Shit, you said it was a secret, but Atlas knows, right?”
Atlas laughs. “I know all about it. Whose idea do you think it was to get Gramps back out here?”
Wow. It was Atlas’s idea? Atlas, the one guy on this ranch who’s happiest on his own, thought to invite even more people to stay at the ranch.
Maybe it’s different because it’s Gramps, Alan, and Kelly.
He did start here when it was Gramps’s ranch.
I wonder if he was a nudist back then too. And now I’m remembering Atlas naked.
“So, are you staying?” Atlas asks, and I shake my head.
“What?”
He sighs.
“Are you staying for dinner? Sally-May wanted me to invite you.”
“Oh, umm, I should get going.”
“Suit yourself,” he says and then turns and starts to walk away.
My stomach growls. All I have at home is a frozen dinner. One of those meat and three veg kinds where the “meat” is a super thin circle covered in a gravy that hides just how far from meat it actually tastes.
“Actually, yeah. I will stay,” I say, and Connor slaps me on the back.
“Great. Hey, Atlas, tell Sally-May to set another plate. The suit is staying for dinner.”
“The suit?” I repeat, turning toward him.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, it was just the nickname they gave you. I mean, up until this week, I didn’t think you even owned anything else.”
“Up until this week, I didn’t,” I chuckle, not really offended.
It’s better than half the nicknames I’ve had in my life.
The worst was when an ex would call me “doormat.” He hated that I wouldn’t argue with him.
I just never saw the point to it. I mean, who cares if we eat Italian or Asian fusion for dinner as long as we eat?
He’d try to bait me too, purposefully having issues with something I planned or did just to see if I would back down and be the doormat he always said I was.
I can think of worse things to be. A total douchebag like him is near the top of that list.
When I get inside, I hear them before I see them all.
Their voices carry down the hallway in a haze of laughter and with a warmth that makes me think of my mother and father.
They’d laugh and talk while they cooked together most nights growing up, and it was the best sound in the world to come down to at dinner.
I can just imagine them at home now, cooking some new pasta dish Dad found online that he insists will be his new favorite, while mom reminds him of the decades-long love he’s had for her lasagna.
“Stop that goat,” Poppy yells from up the top of the stairs, and I turn just in time to catch the little pigmy goat as it launches itself off the second-to-last stair right into my arms.
“Where are you trying to get to, little one?” I ask it as it nuzzles into my neck, the cool wet tip of his nose tickling my skin.
“He’s trying to sneak into dinner, but he’s not allowed.
The last time I brought him in, he found a way onto the table and jumped through Sally-May’s mashed potatoes before landing in the bowl of peas.
I don’t like peas, so I didn’t really care, but Dad said I wasn’t allowed to bring him down anymore. ”
“This is Cuddles, right?” I ask as it settles into the crease where my shoulder meets my neck.
“Yep, here, I’ll pop him in the playroom until dinner is over. He can’t really get into trouble in there.”
“The goat has a playroom?”
“Sort of. I made the front sunroom into one for him and Connor’s mini goat, Lulu. Our dog Houdini and Gunther the pig spend a good bit of time in there now too. It’s got comfy beds and pillows and an obstacle course for the minis.”
“That sounds like a good idea. Here,” I say as I hand the tiny thing over. He wriggles his legs a little as if he is trying to make his way back to me. “I’ll come play with you after dinner,” I say, and Poppy chuckles and skips up the hall.
I slowly make my way to the dining room.
“Welcome,” Sally-May says the moment she sees me. “Come, come, sit up here.”
She pulls out a chair at the other end of the table, and as I move sideways around the backs of chairs, I notice no one is eating yet, even though there’s plenty of food already laid out.
“You weren’t waiting for me, were you?” I ask, and Atlas walks in from the kitchen, eyes me suspiciously, then takes a seat at one of the two empty chairs at the end. There are twelve seats bunched in, but no one seems to mind.
“We eat when Sally-May says we eat,” Dean chuckles. “Poppy, it’s time for dinner,” he tilts his head back to call.
“She was just putting Cuddles in the playroom,” I say, and I sit in the seat between Atlas and Sally-May.
Sally-May does a head count under her breath, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I wonder if they’re all thinking the same thing I am.
They had the perfect setup until I decided to stay for dinner.
Now we’re packed in like sardines, and I’m so close to Atlas that his musky scent is filling my nose and making my head spin a little.
“Isn’t this cozy?” Sally-May says. I’m about to apologize when Dean cuts in.
“Reminds me of when Alan, Kelly, and Gramps were here.”
“When are they coming for another visit?” Sally-May asks. I feel my smile rising and quickly grab a glass of water to hide it. I guess I suck at keeping fun secrets too.
Dean shrugs.
“They’re doing their own thing in Savannah. Maybe when the Banana Ball season is over, Alan might bring his beau and the team again for a break.”
“His beau?” Nial asks with a chuckle. “How old are you?”
“Shut up,” Dean replies, elbowing him in the side. Nial reaches for the mashed potatoes, and Sally-May swats his hand with a serving spoon.
“Enough, you two. I’m sorry, Matthew, you’ll have to excuse these two; manners appear to be lost on them tonight.”
“It’s okay, this is… great, actually. Nice, I mean.
I haven’t had a dinner like this in a while.
Maybe ever, actually,” I say, the fire in my cheeks growing as my gaze moves around the table.
But none of them are laughing at me. They all wear a sort of knowing smile, and Skye is nodding in my direction.
“It’s the best part of my day,” he says, and Sally-May scoops a helping of what appears to be shepherd’s pie from the baking dish in the middle and drops it onto the plate in front of her husband, Perry.
Just like that, dinner is on, and everyone is reaching in, scooping servings of sides and grabbing rolls, passing dishes sideways and across.
I have no idea how it happened, but a few minutes later, when Connor walks in, I’m staring down at a plate piled as high as any other.
“I hope you left some for me,” he says, as he scoots in behind Nial and then takes his seat beside his partner, Hayden. His plate has a good helping of the shepherd’s pie on it that Hayden scooped for him before even serving himself, but none of the sides.
“There’s plenty to go around tonight,” Sally-May says, and she finally takes her seat.
I dig in, the intense flavors of the rich gravy coating my tongue and reminding me of dinners back home with my parents.
Every now and again, my knee nudges Atlas’s under the table, and each time, a warm shiver rolls through my leg.
I don’t acknowledge it, and neither does he, but by the time Sally-May is serving up her apple strudel for dessert, my thigh is resting completely against his.
Neither one of us moves, both of us seemingly content to stay just like this. Best dinner ever.