Chapter One #2
Both Carson and Dylan had made a study of the science behind breeding and seedstock production and were happy to bring their knowledge to the table. They were all equal partners in the enterprise that was now The Weston Ranch, an arrangement that suited everyone.
Of the three other cousins, Becket focused on his art, and Cooper, the animal whisperer, worked with abused horses and other animals. During busy times, Becket, Cooper, and even Willow, an artist and the only Weston sister, all pitched in to help.
Hayden had asked if Carson would like to spend more time on his photography, but he was a rancher, a cowboy first. He loved photography, appreciated the time alone on his horse capturing the beautiful Montana landscapes, working in his darkroom at night, but he loved the land, loved working with the cattle, and was happiest among the heat and noise and hard work under the Montana sky.
Of course, his camera was never far away, and he enjoyed capturing special moments on the ranch throughout the year.
And yes, he liked the house he’d built for himself since they’d moved to The Weston Ranch, appreciated working with his cousins, enjoyed their discussions around the table, and of course, there was the added bonus of Isabella’s cooking.
She was married to Ricardo, one of the ranch hands, and had the ability to turn any meal into an experience.
But just because everyone else was happily married and kissing all the damn time, didn’t mean he also had to find a wife.
Ever since Dylan has gotten married, though, his sister-in-law, his cousins’ mother, Arlene, their wives, and Willow, made no secret of the fact they were trying to find him a wife.
His cousins and brother were happily married, and of course he was pleased for them, but he’d experienced firsthand how very bad an unhappy marriage could be.
Because his mother had been controlling, he was particularly wary of women trying to take over his life, wanting to tell him what to do and how to do it.
One or two women he’d brought home had even wanted to move things around in his house and clean it. He’d never invited them again.
He was thirty-two and in no hurry to get married. It wasn’t as if he never wanted to try and find someone special, but relationships seemed to take a lot of time and effort. To be honest, he’d found keeping a woman happy all the time to be hard and exhausting work.
Also, ranch life wasn’t for everyone. Some of his friends from school were already divorced because not all women enjoyed working and living far away from the city lights. It took a very particular woman to adjust to ranch life.
At this point in his life, he also didn’t really have time for dating even if he were to meet a woman who piqued his interest—not something that had ever really happened before.
Of course there were beautiful women in Marietta, and he’d dated a few, but he’d lost interest very quickly. Maybe not everyone was cut out for marriage and that was fine with him.
He’d have something to eat before he returned to his hotel room. His flight was early tomorrow morning, so no late night for him.
*
Abby was back in her hotel room around eight. Restlessly, she stared out of the hotel window.
She’d arrived in Spokane around four, had a nice nap before she’d headed out to wander around. As usual, she’d booked a table at a restaurant in advance so she was certain to have a place where she could have dinner.
On her to-do list was a visit to Riverfront Park to see the Spokane Falls, a natural wonder in the heart of the city. With the mist on her face, she’d stood watching the cascading water for a long time, deeply grateful for where she was in her life.
The brief urge to actually cross the suspension bridge, she’d quickly squelched. Anything might happen, and she was in a city where she didn’t know anyone. Doing anything spontaneous just wasn’t her thing.
Afterward she’d visited a few galleries and ended up, as she usually did, in a bookstore. Reading had been another way to escape while growing up, and the simple act of holding a book in her hand still managed to make her feel safe.
The only time she ignored her own rules was in a bookshop, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise when she’d left the store with more books to add to her already long to-be-read list.
Buying books wasn’t something she’d planned to do this month, though, so she’d quickly adjusted her Excel file when she got to the hotel room. The dress she had in mind would have to wait until next month, but that didn’t bother her in the least.
At this point in her life, she had money to splurge, but because she still vividly remembered times she had to rely on other people for everything she’d needed, she rarely touched her savings.
Someday, she was going to buy herself a small piece of land so that she could build the house she’d been dreaming about ever since she could remember.
A log cabin painted white with a big front porch, green shutters, and a black roof.
She had a scrapbook filled with pictures of exactly what the house would look like outside as well as in the interior.
Dinner at the restaurant she’d picked had been lovely, and she’d returned to her hotel about ten minutes ago.
Whether it was the nap or all the new things she’d seen, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t tired, only strangely restless.
It was such a lovely fall evening, maybe she should go out and see what the city looked like at night.
Even maybe have another look at the river.
Looking down at herself, she pulled the T-shirt over her head. She was having a night out, something she so seldom did. She would have a nice shower and put on one of the new tops she’d packed.
Opening her bag, she looked through the few items in her bag.
She always packed by the strict KonMari suggestion—three by three by three.
Three tops, three bottoms, and three pairs of shoes.
It made traveling so easy. With this she could create twenty-seven looks—much more than what she would need for the few days in Marietta.
Her underwear was, of course, a whole different matter.
For someone who had organized her whole life around the KonMari method, her fixation with pretty and sexy underwear didn’t make sense, but she’d reached a point where she wasn’t feeling guilty about it anymore, and she’d actually stopped rationalizing her purchases.
Initially, buying sexy underwear had been a glorious confidence booster at a time she’d needed it desperately. Now it was a lifestyle. She did manage it, though. No more than one set of silk and lace a month. Red or black.
A psychiatrist would probably have a field day with this bit of info, but thank goodness, she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone anymore.
Twenty minutes later, wearing a silky green off-the-shoulder top with her jeans, her hair, like usual, hanging in a neat braid over her shoulder, she was outside again.
Spokane was a beautiful city, the street full of art galleries and places to eat and for a while she window-shopped and wandered into those galleries that were open, enjoying herself.
Nobody knew her here. There was a certain kind of freedom in knowing the chances of bumping into someone familiar were zero.
About two hours later, on her way back to the hotel, she noticed the sign on the building on the opposite corner. Hesitating, she stared at the sign. Bar.
Well, she’d been brave enough already to do something she hadn’t planned, maybe a glass of wine before she went back to her hotel would be nice. Inhaling, she walked purposefully toward the entrance.
Inside, the place was crowded, the cacophony of sounds overwhelming. People were talking loudly and laughing, somewhere music was playing. Squeezing past several people, she finally found her way to the bar counter.
Every chair except one was occupied. She swallowed.
Walking into a bar hadn’t been something she’d planned, she hadn’t done any research on the place, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Playing with her braid, she stared at the chair.
Of course she should rather go back to her room, but for some reason the urge to stay won.
Well, she was so out of her comfort zone already, she might as well have the glass of wine as well.
Careful not to look at anyone, she pulled out the highchair at the counter and faced the very young bartender.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“A glass of white wine, please?”
How he could hear her above the noise, she had no idea, but he leaned forward.