Page 34 of Forget That Guy
She was literally the biggest railroader I’d ever met.
So much like her dad, it was funny to see the two next to each other butting heads.
Denver hadn’t helped me pack.
He’d shown up for ten minutes, packed all the boxes that were too heavy for us to get, and had left to go grab some oil for the fish fry.
When the girls and I had gotten to the ranch, he’d helped me unload all the boxes into my new apartment while simultaneously frying fish.
Now, I could hear the music and laughter downstairs as I hesitated to go down there and mingle.
The only good thing was that I knew Nettie would be here.
“Are you sure that…”
DeeDee grabbed my arm and all but tugged me downstairs.
The smell of hay and horse hit me as soon as the door closed behind us.
“I love that smell,” DeeDee sniffed.
“What smell?”
I blinked at Joe that’d arrived with her arms full of Froto.
“Hey, there’s my baby!” Nettie cried as she walked up to Joe who was giving Froto a bottle.
“You can’t have him,” DeeDee declared. “He’s moving in with Holly.”
“Is he now?” Nettie’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Can we share custody?”
“You have your own baby coming soon,” DeeDee pointed out. “We don’t.”
“What about Joe?” Nettie pointed out.
“Joe doesn’t count,” DeeDee countered.
Nettie snickered. “What about when y’all go on vacations and stuff, can I keep him?”
“That sounds like a fine deal.” DeeDee nodded, but whispered quietly so only I could hear. “We don’t ever go on vacations, so this is going to work out perfectly.”
My lips twitched up at the corners, which was when Denver came around the corner of the apartment’s stairs and asked, “Are any of y’all going to eat? The guys are starving.”
“Y’all can eat without us,” Nettie pointed out.
Denver rolled his eyes. “You know women and children eat first here.”
I looked at all the ladies around me who seemed to know what was going on.
“This is ridiculous.” Nettie caught my arm in hers. “Come on. They seriously won’t eat until we’ve gotten our plates.”
Denver grunted and led the way to the tables that were loaded down with food.
Every single woman and child I saw had their plates and were sitting there eating.
The men were all hanging around drinking beer, but they were eyeing the food like it was their next best friend.
“They started this tradition with Sorcha,” Nettie said as she helped herself to so much potato salad that her plate bent. “Try this. Sorcha makes it. It’s divine.”
