Page 63 of The Rancher Who Swore Off Love
“You need a knife and a prayer, my friend.”
Mason and Jonah squared off over a coil of rope near the tack wall, each holding an end like they planned to settle the knot debate through a tug-of-war. Thomas sat on a hay bale behind them. Logan stood at the far end, saddling Penny with that methodical precision of his. Checked every buckle twice, pulled every strap snug, and tested it with a tug before he moved to the next one.
He’d already saddled his own horse, a big bay gelding named Dutch, who gleamed in the morning light because Loganbrushed him every morning. Not that that surprised her. The man ironed hissaddle blankets.
Grace had caught him doing it last Tuesday, pressing the wool flat on the kitchen table with the iron she used for shirts, and, when she’d askedwhy, he’d looked at her like the question made no sense and said, “Wrinkles cause sores.”
Which, fine. Valid. But also,ironing a saddle blanket.
“Breakfast!” She lifted the tray higher. “Come and get it before it gets cold, and I meannow, not after you’ve solved whatever knot crisis this is.”
Four heads turned.
Mason dropped the rope and crossed the barn in about three strides. Jonah followed, though he paused long enough to point at Mason and mouthbowline. Thomas ambled over with his usual pace. Logan finished Penny’s girth strap, gave it one final tug, and joined the group at the workbench, where Grace spread the tray.
“Lord Almighty.” Mason picked up a biscuit and bit into it. “Grace, you gotta stop cookin’ like this. I’m gonna get fat, and Thomas’ll finally be the handsome one.”
“I’malreadythe handsome one.”
“In what world?”
“In the world where I got cheekbones, and you got a baby face that makes old ladies pinch your cheeks at church.”
“That happenedonce.”
“It happened three times.” Logan grabbed a biscuit. “I counted.”
Jonah grabbed two biscuits, stacked them together with a slab of bacon in between like a sandwich, and took a bite so large Grace worried briefly about his jaw hinging that wide.
“These are somethin’ else, Gracie.” He spoke around the mouthful. “You put somethin’ different in ’em today?”
“Buttermilk. Found a crock in the root cellar that Rafe forgot about.”
“How long’s it been down there?”
“I didn’t ask for a date of birth, Jonah. It smelled fine, and the biscuits rose, so.”
“Fair enough.”
The four of them ate standing up, leaning against the workbench, the stall doors, and, in Thomas’s case, the hay bale he’d dragged over. No force on this earth would separate that man from a sitting surface.
Jonah fit right in the middle of it.
Mason nudged Jonah with his elbow. “Tell ’em about the rooster.”
“Oh, the rooster.” Jonah grinned. “So, yesterday, I’m tryin’ to collect eggs like Logan showed me, right? And that big red rooster, the mean one—”
“Gerald,” Thomas said.
“—Gerald, thank you. Gerald decides I ain’t welcome in the henhouse and comes at me like I owe him money. Full charge. Wings out, feet up, the whole show. I’m backin’ up, holdin’ the egg basket in front of me like a shield, and this bird—I swear on Ma’s grave—this birdjumpsand gets me right in the chest with both feet.”
Mason wheezed.
“Knocked me flat on my rear in the dirt. Eggs everywhere. Gerald’s standin’ on my stomach crowin’ like he just won a war.”
“And you justlaidoutthere.” Mason could barely get the words out. “I come around the corner and Jonah’s flat on his back with a rooster on his chest, starin’ at the sky like he’s questionin’ every decision he ever made.”
“Iwasquestionin’ every decision I ever made!”
