Page 86 of The Rancher Who Swore Off Love
“Eight-thirty.” Logan pointed at Thomas. “And you’re drivin’ the wagon home.”
“Deal.”
***
Grace dressed Miriam in the new clothes.
Logan had bought them in Gunnison three days ago, a little cotton dress with lace trim and a matching bonnet that tied under the chin.
He’d picked them out himself, which had meant standing in the dry goods section of Henley’s General Store for twenty minutes, holding baby dresses up to the light and comparing stitching quality while Mrs. Henley watched him from behind the counter with an expression that suggested she’d never seen a grown man inspect infant lace work with that level of intensity.
He hadn’t told Grace he’d bought them. Just left the package on her bed with a note that saidFor Miriam. The blue one had a crooked seam. —L
Now Miriam sat in Grace’s arms on the front porch, looking like a chubby angel, and Logan stood by the wagon checking the hitch for the third time, pulling each buckle, testing each strap,because Logan Foster did not put his family in a wagon with an untested hitch the same way he did not put his baby in a crib with a knot that looked like Mr. Henley.
Standards. A man had standards, or he had nothing.
“You look nice,” Grace said from the porch step.
He glanced down at himself. Clean shirt. Good trousers. The leather vest he’d conditioned last week. Boots polished, hat brushed. He’d even shaved, which took extra time because he shaved close and careful. None of this two-day-stubble nonsense Thomas cultivated.
Poor sap thought it made him look rugged, when in reality it made him look like a man who’d lost his razor and his motivation in the same afternoon.
“I look the same as always.”
“Exactly.” She grinned. “You always look nice. You just never accept compliments.”
His neck got warm. He busied himself with the hitch.
Mason and Thomas piled onto the back of the wagon, shoving each other for the better seat, which turned out to be the same seat because the wagon bed held two hay bales and ablanket, and neither one qualified as comfortable. Jonah jogged up from the bunkhouse, tucking his shirt in.
“Room for one more?”
“Hop on.” Mason scooted over. “Long as you don’t start another knot debate.”
“It’s a bowline, Mason. Die on whatever hill you want, but die knowin’ you’rewrong.”
Logan helped Grace up onto the bench seat. Miriam squirmed between them, batting at the air with both fists.
He picked up the reins.
“Logan!” Pa stood on the porch with his rifle propped against the rail. “You buy that girl back somethin’ sweet from the bakery, you hear me? She deserves a treat.”
“I’ll bring you somethin’ too, Pa.”
“I don’t want nothin’. I want her to have somethin’. You listenin’?”
“I’m listenin’.”
“And don’t let Thomas drink more’n two!”
“Already covered.”
“And check that left rear—”
“I checked it, Pa.”
“—wheel, because the spoke’s been—”
