Page 43 of Stables Spurs Suits
“Not that I would actually eat a horse,” he tells me.
I shrug.
“If push came to shove, I’m sure we’d all eat a horse. You know, if we had to,” I say.
“Not Preston,” Nial laughs.
“Okay, everyone except the vegetarian vet,” I reply, and when we finally make our way back to the start of the trail, the lights of the main house on Beaker Brothers are like a beacon through the tree line, calling us home.
“Wow,” Matthew says, and my attention turns to what’s giving him awe. Fairy lights have been wrapped around the top railing of the cow paddocks all the way down to the cuddle cove, illuminating the driveway and making the crushed quartz glisten. Down where I helped set up the projector and birthday banner earlier, more string lights zigzag between the trees over the hay bales and popcorn stand, and running the length behind it all is a long table with what looks like every chair in the place set around it. Covered dishes glisten under the lights as steam creeps up from under their lids, creating a sort of dreamlike softness to the whole thing.
“Hope you lot are hungry,” Perry calls as he makes his way toward the setup, carrying another covered dish.
After the last of the gravel was dropped off at the rest area, Perry headed back to the house. He’s the oldest guy out here, and yet he works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. Dean and Nial keep telling him he can retire whenever he likes, but he’s determined to take his last breath on this earth working it. Wegive him his pick of jobs as our way to try to cut him a break, and sometimes, when he’s being particularly stubborn, we get Skye to pretend to forget how to do something less strenuous so that he’ll step in and help him figure it out. Perry is the type of guy who just can’t help but help.
“Hungry enough to eat a horse,” Nial calls back, and Denver glances his way with a small smile on his lips. Those two have been like two peas in a pod since the Royals moved in next door a while back. Denver is closer to Skye’s age, but he and Nial just clicked.
Sally-May steps out onto the porch to greet us.
“Get yourselves cleaned up, and we can get to celebrating,” she says, and I notice the basket slung over her arm, the delicious scent of fresh-baked bread wafting up from the red and white checkered cover, and my mouth waters.
“Where is the man of the hour?” I ask as my stomach grumbles.
“Preston’s keeping him busy checking on the Fletcher sheep.”
“Oh no. Is everything okay?”
She smiles, settling the uncomfortable tightness that had instantly crept into my chest. Last year, the Fletchers lost a chunk of their herd when they couldn’t afford their regular feed, so they’d let them graze on land that hadn’t been checked properly, and a bunch of them got really sick and died. Dean let them use some of their land until they got back on their feet. It was one of their sheep that gave Matthew a big kiss the other day.
“Just a small distraction to keep him off the ranch a little longer, so we could finish setting up our dinner outside,” Sally-May replies.
“It’s a good thing you did too. No way would we have all fit in the dining room tonight,” I say, and Nial shoves past me andruns into the house, calling dibs on the downstairs half-bath as he goes.
“He’d suggested we set up a second table in the living room, of all things,” she replies with a chuckle.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I say, and her brows pinch together.
“You’ve eaten dinner in the living room before?” she asks, and I bite my lower lip, trying to hide my smile.
“No. I just assumed, you know, when they were kids, they probably ate in there. Maybe. I don’t know what I’m saying, it’s late, I’m hungry. I should get washed up,” I tell her and rush into the house before she sees right through me.
Chapter eighteen
MATTHEW
A TRUE FAMILY
The Stuarts, a young couple spending their honeymoon traveling to as many small towns in the United States as they can in six months, sit beside Peter and Fran Miller, regulars at the ranch since they started taking guests. They’ve brought their seven-year-old grandson this time. There’ll be another three families checking in tomorrow. It’s a good thing they aren’t here now too, because if they had arrived today, we’d not have had enough chairs to seat them all at dinner.
Preston’s van pulls into the driveway, and everyone stands.
“Happy Birthday,” we all cheer as he steps out of the passenger side with a huge smile on his face.
“I knew you were up to something,” he tells Preston, wagging a finger in Poppy’s direction. “You too, miss.”
“You did not. We’re the best at keeping secrets, aren’t we, Dad?” she replies, and Preston hugs her to his side.
“You bet, kiddo. This looks amazing, guys, great job.”
