“Thanks.”
“Cheers.” I held out my glass.
She picked hers up and tilted her head. “What are we cheers-ing to?”
“To proper meals and good company.” I wanted to add that lasts forever but I left it out. Coming on too strong was a quick way to get shot down. I knew from experience.
Grace smiled and clinked hers against mine. “Cheers.”
I watched her bottom lip press against the glass as she swallowed the liquid, and then I took my drink. I wanted that bottom lip. It was plump and begged to be bitten or sucked on. I ran my tongue against my teeth and imagined sinking them into her.
“Almost forgot. Shall we say grace first, Grace,” I said, extending my hand out to hers.
She shook her head and looked awkwardly at me and then at her plate. “I’m not religious.”
I retracted my hand. “Yeah, me neither. I just like tradition. My mistake.” I grabbed my fork and dove into the brussels sprouts first, just to get them out of the way. If I still had my dog, I’d have “accidentally” tossed these things on the ground for him to eat. But he passed last spring. Most things didn’t survive this ranch. I was the exception.
Grace watched me, waiting for my reaction.
“These are fantastic,” I lied through a mouth full of food. “Hands down, best sprouts I’ve ever had.” The second part wasn’t a lie. I had eaten a single one when I was a child and immediately spit it out. I gulped red wine, forcing those fart-smelling, poor excuse of a vegetable down my throat.
She smiled wide. I’d lie to Grace every day to keep her happy. “Okay, now the salmon . . .” she pointed at my plate.
I sliced through the corner of it and scooped it onto my fork. The refreshing taste of the fish mixed with the sweetness of the honey, the saltiness of the soy, and the spiciness of the hot sauce melded together perfectly. “Incredible,” I said in between bites, and I meant it.
Grace beamed and then proceeded to finally start eating. She was pleased that I was pleased. I liked that about her.
“You feeling all right after the chicken incident?” I asked. I hoped that hadn’t scared her away but she seemed to have already put it behind her.
“Yeah,” she said, tilting her head. “I’ll admit, it was quite jarring, but I understand things like that happen out here.”
“I lost the whole flock when I first took over the ranch. Coop wasn’t secured enough and a weasel got in there.” I shook my head and sipped my wine.
“A weasel? Aren’t those tiny little things?”
“Yep. They don’t weigh more than a pound, but they’re killers. They can slink through something as small as the diameter of a wedding ring.” I shoveled a forkful of salmon into my mouth.
Grace took small bites and chewed many times before she swallowed. “How’d you know it was a weasel?”
“From how they kill. They bite the base of an animal’s skull. Two bites and it’s dead. They stack the carcasses up neatly too like some sort of ritual. And they’ll only eat part of one or two chickens but will slaughter the rest of them for fun.”
“That’s awful.” Grace brought her glass of wine to her lips and took a slow sip.
“It is, but that’s ranch living.”
“Well, I don’t deal with any of that in the city. The only predators that live there are other humans,” she said with a forced laugh.
“I’ll take a weasel and a raccoon over that any day.” I smirked.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, stealing glances from one another. I was drawn to Grace. We were from very different worlds, but deep down, I felt like we were alike in some way—not sure which, but I knew we were. And I think she liked my world.
“I didn’t see ya until late, what did ya do all day?” I asked.
The corner of her lip perked up. “I went out and got myself some ‘proper Wyoming wear,’ as you put it.”
“I’d love to see you in that.” I let out an awkward cough, realizing how forward that was. Grace dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and I quickly moved the conversation along.
“Did you meet Betty?”
She nodded and stirred the food around on her plate like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to say it. “Did you mention her to me?”
I thought back to my conversations with Betty. I couldn’t recall if I did or not. “I’m sure I did. I talk to Betty about everything. She’s like a second mom to me.” I took another bite of salmon.
Grace nodded slightly and gave a tight smile. I’m not sure what that was about, but I assumed there was something about Betty she didn’t like. Betty meant well. She was a woman that spoke her mind and sometimes it didn’t come off all that great. But she didn’t have a mean bone in her body . . . at least that I knew of. Or perhaps Grace looked down on us country folks, and she was just being polite toward me. Maybe I was reading her all wrong. I held my head a little higher and took another bite of her nasty brussels sprouts.
Grace paused her eating and furrowed her brow. “Do you know anything about cars?”
“Not really my specialty. What’s up?”
“The check engine light came on when I was leaving Betty’s store, and it started shaking when I drove back. Like when I accelerated.” She let out a sigh.
That must be what’s got her acting tense. I suppose I’d feel the same way if I was staying in a strange place so far from home with a shoddy car.
“Well, my brother Joe is real good with cars. He’ll be over here this week, and I can have him take a look at it.”
Grace took a long sip of her wine. “That’d be great.”
I wondered why she hesitated. Maybe she didn’t like accepting help—typical city girl type of thing.
“You said you moved back to take over the ranch. Your brother, why didn’t he do it?” Grace asked.
I shoveled a forkful of salmon into my mouth and chewed slowly. “Mom and Dad wanted me to. It was in their will, and I respected their wishes.”
She tilted her head and looked at me like she was looking into my soul. “You must have really loved them to do that, to give up your life and come back to live theirs.”
I sipped my wine while deciding how to respond. I didn’t like talking about them. Even though they were gone, their presence was here, heavy and dark.
I set the empty glass down and looked to Grace. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
Standing, I grabbed my plate. “You done?” I asked.
Grace nodded, pushing her dish toward me. Over at the sink, I turned on the faucet.
“Let me help you clean up,” Grace said, half standing.
I flicked my hand at her. “Nonsense. You cooked. I’ll clean,” I said, closing the drain and squirting Dawn dish soap into the basin.
Grace smiled and took her seat. She refilled both our glasses and brought hers to her lips. “I could get used to this,” she said, taking a sip. Her eyes peered over the glass, running up and down my body.
“I could too, Grace.” I gave her a coy smile and slid the pans into the dishwater. If I’m being honest, I was already used to it. Grace would be a hard habit to break. Nearly impossible.
9.
Grace