Magic!
At that moment the guide, Buck Malone, was helping the greenhorns in his party take care of their mounts so that the humans and horses could, as Buck put it, “graze together.” Grant turned his attention to the rainbow trout and thin slices of lemon cooking in the skillet. Another minute or two and the food would be ready. On the edge of the grill grate a tinfoil container—filled with baby potatoes, red onions, bell peppers, and mushrooms—had reached the perfection stage. Later, the guests would enjoy peach halves and brown sugar that had been grilled together, also in tinfoil. The dessert would be topped with the vanilla ice cream that was currently stored in one of the coolers with dry ice.
Grant was thankful for this job, one of two he worked in Kings Meadow during the summer. June through September, whenever Ultimate Adventures had guests—excepting Sundays and Mondays—Grant’s days were spent at Chet Leonard’s ranch or in the mountains nearby. Several evenings a week, he was also the cook at the Tamarack Grill on the western edge of town. For the past two years, the owner of the restaurant, Skeeter Simmons, had increased Grant’s hours back to full-time duty once the Leonards’ glamping season ended. Skeeter had promised to do the same again when October rolled around, and Grant was more than a little grateful for it.
He pulled the skillet away from the fire. “Come and get it!”
After that, Grant was too busy to think of anything beyond the food he’d prepared and the guests he served. It wasn’t until an hour and a half later that he was alone once again at the cook site. As he returned supplies to the crates and bins in the back of the Leonard pickup truck, his thoughts wandered to other things.
He’d received a phone call from his older brother last night. Vince still lived in Montana, not far from the ranch where Vince, Grant, and their eight younger brothers and sisters had been raised. Vince had called with the news that his wife, Segunda, was going to have another baby. Their fourth. If there was one thing the Nichols family knew how to do, it was to reproduce like rabbits. At the age of thirty, Grant was already an uncle to fourteen kids—all under the age of eleven—and in addition to Segunda, his youngest brother’s wife also had a bun in the oven.
Every time one of his parents or siblings called Grant, the same two questions eventually came up: When was he going to get married? Shouldn’t he think about starting a family soon?
No, thanks.
The pressure to marry and have kids was one of the reasons Grant had left Montana. He’d wanted some mileage between himself and the rest of the Nichols clan. He loved his parents and every single one of his siblings, as well as his nieces and nephews. But he had no plans to add to the family numbers. He already felt as if he’d raised a passel of kids. As the second oldest in the family, he’d been called upon to help with his brothers and sisters on a daily basis when they were all still at home. Maybe someday he would find the right woman and decide to get married, but he still wouldn’t want any kids of his own.
The right woman.
The memory of Skye Foster popped into his head—and it wasn’t the first time it had happened since he’d met the dance instructor. She was a little thing, both in height and weight. A bale of hay probably weighed more than she did. He ought to know. He’d pitched plenty of hay bales as a kid on his dad’s ranch. But it was her big brown eyes and that bright smile of hers that he remembered most.
With the last of his gear put away, Grant got into the truck cab and started the engine. But he didn’t drive away from thoughts of Skye as he headed toward the ranch complex. He had to admit, he was looking forward to seeing her again. He’d be happier, though, if dance lessons weren’t part of the bargain. All he could do was hope he wouldn’t stomp on her feet too hard or too often or fling her into the wall. Earlier today, Grant had expressed similar concerns to Buck.
“Don’t worry,” his friend had answered. “Skye’s tougher than she looks. She’s run half-ton horses around barrels to beat the clock since she was eleven or twelve years old. I imagine she can steer you where she wants you to go.” Buck had grinned. “She made a regular twinkle-toes out of me.”
They’d both laughed hard over that comment.
Grant decided to not worry about it. His first lesson with Skye Foster would be on Monday afternoon. He would know soon enough if there was any hope for him on the dance floor.
Or with Miss Foster.
Charity and her mother, Sophie Anderson, were the last to leave at the end of the bridal shower.