Summertime on the Ranch by Carolyn Brown (leveled readers txt) 📗

a cookie evening,” he suggested. “How about tonight?”

“I’ve got plans for the next couple of nights,” she answered, “but Thursday is free. My place or yours?”

“Mine,” he replied. “I’ll have everything ready. You bring a bottle of wine, and we’ll make sugar cookies. According to Austin and Rye, they go really good with watermelon wine.”

“Grammie has an amazing recipe for sugar cookies. I’ll bring a copy with me,” she said.

What am I doing? she scolded herself. A week ago, she wouldn’t have given Dalton the time of day, and she really didn’t like Tuff. How could things have changed so fast?

“I’ve got one question before we do this,” she said.

“Shoot.” He grinned. “But I assure you, I keep a full pantry, so when I’m in the mood to cook, I’ve got what I need.”

“How many women have worn this robe?”

“One, and that’s you. I don’t share my toys with others very well,” he answered.

“Then why is there lavender-scented shampoo in your shower?” she asked.

“My mama likes it, and last week she was down here helping me get my spring cleaning done,” he answered. “I don’t bring women to the ranch, Becca. I’m not a saint, and probably seventy percent of what you’ve heard about me is pure truth, but when I spend the night with a woman, it’s not at my place.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because someday I will settle down, and this will be my home until I can have enough saved for my own ranch. I wouldn’t want my wife to feel the ghosts of girlfriends past every time she turned a corner,” he answered.

“That’s pretty nice of you,” she said and picked up a second cookie.

* * *

Dalton grinned as he pushed back his chair and stood up. “I’m just a nice cowboy. The washer just quit. I’ll throw your things over into the dryer.”

He had just gotten her stuff into the dryer when his phone rang. He slipped it out of the hip pocket of his jeans, saw that it was Rye, and answered on the second ring.

“Hey, how’s things in Florida?”

“Hot and humid and the kids are loving every minute,” Rye answered.

Dalton leaned his back against the washer. “How about you?”

“I’d rather be ranching”—Rye chuckled—“but it’s not too bad. I love seeing the expressions on Austin and the kids’ faces, and the food is really good. Everything under control there?”

“Yep, and you’ll never guess what happened today. Big John broke through the fence…” He went on to tell Rye the whole story, ending with “and I couldn’t believe that Becca did that. She’s sitting in my kitchen now while her clothes are drying.”

“You’ve got a woman in your house?” Rye asked.

“I told you before you left that it was love at first sight,” Dalton said.

“I didn’t believe you,” Rye said. “I remember that feeling. I’ll just hope that you can convince her you’re ready to settle down. I can’t wait to tell Austin. Believe me, she’ll do all she can do to help you out. She and Becca have become good friends these past months.”

“Thanks,” Dalton told him. “Anything you want me to do more than what we’re doing?”

“Just be sure the rodeo stock gets down to Haskell on Friday. I’ll be home Sunday evening, so I’ll go pick them up on Monday,” Rye said.

“I might take Becca with me to control Big John,” Dalton said, chuckling.

“Tell her to take a couple of watermelons along.” Rye laughed. “It’s our turn to line up for a ride. Talk to you later. Austin says to tell Becca hello.”

The call ended, and Dalton headed back to the kitchen. “Austin says to tell you hello.”

“Are they having a good time?” Becca smiled up at him.

He refilled their coffee mugs and sat down. “Yep, but Rye says he’d rather be ranchin’.”

“I can understand that for sure,” Becca said. “Amusement parks are not my idea of a fun week. I’d rather stay home and make wine, or maybe go to a nice quiet beach and listen to the ocean waves coming in and going out.”

Damn! This girl was really after his heart in every way. “Me too, or maybe take a trip up into the mountains when there’s snow on the ground, build a roaring blaze in a fireplace, and just sit in front of it with a good cold beer.”

“That sounds pretty amazing too,” she agreed. “Put on some good slow country music in either one of those places, and I’d love it.”

He made a mental note to have music playing while they made cookies on Thursday evening. “Was it a cultural shock to come home after spending ten years in Nashville?”

“Not as much as it was going to Nashville after being raised in Ringgold,” she answered. “I got used to it after a while, and coming home, well…it’s home.” She raised a shoulder in half a shrug.

“Reckon you’ll sing at local events?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she answered. “Making the decision to give up on my dream wasn’t easy, but as time goes by, it’s becoming something of the past. Does that make sense?”

“More than you’ll ever know.” He nodded in agreement.

“What makes you say that?” she asked.

“I wanted to be a champion bull rider as well as a rancher. It took about eight years and a few broken bones for me to realize that I’m just not that good,” he said. “Not that I’m sayin’ you’re not good enough to make it in country music, but when I finally figured out that I wasn’t cut out to ride bulls, I put that dream behind me and put my all into ranchin’.”

“And chasin’ women?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Bull ridin’ gets more ladies than plain old ranchin’,” he replied. “I’ve sown my wild oats in both arenas—ranchin’ and rodeoin’. I’m lucky that I didn’t have to reap a harvest from that, but I’m thirty years old now, and I’m finding that all that glitters is not gold.”

“Seems like there was an old song that said that same thing,” she said.

Dalton nodded again. “Yep, and