Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
I like her immediately. Or maybe it’s the insanely delicious smell of just-baked goods that I like.
Whatever the case, Patsy rounds the island and immediately wraps me in a hug, ignoring the hand I extend. “It is so nice to finally meet you, sugar. And those boots! Love the purple.”
I don’t know how I feel about being called sugar. But Patsy’s hug is tight and warm, genuine in a way I haven’t experienced in a long time. I feel a smidge of relief that she doesn’t appear to hate me.
So I just keep my smile pasted on my face and say, “It’s nice to meet you too, Patsy. Your food looks delicious and smells even better.”
She releases me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “Lordy, you look just like your daddy.”
I want to reply with something like, That’s what everyone says, or, I get that a lot. But no one’s ever said that to me. No one I know, anyway. My life in Dallas was so separate from Dad’s on the ranch—our paths crossed so seldomly—that none of my friends or neighbors even knew who he was. They couldn’t say whether or not I looked like him because he was never around.
My throat contracts. I will not cry.
Swallowing hard, I look away and nod at the food. “So you cook like this all the time?”
“We have lots of mouths to feed here on the ranch. We fit as many as we can here in the kitchen, but the bulk of the ranch hands will eat the food I bring to the bunkhouse.” She nods at the older man standing at an enormous farm sink and a younger one seated at the table with a paint-smeared toddler on his lap. “Mollie, meet my husband, John B, and there at the table is Sawyer Rivers and his daughter, Ella.”
My stomach dips at the name Rivers. Sawyer looks at me, raising little Ella’s hand in a wave, and my stomach dips again at the familiar cobalt-blue shade of his eyes.
No question he’s Cash’s brother. He’s got the same build: big shoulders and broad chest. But unlike Cash, he offers me a friendly smile.
“Nice to meet ya, Mollie. Ella, can you say hi?”
Ella doesn’t say anything, but she also smiles, a mirror image of her father’s, dimples and all.
I wave at her. “Hi, Sawyer. Hi, Ella. How old are you?”
Sawyer helps her hold up three fingers. “Just had a birthday, didn’t we?”
“Ella get more presents?” the little girl replies.
We all laugh.
“Ella, honey, I think you know the answer to that.” The older man turns around, resting his hands on the lip of the sink behind him. “You’re always getting presents.”
Patsy grins. “How could we not spoil you, sugar? Look at that sweet face.”
“She is absolutely precious,” I say.
“Thank you.” Sawyer smooths back Ella’s baby-fine blonde hair. “But really, y’all, it’s becoming a problem. She’s got so many toys, we’re running out of room.”
John B shakes his head. “Good problem to have. Mollie, welcome to Lucky Ranch.”
“Are y’all cowboys here or…”
“Sawyer is.” John nods at him. “My daughter, Sally, and I provide veterinary care across the county.”
“Best vets in Texas,” Sawyer adds.
Goody nods. “It’s true. The care they provide for the animals is second to none.”
A young woman in jeans and boots strides into the kitchen from what appears to be a pantry, a five-pound bag of sugar tucked in the crook of her arm. “Thank you kindly, Goody. I’ve learned from the OG.”
The woman, who I’m assuming is Sally, goes up on her tiptoes to kiss her dad on his whiskered cheek.
“OG as in old guy?” John B laughs.
Sally smiles. “That, or original gangster. Either way, you’re the world’s best teacher.”
“You’re a mighty fine student, sweetheart, when you’re not being a mighty big pain in the ass.”
Patsy scoffs. “Like y’all aren’t two peas in a pod. Sally, honey, this is Mollie Luck, Garrett’s daughter.”
“Mollie! Hey! It’s so great to finally meet you. Your dad talked about you often.”
My heart clenches. That answers that question. “Hi, Sally. That’s kind of you to say. I”—my throat tightens, and I clear it—“miss him.”
“Aw, Mollie, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Sally sets down the sugar on the island next to the jugs of tea. “We all miss Garrett.”
Patsy nods as Sally helps her pour an obscene amount of sugar into the jugs. What I would give to be able to drink that stuff without paying for it with a terrible stomachache later.
“He was so good to all of us.”
“Truly the best,” Sally says, grabbing a wooden spoon. She stirs the tea while her mom rolls up the mostly empty bag of sugar.
Watching them work together, I’m gripped by the acute need for my own mother. Mom wouldn’t be caught dead making her own tea, much less with sugar in it. But she’s always been my biggest cheerleader and a constant source of support, even if she is super wrapped up in her work and the Dallas social scene.