Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“What are you thinking about, Darcy?” Ranger’s deep voice has a naturally intimate tinge to it, and my stomach fills with butterflies whenever he says my name.
“Just about this pie.” And how I’ve never seen a man quite like you.
“Smells delicious.”
I take the pie and two small plates to the table, excited to see what my guest thinks of my recipe.
While we dig into the colorful dessert, I broach something that’s been bugging me since we finished our meal. “You know, I’m not a kid.”
Ranger smiles, some of the berry filling stains his perfect lips and teeth. “Of course not. Why, what did I say?”
“No, nothing. I just wanted to clarify.” I fiddle with the pie in front of me. “But honestly Ranger? Sometimes I wish I could just be a kid again. I never got a real childhood. I mean, yes, I was overall pretty happy. But I never really got to be carefree, and then there was this crazy European summer … well, I’m not going to get into that. But now, I’m home and I feel like I don’t totally know what I’m doing with all of this,” I gesture around the softly lit room, “and that scares me.”
I decide to let it all out, to trust this man who has been so helpful and kind and interested in knowing more about me. I do trust him, I realize. And I want him, this mysterious cowboy, to tell me I can do this, that I’m capable.
Meanwhile, he gives me a contemplative look.
“I meant what I said Darcy.” Ranger’s voice is smooth as molasses. “It takes gumption to be running a farm on your own.”
I nod.
“I really appreciate that, Ranger. I do. But sometimes, I ask myself if it’s crazy to keep this place running by myself. Hell, even living off the land is risky because what if I get caught under the tractor? What if I get injured way out in one of the fields? Then what?”
Ranger places his fork carefully on his plate. “If anyone can do this, Darcy, it’s you.” I start to blush and protest, but the man stops me. “For the past several days, you’ve done nothing but prove how dedicated you are this to land, and to making this farm a success. I see how hard you work. And how dirty you are after a day in the field. I can tell you’re sore and exhausted, but then you just keep going. You have what it takes.” He leans back in his now fixed chair. “Color me impressed, kid.”
I smile as I dig into my pie, truly thrilled to hear how much Ranger believes in me. Such praise from a relative stranger might seem insignificant to a seasoned farmer, but ever since I lost Pa, I’ve been full of doubts and worries about my ability to run this place.
“This might sound cheesy, but that really means a lot to me, Ranger.”
“We all need to be reminded of how good we are at something,” he tells me easily. My chest expands and relief floods my veins as we share a smile. I’m grateful to this man, this strange cowboy who has gone out of his way to not only help me with the physical work, but emotionally making me stronger.
“I know my doubts aren’t unfounded. The harvest is definitely going to be a challenge this year, but just hearing that I’m capable of handling it all, well,” I shrug. “It helps.”
He grins easily, showing off white teeth.
“Well, I hope I’ve also helped with the physical part of the labor, too,” he laughs. I nod.
“Trust me, you have. I never would have gotten that tractor going on my own. And I had no idea about the fence to the west side of the property being down.” I shake my head. Nothing escapes this man.
With that, we polish off our pie in amiable silence, and together, clean up the kitchen before lingering in the hallway. At the bottom of the stairs, we go through the motions of what has become a slightly awkward pre-bedtime ritual: Ranger and I stand facing each other, talking for another few minutes about chores or plans for the next day.
It’s our close proximity to one another that makes the conversation feel more intense than it really is. Sometimes, I’ll rest my back against the wall, and Ranger will lean in closer to me whenever he laughs. Other times, he seems to look for any excuse to touch me – my arm, my hand, my cheek. Each night, the conversations seem to last longer and longer, each of us looking for some excuse to keep talking to the other.
But my favorite part of the silly little routine is when we both finally start to say goodnight, and our bodies get ridiculously close.