by Jean Oram
“Boys,” Maria scolded, coming around the corner from the kitchen with a tray of appetizers.
“I’m hardly a boy,” Carmichael grumbled. “Is that your dip?”
“Take off your hats. It’s Thanksgiving,” she commanded. Both men obeyed, Carmichael placing his worn gray Stetson on a peg near the door. Ryan did the same with his new felt cowboy hat from Jenny Oliver’s shop, Blue Tumbleweed.
Several members of the Wylder clan were already taking up space in the sunken living room and sipping what looked like Ryan’s homemade brew.
“There’s dip in the kitchen,” Maria told Carmichael, as she took the two steps down into the family’s midst to place her offerings on the coffee table. “I’ve been holding it back so you can have first dibs.”
Carmichael headed in that direction, moving as fast as the time Ryan had let a bull loose, not realizing his grandfather was still in the pasture. Maybe rain wasn’t in the forecast after all.
Ryan stood near the door, feeling unsure about where he should sit. His mother rarely wanted his inefficient help in the kitchen when she put on enormous meals.
Myles and Karen were cozied up together on the love seat whispering to each other, hands intertwined. Ryan knew better than to sit across from them and try to have a conversation. For the first time, he thought that maybe in the future he would not in fact be picking up the pieces of his brother’s broken heart, but instead following these two through their milestones as a couple. Engagement, marriage, first child, second child and so on. Myles may have found the exception to the rule that relationships always crumble.
“Hi, Ryan,” Laura Oakes said, gliding into the room with a grace likely due to her former career as a fashion model. She came over, a hint of sweet-smelling perfume wafting over him as she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Hey, Laura.”
Maybe his eldest brother had found an exception, too. Laura had left Levi shortly after they’d gotten together, and man, those had been grim days for his brother. But then she had come back, and the two had been figuring things out like healthy, rational human beings.
If events continued the way they had been lately, Ryan could soon find himself the last bachelor, hanging out alone with Carmichael. Or with Brant. He was still single, too.
“Get that no-good brother of mine to give you a ring yet?” Ryan asked Laura.
Her cheeks flushed, but she laughed. “You and Myles sure give him a hard time about that, don’t you?”
“Just want him to make an honest woman of you.”
Rings were the litmus test as far as Ryan was concerned. Myles had been smart. He’d given Karen a bracelet. Although she’d given it back, so maybe that wasn’t the best plan. But then again, from his vantage point near the door he could see she was wearing it today. What did that mean? They were solid? Or had his recent gut feeling about them been wrong, and they’d bought into an illusion that would soon come crashing down around them?
Laura went and sat beside Levi on the couch, the two of them kissing hello as if they’d been apart for weeks, not minutes.
“Where’s Brant?” Ryan asked.
No answer.
It hadn’t been like this when they’d all been single. Now, looking around the living room, he felt that familiar need to hustle like he had as the youngest Wylder, always a step behind his big brothers. Although, technically, he had been the first to marry. Not that it had lasted long enough to tell his family.
He headed to the kitchen, along the hall and to the left.
“Need help, Mom?”
Maria was bent over the open oven, poking at the turkey.
“I’m fine, Ryan. Thanks. There’s beer in the fridge if you want one.”
Ryan took out a bottle of his homemade pale ale and uncapped it. Carmichael was sitting at the long table, which had all its leaves in place, ready to seat twelve.
“You can have some when I’m done,” Carmichael said, hunched over the dip. “If there’s any left.”
“I’m good, thanks.” Ryan gazed past his grandfather, movement outside the patio window catching his attention. In the backyard the orange kittens were playing among some black-and-red-headed hens. “When did we get chickens?”
“We didn’t,” Carmichael said, then shoveled more dip in his mouth.
Did Carly now have chickens on the loose as well as goats? Ryan might have to explain to her that “free-range” still meant keeping the animals in a somewhat confined area and not the neighbor’s yard.
He took another sip of his beer, noting the lot number he’d inked on the label. This one was aging nicely and might be a contender for the microbrewery he’d invested in over in Riverbend. He offered them recipes, business advice and some financial backing for a 40 percent share in their operation. They hadn’t made a profit yet, their startup costs swallowing the first six months of income. But it looked as though by month eight they might make a nickel or two, and after that, if things continued the way they had been, it wouldn’t be long until they had a nice steady stream of revenue.
Smiling to himself, Ryan looked at his beer. It would be all right. Life was looking good for this single man.
Feeling the need to move, he left the kitchen, taking the hallway that overlooked the sunken living room. He heard a knock and the front door open, and when he rounded the corner from the kitchen, he stopped as though he’d hit a wall. Standing in the entry was a woman who took his breath away. She noticed him, her head of black curls lifting, her eyes meeting his. She smiled, and it was all he could do to hold his beer and not rush to her, pull her into his arms and kiss her.
Yes, life was good. The only question for his current life plan was how he could fit more of Carly Clarke into it.
Carly stood in the entrance to the ranch house, feeling slightly out of place until she saw Ryan. He had rounded the corner from another room and then stopped short. The hitch that often seized his shoulders melted and his expression, before he tamped it down, was one of joy. It shot to her chest, lifting her. And then she caught herself, realizing she was in his family home, surrounded by the most important people in his life, for a big holiday dinner. It immediately felt too intimate, too meaningful.
She took a small step back toward the door, shyness overtaking her. She forced herself to look away from Ryan’s probing, sea-colored eyes and appear nonchalant as Maria pushed past her son to come fuss over Carly’s pecan pie and potted geranium.
“I hope you don’t have too much dessert already,” Carly said, having to clear her throat twice to get the words out. “And the flowers are just because.”
“My boys are bottomless pits, which means food is always welcome here. As are flowers.” She pointedly raised her voice on the last sentence, while casting a glance toward her sons. “You’d think with this many men kicking around I’d get flowers more often.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Levi called. “We’ll try harder.”
“You know everyone?” Maria asked Carly, gesturing to those seated in the living room. It was a big home with a warm, welcoming feel. A fire was crackling in the fireplace and two couples were cuddling on the couches.
She nodded, recognizing Levi and Laura, Myles and Karen. There was no Jackie to be seen. She hoped the woman hadn’t invited her to the family event and then gone and ditched.
“Your goats haven’t been around much lately,” the old patriarch, Carmichael, said, entering the room from the direction Maria disappeared with the pie and flowers.
She leaned back around the corner, calling, “Ryan, take Carly’s coat, please.”
Ryan jolted, taking an awkward step forward as though someone had broken a layer of ice that had frozen him to the ground.
“Ryan helped me fix the goat pen,” Carly told Carmichael, in reply to his earlier question. Her eyes were drawn toward the man in question. Ryan was wearing a crisp white shirt and dark jeans. He looked handsome, capable and very kissable. When he slipped her coat off her shoulders, his breath dancing across her bare neck, his finge
rs grazing her arms, she felt a spark of awareness.
“Looks like you might need to fix your chicken coop, too,” Carmichael announced.
Carly’s shoulders dropped. “Are they out?”
“They were here a bit ago,” Ryan said, his voice feeling like a caress. She turned to take her coat, but he held it to him in both hands as though it could prevent him from kissing her. Or her him.
She shivered. It seemed any time she was close to Ryan she wanted to lock herself in his embrace and forget about everything else in the world. She lowered her eyes and turned away, unsure how to break the tension that was rapidly growing between them.
She had learned to handle the aloof, cool version of Ryan she’d met on the football field, and she’d come to expect the open physical affection of the man she met up with in her stable. But this version was different. A layer with emotion and something else burning deep that could get them into trouble.
“Ryan was fixin’ to cook one for supper,” Carmichael said, a twinkle in his eye to let her know he was joking. He’d hobbled down the two steps to the living room, telling Levi to shove over and make some room on the couch for an old fella.
“Ryan!” Carly said, putting her hands on her hips and pretending to be aghast. “I can’t believe you would eat my chickens.”
She was getting a poor reputation with all her livestock breakouts. Not that she blamed her animals. The grass was greener over here, and not just figuratively.
“Isn’t that why they’re free-range?” Ryan teased. “So they’ll taste better?”
She bit her bottom lip, trying to fight the smile as she gave his shoulder a playful shove. A solid wall of muscle, he didn’t budge.
“They’re egg layers, actually,” she said haughtily. “Not for eating.”
“Do you have any for sale?” Maria asked, reentering the room. “I love fresh farm eggs. Does everyone have enough to drink?”
“Only one egg so far,” Carly said.
“They likely just need to settle in,” Ryan said. “When did you get them? Yesterday?”
“The day before.”
“Keeping tabs on her, are you?” Carmichael teased, causing Myles to smirk.
Ryan was adding Carly’s coat to the line of jackets hanging by the door. The bottom hooks were filled with work attire and a range of cowboy hats occupied the pegs above.
“Ryan, put Carly’s coat in the spare room,” Maria called to him, heading back toward the kitchen. “That rack is full of dirty farm coats. Then be sure to offer her a drink.”
“Yes, Mom,” Ryan said gently, as though he was used to being bossed around by her.
Maria’s voice changed from one of command to something softer. “Let me know when you have eggs for sale, Carly. I go through dozens every week.”
“Okay. Hopefully soon.”
Ryan jerked his chin toward the hallway behind the living room where doors opened into bedrooms. “I’ll show you where I’ll put your coat in case we chase you off by being too overbearing and nosy.”
“We wouldn’t do that,” Carmichael said with a wry tone.
“Sure we would,” Myles said cheerfully, munching on some chips.
Carly followed Ryan around the living room and to the third door along the back wall. Ryan disappeared inside, and not sure what else to do, Carly followed. As she rounded the doorway, she felt hands grasp her waist, pulling her against a warm, hard body. Ryan’s lips landed on hers, firm and demanding. She returned his kiss with an urgency that rocked her further against his chest. He pivoted, backing her against a wall as his hands roamed up her sides, their kiss deepening. Her palms slipped up his chest, her fingers dipping into his hair as their lips met again and again. Kissing Ryan was like unleashing a tornado, but she wasn’t sure if it was inside herself, or him.
Ryan finally pulled away, the two of them breathing hard. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Gobble, gobble,” she whispered, yanking him back for another consuming kiss.
When they broke apart again Ryan smiled, then stole one more kiss before exiting the room. Carly, propped against the wall, drew a deep breath to calm the rush of desire that had left her shaking. She took a few more seconds to compose herself, smoothing her outfit, before joining Ryan, who was standing casually in the hallway.
“You two are a couple?” Carmichael asked. “Since when?”
Carly felt her eyes widen in alarm. She glanced at Ryan, who gave his grandfather a bored, unimpressed look. “Not everyone is hooking up, Granddad.”
“Yeah, I’m not,” he said. “And neither is your mother. But you boys sure have been. You’d think there was a war coming and you US Army Reserve lads had only a few more weeks of freedom left.” He nodded thoughtfully, as though verifying the accuracy of his statement. “Making up for lost time, like the late bloomers you are.”
Carly held back a giggle while making a quick visual sweep of the family, curious what their take was on Carmichael’s pronouncement. There were a few curious glances shot her way, and she made a point of looking indifferent, and hopefully not as though she’d just been consumed by a dozen hungry kisses.
“You’re in the reserves?” Carly asked. She edged closer to Ryan as though he might save her from any further awkward exchanges, before realizing she might be acting like his date.
“We all are.” He sized her up. “How long have you been in?”
She didn’t hide her surprise. “I no longer am, but how did you know I was?”
He shrugged, giving her one of those looks of his that hinted that he saw a lot more than she typically allowed anyone to see. She wondered if he could tell that she’d been asked to leave the reserves.
The front door opened and Brant, the middle Wylder brother, entered. “Happy Thanksgiving. Hey, Carly, Karen, Laura.” He gave each of them a nod.
“What? I don’t rate a hello?” Ryan asked, arms out in protest.
“No, you get a hug.” Brant grinned and opened his arms, but Ryan waved him off.
“Levi,” Brant said, as he hung up his coat by the door, “did Ryan convince you to get chickens? Weren’t those useless sheep enough of a lesson when it comes to Ryan’s cockamamie ideas?”
“They’re not useless,” Ryan said with a smirk.
“You told me there were benefits, so I bought some,” Levi grumbled.
“I was just thinking out loud.”
Carly had forgotten all about her chickens, and she ducked back into the room to retrieve her coat so she could round them up before the coyotes got them.
“What’s up, Granddad?” Brant asked, stepping down into the living room as Carly returned with her coat.
“I already ate all the layer dip,” Carmichael announced. “So you may as well go home.”
Brant grinned. “I asked Mom to make double. I bet she hid some away for me.”
Carmichael seemed affronted. “Now why would she go choosing favorites?” He eased himself off the couch and hustled toward the kitchen.
“Are the chickens still out in the yard?” Carly asked, sliding into her coat.
“About a dozen Australorps,” Brant confirmed.
“I’d better go round them up.”
“They’re yours?”
She nodded, heading toward the door as Ryan said, “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
“I heard coyotes the other night,” she stated. “I don’t want them having their own Thanksgiving meal.”
“I’ll see if my dog knows how to round up chickens.” Levi’s long-legged strides took him across the living room in a matter of seconds. He chose a hat and jacket as Brant opened the door.
“I guess we’d better train Sergeant Riggs how to work with chickens and not just goats,” Brant said.
Before Carly could fully realize or protest what was happening, everyone except Maria and Carmichael was rounding up her beautiful black-and-red chickens.
“Do we have time before supper?” she asked, horrified that her problem might delay the meal Mar
ia was preparing.
“Don’t worry about it. Mom understands,” Ryan said. “She’s a ranch woman through and through.”
“But I can’t make all of us late. She’s worked so hard on the meal.”
“It’s not as important as livestock on the loose,” Brant declared.
“Tell me about it,” Laura said with a groan, earning a chuckle from Levi. “And anyway, she kicked us all out of the kitchen a while ago, saying to go keep ourselves busy.” Laura checked her watch. “We probably have close to an hour.”
The group worked seamlessly, creating an arc that gently herded the chickens back toward the Lucky Horse Ranch. Ironically, Lupe, Levi’s dog, refused to take part in the efforts.
Back in Carly’s yard, the brothers found the problem. An enterprising chicken had pecked at a loose piece of netting she’d thought was secure enough, creating an escape hatch.
“I had no idea they would do that. I mean eventually, sure. But that was fast.”
“There’s some lumber in the stable,” Ryan said. “Can we use it?”
Carly nodded, and soon enough wood, wire and tools were rounded up. The sounds of sawing and drilling filled the quiet November evening. Ryan was in the thick of it, taking measurements and giving orders with a confidence Carly found appealing.
“He must be hungry. He’s not usually this helpful,” Levi said, jabbing a thumb in his brother’s direction.
Carly felt an apology almost make it to her lips before realizing he was just teasing his brother.
“I really appreciate everyone’s help,” she said, kneeling beside Ryan, who was securing a board. She held one end, trying to be helpful as the group fixed her problem, no questions asked. Her sheepdog, Sergeant Riggs, wandered over and sat beside her, panting his warm wet breath in her ear. The drill was near her right knee, and she picked it up, ready to fasten the board into place once given the command.
“Where did the drill go?” Ryan demanded. He glanced at her and his sternness melted. “Oh. Hey, want to secure that end?”
She drilled in a screw, then shuffled toward him and attached his end as well.
“I didn’t know you were handy with power tools.”