The Construction of Cheer

by Liz Isaacson

“No reason,” he said, because he was done making a fool of himself in front of pretty women. “I don’t think we need to stay down here. We’re just in the way.” He stepped toward the back corner of the truck. “Want to go back up to the ranch?”

  Montana got in the truck, and Bishop did too. It smelled more like her already, and she’d ridden in it for twenty minutes.

  Twenty more, and he reached the T-junction on the ranch. The land spread before him, their main barn directly in front of him. Right, he’d park at the homestead. Left, and he could get almost all the way to True Blue. “Do you want to go finish dinner? The contracts are out there too.”

  “We might as well do that,” she said, and Bishop turned left. A few minutes later, he pulled up to the stables and got out of the truck. He made very sure not to get too close to her or to touch her as they made the quick walk to the barn.

  Their dinners still sat on the table Bishop had set up. One look at it, and Bishop could see the romance hanging in the air. How did Montana not see it?

  Idiot, he chastised himself as they continued toward the table. “I can heat it up,” he said.

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” Montana sat down and immediately took a bite of steak. “Still good.” She smiled at him, and Bishop swore the gesture was flirty.

  Her signals were all over the place, and Bishop made a decision to keep things strictly professional tonight. Get the contract signed. He did need her help on the ranch.

  He shoved some steak in his mouth and stood up as he chewed. He went into the kitchen and collected the folder with their standard independent contractor contract in it, swallowed, and returned to the table.

  “This is pretty basic,” he said. “But you can have a lawyer look at it before you sign.”

  “Do I need to have a lawyer look at it?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. He set the folder in front of her.

  She opened the folder and took out the top sheet. She seemed to read every word, and then she asked, “Do you have a pen?”

  “Sure thing.” Bishop plucked it out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

  She signed the contract and handed it and the folder back to him.

  “Great,” he said. “I’m still hiring people, but you can come up tomorrow if you’d like. I can put you to work in the south cabins for now.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t pick up her fork again. He felt the weight of her gaze on his face, but he didn’t look up.

  “What changed?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” Bishop did raise his eyes then, wishing he could just say what came into his mind.

  “I mean, you changed. You went all cold.”

  Bishop searched her face, finding genuine interest and confusion on her face. “When’s the last time you’ve been on a date?” he asked.

  Her eyebrows flew up, and she leaned back, folding her arms. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve been flirting with you since the moment you showed up on my porch. I held your hand down there. Tried to figure out if you were a lot older than me or a little, because I don’t mind an age difference, but I didn’t want it to be, you know, creepy.”

  His mouth was going to get him into so much trouble tonight, and yet, he couldn’t stop it. “And you were all, ‘why do you need to know that?’ as if you have no idea when a man is flirting with you. So I thought, maybe she hasn’t dated in a while. I don’t know. Maybe the fourteen-year-old prevents that. Maybe you’re not looking for a boyfriend or another—” He finally got his voice to stop.

  Montana’s eyes had been steadily widening, and she gaped at him, her mouth open slightly. In the next moment, she snapped it shut, her arms still tightly clenched across her chest. “It’s been a while,” she said. “Since I dated.”

  “You seriously didn’t know I was flirting with you?”

  “I’m rusty, not oblivious.”

  Bishop nodded, his face starting to heat now that he’d blurted out the entirety of his thoughts.

  “I’m thirty-seven,” Montana said. “Four years isn’t very much.”

  Bishop ducked his head and looked at his food. It wasn’t appetizing cold, and he’d definitely need to eat something more than he had. “No, ma’am, it is not.”

  She hadn’t said she was looking for a boyfriend or another husband, and Bishop found himself needing to know. “If a flirty cowboy with a really big mouth asked you to dinner, would you check with your assistant so you could go?”

  “I don’t have an assistant.”

  Bishop’s gaze flew back to hers. A smile spread across her face, and she started giggling. That grew into real laughter, and Bishop grinned too.

  “Liar, liar,” he teased, chuckling with her.

  Montana pulled out her phone and looked at her calendar. “Depending on the evening, I think I could say yes to dinner with a flirty cowboy who has an honest mouth.”

  Bishop’s chest finally expanded properly when he breathed, and he grinned at her. “Great,” he said. “Let me know if one asks you out.”

  Chapter Six

  Montana went down the immaculately carved steps, slowing as she neared the first floor. She wasn’t so bitter that she couldn’t appreciate Micah Walker’s skill with wood, even if she silently vowed to never say so, to anyone, out loud.

  The front of the house had a long, wide hallway, but the only way to go was into the kitchen, so Montana bypassed the extra-wide front door and the huge windows, and went under the arched walkway that led into the kitchen.

  She expected to see Bishop there, whipping up a hot breakfast before a day of hard work on the ranch. Only the faint morning light greeted her. Well, and plenty of silence.

  Montana stopped again and took in the vastness of the space here. She’d always wanted a fifteen-foot-long island, and this kitchen had that. There were cupboards everywhere, and they weren’t quite white, but more of a freshly-churned-butter-yellow. They made the whole room lighter, and someone had put cheery blue and gray curtains to dress up the windows.

  If she kept going straight, she could exit the house through another door that led out onto a deck. To the right of that sat the long table she’d admired yesterday. She moved over to that, tracing her fingertips along the wood. It spoke to her soul in a way nothing else, save motherhood, ever had.

  She wasn’t sure if that made her strange or wonderful that she loved her daughter only slightly more than she enjoyed taking a rough piece of wood and turning it into something as functional and beautiful as a family table like this one.

  In her mind’s eye, she could see the joy this wood got to absorb as people sat down for holiday meals. She felt the bond brothers had with brothers, and mothers with sons, and daughters with mothers. The sibling energy flowed through her, and she realized she’d closed her eyes.

  She quickly snapped them open, because they were not her personal feelings. She pulled her hand away from the wood, and her mind cleared. Turning away from what was surely a magnificent place to be for any meal, Montana drank in the family room. Bishop had said his family was big, and this room looked like it could house them all.

  Beside the fireplace sat a closed door, and she assumed wherever it led filled the rest of the first floor. The wing where she’d slept last night was directly above her head, and when she looked out the windows at the back of the house, she saw the deck went all the way around.

  “This is an incredible house,” she said aloud. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to design anything like this, and she once again could appreciate Micah’s talent. “You just need to think bigger.”

  She went into the kitchen, that thought in her mind, and started making coffee. She could at least do that while she waited for Bishop to wake up. She’d signed his contract last night, and she couldn’t wait to get started here at Shiloh Ridge. She’d texted her crew at the college and said she’d be late that day, due to the fire, and her boss had told her to get there when she could.

  She let herself imagine the wa
y her bank account would benefit from the work here. Soon, she and Aurora would be able to move into their own place, and finally, Montana would be able to start living her own life.

  She’d felt in limbo for so long, and she’d been praying for something like this that would help her achieve her goals. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered as she measured grounds and poured water into the coffee maker.

  “Bishop doesn’t like it when other people cook in his kitchen.”

  Montana gave a startled cry and turned around. Arizona stood there, fully dressed and ready for the day. She wore jeans and a belt, just like most cowboys. Her shirt was pink and yellow flowers, though, and Montana had never seen a man wear a shirt like that.

  It went all the way to her wrists, and Arizona had taken her hair and pulled it all up on top of her head. How she’d put a hat over that, Montana didn’t know.

  “Sorry, I was just making coffee.” She tried on a smile and added, “Good morning.”

  Arizona folded her arms and cocked her hip. After several long seconds of appraisal, she said, “Good morning.”

  Montana didn’t want awkwardness between them. Not today, and not tomorrow, and not in a month when she was still here working on the ranch. “I sincerely apologize about Duke,” Montana said. “I realize I shouldn’t have approached you at dinner, but….” She paused for a moment, because she wasn’t sure how to admit this. She just had to say it. She’d marched up to the door and knocked on it. She’d looked into a gorgeous man’s face, and asked him if he needed help on his ranch.

  She could tell Arizona anything.

  “I needed a job,” she said. “Desperately. The Rhinehart’s had put a listing on the Three Rivers Classifieds, and Duke did text me to say he’d be in town that night at Double Spurs. I thought….” She sighed. “I honestly don’t know what I thought. I thought maybe he’d take a minute with me, and that he’d told you, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know,” Arizona said, finally holding up one palm toward Montana. “I called him last night. He said all the same things you just said.” She rolled her eyes. “Men can be so dense sometimes.” She walked over to the nearest barstool and sat on it, the inkling of a smile forming on her face. “I literally had to tell him that a heads-up about a job interview during our dinner date was warranted.”

  Montana giggled with Arizona as the first drips of coffee started to scent the air.

  “There are eggs and bacon in the fridge,” she said, nodding toward the huge, industrial-sized fridge.

  “Yeah?” Montana’s eyebrows went up. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

  “Bishop needs to know he’s not the only one who knows how to fry an egg.” Arizona grinned again and shrugged one shoulder. “Plus, I’m hungry.”

  “Mm hm.” Montana retrieved the eggs and bacon from the fridge and took a pan from the rack hanging over the built-in stovetop in the middle of the island. She set it over the flame and turned it on. “Kitchen shears?”

  “Probably in one of the drawers,” Arizona said, her attention switched to her phone.

  Montana opened all the drawers in the island before she found the kitchen shears, and they looked expensive and like no one ever used them. Lonely things, she thought, and she used them to open the package of bacon while Arizona giggled at something on her phone.

  She started looking through cupboards, finding bread and peanut butter. Montana could fry an egg, but she’d rather have peanut butter bacon toast.

  “Are you married to having an egg for breakfast?” she asked Arizona.

  She looked up from her phone. “No. What are you thinking?” She took in the new ingredients on the countertop. “I’m intrigued.”

  “Great.” Montana picked up the shears again and started snipping the strip into smaller bits. She’d made toast with strips of bacon in the past, but it was hard to bite through, and she’d developed a new way of piling on all the bacon she liked and not having to bite so hard to get the saltiness in every bite.

  The fat sizzled as it hit the hot pan, and she barely had enough time to get a couple of pieces snipped before she needed to find a pair of tongs and stir things before they burned. She did that, turned down the flame, and got back to snipping.

  “What is happening here?”

  She looked up to find Bishop pulling a shirt over his head as he walked through the living room. He rounded the couch and came toward her, and he seriously looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.

  “I thought all cowboys rose with the sun,” she said, realizing how flirty she sounded. She tossed a look at Arizona, whose fingers flew across her screen.

  “I normally do.” Bishop came into the kitchen and started to pour himself a cup of coffee. “But I’m sort of in a stand-still for today.” He stepped next to her, and it wasn’t fair that he had access to all his toiletries and clothing, and she still only had yesterday’s deodorant and jeans. At least she’d dressed nicely for their “meeting,” though she normally wouldn’t wear a blouse to work the ranch.

  “Stand-still?” she asked, glancing up at him briefly as she reached for another chunk of bacon. Snip, snip, snip.

  “I’ve never seen someone use scissors to cut bacon,” he said, his voice full of curiosity.

  “You’ve obviously never had to use a knife so dull it can’t even cut paper.” She finished with the bacon and looked at him fully. Big mistake, as time froze. Even the scent of bacon and coffee—the two best smells in the whole wide world—disappeared.

  There was only Bishop and his gorgeous smile. His light eyes that shone like a spring sky with bright sunlight. His laughter filled her ears, and when he put his hand on her waist, everything in the world rushed forward again.

  “You’re right,” he said, still chuckling. “I probably haven’t.”

  Montana pulled in a breath at his familiar and yet oh-so-new touch. His hand fell away, and he put a more appropriate distance between them. “What are you making?”

  She picked up the tongs and stirred the bacon around the pan, some of it already starting to crisp. This stove was astronomically better than any she’d used before too. “Peanut butter bacon toast.”

  He picked up the jar of peanut butter. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I am not,” she said. “I never joke about bacon.”

  “Oh yeah? Is that your favorite food?”

  “That’s right.” Montana couldn’t allow herself to look directly at him again, so she kept busy by putting four slices of bread into the toaster, just so it would be ready. “You’re not going out on the ranch today?”

  “I need to go do an interview in town,” he said. “Then I was going to meet my mother for lunch. Be back here in the afternoon to do a little bit of demo on one cabin that isn’t full of mold. I’m meeting the exterminators at the Ranch House at four.”

  “So you don’t need me up here today.” She did look at him then, and he wore a slightly alarmed expression.

  “You could come back in the afternoon, after you shower and everything.” He looked down to her bare feet, quickly pulling his eyes back to hers. “If you wanted. But no, your contract starts Monday.”

  “Okay,” she said, ducking her head and letting her hair fall over her shoulder. “This only has a few more minutes.” The last of her words got drowned out by Lincoln as he came skipping into the kitchen, singing at the top of his lungs.

  “Zona,” he said. “I have both of my shoes, and Benny’s already been outside.”

  “Good boy,” she said, smiling at him. “But you’re goin’ with Bishy today. He’s taking you to school and then he’s taking Benny to the garage. Remember?

  “Bishy?” Montana asked before she could stop herself. She looked at Bishop, grinning like a fool. “Like Bishy Wishy Fishy?”

  “Stop it,” he said, though his own smile stretched across his whole face.

  She laughed as she reached for the paper towels. He handed her a plate, and for a moment, Montana felt like t
his was normal. The two of them working together in the kitchen, moving around each other easily, as if they’d done it countless times in the past.

  She laid the paper towels over the plate and started tonging the crisp bacon pieces onto it. She set the bread to toast and got out a knife.

  A few minutes later, she said, “There’s an art to the bacon piling.” She picked up a healthy pinch of bacon and mounded it right in the center. “See? It falls all to the side, and then it’s perfect.” She lifted the piece. “Who wants the first piece?”

  She watched Bishop look at Arizona, who looked back at him. They wore identical expression of doubt, and Montana shook her head. “Lincoln, then. Here you go, bud. Show them they won’t die.”

  The boy took the toast and bit into it without hesitation. His eyes got big and round, and he tried smiling and chewing at the same time.

  Montana laughed and mounded another handful of bacon onto the next piece of toast. Her mouth watered at the sight of the melty peanut butter and the scent of that salty bacon.

  She passed out the toast, and raised hers to Bishop and Arizona, who hadn’t taken a bite yet. Montana did, the crunchy toast slightly softened on the top because of the peanut butter. It was creamy and rich, and the bacon cut through it with grease and salt.

  A groan started in the back of her throat, and she closed her eyes in bliss. She chewed and swallowed and said, “I love this stuff.”

  Bishop nodded, licked his lips, and said, “It’s delicious.” He took another bite that was practically half of the piece of toast, and Montana looked at his sister.

  “Best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Please,” Bishop said with a scoff. “Better than that chocolate pie I made for Christmas?”

  “Yes,” Arizona said. “Better than that.” She took another enormous bite too.

  Montana was pretty sure she’d only said that to antagonize Bishop, and it had worked. She grinned at Bishop, who shook his head as he finished his toast. “Is there more?”

  “Sure,” she said just as her phone rang. “Oh, it’s my daughter.” She pushed down the bread. “You just slather on peanut butter and do that mounding technique.”