Page 93 of Duty Unbound

“Different kinds of challenges,” I said diplomatically, relief washing through me as the awkwardness eased. “But trust me, after weeks on tour, ranching looks pretty appealing.”

Margaret ushered us inside, the house even more welcoming than it appeared from outside—comfortable furniture, bookshelves overflowing, and family photos covering the walls. My eyes were drawn to them immediately—Ethan as a serious-eyed boy, with his sister, then as a teenager on horseback, in his military uniform. A whole life I was just beginning to understand.

While Margaret disappeared into the kitchen, I turned to Ethan, keeping my voice low. “You didn’t tell them I was coming?”

He shrugged, completely unconcerned. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Heat crept up my neck. “They were completely surprised! What if they had plans? What if they don’t have enough food?”

After years of coordinating Nova’s schedule down to the minute, the idea of showing up unannounced anywhere made my stomach churn.

“They always want company. Especially mine.” He pressed akiss to my temple, his lips lingering against my skin. “And especially yours, once they get to know you.”

Doug reappeared from the kitchen. “I’m going to grab some extra steaks from the fridge in the garage.”

“See?” I hissed after Doug left, anxiety spiking. “Now your dad has to get more food.”

“Trust me, there’s always extra.” Ethan’s hands settled on my shoulders, his eyes searching mine. “You really are nervous, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea.” My voice trembled slightly. “I coordinate million-dollar tour schedules and deal with Nova’s meltdowns daily, but this terrifies me.”

“Nothing to be nervous about,” Doug announced, returning with a package wrapped in butcher paper. “Margaret’s been hoping Ethan would bring someone special home for years.”

“Dad,” Ethan warned, but the relaxed set of his shoulders told me he wasn’t really bothered. Was that how normal families teased each other? My experience was limited to Nova’s dramatic outbursts and manipulations.

“I’m just stating facts, son.” Doug winked at me. “Come on, Ethan. Help me get the grill going.”

When the men disappeared outside, I found my way to the kitchen, where Margaret was chopping vegetables. The familiar rhythm of kitchen prep calmed me slightly—this, at least, I understood from years of overseeing caterers on tour.

“Can I help with anything?” I asked, hovering in the doorway.

“Of course.” She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners just like Ethan’s. “You can finish the salad if you’d like. I’m just getting the potatoes ready to roast.”

I washed my hands and took over chopping tomatoes, the repetitive motion soothing my frayed nerves. “I’m really sorry for showing up unannounced. If there’s not enough food?—”

“Oh, honey, there’s always more than enough around here.” She laughed, a warm sound that reminded me of Ethan’s rare chuckles. “That’s ranch life for you. You never know when someone might drop by.”

We worked in companionable silence for a moment before Margaret spoke again.

“How have you been liking it here?”

“It’s wonderful,” I admitted, thoughts of the last two days washing over me—the space, the quiet, the simplicity. “I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“Some find it too…rural. Too domestic.” Her voice held a hint of concern. “Especially someone who’s used to a more exciting lifestyle. Not to mention, traditional. Here I am working in the kitchen. Must seem so silly to you.”

I nearly laughed at the irony. If only she knew what Ethan and I had discussed on our hike—my secret dream of a simple life, a home, a family.

“Actually, I love it. This kind of life is what I’ve always wanted for myself.” The confession came easily here, in this warm kitchen with Ethan’s mother. “Did you ever work outside the home? Besides the ranch, I mean.”

Margaret smiled, sliding potatoes into the oven. “On a ranch, everyone works—that’s just how it is. But no, I never had a separate career. I was lucky enough to be here when the kids got home from school, to attend every game and recital. The community children knew our door was always open.”

I pictured her welcoming Ethan home after school, listening to his day, feeding his friends—the exact life I’d always painted in my daydreams. “That sounds perfect,” I said softly.

She studied me, her head tilted. “You know, you’re nothing like I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I’m not sure, really. Ethan’s work puts him in contact withall sorts of people. Celebrities, politicians…” She shrugged. “But you seem grounded.”

---