Page 10 of White Collar Rancher

It was feeding time, but he just had to rotate laundry so Isaiah had a clean sleeper for tonight. And take the tater tots and chicken strips out of the oven. He spun away from the laundry room. The food was first. He didn’t need burned tots, nor did he need smoke alarms going off.

In the kitchen, he glanced around, knowing full well there was no good place to set a baby down. Isaiah was too young for a high chair and Justin didn’t even own one. He went back out to the living room, set his son on the carpet, and jogged back to the kitchen.

As he took out supper, his stomach clenched so hard. All those high-end meals at world-renowned restaurants and he was having dump ’n’ serve. How far he’d fallen—or been pushed, as he thought about it.

Enough self-pity. He was happier ranching. The whole marketing gig hadn’t been his first life plan anyway. That had been ranching—until his dad and uncles had sold the family farm and ranch operation to Travis and his cousins. It was one thing to grow up knowing the plan was to sell the farm and ranch to Travis, but when the sale had actually gone through? He’d been left with the now whats.

It wasn’t that long ago, but it was before his cousins’ wives and kids had come along. The Walker clan hadn’t needed Justin’s help, and his own parents had treated him like he was free to go out and conquer the world. So he had tried. In college, he’d clicked so well with Gabrielle, and they’d had big plans…

Isaiah let out a cry.

Justin dropped the pot holder and scratched his head. From where he stood, he could see out to where Isaiah was wiggling on the floor. Should he make a bottle while he was in here, or get the wash into the dryer first?

Isaiah’s wails grew. Justin winced. He had a predictable night full of hollering ahead. Please don’t start now.

“Hey,” Priya called from the entry. Her voice dropped as she cooed to the squawking baby. “Who’s a good little boy?”

Yes, his savior was here. He rushed out, and not for the first time, he wished he were wearing something other than pajama pants and an old T-shirt. They were clean. Fairly clean. No, they needed to be thrown in the wash.

“Hey,” he called back, his raised voice quieting Isaiah. “Ready to get your world rocked by tater tots and chicken strips?”

Her chuckle drifted in ahead of her. He grinned—until he saw her. Her shoulders hung like she’d lost the big game, her face was drawn, and her smile was wan. She had been getting less sleep than him, and not in her own bed.

She had Isaiah in her arms. He held his hands out to take the baby.

“As long as there’s ketchup, I’ll just have tater tots,” she said, going straight for the bottles. Isaiah had gone back to his I’m hungry cries.

“You’re going to miss out on processed meat?”

“I hate to confess to a rancher that I’m a vegetarian. It was my dad’s thing.” She lifted her hands like Whaddya know? “Had to be like Dad.”

“Your dad’s a vegetarian and his in-laws own a butcher shop?”

She rinsed off a dishcloth and wiped down the counter from end to end. It wasn’t that dirty, but she did it. Every time. “I think he’s a vegetarian because of Grandpa Saunders. They get along now, but it was a little rocky at first. You know, city boy meeting the country girl’s parents. Different political views, different worldly opinions. Holidays were a good time.”

“Impressive passive-aggressive move. What do your grandparents think about you being a vegetarian?”

He couldn’t see her expression as she measured out formula and water, but her shoulders tightened. “They don’t really… I… They’re so busy, I don’t see them a lot, unless I stop in at the shop. I think since I’m willing to walk around a raw meat buffet, they aren’t insulted by it.”

He hadn’t known that about her. Or them. An insatiable well of curiosity yawned open. They’d gone to school together. She hadn’t played sports. She was wicked smart. She apparently preferred a clean and organized environment. That wasn’t much to know about someone he’d spent so much time with.

He didn’t have a chance to ask any more questions. She shook the bottle and turned around. Her gaze stopped on the pan of tots and strips. “Did you cook like that before?”

He propped Isaiah on his shoulder and was promptly nuzzled by a baby rooting for milk. “No. I ate out—or shamelessly waited for Caleb to make something when he lived here.”

He hadn’t just eaten out. He’d been a fine-dining snob. The best steak houses in Denver. When he flew out of the country for work, his free time was filled with trendy restaurants and meals that came in multiple courses on fancy plates. Meals that boasted local ingredients that somehow boosted the price.

Some places in Moore served good enough food, but it’d clog an artery more than tease his taste buds. It was probably better than what he’d pulled out of the oven, but at least he didn’t have to worry about a crying baby in a restaurant.

She took Isaiah from him. “Take a breather.”

“You’ve been working all day.”

A shadow crossed her face. “It’s fine. It was a light day.”

“What’s wrong?” He didn’t miss that she carefully altered her expression to look mildly surprised. “Don’t try to hide it. You and I are battle buddies.”

“Just the normal stuff.” And there it was again. The hopelessness of someone with water closing over their head and no swimming skills.

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