Page 46 of Marrying the Accidental Groom
Dad nodded once, satisfied, then ruined the moment by adding, “Need to start talking winter staffing. Tour schedule. Equipment maintenance. We’ve been short on hands since Tanner moved to Utah.”
“Dad,” Zeke tried, a hint of warning.
“What?” his dad said, not unkindly. “Boy works here. He can hear a calendar without running.”
Mom tried to soothe the tension with a roll basket and a pointed look at her husband that saidbe gentle, but his father wasn’t cruel. Just relentless.
“We’ve been talking about someone taking the lead on the new trail cut,” his dad went on, oblivious to Gideon’s internal flinch. “Permits are in. Spring melt will set us behind if we don’t map it. We’re due for a fresh route.”
Zeke glanced at Gideon and then—to his credit—tried to toss the line in a way that didn’t hook. “You’ve got the eye for that, Gid. You know the ridge like the back of your hand.”
Kaitlyn watched Gideon like she was willing him courage. Cassie bounced Arlo and stayed blessedly silent. Juliana, for her part, didn’t try to answer for him. She just angled her body toward him a fraction.
He swallowed. The knot in his stomach pulled tight. He loved the trails. He was good at reading a slope, at feeling where a line wanted to run. He could lead any tourist through the switchbacks with his eyes closed and have them laughing at the bottom. Buttaking the leadfelt like a different animal. It had budgets and deadlines and the kind of responsibility that made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. What if he messed it up?
“Maybe,” he said, aiming for casual and missing. “Let’s talk after Christmas.”
Dad grunted, which could mean agreement orwhy not now. Gideon took it as mercy.
Juliana rested her hand under the table, palm up. He found it without looking, pressed their fingers together, and didn’t let go.
The rest of dinner blurred. There were second helpings and Chance’s truck was banished to the mudroom. When the table finally broke into post-meal chaos, Gideon escaped to the kitchen with plates. Juliana followed with the salad bowl.
“Hey.” She bumped his hip with hers as they stood side by side at the sink. “You good?”
“Yep,” he lied, then winced at how thin it sounded.
She didn’t push. She handed him a towel and dried beside him, their shoulders brushing, their movements catching and syncing like they’d done this a hundred times instead of twice.
His mom breezed in, took one look at them, and softened. “You two were sweet at dinner,” she said, keeping her voice low like she was trying not to spook a deer. “Just so you know—nobody expects answers tonight.”
Gideon huffed a laugh. “Tell Dad that.”
Mom’s mouth tilted. “I tell your father lots of things.” She sobered. “He pushes because he sees what you can do. The ranch is big. It needs all of you. Doesn’t mean it needs you to be Zeke. Or Barry.”
Gideon swallowed around the lump that sentence put in his throat. “I know.”
His mom kissed his cheek, quick and matter-of-fact, then swept out again like a benevolent hurricane.
Juliana set the towel down, studying him. “You don’t have to talk to me,” she said softly. “But if you want to...”
He leaned on the counter, staring at the dish rack like it could answer for him. “I hate feeling like I’m disappointing him.”
“You’re not,” she said immediately.
He gave her a look.
“Okay,” she conceded. “Youthinkyou are. But I’ve watched your dad. He’s proud of you.”
Gideon snorted. “His proud face looks a lot like his constipated face.”
She bit back a laugh, then rolled her eyes at him. “You love this place. It’s obvious. You love the trails. The guests. The stupid broken door on your truck.” Her hand brushed his arm, grounding him. “You don’t have to become an entirely different person to be the man this ranch needs.”
He wanted to believe her so badly his chest hurt with it. He wanted to believe he could be both the guy who made a ten-year-old feel like a hero at the top of a ridge and the man who signed the trail budget without breaking out in hives. Wanted to believe he could be a co-owner of the ranch without becoming burdened and grumpy like his father. That he could be a husband without sacrificing his own free spirit.
The word flashed so fast it startled him.Husband. He glanced at Juliana. She was sliding the last plate into the rack, brow furrowed in concentration like the angle mattered. He realized his hand was still resting over hers on the edge of the counter. He didn’t move it.
Stetson appeared in the doorway like a loping colt. “Uncle Gideon, can I show Juliana the fort I built under the stairs? It has, like, actual rooms.”
