Page 10 of Bringing Home A Cowboy
Her eyes deliberately land on the hat, then to my boots, then up again. “Of course.”
From the next room, her father calls, “Olivia! Bring your … husband in here!”
I follow her toward a table big enough to seat a harvest crew. Her brother Andrew is already there, scrolling on his phone, while her sister Caroline looks me over like I’m a new exhibit. “Well,” she says, “you weren’t kidding. He really is a cowboy.”
Olivia’s jaw tightens. “Caroline.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her, settling into a chair that probably costs more than a saddle. “Better than being called late for supper.”
Caroline blinks, clearly unsure whether I’m joking. Andrew snorts once before pretending to cough.
Dinner starts like most awkward meeting you could ever imagine. Everyone is talking about nothing in particular, while an invisible weight bears down on us over the table. I can feel Olivia bracing for each question.
“So, James,” her mother says sweetly, “how did you and Olivia meet?”
“Courthouse,” I say honestly.
Her fork stills. “I see.”
Olivia chimes in too quickly. “He was handling ranch paperwork.”
“And you fell madly in love over … paperwork?” Caroline adds.
“More or less,” I say, keeping my tone mild. “Sometimes life’s simple like that.”
Andrew leans back, smirking. “And what exactly do you do, James? Besides herd cattle and marry into trust funds?”
Olivia inhales sharply, but I just sip my water. “Mostly fix what’s broken. Fences, tractors, the occasional bad day.” I set the glass down and meet his gaze evenly. “Keeps me busy.”
Something about that lands. Andrew blinks and looks away first.
The next half hour is a blur of silverware and conversation I don’t quite follow — art exhibits, quarterly bonuses, charity galas. I don’t have much to add, but I listen. Folks like this don’t get listened to much. They just wait for their turn to talk.
When dessert comes, Caroline tilts her head. “So, James, what do you think of New York?”
I grin. “City’s got good food, bad parking, and too many people yelling at pigeons. Still trying to figure out how you all live stacked on top of each other without losing your minds.”
Olivia laughs, bright and sudden. It startles her family almost as much as it does me.
Her mother blinks. “Well,” she says carefully, “that’s … colorful.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I reply. “I do my best.”
The laughter that follows is small but real. Even Andrew cracks a smile. For the first time all night, Olivia’s shoulders loosen.
Caroline sets down her fork and sighs dramatically. “So, has anyone finished Christmas shopping?”
“Define finished,” Andrew mutters.
Their mother waves a hand. “We decided to skip gifts this year. Donations only. Less clutter.”
“You meanyoudecided,” Caroline says.
Olivia glances at me and smirks. “My family’s definition of holiday spirit involves spreadsheets.”
I grin. “Back home, folks give pies or tools. Sometimes both.”
Andrew chuckles. “You mean you can buy someone ahammerfor Christmas?”
