Page 45 of Waitress at the Shadow Ridge Inn
I blinked. “A Jacuzzi?”
He nodded.
“You don’t play fair,” I told him again, then went off to pack an overnight bag.
16
When I sawthe sign for Ziegler Farms, I experienced a moment of panic. “You don’t live with your parents, do you?” I asked.
Steve laughed. “No, I have my own place. My parents gifted each of us with fifty acres.” He shrugged. “It’s a family tradition.”
“Nothing wrong with wanting to keep your family close,” I murmured.
“No,” he agreed, “and this is their not-so-subtle way of ensuring their eventual grandchildren are nearby,” he said with a grin.
“None of your brothers are married, are they?”
“Not yet, but Eli’s pretty close.”
A wave of something—envy?—washed over me and made my chest tighten at the thought of Steve marrying and making babies. Irrational, I knew, but I was discovering there was nothing rational about the way I felt about him.
We barely knew each other, and yet it didn’t feel like that. Being with him filled me with a sense of peace and comfort that I couldn’t explain. Being with him felt right. It felt likehome.
This was an idyllic place to raise a family, and something told me Steve would be a great dad. He’d already shown himself to be kind, supportive, and compassionate with strong protector tendencies.
I was pretty sure he’d make a damn fine husband too.
We drove past the main entrance to the farm and continued for a short while before Steve turned onto a dirt road covered in gravel. His parcel was on the southeast slope of the family land. A quarter mile in, we approached a sprawling ranch house, surrounded on three sides by patches of forest.
“Here we are,” he said, pulling into a three-car attached garage. “Home sweet home.”
He helped me out of the truck, grabbed my overnight bag, and led me into the house. A big, furry monster of a dog greeted us. Part of one ear was missing, and there was evidence of old scarring around his muzzle.
I turned to Steve in disbelief. “You really do rescue puppies, don’t you?”
“That’s Oscar. And he was no puppy when I found him. I think someone hit him with a car and kept going. The vet didn’t think he’d make it.”
He spoke like it was no big deal. Like anyone would stop and save a dog.
“Is he friendly?”
“Never met one friendlier. Don’t let his size fool you. He’s a harmless, lazy beast.”
I went down on one knee and petted Oscar. He, in turn, licked my face.
Steve laughed. “See what I mean? Enough, Oscar.”
Steve gently pulled me to my feet and nudged me forward. The house was bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside with an open-space floor plan and lots of natural light. Casual but comfortable, it was a stunning combination of old-world charm and modern convenience. I liked it immediately.
Subtle scents of cut lumber and fresh paint lingered in the air, prompting me to ask, “New construction?”
“Relatively. It’s a work in progress,” Steve told me. “The living room and kitchen are done as well as the master bedroom suite. Everything else, I get to when I have time—usually nights and weekends when I’m not at the farm. It’s taking a while, but I want to do it right.”
I admired that. Looking at the wood, the floor, the cabinetry, I saw a lot of craftsmanship and quality.
He put his hand on the small of my back and led me past the sunken living room on our right and toward the gleaming kitchen beyond. Before we reached that, however, he guided me down a corridor on the left.
“This leads to the master suite, which is where the Jacuzzi is,” he told me.
