Page 32 of The Wedding Ranch
“That’s a hard decision.”
“Let’s do one of each. I’m giving you mine anyway. I don’t need a birdhouse.”
“Great. I’d love to have both. Thank you.”
He bent a license plate across the roof of his birdhouse, while she nailed the live-edge slices of wood into place on the other.
“Not bad.” She looked very pleased with herself. “These are great. Who do we pay for them?”
“On the house,” he said.
She looked like she was going to argue, but then she simply said, “Thank you, sir.”
“Least I could do for bumping your noggin.” He swept her hair from her forehead. “Let me see that.” He winced. “You’ve got quite the goose egg there.”
“Lovely.” She brushed her hair back into place. “Could’ve been worse. So quit apologizing.”
As if on cue the Cody Tuggle song “If I Say I’m Sorry” played. She laughed, pointing toward one of the speakers. “See!”
They both noticed the coincidence at the same time. “Alright already,” Ryder said.
“I love this song,” she admitted. “He’s one of my favorite singers.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm. He’s a good guy.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell,” she said. “If you listen to the words of his songs, he’s a genuine guy. He writes most of his own lyrics.”
“I’ll let you know what I think when I meet him.” Ryder leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Don’t tell anyone, it’s top secret, but he’s getting married at The Wedding Ranch next month.”
She shook her head. “No way. But if it is true, and it’s a secret, you shouldn’t be telling me.” She waved a finger at him. “Or anyone else for that matter.”
He looked stumped. “You’re right. I don’t even know why I did that.” He stood there looking at her. “I guess… I was trying to impress you.”Have I gone completely mad?
Her cheeks reddened. “Well, don’t tell secrets. That’ll impress me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He placed both birdhouses into a box and slid them under the table. “We’ll pick these up later. We should get you something to eat. Are you hungry?”
“Not after that barbecue, but I kind of had my heart set on trying a fried Twinkie.”
“Dessert then.”
“Deal.”
“We have to cut through the midway to get to where they park all the really good food trucks. I happen to be pretty skilled at those games.”
“Are you bragging?” The playful tilt of her shoulders made him regret the comment.
“Isn’t bragging if it’s true.”
“It’s still bragging.”
He steered her by the elbow to a tent with one of thosegames where you have to throw the ball and hit bottles off of a platform.
She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter how good you are. You know this game is rigged to keep you from winning.”
