By apple pie, he wasn’t talking about an actual pie.
“What’s so funny?” Shaina asked the question I wouldn’t have.
“Mary was Sheriff Moon’s youngest daughter.”
Shaina joined in, laughing. “What happened?”
“It wasn’t the sheriff,” Mitchell said. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t cost me. One of his deputies made me pay him fifty bucks to keep his mouth shut.”
“That’s not the end of it. Mary wasn’t deterred. She showed up here one night when the guys were all here. She brought her friends, but wanted Mitch here to show her the barn.”
“Was that your first time?” Shaina asked.
Gunner broke out in a fit of laughter. “He came back covered in hay.”
Mitchell only grinned.
“What about you?” Shaina asked Gunner. “What was your first time like?”
I so didn’t like the direction of this conversation, but remained quiet. Last thing I wanted was for the spotlight to be on me.
“Oh.” Gunner sighed. He didn’t seem at all reluctant to answer. “That would be with Darcy.”
“Darcy,” Mitchell repeated with admiration.
“Darcy was older than us and she was the full package. She was off in her on-and-off relationship with her boyfriend.” He stared at his glass like he could see the moment again. “I happened to be in the right place at the right time. She was experienced, and I was a willing participant. The rest is history.” He aimed his gaze at Shaina. “What about you?”
Shaina also didn’t seem concerned about sharing something I thought was private with practical strangers. “You know. Classic bad boy, a little country and a little rock and roll, talked me out of my pants.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “We all know how that ended.”
Abruptly, I stood, not willing for any of them to ask me. “You guys should see what Nate did to the bunkhouse. It’s pretty amazing.”
I didn’t fool Shaina, who eyed me curiously. Thankfully, she didn’t call me out. Instead she said, “That would be the famous Nate Bowmen, MLB’s all-star pitcher?”
“You’ve heard of him?” Mitchell said, getting to his feet.
“How could I not? Royalty in a small town is revered and talked about.”
“Gunner, you won’t recognize the place,” Mitchell said, and Gunner got to his feet.
It was only a few feet to the door. When Mitchell didn’t use a key to open it, Shaina said, “It’s not locked?”
“You’ll find most doors aren’t locked around here,” Mitchell said. When Shaina’s shock didn’t abate, he added, “Most people around here are armed. If you open an unlocked door, you should be prepared to get a bullet between the eyes.”
“Wow,” she said.
I didn’t know if her response was from what he said or the grandeur of the room we’d walked into. We’d entered from the back and the huge industrial kitchen made up the back part of the room. Lights flickered on and everything came into sharp view.
Built-in bunks lined the wall on either side, just beyond the kitchen. They weren’t ordinary bunks, more like luxury cubbies cut into the wall.
“You guys are welcome to stay the night. I’m sure Nate would appreciate the feedback about how well they sleep.”
“What’s this for?” Shaina asked.
“My brother has grand plans to do summer camps for disadvantaged kids.”
“This is pretty nice for kids,” Shaina said. Gunner seemed just as gobsmacked as I’d felt the first time I’d seen it.
“He plans to offer the ranch experience to adults to help supplement the spring break and summer camps for the kids.”
“That’s pretty awesome. I’d love to try it out. I don’t have to work tomorrow,” Shaina said.
“Where do you work?” Gunner asked.
“The B and B,” she said. Gunner chuckled. She pierced him with a narrow-eyed stare. “What’s funny now?”
“Then you know Emma.” When she silently agreed, he said, “Darcy was Aiden’s girl. Aiden is Emma’s now husband.”
“Oh, that is funny. Is Darcy still around town?” Shaina asked.
“Last I heard she’d left town for greener pastures.”
Shaina pulled out her phone. Next thing I knew, music poured out of it. “Dance with me, cowboy,” she said to Gunner.
From the few lyrics I heard, it was a song about the loss of youth and living in the now. As the lead singer sang the word “Tonight,” I looked up to find Mitchell.
He held out his hand. It would have been rude not to take it, I told myself, when the truth was I slipped easily into his arms like I belonged there. The way he held my eyes as the artist belted out the words “Believe in me,” I wanted to with a desperation that might have made me foolish.
A man like Mitchell Bowmen wasn’t going to seriously fall for a girl like me. He wore suits, and I liked to walk barefoot in a field.
But as his hand slid down to the small of my back, I found I didn’t care about being stupid if it meant being with him.