The Mechanics of Mistletoe - Liz Isaacson Page 0,28

get that fixed, he could get Zona and Mother out of his house. Out of his hair. Out of his ears, constantly asking about Sammy Benton and when Bear had started seeing her.

He’d answered all their questions anyway; he didn’t understand how they kept coming up with more.

“There you are,” Ranger said, joining him. He handed Bear a cup of coffee that had obviously been doctored with cream. Lots of sugar too, Bear hoped.

“Thank you,” he said to Ranger. He leaned against the railing with a sigh, took a sip of the hot liquid, and relaxed as it warmed his whole chest.

“I’m thinkin’ I need to take those two trucks down to the dealer and trade them in,” Ranger said, referencing a couple of ranch trucks that were getting to be a few years old.

“That’s fine,” Bear said. “If that’s what you want to do.”

“I’ll wait until after the clean-up is done.”

Bear nodded, because Ranger was a good man, with a good head on his shoulders. He never did anything without thinking it through, and he probably had a plan for the trade-ins already. Bear didn’t need to needle him about it.

Ranger cleared his throat and took another drink of coffee. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot,” Bear said, straightening and turning toward his cousin. He and Ranger had grown up together, worked this ranch together for decades, and lived together. He was closer to Ranger than some of his brothers, and he found worry on his cousin’s face. “What’s goin’ on? Are you sick? Someone else?”

“No,” Ranger said, shaking his head.

“You want time off,” Bear said. Sometimes Judge turned pale when he came to ask Bear if he could take a few days off.

“No.” Annoyance flashed in Ranger’s eyes. “I’m…how did you ask Sammy out?”

Bear blinked, because he seriously hadn’t thought he’d have to answer any questions from Ranger. “I don’t want—”

“I’m not teasing you,” Ranger said quietly. “I have this woman…I just don’t know how to talk to her.”

Sudden understanding lit Bear’s mind. “Oh, I see.” He took a few steps away and sat down, his back thanking him. “Honestly? And I will kill you if you tell anyone else what I’m about to say.”

“I won’t,” Ranger promised, taking another chair a few feet from Bear.

He looked over the railing and out onto the ranch. He loved the windmills at Shiloh Ridge, and he was glad they’d only suffered minimal damage. “I asked Evelyn Walker for help,” Bear admitted. “She was a matchmaker once, and she used to help men and women, you know, meet.”

“Meet?”

“Yeah,” Bear said. “Put them together in the same place. Whoever had hired her would get information about the person they were meeting, so they’d you know, show up wherever that person was with their favorite doughnut or whatever.”

“Is that what you did? Show up with Sammy’s favorite doughnut?”

“Not quite,” Bear said with a chuckle. “Evelyn did call me when Sammy was at her sister’s though. I went racing down there with some excuse about needing to see the bookshelves in the shed where Sammy was.” He shook his head, thinking about the way he’d thrown her tools all over the place. “I made a huge fool of myself, that’s what I did.”

Ranger seemed to want to make a fool of himself too, and Bear quickly told the story about staying until Sammy had left and asking her out then. He conveniently left out the part where the actual date had been a complete, awkward disaster.

“You could call Evelyn, I guess.” He set his now-empty coffee cup down on the table beside him.

“Nah,” Ranger said, standing up. “I have an idea now.” He gathered Bear’s cup and went back inside the house. Not a moment later, the rumble of a truck’s engine met Bear’s ears, and he sighed as he stood too.

“Let’s do this,” he muttered to himself as he went down the steps. “Let’s go, guys,” he called louder, and the squeal of the front door met his ears, indicating his family had followed him outside.

Squire Ackerman got out of the truck on the passenger side and grinned at Bear. He turned to the back door and opened it, and a boy about fifteen years old spilled out. His son, Finn, and then another child. This one belonged to Brett Murphy, who also got out of the truck on the driver’s side.

“You remember my son Finn,” Squire said, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders. He wasn’t as tall as Squire yet, but