The Mechanics of Mistletoe - Liz Isaacson Page 0,47

he didn’t say anything.

“It was just going in a straight line, Sammy,” Ranger said, and both she and Bear looked at him.

“It was awesome,” Lincoln said.

Sammy didn’t know what to say, so she just ran her hand down Lincoln’s cheek and nodded.

“Should we go?” Bear asked, and Sammy nodded. They reached for each other at the same time, and Sammy did like that.

He offered her a small smile and said, “I’ll talk to Zona.”

“He’s obviously fine,” Sammy said, trying to dismiss her worry about sending Lincoln to the ranch. She trusted Bear; he wouldn’t let anything happen to her son.

“Is Jeff getting any better?” Bear asked as he opened the garage door and held it for Sammy to walk through.

She sighed and shook her head. “Not really. I just don’t get what he gets out of being so antagonistic.”

“He must get something,” Bear said, hitting the button to lift the garage door. “Or he wouldn’t do it.”

“I’m going to have to say something to him,” Sammy said. “But I don’t know how.” She waited for him to open her door, and she gathered her skirt and climbed into the car.

Bear leaned in after her. “You look amazing tonight, by the way. The boots really, uh, complete the outfit.”

A flush worked its way up his neck, and Sammy grinned at him. “Thank you, Bear.” She looked down at her purple blouse. “I don’t wear a lot of skirts.”

“I like it,” he said, swallowing. He backed out of the doorway and closed the door. As he went around, she tried to figure out how to tell him how handsome he looked tonight.

She wasn’t great at compliments, she knew that. She thanked her guys at the end of the day for their good work, but she didn’t tell them they looked great in jeans and that button-up shirt in blue, white, and yellow.

She cleared her throat, and when he opened the door, she said, “Bear, I think you look great tonight too.”

He looked down at his shirt. “Thanks,” he said. “I may have asked Ace for help with the shirt. Bishop too.”

“It took three of you to pick out a shirt?”

Bear grinned at her. “Apparently, it did.”

Sammy laughed, this date already ten times better than their last. She’d realized over the weeks that she didn’t need to go on formal dates with Bear to be dating him. He helped her with Lincoln, and her gratitude for that had no end. She’d told him over and over until he’d finally asked her to stop.

He liked spending time with Lincoln, he’d said. I really like having him here, Sammy. He’s a great kid.

Lincoln was a great kid, and Sammy spent a lot of time thinking about what was best for him. In all her thoughts, she’d never once felt like she shouldn’t be with Bear, or that Lincoln shouldn’t be at Shiloh Ridge.

“I’ve been thinking about your birthday,” she said as he trundled down the road.

“You really don’t need to do that.”

“What did you do on your last birthday?” she asked.

“I worked the ranch.”

“And?”

“And what?” He glanced at her, a bit of polar bear in him now, as a slight chill flowed from him.

“Come on. Did your sister make you a birthday cake? All the Glover brothers and cousins didn’t come to the house and sing Happy Birthday?”

“My cousin Ida made the cake,” Bear said. “And yes, everyone came to the main homestead for dinner. My sister made that. Mother too.”

“I knew it.” She flipped down the visor and looked at herself in the mirror. Bear had kissed off all of her lip gloss, and she reached for her purse on the floor of the truck. “Your family is too tight-knit not to have a big birthday celebration.”

“We are?”

“Sure,” she said. “You guys all live here and work here. It’s kind of incredible none of you have killed each other, and that you all still talk.”

“Cactus lives alone, because of that exact reason.”

“Is his real name Cactus?”

“It’s Charles,” Bear said.

“Right,” she said. “And you’re Bartholomew.”

“No one has ever called me that. Well.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Grandmother did, at least for a little while. Enough for me to know it was my name.”

“You were close with her, right?” He’d mentioned his grandmother before. Always grandmother, not grandma or gramma. He was very formal with his grandmother and mother, Sammy had noticed.

“Very,” he said. “She just had two boys—my father and Uncle Bull. I was the oldest grandchild, and I’m pretty sure she liked me best.”