The Delivery of Decor (Shiloh Ridge Ranch in Three Rivers #7) - Liz Isaacson Page 0,115

between her fingers. “It’s pretty hard. We’d want to cut some of this out—get rid of the grass and weeds. Make it a real area. Put down that weed preventer. Rock it. You could even anchor the picnic tables to cement blocks if you want.”

She looked at Bishop, who she assumed would make the picnic tables.

“Lots to think about,” he said.

“Could you design us a couple of options?” Cactus asked. “The fire pit is essential for Ward. But you know, with a fountain and without. How many picnic tables? That kind of thing?”

“Sure,” Dot said. “I can do that.”

“Great,” Cactus said. “Well, boys, we’ve taken enough of her time. We’ll let you get back to Ward, Dot.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Bishop said, and he and Cactus walked away together, mostly in the direction of Bishop’s house, which wasn’t that far away. Ranger and Preacher left with their heads bent together about something, and Dot met Mister’s eye.

“I can give you a ride back to Bull House if you want,” he said.

“That would be great,” she said, giving him a smile. “I’m pretty hungry and feeling a little low.”

“My truck is right over here.” Mister led her around the barn to a big, black pickup Dot could barely get into. Mister patted his pockets for the key and rolled his eyes. “I think I left it on the shelf in the office. Give me two minutes.” He jogged back into the barn and Dot looked out the windshield.

An electric charge rode in the air that hadn’t been there before. “You’re just excited about this new, shiny project,” she told herself. But it felt like something more.

Mister was gone long enough that Dot started to wonder where he’d gone. She could’ve walked back to Bull House by now. He finally came back out of the barn, his phone pressed to his ear. He wore a sourness to the set of his mouth and a dark cloud hung over his eyebrows.

“…talk to you later,” he said as he opened the driver’s door. He ended the call and nearly threw his phone in the console. “Sorry, someone called.”

Dot looked at the name on his screen, still hovering there. Libby Bellamore. Ward had said a few things about the troubles between Libby and Mister, so Dot smiled brightly at him. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Mister grunted and got the truck started. He stuck to the road that led through the middle of the barns, cabins, and stables, so she couldn’t see Bull House until he made a right turn and headed in the same direction she’d gone to park Brutus in front of the house.

“Here we are,” he said, parking behind her truck instead of passing it and pulling into the driveway, something she found odd.

“Thanks.” She got out of the truck, nearly breaking her ankle in the process, and started across the lawn toward the house.

Behind her, the first notes of a song filled the air.

Dot paused and turned to find Ward standing on Brutus’s hood, his guitar slung across his shoulder. Someone—probably Ward himself—had tied a huge red bow around the truck, as if gifting it to Dot for the first time.

The tension and energy in the air tripled. A smile burst onto her face. “Ward,” she said. “What are you doing up there?”

He started to play the song she’d heard him working on over Christmas, and when his beautiful tenor voice filled the sky with sound, Dot fell in love with him all over again. And then again.

“She braids her silver hair before leaving the house,” he sang, and Dot hadn’t heard the lyrics with the tune yet. Tears pressed behind her eyes, a battle she knew she’d lose. Ward was singing about her.

Her.

A nobody. Certainly not anyone worthy of a song.

“And she has no idea that she shines like the stars.” He smiled with those lyrics, and Dot’s breath hitched in her chest. She pressed one hand against her lungs as if that would get them to work properly, but the emotion continued to swirl through her.

“She thinks no one sees her,

That she can disappear as easily as a light goes out.

She thinks her past defines her,

That she can’t overcome the loss and pain and disappointment.”

Dot began to cry, because Ward had identified the deepest parts of her in only a few words. How did he do that? How could he see what she hadn’t shown anyone but him?

The music swelled up with his voice, and then he released it, letting the guitar go