s’mores was when we went camping.”
“I’m surprised you had much time for camping as a rancher.”
“We didn’t,” he said. “But my dad and uncle would take us a couple of times every summer. All of us.”
“You’ve told me about your siblings,” she said. “But you have a million cousins too.”
Ward chuckled again. “Just seven.”
“And four siblings. And you. So that’s twelve.”
“A lot of them are married now,” he said. “So that makes us bigger.”
“Were you all there at the homestead?”
“Yeah,” he said, sighing as he opened his eyes. “We were doing our gift exchange.”
Dot had the fire positively roaring now, and she sat back on her haunches to watch it for a moment. She stood and turned to face him. Ward wanted to invite her to sit with him on the couch, curl right into his chest the way she had in the booth at Small Plates a few nights ago.
He didn’t have to speak to get his point across, and Dot took the two steps to the couch at the same time Ward lifted his arm. She exhaled heavily as she sank into the couch and then into his side. He did too, because holding her like this was really nice.
Really, really nice.
Ward thought about what his life would be like had he come back to Bull House alone. Miserable, he thought. But with Dot there, the house held new life he hadn’t felt in it for years and years.
“You grew up in this house, didn’t you?” Dot asked.
“Yes,” Ward said. “It’s obviously been updated over the years, but yes. I had a bedroom in the basement I shared with Ace for a couple of years.” He smiled at the fond memories. The glass in the windows behind them rattled and shook, making a sound like they’d shatter at any moment.
Ward looked that direction and then faced the fire again. “The wind is really bad up here. Worse than in town.”
“That was the first thing I thought when I got out of the truck.” Dot tilted her head back and smiled at him. “You don’t hear the sirens up here, do you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We have a ranch network that sends messages out, and my mother and Ida live in town. We have a twenty-four-seven family text that annoys me more than I like it.” He gave a light chuckle. “But it’s useful in emergencies.”
He wished he had something hot to sip, but he couldn’t drink coffee past dinnertime. With a start, he realized it wasn’t anywhere near dinnertime. The sun had just been blocked by thick clouds, making everything darker than it should be at two o’clock in the afternoon.
“Do you want some coffee?” he asked. “Hot chocolate? We probably have some leftover tea from when one of the twins brought some.”
“What kind of hot chocolate?”
“Let’s see what we’ve got.” Ward eased himself away from Dot and went into the kitchen. He first filled the electric kettle with water and set it on the element. He plugged it in and then dug into the cupboard.
“Hazelnut,” he said. “Mexican hot chocolate. Mint truffle. Special dark.” He set can after can on the countertop. “And…white.” He frowned at the last can. “Ace loves mini marshmallows, so we have tons of those.”
He opened a different cupboard and pulled out half a bag of marshmallows. He got down two mugs and pulled out two spoons. When he turned to put everything on the island, he found Dot standing at the dining room table, examining the photo albums he’d left there.
Instant embarrassment filled him, but Dot looked up with wonder in her eyes. “Is this you as a boy?” She held up a four-by-four square inch picture that was mostly brown and white. Orange seemed prevalent in the older pictures too, and Ward hated how the pictures had aged without someone to properly care for them.
“Yep,” he said, his voice somewhat clipped. “I’m five or six.” He left the hot chocolate supplies on the counter and approached the table. “I’m trying to match up the pictures with Mother’s journals. She kept a pretty detailed record of things for our branch of the Glover family.”
Dot set the picture on the album it had come from. “These are so amazing.” She ran her fingers down the side of one of Mother’s journals.
Ward swallowed, trying to decide how much to share with her. Part of him wanted to sweep the journals and albums into the box he’d taken them from and rush them into