The Delivery of Decor (Shiloh Ridge Ranch in Three Rivers #7) - Liz Isaacson Page 0,94

he said. “Get your game face on. You’re about to ask out Libby. Really ask her.”

He thought about all of the advice Preacher and Judge had given him. Get over there and tell her how you feel, Preacher had said.

No more beating around the bush, Judge had said. His brother had a date with June Nichols that night, and Mister could admit he’d taken some of his brother’s courage and somehow infused it into himself.

He parked in front of Libby’s tiny little house before the main homestead on the ranch. She lived there with her older sister, Mildred, and Mister knew both of them really well. He’d been inside Libby’s house dozens and dozens of times. They’d climbed the trees on this land—and his ranch—and they’d gone to church youth groups together for years.

When they’d become adults, Mister had asked Libby to dance at the summer dances held in the downtown park. He’d asked her to help him get other girl’s numbers, and he’d asked her to all of the big parties and get-togethers at Shiloh Ridge Ranch—the ones that other townspeople attended.

This was no different.

Except this was wildly different.

He looked up to the house, seeing Libby’s touch everywhere. A flagpole extended from one of the columns, a flag in the white and blue shape of a snowman flapping in the breeze. The Texas Panhandle always seemed to have a wind blowing, and Mister had seriously considered leaving the ranch during the two days they’d had to shelter during the windstorm.

He’d never do it, and he knew it. His father had ingrained the importance of family into Mister, and he did like spending time with his brothers and their wives, Arizona and Duke, and all of his cousins.

He didn’t mind the loud laughter and the annoying way Ida and Etta had to explain every item of food on the buffet before anyone could eat. He liked that there was always food at the homestead, and he loved being able to go to people he trusted for advice.

He and Judge had not gotten along for years, but Mister had accepted his apologies, and he’d made some of his own too. They’d started getting along better the past few months, and Mister had done what his father had always told him to do.

Forgive.

Things weren’t perfect, but they were both trying. Judge had changed a lot in the past year or two, and Mister felt like he had too. He was trying to be more patient with himself and with others. He was trying to work hard. He was trying to take care of problems before someone asked him to. He was trying to be there for his family members as the number of people who had Glover for a last name continued to grow and grow.

He did want someone to call his own, and he’d love to have a tiny human with the last name Glover too.

The bright yellow door on the house swung in, and Libby came out. Mister dang near ducked down in his truck, as if she wouldn’t know he was there if she didn’t see him sitting behind the wheel.

His heart boomed like a big bass drum in his chest, especially when Libby moved to the top of the steps and leaned against the pillar there. She folded her arms, not a smile in sight.

Mister sighed, his nerves making his palms sweat.

He told himself he’d ridden championship bulls. He’d broken six bones. He had four huge belt buckles sitting in a box in Bull House, and he’d been a national bull riding champion for four straight years.

He could face Libby Bellamore.

Don’t let your head get too big, he told himself as he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the truck. “Heya, Liberty,” he said.

“Mister Glover,” she said, and sometimes he really hated his first name. Every male in his family could be called Mister Glover—except Cactus, as he was technically a doctor—but Mister was better than Michael.

Mister tucked his hands in his pockets, having left the giant belt buckles at home. “I wanted to come apologize for yesterday.”

Libby deflated, and Mister actually smiled. “Come do it then.” She sat down on the top step, and Mister made his way over to her. He sat next to her, a sigh coming from his mouth. He didn’t know what to say next.

“How many times have we sat here?” Libby asked, drawing in a big breath. She exhaled it out and didn’t look at him. “How many times have I