Page 81 of When a Cowboy Falls Hard
“We are. There’s one other thing I haven’t told you, but you have to promise not to let on you know.”
“Ooo, a secret. I love secrets.”
“I’m aware. So, have you noticed how many times our uncle mentions Raquel?”
“Now that you say that, he does talk about her a lot.” Her breath caught. “Are you saying?—”
“He’s got a huge crush.”
“No.” She giggled. “Now I really have to meet this woman. Is she good enough for him?”
“I’m guessing he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. Spence Bridger would be a tough act to follow.”
“Maybe, but Uncle Graham’s no slouch, either. I thought he was through with women, though.”
“So did I. Then I saw him light up on Thursday morning when we were there for the shoeing appointment. Yesterday whenever I went looking for him, he was with Raquel.”
“Does she know?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know her well enough to be able to say. She looked happy, though, and he makes her laugh.”
“That’s so cool. After putting up with Aunt Adele, he deserves another shot.” She exhaled. “And so do you. I’m sorry this isn’t it.”
“Me, too.”
“Gonna go over there?”
“God help me, I am.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dressed in his sweats, Monty paced from the living room to the bedroom as he waited for Zinnia. She’d be here. If she’d decided to bail she would have let him know by now.
On his trips into the bedroom he often paused to look at the family pictures on the desk. His dad was in all of them.
He hadn’t made the opportunity to talk with Adam today like his grandma had suggested. He had no excuse. Sunday would have been a perfect time to snag Adam for a private chat.
But he’d procrastinated until it was too late. He’d told himself he needed time to process this morning’s conversation. His grandma could be right about him. For one thing, he had a tendency to overwork.
He also liked Graham calling him Supervet. He always passed off the comment as a joke, but the farrier wasn’t joking. He admired that level of dedication to a career. Praise from him was special because it meant he measured up to the standards his dad had set.
His dad had been good at everything. He had a vivid picture of one Christmas when the living room had been a chaotic scene with all eight kids racing around through wads of wrapping paper, new toys and new clothes. His mom had been trying to restore order without much success.
His dad had let out a piercing whistle, the kind he made through his teeth. Monty and his siblings had frozen in place, sure they were in big trouble.
Then his dad had bellowed Get dressed! Touch football in the snow! You’ve got seven minutes!
Why he’d chosen seven minutes instead of five or ten was a mystery. Maybe just to focus their attention because it was an unusual time interval.
His mom had given his dad an adoring look and said You were born to be a father.
Born to be a father. Sure had seemed that way. He’d happily helped produce three, married a woman who had three more, and had been thrilled to add another two.
He’d taught them everything he knew about horses. Then he’d taught them everything he knew about construction. He’d been the town’s most popular mayor, although Adam might overtake him on that score. He’d been famous for saying any disagreement could be settled over a beer.
Hey, was that where he’d gone wrong with his grandma? Should he have served her a beer at four in the afternoon instead of coffee at ten in the morning? He snorted.
He didn’t need that strategy for Zinnia because he had no disagreements with her. They were in complete agreement that they should pour gallons of water on this fire they’d started.
