Page 16 of The CEO and the Mountain Man

“Maybe?” I grimaced. “Either way, I am now fully prepared for the trail ride and all ranch-related activities.”

“Nice hiking boots,” he said, turning back to toss the noodles with the sauce.

I was pretty sure it was a sincere compliment.

“They are kind of nice, right? And I got some better flip-flops. If you need anything, we can go back into town.”

River pulled a plate from the cabinet. “No need. I packed appropriately.”

“You packed every piece of black clothing you own,” I argued as he piled an enormous mountain of spaghetti onto his plate. “Literally not a single color.”

“First of all,” River said, setting his plate on the table before slumping down into a chair. “Black is a color.”

Before I could retort, he held up his hand. “Gimme a sec.”

He used his fork to pick up a big swirl of spaghetti and shoved it into his mouth. “Second,” he said through a mouthful of half-chewed food. “Snow Creek’s website said to bring jeans, T-shirts, and boots. Which is basically my entire wardrobe.”

“You went to their website?” I asked as I set my bags in my room.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice drifting across the cabin. “You were dragging me to a dude ranch in Colorado. I needed to know what kind of hell awaited me.”

I came out of the room, my mouth twitching. “You are so dramatic.”

“And you stepped in horseshit,” he pointed out before taking another bite. “Twice.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked, plopping down across from him.

“You came to a ranch dressed head to toe in Ralph Lauren, and you stepped in horseshit. I’m just saying that maybe the drama apple didn’t fall too far from the drama tree.”

I snorted and stole his fork from him, sneaking a quick bite from his mountain of spaghetti.

“That’s pretty good.”

“Adding jarred sauce to freshly boiled noodles is one of my many skills,” he said, leaning forward to steal the fork back from me.

I crossed my eyes at him, and then we chatted a bit more about the day.

“Beau convinced me to buy seven-inch cargo shorts, which I wasn’t sure about. But he said they had the gay stamp of approval, so I had to buy them.”

River looked at me like I was the dumbest person on earth.

“What? Is the gay stamp of approval something really bad?”

“No. It just means that he thinks you’re hot.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

I mean, I did catch him checking out my ass outside of the changing room, but I didn’t mind it.

Not one bit.

“Dad, you’re an objectively good-looking guy. It’s okay if a gay guy thinks you’re hot.”

“Thanks, I think.” I stole his fork and nabbed another bite from his plate. “So … what do you think is hot?”

He shook his head as he snatched the fork back. “No. We’re not doing that.”

“What? Part of the reason for taking this trip is to get to know you better. And that includes your taste in men.”