Page 103 of Whiskey Proposal

“What if I dent or scratch it?”

I flick open the buckle of her overalls. “That only makes it worth more.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Emerson

Lane pulls into the parking lot of the Hawthorne Guest Ranch. A sprawling log lodge is the center of the picturesque view. A pavilion decked out with tulle and flowers sits at the top of the hill before the land dips down to a large red barn, a long shop, fences, cattle, and horses.

My nose touches the window and I draw back, but I’m still gawking.

My hands are getting clammy, but I refrain from running them down my thighs. The gauzy, light-blue material of the dress would show my palm prints, and I’d die. There’s no Carol the flight attendant to calm me down this time.

People mill around the pavilion. There’s a lot of black denim and slacks on the men, the women are mostly in dresses, and there’s no shortage of cowboy hats. There are more kids than I expected, but if all the Baileys are here, that makes sense.

My stomach goes haywire, and a panicky feeling sets in. I might as well be facing my dad’s house. When my pulse speeds up, I exhale and pull out my phone.

Bunny: Chicken eggs with double yolks will have the same amount of egg white as a typical egg.

Bunny: Some eggs are no-yolkers.

Bunny: Egg shell color varies by breed.

I draw in a long breath.

“Is that helping?” Lane asks as he parks next to another pickup. The lot is full of them. All big and expensive and covered in a fine layer of dust.

“Yes, actually it is. Hillary picked out some good factoids.” I tuck the phone back into the discreet pocket of my dress. My gaze lands on the pavilion. “Until I look at all those people again.”

“What are the names of Mae’s sons?”

“Tate, Teller, and Tenor.”

He gets out, and I slide out of the pickup and arrange the fabric around my legs. “And the daughters?” he asks.

“The four seasons. Summer, Junie—because June’s mostly a spring month—Autumn, and Wynter.”

“Do I need to quiz you on their spouses, or are you good?”

I groan. “That’s a lot of names, and I’ll probably hyperventilate if I can’t remember them.”

He cocks his arm, and I hitch on to his elbow. He’s in crisp black jeans and a white button-up shirt. The black cowboy hat on his head completes the look. He’s combed his hair back so it’s not sticking out above his ears with the hat on, and thanks to the sun overhead, his eyes are shaded, giving him a stern demeanor.

My belly’s unsettled for a different reason, flipping and preening. The breeze flutters the hem of my skirt. I busy myself with making sure it doesn’t get kicked up. That’s a level of embarrassment I don’t need on a day like today.

“This place is gorgeous.”

“You were never out here when you were a kid?”

Kids talked about this ranch like it was as untouchable as Disneyland. “I was not in the same circle as the Hawthornes. They weren’t mean or anything, but our lives didn’t intersect.”

“Now they do.”

“Yeah.” And it’s still weird.

He leads me to the double doors of the guest lodge. “We need to go through here to get to the pavilion, but Campbell wants us to stop in at the bar first.”

We walk in, and I’m back to staring. Is my mouth closed?