Page 19 of 11 Cowboys

He raises an eyebrow. “Men like me?”

“Ones who don’t run from responsibility. Who cook and care and don’t think either makes them less of a man.”

His face shifts at that, flickering with an appreciation at being seen. I wonder when anyone last gave these men that kind of recognition. Maybe no one ever has.

“There are plenty of men out there like us,” he says. “We’re doing what needs to be done… what’s put in front of us. Every day, there are demands right across this ranch that won’t wait. We can’t take a day off unless we’re sick, and even then, we feel guilty for shirking responsibility. What one of us doesn’t do falls to the rest to pick up.”

“So, you work as a team?”

“It’s the only way. No man is an island, especially on a ranch.”

I think about my solitary life, shunting back and forth between my office and my apartment, nights out withfriends who are mostly there for the good time rather than the relationship, one-night stands with men who only ever seem to want to know what it feels like to get inside my body and not my heart. I’ve made myself an island, allowing others to visit, but not for long.

“Would you like to be?” I ask, interested to discover if this lifestyle is a choice, rather than an obligation.

“No way.” He leaves the spoon in the pot, taking the diced carrots and scraping them in with celery, potatoes, onions, and shredded chicken. The oven timer goes off again, and he ducks to pull three rustic loaves from its depths. “I grew up with two brothers, Brody and Nash, but the rest of these men are like my brothers, too. We were always in and out of each other’s houses, even before the accident.”

He rests the loaves on the counter and wipes his hands on a cloth he has resting over one broad shoulder. “I never have to worry about anything, Grace. Do you know what it’s like to have ten men standing shoulder to shoulder with you, unconditionally? The worst kind of shit could hit the fan, and no one in this house would duck.”

What would it feel like to have that kind of support? I mean, I have my mom, and she’s great, if a little flaky and distracted, but she has a lot going on, and I’m a grown woman who can handle life. But having a whole squad behind you must give a whole different level of security to everyone in this house.

“So, you see yourself here for the rest of your life?”

“Sure. This ranch has been in our family for three generations. Our kids will be the fourth. They’ll grow up together and have the same support network that we have.”

“You think they’ll want to stay here, too? What about the girls?”

He studies me for a moment, then busies himself seasoning the pot. “I haven’t thought that far ahead, I guess. If they want to stay…”

He appears crestfallen at the idea they might move on.

“What are you looking for in a woman?” I ask, changing the subject to catch him off guard.

He pauses grinding the pepper, his shoulders stiffening. “I had a woman,” he says, his tone low and sad. “I guess I’m not the driving force behind this quest, but I won’t stand in the way of what my family needs.”

“You’re not ready?”

He shrugs, and I lean my hip against the counter to watch him find herbs to flavor the soup like he’s a wizard crafting a potion. “Who’s ever ready?”

“For love?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you go looking for it, it rarely appears. In my experience, it hits you on the head like a stray soccer ball.”

I like that analogy and make a mental note to include it in my article. “But that’s exactly what you’re all doing. Looking for it.”

He shrugs and places a huge lid on the cauldron. “As I said, I’m not the driving force. Conway has a more practical view of this process and how to achieve the desired end goal.”

“Practical?”

“When he wants something, he can usually find it in a catalog. A new type of animal feed, a piece of machinery, a part to replace something broken. But human beings aren’t parts, and what we’re missing isn’t something that has a shape.”

“People are tricky.”

“The other women were perfectly nice, but they felt like square pegs in a triangle hole.”

I smirk at his modification of the phrase. “Not for you?”

“Not for most of us. I think Conway could convince himself that everything was fine… or would become fine over time. He was willing to chisel off the edges in all of us until it worked.”