Page 17

“Teasing you, cowboy. Here. Have a handful, and I’ll get out the sandwiches.”

When he didn’t reach out again, she tossed the bag at him. Whatever. He might have loosened up a little, but it seemed the big bad wolf was still present and in no mood to be teased about his grammar.

He accepted the sandwich she passed him then she set the bags of veggies and cookies between them. He leaned against the log himself, long legs stretched out beside the small fire.

Leisure looked good on him.

But she couldn’t resist the dig as she took a sip of her Earl Grey. “Something hot sure does hit the spot.”

He lifted his hand and made a yapping motion with his thumb and fingers but didn’t look her way. He was too busy taking a ginormous bite of thick ham sandwich.

Paisley had a smaller bite of her own. No need to choke on a huge mouthful like Weston likely would. After swallowing, she said, “Your mom makes the best bread. I can’t believe how lucky we are to have her at Sweet River.”

He grunted around the food in his mouth.

“The cook the Smiths hired brought in flats of pasty white bread from a bakery in Missoula. Last summer with your mom in the kitchen was a very welcome change. Must have been nice growing up with her home-cooked meals.”

Weston glanced at her. “Do you talk all the time?”

“Not always. See?” She held up her sandwich. “I’ve had two bites, and I didn’t talk with my mouth full.”

“Any more of those?” He reached into the cooler.

“No. You ate them all.”

“Glad I also came prepared.” Weston surged to his feet with effortless grace and rummaged in Ranger’s saddlebag before lifting a sandwich in triumph. He unwrapped it as he settled back in his spot.

“Got another for me, too?”

“No. I wasn’t expecting company.” He eyed her food. “Besides, you’re nowhere near done because you keep talking.” He nudged another couple of sticks into the fire.

“I’m not hungry for more, anyway.” Paisley chewed on another bite, watching the crackling flames. A sandwich might fill her stomach, but it did little to quench the longing she felt toward this cowboy.

Ugh. Why couldn’t she have set her sights on a guy who might potentially reciprocate before they both died of old age? There were plenty of men around the ranch working in nearly every department. Some of them were good-looking and pleasant enough a girl should snap them up.

Not her.

She balled up the sandwich wrapper and stuffed it into the cooler before snagging a handful of peas and carrots.

Weston finished his second sandwich and ambled over to the lake with a small, fire-blackened bucket. He came back and settled the bucket into the edge of his little fire. Then he stretched out with his head against the log and tipped his hat over his face.

Not only was the guy was going to be all day making his coffee, he was having a nap in the meantime?

Men.

She put away the remnants of lunch and eyed his bucket. A wisp of steam rose from it. Whatever.

Paisley went over to Ranger and groped in the saddlebags until she felt a folded shovel. She pulled it out and locked the handle into place. So, one latrine was on the far side. That meant the other should be — she turned slowly, scanning the perimeter — over there.

She headed a few yards into the forest. If she dragged a few logs nearby and stacked them, that would provide a little privacy. As far as she knew, Weston didn’t have any boards along to build a screen like the other one had. Of course, they could bring them along next time. It wouldn’t take long to put them up.

With that in mind, she selected a spot near three smaller trees and began to dig. Of course, there were roots in the way. How on earth was she supposed to dig through them?

A twig cracked and she whirled around to see Weston standing far too close with his hand stretched out for the shovel. “Give it here.”

“I can do it.”

Amusement — wait, really? — twinkled in his eyes for a second before fading. “I’m sure you can, but we don’t have all day.”