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But he didn’t mind the chuck wagon. Maybe that was why Clint had put him in charge of it.

He finished setting up the fire, then went to the old covered wagon Asa had had built specifically for this, and started rooting through the supplies. They had chickens roasting up at the main house, and potatoes wrapped and ready to be baked in the fire. He’d make coffee and biscuits, too, all in the fire, the way the cowboys would have done on the trail back in the days when cowboys were real, and cattle drives were a necessity. They were expecting fifteen people to come to this tonight, and they usually had a few drop out, so he figured two of his huge cast-iron pots full of biscuits would be good.

The old cowboys would have probably eaten beans out of a can with their pocketknives and drunk dirty water from the river, but people expected more from these retreats. They didn’t want the true experience; they just wanted something that took them far enough out of their comfort zone that it felt like the real thing. It was hypocritical to Westin, but he kind of liked making the biscuits, and who didn’t enjoy a hot meal in freezing weather? In the snow, too. He’d have to send a text up to the main house, make sure they had enough blankets to send down. God forbid one of these city ladies catch a cold!

He was counting out the plates when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He tugged it out, wondering what Clint wanted now, but was pleasantly surprised to see it was a message from Rena.

Thinking about you, it sweetly said. I had a good time last night.

Westin sat on the edge of the wagon’s gate and studied the words that should have thrilled him but left him with this heavy feeling in the center of his chest. He read it three times, not sure how to respond. How was he supposed to respond to words as sweet as those from such a kind, gentle girl? He liked her. He really did. He wasn’t expecting that.

Me, too, he finally wrote. I’d like to do it again.

How about tomorrow night? was the near instant response. She must have been watching her phone, waiting for the second he responded.

What did he say now? Of course he had to agree. What other choice did he have? He’d already started down this road; he had to keep going.

Tomorrow sounds great.

Good. Come over for dinner. The cook is making a lovely roast, and Daddy’s always in a good mood on Sundays.

Had she just asked him to have dinner at her parents’ table?

Westin got up and began to pace in a circle around the campsite, unable to believe his luck. He’d thought it would take weeks, maybe even months, to get Rena to trust him enough to invite him home for dinner. But all it had taken was months of passing conversation, and one date. He’d never been that lucky in his life!

Had Rena taken lessons from Lea?

That thought made him a little sick to his stomach to consider.

I’d like that, if you’re sure.

Why wouldn’t I be sure?

Yeah. Why wouldn’t she be sure?

He couldn’t believe things were coming together. Finally. He’d thought about this for years; thought of how he’d get his foot in the door at Rocking D. He’d tried applying for a job there, tried ambushing Dominic Mollohan in Milsap—but it turned out the guy rarely left the ranch without an entourage—even tried calling the house and making an appointment to meet the man’s wife. Everything else had failed, but this… this was working. The one thing he’d put off, the thing he hadn’t wanted to do. This had worked.

I’ll be there, he assured Rena. Nothing was going to keep him away.

***

“Potatoes, bread, and beans were staples for the cowboy on the trail. Meat was often a rarity—with the exception of salt pork—unless the cowboys were up north where beef was a little more plentiful.” Westin reached down to ruffle the hair of a little boy who was desperately trying to get his attention as he spoke. “Sourdough was often the bread of choice because it was simple and easy to make. But as any of you who have ever baked bread from scratch know, the starter needed to be kept warm at all times to keep the yeast alive. For that reason, when the cowboys were driving their cattle during the winter, the cook would often have to wear the sourdough starter in a pouch against his body in order to keep it warm.”

The crowd was busy stuffing their faces with pieces of chicken and the lovely, soft biscuits that Bowie, Landry, and a couple of new faces were serving. A few were listening, and there were some murmurs as people digested what he said, but none of them were hanging on his every word quite the way Lea was. She had a seat on a hay bale toward the back of the crowd, far enough from the fire that the smoke wasn’t burning her eyes, but close enough to still get a bit of the heat, a plate of food balanced on her thigh. She watched Westin, fascinated with the transformation that seemed to have come over him at some point in the day, something that added a spark to his eyes and a charming smile to his full lips. If she’d thought he was handsome before, she was even more convinced now.

And she didn’t seem to be the only one. The very blonde whose phone Lea had borrowed earlier in the day was practically drooling as she listened to him talk, a piece of biscuit halfway to her mouth but stuck, like she’d forgotten that it was even in her hand. And several other ladies were batting their eyelids in his direction between greasy bites of chicken. He just managed to bypass one outstretched hand as he moved among the crowd, making sure everyone had a plate.

“Another interesting fact about the chuck wagon was the way in which they made the coffee. No one particularly likes to have coffee grounds in their morning cup of joe, so the cook would use just about anything he had handy as a filter. Quite often, cowboys would use their own socks as a filter in order to avoid that nasty mouthful of coffee grounds.”

Groans filled the air.

“Lucky for you,” Westin said, raising a hand to hold off the protests, “we splurged on a few proper paper filters for tonight.”

A small cheer moved among those paying attention. Lea giggled, finding it quite refreshing to discover Westin had more of a sense of humor than she’d thus far suspected.

“He’s quite the showman, isn’t he?” Clint straddled a hay bale beside Lea, gesturing with his head toward the man in question. “Outright refuses to have anything else to do with the tourists, but he loves doing this. Says he enjoys showing off his knowledge of the Old West life.”

“He’s definitely enjoying something,” Lea commented as Westin bent low to hear something a pretty brunette was saying to him.