Page 28 of Holden: Bucked By Love (Crawford Ridge Ranch #1)

It's a bit of an adventure getting food ordered, mostly because Mason has decided he's a food connoisseur and has ridiculous questions for the waiter about cooking conditions and meat tenderness that leave me baffled.

Leni is fighting down giggles the entire time, and when she puts her hand on my knee and squeezes, I suddenly hope Mason will keep blathering on for another five confusing minutes.

Her hand brings with it a warmth I've missed.

In the end, he orders a burger, which is zero surprise to me.

Josi gets spaghetti, and when the food is delivered she slurps up a noodle and tells us it's just spaghetti enough for her—whatever that means.

Mason, however, takes a bite of his burger and wants to ask if it was raised in fair conditions.

"Who is this kid?" I ask Leni out the side of my mouth.

She bites her lips and I watch, shamelessly. "I have no idea. He appeared tonight for the first time."

"He was raised on a ranch, but suddenly he doesn't understand anything about how beef cattle are raised?" I turn to my son. "Do you even know what 'fair conditions' means?" I ask him.

He gives me a look. "Obviously."

"Okay, then what does it mean?"

"Free to wander and graze in a safe environment. Not in cages or stalls all day. Be the cow God intended them to be," Mason states.

"Like we do on Crawford Ridge," I state .

"Yeah."

I'm still confused about where he's coming from here.

"I'm in fair conditions," Josi pipes in, making Leni snort laugh and now it's my turn to put my hand on her knee and squeeze.

"I'm so glad, baby," I say to Jo-Jo warmly, stuffing down my own laugh.

"I'm not in a cage, and Mama lets me read all I want," Josi adds.

Mason rolls his eyes. "It's not the same, Josi." Then he takes another bite of his questionable burger and seems to swallow without chewing. "Cows aren't people. People automatically get fair conditions."

I hold back from telling him that sadly, not all people do live well.

Jo-Jo nods. "But cats don't. Remember that cat I saw . . ."

Mason groans. "We already know about the cat."

Jo-Jo won't be deterred. "If he had a bath, would that be fair conditions?"

"I wish I'd never said the phrase fair conditions," Mason grumbles.

I look over to see Leni's beautiful eyes all full of happiness as she watches her kids lightly argue about animal living conditions, and she must feel me looking at her because she turns my way.

"I'm not living in fair conditions," I tease under my breath, pouting out my lower lip playfully.

She smiles softly. "Poor guy."

"Daddy," Josi calls, dragging my attention from her mother, yet again. "Please tell Mace that goats don't hurt other farm animals for fun."

Somehow the conversation took a turn while I was wrapped up in Leni.

I smile. "Goats aren't mean."

"How do you know?" Mason asks. "We don't have goats on the ranch. "

"Do you have goat experience?" I ask him, curious.

He shakes his head. "No."

"Then how do you know?" Leni asks.

He sighs. "This conversation is pointless."

This time when I reach for Leni's knee to signal my amusement, she's reaching for mine at the same time, and our hands get tangled briefly under the table.

I take her hand in mine and place my fingers between hers, pressing our palms together.

My face is still smiling, but my heart pounds hard with the contact.

After dinner, where we prevented Mason from asking any more questions about the meat sourcing here, we walk down the block to a small ice-cream shop.

Leni passes, like she always does, and so I order a double scoop in a cup knowing she'll eventually cave and want some.

The kids get cones, and we stroll around leisurely, eating our cones and chatting about this and that.

Leni steals a few spoonfuls of my ice cream, and I'm glad that some of that closeness has crept back in.

I'd feed her ice cream every night if it would make her stand close to me and be all soft and approachable like this.

By the time we get back to the ranch and our little cabin, the sun is beginning to dip in the sky. I walk with them to the back porch and watch with a smile as the kids burst through the back door, calling dibs on the TV. It's an age-old battle that I fought with my brothers too.

I look at Leni, beautiful Leni, and try not to let my sadness show. I don't want to leave her here and go sleep alone.

"Tonight was . . ." Leni starts and then inhales deeply. "Amazing."

I grin. "Yeah?"

She nods. "Yeah. "

I step closer, drawn to her in a way I don't think I'll ever get over.

I watch her expression for any wariness, but she's open, and when I'm sure she won't rebuff me, I wrap my arms around her shoulders and pull her in for a hug.

A hug—such a simple thing, but it feels powerful out here on the deck, on our land, after the things we've been facing.

I haven't held my wife close like this, other than line dancing, in a long time.

She wraps her arms around my waist and sighs, settling in against me, both of us looking off in the direction of the sun that's dipping behind the tree line.

I stroke down her back in a pattern I know she likes.

Up and down her spine, then across her shoulders, and repeat.

Her hold on me tightens and I dip my head to kiss her hair.

Little streaks of feeling tickle at my arms and legs, and when she tilts her head back, I lean forward to press my lips to hers.

It's home.

She accepts the light contact, and I don't do anything to deepen it, not yet.

She's willing, but she's not quite open, and I can feel that in the way she stays in my hold but doesn't snuggle closer.

This moment is a test, in a way, and while I want to go for it, knowing how pleasurable kissing my wife can be, I hold back.

If I get my way, there will be millions of kisses in my future, because I will never again stop kissing this woman.

With one last peck I pull away, letting her go, and she steps back. Her eyes are bright and her cheeks have a slight blush, and I have a feeling mine look the same.

"Goodnight," I say through a throat thick with longing. "Thanks for coming out with me."

"Thanks for asking me," she responds with a small, private smile.

I don't like stepping off the deck to walk to the camper, but I do it anyway.

And when I glance back, she's still standing on the deck in her summer dress, her hair hanging down, and she waves at me.

I feel that wave in the center of my chest, and when I turn back toward my trailer, I press my hand over that spot and leave it there for a long time.