Page 19 of Ropers Can’t Tie Knots (Kissing Ridge Cowboys #3)

He’s silent for a moment as his gaze roams my face, and I hope he doesn’t see what I’m trying my best to hide.

“Okay. If that’s what you want. Will I see you after?”

The guarded hope in his voice is almost too much for me. I know what he wants, but I can’t do that.

“If not tonight, then in the morning.”

He sets his lips together and I feel like a huge asshole, but I can’t share a bed with him. Sex is one thing, but having him in my arms all night and rubbing his scent all over my sheets? I’m not ready for that.

And I don’t know if I’ll ever be .

He gracefully exits and doesn’t bother gathering his clothes, walking upstairs naked and leaving me on the living room floor, wondering if I just fucked everything up.

Margie’s old beagle waddles off the porch of her farmhouse to greet me. She’s had a beagle ever since I’ve met her. When one dies, she mourns, then gets another one. She just loves beagles.

“Hey girl. It’s just me.” I crouch down for the dog to sniff me, so she stops barking. Her eyes aren’t that good, the cataracts visible, but she wags and thumps down for a belly rub once she recognizes my voice.

While I scratch her belly, the porch door squeaks open, and Margie wastes no time busting my chops.

“It’s about time you showed up here, boy. Are you planning to stay and visit?”

Standing, I walk to the porch with a broken heart for not being here for her. “I’m here for as long as it takes to get you to forgive me.”

“Hunter, there’s nothing to forgive, but there’s lots for you to fill in. Come on in and help me finish cooking for the youth group. We’ll talk. ”

Bending down, I wrap my arms around her and hug. Her shaking arms return it, and she smells like she’s been baking apple pies, Gabe’s favourite.

“I’ll always love you, my boy. Don’t think I stopped because you vanished for a bit,” she whispers in my ear, and I blink back the wetness.

“Thank you. I love you, too.”

We return to the house, and just like I did a million times growing up, I kick off my boots and grab a pair of slippers by the door.

When I enter the kitchen, I find a familiar setup.

A giant country table covered with pies, bread, and vegetables.

Her stove has two giant pots on the go with hearty soups.

“Who are you feeding today, Margie?”

She checks her paper on the fridge and reads out, “Youth group at the cathedral and the Big Brothers and Sisters.” She returns the reading glasses to her head. “And, of course, the soup kitchen.”

Margie’s mission in life is to feed everyone who needs it. Her husband died very young, and they never had children. They both dreamed of filling this house with kids and their friends, and being a beacon for young people. When he died, she kept on without him, but never wanted to date again.

“You’re a good woman. Anyone boarding with you?”

“Not right now.” She tosses some salt into one of the pots and hands me a spoon.

“Keep stirring those for a few more minutes, then we can package them.” By the table, she has boxes labelled for each location that contain packaging materials.

We fill them up with the food she makes and then deliver it.

I’ve done this since I was ten years old, and nothing has changed .

But I came here with a purpose other than reconnecting with Margie.

“So, ah, did you like Gabe?”

Margie’s small smile signals I’ve come to the right person, and I quietly puff a breath.

“He seems lovely. Very charming and devilishly handsome. How long have you been married?”

The soup I’m stirring is done, and I carry it to the large table to cool. She smiles, happy that I’ve fallen into her process again so easily.

“We just passed four months and…”

I stir the other pot while Margie perches on the stool next to me. “I’ve heard some rumours, Hunter. When he died, I tried calling you to warn you, but you were just as stubborn as he was.”

“I’m not like him,” I bite out, and Margie pats my arm.

“I know, dear, but you ran and asked nobody for help. I expected you to turn up here, but you never did.”

Not a fact I’m proud of, but self-preservation was my default. I wasn’t sad that my grandfather died. I was scared about my future and angry at myself for letting it get to this.

“I’m sorry. I was a prick. I should have come to you, but…I was embarrassed and, fuck…I didn’t want anyone to know he practically excluded me from the will. It’s humiliating.”

Fuck, that felt like spitting shards of glass to say out loud, but it’s the truth.

“Fair enough, but I’d never judge. So what did the son of a bitch do?”

Despite myself, I laugh at Margie’s candor.

“God, I love you.” I smile at the grey-haired spitfire, and not for the first time wonder how many years I have left with her.

When everyone in your life dies or leaves, that’s your default mode of thinking.

How much longer, and how badly will it hurt this time?

“I almost bankrupted myself trying to keep the ranch bills paid because he left the property in a trust. I’m allowed to live there for as long as I want, but his lawyers failed to add me as someone who could access the trust to pay for things.

After I fought them for almost two years, my attorney made some progress. It was stressful.”

“I should’ve known he’d make you work twice as hard for it as anyone else. He was always too hard on you, Hunter. So many times I wanted to grab the nearest fry pan and smack him in the face.”

“Margie!” I gasp, but she laughs.

“It’s true. You were just a boy when your life was torn apart. Your gram could only do so much to keep the peace. That’s why she brought you here so often. So you could be yourself and be a kid.”

Some of my happiest memories were here, and yet I clung to the ones on the ranch instead. My entire life to this point has been a series of poor judgment and mistakes. Maybe this is another one.

“Gabe is a marriage of convenience, Margie.” I hate referring to him like that, but it’s true. “If I weren’t married, I couldn’t access the residual, and if I never married, his money would go to an anti-LGBTQ+ organization. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So…he’s not really your husband?”

The second pot of soup is finished, and I carry it over to cool with the other pot. “We made a deal.”

Margie remains quiet for a moment before easing off her stool and opening the fridge. She rattles around and pulls out a bottle that she raises towards me. “Grab us two glasses. We’re sitting and drinking this out.”

“It’s barely 9 AM.”

“So? You’re not gonna spill it all unless that tongue relaxes, so come on then. You didn’t come here to beat around the bush, and I have meals to finish.”

Grabbing two short glasses, I follow her to the front porch where the beagle snores. She sets the bottle on the small wrought-iron table, and I pick it up to pour us two glasses of the maple liqueur she had hidden in her fridge.

“What kind of deal did you make with the handsome devil?” She sips the liqueur and sighs. “This is straight from Quebec. They do maple the best.”

I don’t recognize the label, but I wouldn’t doubt Margie would special order to support the cause of a memorial park for a late husband who’s listed on the label. That’s just who Margie is.

“He’s a new lawyer here. Real city boy. He was wearing suits to the office.” Margie makes the appropriate scoff of disbelief, and I nod. “Right? So he’s more casual now, and I’ve introduced him to a lot of the big ranchers. The business is picking up, and he should be successful now.”

Gabe has made major progress, and I’m proud of how well he’s fit in with the farmers. He may still be green around the animals and such, but he’s built trust with the community because he respects their job. Which, in the beginning, they were uncertain if he did.

“And what do you get from this deal, my boy?” She takes another drink while I down my entire glass in one go .

“Money,” I grunt. “If I’m married, I get advances at certain points.” I pour myself another glass, and Margie holds out hers for a top-up. “The first advance was when I showed the marriage licence. The next one is soon. I get the rest after a year.”

She nods and sips. “And after a year? What then?” she asks gently, and I swirl the creamy liquid in my glass before downing a large gulp.

“Then’s he’s free to leave.”

My throat burns with the words, and Margie says nothing for several beats.

“Do you want that?”

She was right about my tongue loosening with a little liquor. The words to speak pile up right there, but I can’t get them out. Instead, I shake my head no.

“Does he?” she asks, and that’s the question that breaks the dam, and my fears come pouring out.

“He looks at me like nobody ever has, and when he touches me, it’s…it’s not only about sex. He…he…” I trail off, not sure what else to say because I’ve not asked Gabe outright if he’d consider not leaving, but when he was so tender and called me doll, I freaked out.

“It sounds like you have a chance to build something real with this man, Hunter.”

“I could fall for him so easily, Margie. I’m keeping him at a distance because I know it will hurt when he leaves.”

Margie clucks her tongue. “You’re so sure he’ll leave, and you haven’t asked him yet. ”

“They always leave!” I clutch the glass and take another swallow. “If they don’t leave, they die, and I don’t want him to be another one to break my heart. I just can’t.”

We sit on the porch for a few moments. Margie still sips from her glass, and I have a slight buzz from all the liqueur I’ve downed in a short time.

The beagle snores, and I let myself imagine what it would be like if this were Gabe and me and the pet he always wanted instead. Could we make something work?

Will he break my heart, or will he finally mend it if I give him a chance?

“Let’s finish packaging the food before it gets too late, yeah?” Margie stands and grabs the bottle from the table. “Thanks for not letting me drink alone. This stuff was too good not to share.”

“Yeah. Thanks…for everything.”

She pauses and rubs my shoulder, squeezing just enough to make me look at her.

“You’ll figure it out, Hunter. You always do, but if you need advice, mine is to take the chance. If you found love, don’t let it walk away. Do something that makes you happy. He’s not here to judge you anymore.”

With a last pat on my arm, Margie enters the house, and I take a minute longer to finish my glass.

He may not be here to judge me, but I do a damn good job of doing that myself.