Page 6 of Stirring Spurs (Rainbow Ranch #1)

BOONE

With empty dessert plates scattered around the table, I take a seat next to Benny, the lone member of the ranch who hasn’t fled for either the bonfire, a card game, or the privacy of their room.

“Fantastic dinner,” Benny says. “As usual.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

He licks the last of the icing from his fork, and holds it up like a trophy.

“Best damn cake. Ma would be proud.”

The corner of my mouth twirls into a grin thinking about her.

“She always said don’t mess with simple. A sheet cake will make everyone happy.”

“And she was right.” He licks the last of the strawberry frosting off his fork and stands.

Without getting up, I lean over and begin gathering the empty plates.

“Want me to help clear?”

“Nah. I managed before Winnie, and I can manage on her nights off. ”

As a general ranch hand, Winnie is pulled in every direction and typically works from sunrise to bedtime. She gets a full twenty-four hour break every four days, and her break started this afternoon. When Pepper, one of the teens, is here on Winnie’s day off, she likes to help in the kitchen.

“Boone-dog, listen. Your family is allowed to lend a hand. Just ask. Or accept if we offer.”

“You’ve been outside with the horses all day. I’m good. I promise.”

I lean over and plant a kiss on his shoulder, the worn, musty flannel of his shirt a sign the boy needs to shower and do laundry. But even if he’s my baby brother, he’s not a kid anymore, so I keep my trap shut. Might just do a load for him, though.

The thud of boots on the wood floor that lines the hallway into the dining room causes both Benny and I to pause our conversation as Beau and Wylie walk in, hanging their hats on antique hooks along the wall.

I stand, cock my head, and put on my best impression of Ma’s annoyed look. When I open my mouth to speak, Beau intercepts me.

“I know, I know, Boone. Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable. But besides the fence being knocked down, turns out there were structural issues I didn’t foresee.

A few of the posts were rotted out, which is probably why the section collapsed in the first place.

We needed more lumber than I’d planned for, which meant we had to head into town. The whole thing was a cluster.”

I do my best to keep my face frozen, but Beau knows me too well.

“I’ve already put all the leftovers away.”

“Oh. Well, we can fix our own plates,” Beau teases.

“You’ll do no such thing. The soup needs the cheese melted at the last minute. And the croutons need a quick warm up so they’re not soggy. I’ll throw your dinners in the oven while I get the soup ready.”

Beau walks over, wraps his arms around me, and gives me a squeeze.

Having a twin means a unique bond that goes beyond shared experiences.

There’s an unspoken connection that often makes communication effortless.

Beau understands me in a way nobody else does.

He knew I was gay before I did. When I came out to him at fourteen, he simply hugged me and said, “Thanks for finally telling me.” Six months later, he told me he was pretty sure he was queer, too, but not gay.

“I think I just like everyone,” he said.

Wasn’t sure it was possible, but somehow it brought us even closer.

Pa used to say, “Beau and Boone, like butter and biscuits.”

“Soup’s on,” I say, returning from the kitchen with two steaming crocks. “Give me five minutes, and I’ll have your dinners.”

“Listen, Boone, I know it’s against house rules, but I lost a good few hours on the fence today, and the paperwork and bills aren’t going to take care of themselves.

” Beau stands, reaching for his soup. “Need to call Doc Evans about a few things, too. I’m going to take mine to the office and get caught up. ”

He shoots Wylie a quick wink, not even trying to conceal it from me.

“But your dinner,” I say, turning toward the kitchen. “Don’t move.”

I grab a dish rag and fling the oven open, retrieving one of the plates I’d made up earlier and return to the table.

“You take the soup,” I tell Beau. “Mr. Anderson, please eat.”

As we head down the hallway, Beau turns to Wylie, plants a smirk on his face, and says, “My brother will be right back.”

I accompany Beau into the office near the front of the ranch.

A small and rustic space, it’s simple but organized.

Paperwork and notebooks blanket his desk, but he’s managed to make piles to try and wrangle the chaos.

The ranch landline, an old, yellow phone that’s been here as long as any of us can remember, sits on the edge of the worn wood.

There’s a laptop nobody but Beau really uses and a small wood stove sits in the corner, waiting for colder months.

He sits with his soup, and I place the plate next to the computer on the desk and carefully close the door.

“Beau Bently Adams, what are you up to?”

“Oh, my full name.” With an amused look on his face, he arches an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he says, lifting his hands. “I swear. I need to get these bills paid.”

He points to the wooden mail holder on the corner of the desk.

“Plus check email. Get the payroll ready for next week.”

“You could take twenty minutes to eat at the table.”

“I mean, I could.” There’s a gleam in his eye I know all too well. “As your older brother, I’m asking you—please. Go. Keep Mr. Anderson company.”

“Two minutes older,” I say.

“Worst two minutes of my life.” Beau takes the spoon and pokes at the melted cheese covering his soup. “Waiting on your ass to arrive.”

I shake my head, turn, and head for the door. Before I open it, Beau says, “Love you more than a rodeo ride.”

“Love you more than the sky wide.”

I can’t be mad or annoyed with that face for long, and Beau knows it. It’s literally my face. Walking back to the dining room, I get my first good look at Wylie without his hat. His hair is longer than I thought. It’s wavy and damp, probably from working in the sun all day.

He yanks the spoon out of his mouth. “What in tarnation?”

“Something wrong? Do you need salt? I try not to add too much. She wouldn’t want me to spill her tea, but Billie’s watching her blood pressure, so I go easy on the salt. Let me get you the shaker.”

I fetch it from the hutch on the wall and place it next to him.

“No. Sir. This soup…” He nods at his bowl. “Better than a cool breeze on a hot day. I’ve never had grub like this. At ranches it’s usually burgers. Beans. Chips. That sort of thing. Not used to a cookie like you.”

“Oh. Well, we do things a little different here. Ma always said the better the food on the plates, the better the work on the ranch.”

“I haven’t eaten like this in… well, a really long time.”

He takes another bite, the melted Swiss leaving strings on his chin as he brings the spoon to his mouth.

“You’ve got a little,” I say, handing him a fresh napkin.

“Gosh, look at me.” He wipes his face. “Can’t take me anywhere.”

“You’re good.” I’m struck by how sweet he looks with cheese stuck in his stubble. “French onion is a favorite around here, but it’s awfully messy. Let me get your dinner plate.”

Returning from the kitchen with two plates, I sit next to him, and place a fork and knife on both our napkins.

“You haven’t eaten yet?”

“I had my soup with everyone earlier, but without Winnie, I was too busy to sit for dinner. I made myself a plate along with you and Beau.”

“You made all this?” He pulls his plate closer.

“Sure did. And everything on your plate comes from the ranch. Pris and I coordinate crops with menus. There was an abundance of zucchini so I whipped up some ratatouille. Our potatoes are some of the best in the state. I didn’t have as much time, so I roasted them in the oven while the veggies cooked. ”

“Well, this sure beats beans on toast.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. It’s nice to have a new mouth to stuff.”

Wylie coughs and covers his mouth with a napkin, and I grab the pitcher of water to fill his glass.

“I just meant everyone around here’s used to the food. So I’m grateful when someone new comes along.”

He nods and takes a bite of chicken.

“Lord. This sauce. It’s… sweet. Tangy. A little heat on the backend.”

My face cracks into an enormous smile.

“Ma’s recipe. Want to know the secret?” I ask, leaning toward him.

“Sure.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll have to tie you up and tickle you.”

His eyes go wide.

“That’s what Ma used to say to us kids.” I wink at him, his dark brown eyes going even wider. “Anyway, there’s coffee in there. And a little bit of peach puree.”

He shakes his head. “Ain’t that somethin’? Coffee and peaches in barbeque sauce. Who would’ve guessed?”

“Remember, it’s a secret,” I say, and mime zipping my mouth shut. “No telling. ”

“Who would I tell? The horses?”

“Well, don’t. Unless you fancy being tied up.” I shoot him a wink, and this time when he lowers his head, there’s no hat to veil his face, and I’m able to witness his cheeks flush pink.

“How’d you get to be such an amazing cook?”

“It’s all Benny’s fault.”

“Your brother?”

“Yup. With seven years between us, Beau and I were already helping our parents with chores around the ranch by the time Benny was born. His birth and infancy is what pushed Ma to let me help more in the kitchen. Beau was always outside with Pa, and I stayed in the kitchen with Ma. I went from sitting on the stool, gathering ingredients, and cleaning up after her to being her hands while she instructed me from the rocker Pa moved into the corner of the kitchen.” Mr. Anderson takes a long draw from his water, and I move to fill it back up.

“By the time Benny was walking, I was able to make almost anything Ma could without her guidance. For the next twelve years, Ma and I worked side-by-side. As she got older and standing longer and using her hands became more difficult, I slowly took over.”

“Imagine if he’d never been born. You might still be sitting on the stool in the kitchen.”

“I suppose,” I take a sip of water and attempt to fathom a world without Benny under foot or me in the kitchen.

“Now finish up so we can have dessert.” I put my fork down and wipe my lips. “Oh wait, you don’t like sweets.”

“I mean, depends on what it is.” His lips ease into a half smile. “And my mood.”

I stand and retrieve the plate covered with a large upside down roasting pan and place it on the table before us. Lifting the pan, I reveal the vanilla sheet cake slathered in my homemade strawberry buttercream frosting.

“Cake?” Wylie takes the last bite of his dinner and pushes the plate to the side.

“Sheet cake—nothing fancy, but why mess with…”

“Simple,” he says.

“Exactly. The classics are classic for a reason. Everyone loves cake. What do you think, Mr. Anderson? Fancy a slice?”

I hold the spatula, ready to serve.

With his lips pressed into a line, he glances at the cake, then me, then back to the dessert.

“Sure. I mean, pretty sure it’s a sin not to have cake.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Here’s a corner piece. Extra frosting. Just leave whatever you don’t want.”

I place a dessert fork next to his plate, but instead of digging in, he lifts the cake to his nose, taking a deep inhale.

“Smells like…” He closes his eyes, and when he takes another sniff, a tiny dab of frosting lands on his nose. “Heaven.”

“Um, you’ve got a little… just… Here, let me.”

I reach over, swipe the frosting from his nose with my index finger, and pop it into my mouth.

“Delicious.” He gazes at me as if I'm sweeter than the cake itself.

“You haven’t tasted it yet.” I nod to the plate.

He nods and takes a large forkful into his mouth. His face melts like a marshmallow over a campfire. Ma was right. There’s a direct path between a person’s heart and stomach.

“Mmmmh. Damn that’s good as gold.”

We sit and eat our cake, swapping an occasional smile when he moans with pleasure at the simplicity of vanilla cake with strawberry frosting.

It’s hard to ignore the scruff that covers his severe jaw as he chews.

When a dollop of frosting finds its way onto his lip again, the sweet, sugary scent fills the air before he wipes it off with his napkin, leaving me wanting another taste.

But I’m left watching as I eat my piece next to him.

Wylie clears his throat, the sound heavy in the still air. “Guess I should get to bed. Got an early morning.” He folds his napkin with a sharp motion and sets it beside his plate. “Need me to help with the table?”

“No, sir,” I say, “But hold on one sec.”

I retrieve a paper plate, plastic fork, and roll of foil from the hutch.

“Let me give you an extra piece. You know, in case you wake up in the middle of the night craving something sweet.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, grabbing his hat from the hook.

“Of course I don’t. But now I know you like… certain sweets.”

The foil crinkles as I tuck it under the plate and hand it to him. Our fingers brush again as he takes it, and a spark flickers in my belly—like the sudden flare when I light the stove.

“Much obliged.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he tilts his head back, his eyes locking onto mine for a heartbeat.

One corner of his mouth turns up in the slightest hint of a smile, and he heads toward the stairs.

As I watch him walk away—his jeans hugging everything just right—I catch the faintest taste of frosting on my lips.

Unable to resist, I run my tongue over my mouth as my eyes focus on Mr. Anderson’s ass.