Page 51 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

MESA

SIX MONTHS LATER

Tripp’s smile is warm with pride as he steps away from the Christmas tree. I smile, but my lips are pressed together in hidden amusement. He’s lucky he’s cute. The man cannot arrange ornaments to save his life.

“Don’t all clap at once,” he says, scanning the room.

At the dining table, Gage is scowling down at a tangled mess of lights and extension cords.

Warren is ignoring Tripp as well, focusing instead on his role as the designated unpacker.

He bites the inside of his cheek while gingerly pulling a miniature post office from a foam-padded storage box marked Christmas Village .

Heston looks over from where he’s wrapping garland around the banister of the staircase to the loft. He’s not allowed to touch anything breakable while we’re decorating, per Blythe’s orders.

When he snorts at the sight of Tripp’s handiwork and opens his mouth to comment, I clear my throat and shoot him a warning look.

“The tree looks perfect,” I quickly say to Tripp. “You did great.”

The moment Blythe and Savannah see it, they will immediately get to work redistributing the ornaments to be more evenly spaced. They might even move it entirely from its current spot next to the fireplace.

But me? I couldn’t care less how pitiful the tree looks or where it stands.

What I care about is that Tripp is not big on Christmas.

And yet, he hasn’t once complained about trimming the bunkhouse with cheerful decor today.

He didn’t bat an eye while watching The Holiday every night this week or even when I asked him to run into town for my third bag of marshmallows in as many days, either.

I’ve been kneeling on the living room floor surrounded by wrapping paper and an ungodly number of presents all afternoon, and he’s been here the whole time—cracking jokes to keep me smiling.

Having Tripp around makes even the most draining activities enjoyable.

How many women are out there right now wishing they didn’t have to tiptoe around a man’s mood swings or unwillingness to participate in things he isn’t as interested in as they are?

Grateful isn’t even a strong enough word for how I feel. I knew he was special, and being with him for the past six months has only made it more apparent to me.

I toss the scissors next to a roll of tape nearby, and then carefully step over a maze of gifts to stand in front of him and wrap my arms around his waist.

“Maybe the branches need more fluffing,” he suggests, studying the tree.

I tilt my head until he finally looks down at me. “You can fluff my branches.”

“Yikes.” He winces, but there’s a trace of a smile on his face. “Did you pull that one from your notes app of ideas or was it just off the dome?”

I laugh and swat the middle of his back. “If you don’t like my innuendos, just say that.”

Tripp bends forward, and soon I’m shivering at the feel of his lips grazing over the side of my neck. “I love ‘em. Never stop.”

I swallow back emotion as he plants sweet, featherlight kisses on my neck. There’s no lustful hunger or insatiable need as his mouth covers my sensitive skin, and I like that his affection is altruistic. No expectations of reward or a score to settle.

He kisses me just to kiss me. Just because he wants to.

No one else has ever done that before. Only him.

My arms tighten around him, and I close my eyes, attempting to memorize the feeling. It’s like driving slowly on a dirt road with the windows down and a nostalgic song playing on the radio. Or like submerging yourself in a warm bath after playing for hours out in the frigid snow.

All he’s done since our whirlwind of a summer is make me feel this way. A constant flow of comfort.

At that moment, Savannah walks through the door. We turn our heads in her direction, and she widens her eyes like she’s seen a ghost. As quickly as she opened it, she rushes back outside and closes the door again.

“What was that about?” I ask.

Tripp shrugs, and Warren is too concentrated on not breaking a ceramic hot chocolate stand to even notice what just happened.

“I need a shower, and we should probably head to your place soon,” Tripp suggests. “Get you packed up for this weekend.”

I fly out for a speaking engagement in less than twenty-four hours and have yet to pack a single thing. I almost turned it down because of the timing, but my return flight gets back the day before Christmas Eve.

It’s my second time presenting my mission-based app development experience to a group of young, aspiring entrepreneurs. Since the first one was posted on YouTube, the number of college programs calling me to host a panel or lecture has been slightly overwhelming.

I never thought I’d be traveling around the country to mentor young adults who share my passion for creating something like I did with my app. But if I can influence them to focus on positively impacting their communities instead of chasing a buck, I’ll take every opportunity that comes my way.

With a sigh, I pull away from Tripp and reach for the phone in my pocket that’s been buzzing for the last minute.

He kisses me on the cheek before walking down the hall to his room, but instead of following him to grab some of my things, I’m fixated on the string of odd text notifications on the screen in my hand.

Blythe

Is Heston in there?

Hello??

Mesa! ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE.

If you see this, act like you’re going to take the trash out or something and come out back. Don’t tell anyone we’re out here!

I scrunch my nose. What in the hell is she freaking out about? I slowly pocket my phone and briefly scan the room. Gage, Warren, and Heston are all preoccupied and none the wiser. Tripp is probably in the shower by now.

Without a word, I slip on my denim jacket and creep out the back door.

“Psst!”

My head whips to the left, where three heads pop up from behind a palette of cedar fiber that has yet to be unloaded in the horse barn. I squint as Blythe frantically waves me over.

“What the hell are y’all doing?” I whisper, nearly out of breath from jogging to them.

Savannah grabs the bottom of my shirt and pulls me down to crouch out of sight. The four of us face each other in a circle as if we’re strategizing in a child’s game of capture the flag, and I can’t help but laugh.

Hattie Jo puts a finger over her mouth. “Shh! They’re going to hear you.”

Her face is red and splotchy, but maybe she’s just cold. She’s wearing a black cap, pulled low to her brow like she doesn’t want anyone to recognize her. If that’s her goal, it isn’t going to work, because her signature icy blonde hair still falls over her shoulders.

“I’m obviously missing something. What on earth are you doing here?” I whisper to Hattie.

“She called us, losing her shit over trying to get through the gate without being seen,” Blythe explains. “We snuck her in.”

My heart almost leaps out of my chest with joy because Hattie thought to call Blythe and Savannah for help with something, and they seemed to have jumped in right away to fix whatever mess she’s gotten herself into.

Over the summer, the vibe between these three was still rocky at best. I like this current dynamic much better.

“I thought for sure you and Tripp would be at your house by now, and that the rest of the guys would be off doing something in a pasture somewhere,” Blythe continues, more frantic now. “But Heston is still in there and?—”

“Calm down,” I cut in gently. “Tripp and I were just about to leave. You could have come and gotten me sooner. Why would you be waiting for us to be gone?”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Hattie clarifies with an undertone of regret. “I just—I thought you’d tell Tripp, and then—and then?—”

Savannah peeks over our hiding spot, then quickly ducks back down.

“I fucked up, Mesa.” Hattie covers her distraught eyes before continuing. “Bad.”

I keep my voice as comforting as possible. “Tell me what happened.”

Reluctantly, she lifts her left hand.

I gasp while staring at the glacier-sized rock on her ring finger. When she went on a date recently, I didn’t think much of it, and I certainly didn’t know she’d be engaged less than a month later.

“Heston is going to flip,” I nearly shout, then lower my voice to a sharp whisper. “Oh my freaking god, Hattie. Is this real?”

She nods. “I need to tell Heston myself. If he sees that invitation in there, it’ll be worse than hearing it from me.”

Savannah shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t care.”

The rest of us shoot her a look that says yeah fucking right.

“I got the mail this morning,” Blythe says with a softened voice. “I didn’t even look through it before putting it in the kitchen. One of us needs to go in there and get the invitation without any of the guys noticing. They’re all certified blabbermouths in that secret little group chat of theirs.”

“Hattie,” I sigh with frustration. “Maybe inviting your ex to your wedding wasn’t the brightest idea.”

“I’m not that dumb,” she defends. “It was my dad. He and Heston hate each other.”

I let out a deep breath and try to remain calm, despite the way Hattie’s quivering lower lip tells me she’s about to start crying.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Savannah says.

It’s her time to shine as the analytical one in our bunch.

“I’ll call Warren and tell him we have an emergency dinner date in town.

He won’t even question it. Blythe, you go home.

Gage will be much tougher to pull away, so send him a topless pic or something.

That should get him out of here in a hurry.

And Mesa, you’re going to have to tell Tripp what’s going on. ”

“No!” Hattie yells, then instantly covers her mouth.

“We don’t have a choice,” Savannah argues. “Mesa can’t fool both of them. Tripp is the only one who will be able to distract Heston. We need his help.”

“Tripp will be no help,” Hattie groans. “You know damn well he will tell Hes immediately.”

“Hes?” Blythe calls out Hattie on the nickname slip with a quirked eyebrow.

“Ugh.” Hattie pulls her hat down over her eyes with a mumble. “Shut up.”

“Tripp won’t tell Heston if I tell him not to,” I cut in. “But even if he agrees, then who’s going to get the invitation? Hattie? And then what? She just sprints down the lane and into the field across the road?”

“This isn’t going to work.” Blythe throws her head back with a dramatic whine. “You’re screwed, Hattie Jo. We haven’t even considered the cameras. They’re everywhere around here. My husband probably already knows you’re here and that we’re up to something stupid.”

“Smart guess,” a deep voice confirms.

Blythe’s eyes slam shut, and she twists her face. Slowly, the rest of us look up and over her head to see Gage standing behind her with his arms crossed.

Lucky, Heston’s dog, is sitting patiently at his side, and I start to panic that her owner isn’t far behind.

Gage frowns and gives a curt nod. “Hattie.”

“Hello, Gage,” she whispers with a grimace just as Lucky pads toward her and lays her head in Hattie’s lap. “Good to . . . see you?”

“Likewise,” Gage responds flatly with a cocked eyebrow.

Blythe finally stands. Her palm smooths up Gage’s chest, and he narrows his eyes at her before leaning down and speaking quietly right next to her ear.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes?” she answers.

“I love you,” Gage states, “and I’ll be home as soon as I get this taken care of.”

Blythe nods happily, but swallows hard when he pulls away from her ear and she sees the quick change in his expression.

“Now, get your little fugitive off this ranch before Heston finds her and burns the whole damn place to the ground.” He looks over Blythe’s head to dart his eyes between me and Savannah. “And take the rest of your scheming little posse with you.”

I snort while trying to hide a laugh, and Savannah swats my arm.

“You’re not going to tell him about the invitation, are you?” Hattie chimes in desperately.

Gage ignores her, and after kissing Blythe, he walks away. Savannah immediately ducks her head and takes Hattie’s hand to sneak her back to the car before anyone else notices her.

I purse my lips and narrow my eyes at the bunkhouse.

“Don’t,” Blythe warns me. “We’re in so much trouble if you?—”

But I’m already following Gage inside.