Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17588 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17588 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Well, we may as well have dinner at home.
It needs to be romantic, though. So pizza or Chinese food aren’t going to cut it.
Right when I get home, I get the meat and vegetables marinating in a sauce that my mother taught me how to make as a kid. She tried to teach all of us to cook, saying that no kids of hers should have to subsist on ramen and microwave burritos alone.
I drive over to Cadence’s home when the time comes and she comes out, dressed beautifully as ever. She’s in red this time, a subtle floral design. Her parents watch from a nearby window, but they don’t come outside with her, or insist on inviting me in for a chat this time. They’re recognizing that this is all Cadence’s choice and that yes, she isn’t their little girl anymore.
By the time this night is done, I’m pretty sure that’s going to be less true than ever before.
“I’m curious what a man like Carter Rowdy is going to make me for dinner, to be completely honest,” she says as she hops in my truck.
“I boiled some hotdogs and microwaved a can of beans. That’s a good romantic dinner, right?”
She lightly punches me in the arm. “Can’t you at least make me some Hot Pockets? The ones with meatballs? Have some class, Carter.”
Fuck, she’s so sweet and precious. I’m going to have to work hard to be worthy of her.
But I can do it. She thinks I can do it. And that’s all that matters.
We come to my cabin on the edge of the Rowdy grazing land. There are a few of them, once meant to be places for our ranch hands to stay during the harsh rains of Washington and now acting as personal homes for us Rowdy boys. Places to call our own until we figure out what we want to do with our lives and arrange to have a proper home to call our own.
“Cozy,” she says as she follows me in. “This is your place?”
“Yep. I still have my room at the main house and I crash there sometimes because it’s nice to have people around. But if Cash is being too much of a pain, I can come here for peace and quiet.”
She wanders a bit, coming across a guitar in the corner. “You can play guitar?”
“A bit. I’m no master, but I’ve learned a few songs here and there. Your mother suggested learning to play would make me a better singer.”
“And hearing you this morning, I have to say that it definitely paid off.” She plucks the lowest string. “Maybe you can play me a song later, Carter.”
“I’ll do you one better. How about a duet between me and you? These walls are thick, so we can sing as loud as we want. As well as be as loud as we want in other ways.”
She giggles. “You’re ridiculous. But a duet really does sound like something special.”
I start dinner, heading out to the grill. Cadence follows me as I do my thing, seemingly in perpetual surprise. “I half expected you to be serious about the beans and franks. You’re grilling steaks?”
“Old family recipe. Marinated some good cuts of beef, and we’re having baked potatoes and vegetable kebabs, because one thing I’ll never forget is my mother badgering me hard about how important it is to eat vegetables.”
“You’re a rancher. I guess meat was especially important for you guys.”
“Eating chicken makes us traitors to our profession, you know.”
More laughter, its sweet sound captivating me. She leans against me when she can, watching me cook.
“You can make dinner and sing on top of bull wrestling and bar fighting. And you don’t think you’re good enough for me? You’re perfect for me, Carter.”
“Williams bets me to do something once and the whole town never forgets it.” I throw an arm around her shoulder and pull her close. “You’re perfect for me, Cadence. I can’t imagine another woman being as good for me as you are.”
We share a brief kiss, no ‘kiss the cook’ apron required. I continue my job as chef, basting and flipping the steaks and kebabs. I serve them out and we sit at the kitchen table to enjoy them. It lacks a lot of the fine dining atmosphere that the Italian restaurant had, but I don’t think either of us care. We have some pretty good food if I do say so myself, and Cadence agrees. We have conversation.
And most importantly, we have one another.
We finish our meal and move to the living room as I stoke a fire. I pull out the guitar and start to strum along to an old-fashioned country western song I always loved. I wasn’t lying when I said I’m not the most skilled of guitarists, but a good country riff isn’t as hard as some death metal guitar wankery. We just need something to sing along to.