A Husband In Wyoming. Lynnette Kent
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“Where do you intend to go?”
Jess couldn’t follow the references to different fields and pastures and fence lines and gates, but the brothers evidently reached a consensus about the route they’d be following with kids and cows. Susannah and Amber would be driving to meet them on the way with lunch.
“Wyatt can ride with you to give you directions,” Ford said. “Think that’ll work, Boss?”
“Sure.” His glance across the table seemed almost shy. “If Susannah doesn’t mind.”
She gave him a soft smile. “Of course not.”
Jess raised her hand. “Can I ride in the truck, too? I’d hate to miss the excitement.”
Dylan frowned at her. “Now, I was planning to teach you to ride directly after dinner. You should be ready to join us on horseback by Friday.”
Ford grinned. “In case that doesn’t work out, you’re certainly welcome to a seat in the truck.”
“Thank goodness,” Jess said with relief, and earned a general laugh.
Susannah stirred in her chair. “I’m amazed at how well you all understand the land and its character. What a privilege, to take care of your own piece of the earth.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “I’ll clear the dishes. Garrett, the ingredients for ice cream are ready.”
Jess started to rise. “Let me help.”
But Dylan put his fingers over hers on the table. “Not a chance. You relax.” The skin-to-skin contact shocked them both, and they jerked their hands apart again. He cleared his throat and reached for her plate. “We’ve got minions to spare.”
“Everybody should have minions,” she said, and he smiled without meeting her eyes. Jess realized she was holding the hand he’d touched in her other palm, and quickly laced her fingers together, setting both hands on the table.
Caroline appeared in the doorway of the dining room. “The kids are ready for ice cream,” she said. “More than ready.” To Jess, she said, “Come outside and meet everybody. They’re pretty mellow after dinner.”
Outside, a group of boys was playing catch in the open space in front of the ranch house. Three girls sat on the floor of the front porch staring at their phones. “Lizzie Hanson, Becky Rush and Lena Smith,” Caroline said, indicating which name belonged to whom. “Girls, this is Jess Granger. She’s a journalist who’s come to write an article about Mr. Dylan.”
Lizzie, a slender blonde wearing far more makeup than necessary, looked up from her phone. “A journalist? You mean, a writer?”
Jess nodded. “Yes. I write articles for a magazine.”
“Did you have to go to school for a long time to do that?”
“Four years of college.”
The girl heaved a sigh. “That’s a lot.”
Redheaded Becky nudged Lizzie with an elbow. “You could do it. You like to write.”
“Do you?” Jess sat in the nearby rocking chair. “What do you write?”
Lizzie shrugged one shoulder. “Just stuff. Things I make up.”
“Well, that’s the way to start. The more you write, the better you get at it.” She caught Lena’s gaze. “You were riding the bucking barrel this afternoon, weren’t you? That’s pretty impressive.”
The girl shrugged. “It’s fun. Women can do the same things men do.”
“Absolutely.” Jess grinned at Caroline when Lena’s attention returned to her typing. “Are the teenagers churning the ice cream?”
“That’s the plan.”
“I’ve seen pictures,” Jess confessed. “But I’ve never actually eaten homemade ice cream.”
“That’s okay,” Becky told her, with a grin. “I never had any till I came here, either. But it’s awesome.”
“Thanks.” Jess grinned back at the friendly girl. She really didn’t seem to be the troublesome type.
Garrett had carried the ice-cream maker out to the area in front of the porch and was adding ice and salt to the bucket. “Okay, guys,” he called. “I need some strong arms over here.”
The boys sauntered toward the porch. “Not exactly a stampede,” Jess commented. “Typical adolescents.”
“They wouldn’t want you to believe they were enthusiastic.” Caroline smiled while shaking her head. “Cooperation is not cool.”
“How well I remember.” Jess caught Caroline’s quick glance in her direction, but she didn’t say anything else. She didn’t want her memories to disrupt the peaceful evening.
Thomas, one of the boys she’d watched this afternoon, took the first shift on the ice-cream crank. Caroline introduced another boy, Justino, who gave her a solemn “Hi,” before sitting down next to Lena. They immediately became completely absorbed in each other, locking gazes and murmuring a conversation for their ears alone.
Jess looked at Caroline with a raised eyebrow.
“They kept it a secret,” Caroline said quietly, “until after they got here. Ford and I have been standing guard duty to be sure they stay where they’re supposed to be after lights-out.” She gave a mischievous grin. “That has its pluses and minuses.”
Ford opened the screen door at that moment and came to stand beside Caroline. Although they didn’t touch, the meeting of their gazes was as warm as a hug.
With an uncomfortable fluttering in her chest, Jess shifted her attention to the ice-cream process.
“It’s getting hard,” Marcos said.
“Let me,” Thomas ordered. “You been doing it forever.”
Marcos shook his head. “You started. I’m still doin’ okay.”
The other boy pushed at his shoulder. “Give somebody else a chance.”
Marcos rounded on him, fists clenched.
Seeming to come from out of nowhere, Dylan stepped between them. “It’s my turn, guys. Stand aside.”
Both boys retreated as Dylan bent over the ice-cream churn. He grabbed the handle but groaned as he cranked it. “This is hard. Can’t be too much longer till it’s done.”
Jess couldn’t decide if he was faking it to make the boys feel better. He did continue to rotate the handle for a while. But he’d averted a fight. She had to admire his presence of mind.
Once the churn was open, he came across the porch to hand her one of the two bowls he carried. “Enjoy.”
“Thanks.” She sampled cautiously, discovering a rich, smooth treat that rivaled any vanilla ice cream she’d ever tasted. “Wow. You must have the magic touch.”
“A great recipe helps.” Dylan settled into the rocker beside hers. “Lots of eggs and sugar and cream. Susannah makes a mean custard.”
“Mmm.” Jess didn’t want to confess she didn’t understand what he meant.
“What’s your favorite flavor?” he asked.
“At home by myself with a movie? Mint chocolate chip. For my birthday, I go to a shop in Brooklyn and order Earl Grey tea ice cream. How about you?”
“As far as I’m concerned, the more chocolate, the better. Dark chocolate with dark chocolate chunks and dark chocolate syrup. On a dark chocolate brownie.”
Jess found herself watching as he licked his spoon clean. Swallowing hard, she shifted her gaze to the darkness beyond the reach of the porch light. “I believe I get the idea.”
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