She picked up the phone to contact the designer.
Rory and Jessica—with an assist from Maureen—were as good as their word. By five o’clock, Bodine had a fleshed-out proposal on her desk and a mock-up of a design, the language, the price points.
Tweaking it, approving it, getting the approved copy to the designer added another hour, but she counted it well worth the time.
As she left for the day, she looked toward the Dining Hall, scanned the cars and trucks in the lot. Several Kias and a good number of SUVs, trucks, and cars from outside diners.
Good enough.
She wanted her own dinner, and some quiet time when she didn’t have to have the answers. Maybe an early night.
After she pulled up at the ranch, she grabbed her briefcase and walked into the mudroom outlining an evening agenda in her mind:
Glass of wine.
Dinner.
Long, hot shower.
A couple hours inside a book.
Sleep.
Sounded just perfect.
She caught the scent of—pretty damn sure—Clementine’s lasagna, and decided there was a God.
As Bodine walked into the kitchen, Clementine—all six rawboned feet of clear-your-plate-and-don’t-give-me-no-sass-no-nonsense—let out one of her cackling laughs.
“Boy, you haven’t changed one smidgen of one inch.”
“Nothing in this world or the next could change my deep and abiding love for you.”
Bodine knew that voice, the smooth, sly charm of it, and looked to where Callen Skinner leaned against the counter, drinking a beer while Clementine loaded up the dishwasher.
CHAPTER THREE
He’d changed a smidgen of an inch, Bodine thought.
He’d been on the skinny side of lean when he’d left. He’d filled out some. Long legs and narrow hips gave him a rangy look, but he’d broadened out in the shoulders, fined down in the face.
It had always been a good face, but now the angles were sharper, the jaw firmer. He wore his hair, which was the shade of a winter deer hide, longer than she remembered, so it curled a bit around his ears and over the collar of his shirt.
She wondered if his hair still took on streaks from the sun when he left his hat off more than ten minutes. He turned his head, looked straight at her, and she saw his eyes were the same: that deceptively calm gray that could take on hints of blue or green.
“Hey there, Bodine.”
Clementine swung around, stuck her fists on her bony hips. “About damn time. You think I’m running a cafeteria? You’re lucky there’s a scrap left for you to eat.”
“Blame Rory. He’s the one that dumped work on me at the end of the day. Hey there, Callen.”
“You wash your hands,” Clementine ordered. “Then sit yourself down at the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Want a beer?” Callen asked her.
“She’ll want a glass of that red wine she’s taken to drinking ’cause it wards off heart problems or some such thing. That there,” Clementine said, pointing.
“Is that so? I’ll get that for you.” Callen sauntered over, got a wineglass, poured while Bodine dutifully washed her hands.
“You eat this salad.” Clementine heaped some into a bowl, drizzled something on it, tossed it. “And don’t give me any lip about the dressing.”
“No, ma’am. Thanks,” she added when Callen handed her the glass.
She sat, took the first sip of wine, then as Clementine whipped a napkin over her lap, picked up her fork. “You sit down there and keep her company, Cal. Half the time late to supper and eating alone. Half the time! There’s a plate keeping warm in the oven, and see that she eats every bite.”
“I’ll do that.”
“You want some more apple pie?”
“My darling Clem, I’m sorry to say I’ve got no place to put another.”
“Well then, you take a nice slab of it over to the shack when you leave.” She gave him a pinch on the cheek, and his grin flashed like a summer lightning bolt.
“Welcome home. I’m going on now.” Instead of a pinch on the cheek, Bodine got a light slap on the back of the head that ended in a caress. “Every bite, young lady. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Clementine.” Bodine let the door of the mudroom close before she let out a sigh, picked up her wine again. “You don’t have to sit here and watch me eat.”
“Said I would. I swear I’d run off and marry that woman for her bite alone. Her cooking’d just be a bonus.” He took a slow pull on his beer, watching Bodine over it. “You got prettier.”
“You think?”
“I see. You always were pretty, but you added to it. How are you otherwise?”
“Good. Busy. Good and busy. You?”
“Glad to be back. I wasn’t sure I would be, so that’s a nice bonus, too.”
“You haven’t had time to miss Hollywood yet.”
He rolled his shoulders. “It was good work. Interesting. Harder than you think—harder than I thought when I jumped into it.”
To her mind the best and most satisfying work usually was. “Did you get what you needed from it?”
His eyes met hers again. “Yeah.”
“I know it’s been a couple years, but I want to say I’m sorry about your father. And sorry I wasn’t at the funeral.”
“Appreciate it. I recall you were sick, flu or something.”
“Or something. Three days of it. Sickest I’ve ever been, and I don’t look to repeat it.”
“While we’re at the sorrys, I’m sorry about your grandpa—great-grandpa. He was a good man.”
“About the best. How’s your ma, Callen?”
“Doing good. Better off where she is, with a grandbaby to spoil, another coming. We’re selling off the rest of the old place to your daddy.”
Bodine picked at the salad. “I don’t know if I should say I’m sorry.”
“No need. It doesn’t mean anything to me. Hasn’t for a long time.”
That might be true, she thought, but it had still been his birthright. “We’ll make good use of it.”
“I reckon you will.” He got up, took her plate out of the oven. “And look at you, Bodine,” he said as he set the plate in front of her. “Running the whole damn resort.”
Since Clementine wasn’t there to give her the beady eye, Bodine added a few good grinds from the pepper mill.
She liked the heat.
“I don’t do it by myself.”
“From what I hear, you all but could. I did some work for you today,” he added. “Chase figured it’d be best if I went over and worked with Abe, since it’s been some years, and get a feel for the operation.”
She’d known—only because Chase had thought to text her, after the fact. “Did you get a feel?”
“Got a start of one. So I’ll tell you, if you want to hear it.”
He waited a beat. She shrugged and ate lasagna.
“I agree with Abe on how you should hire another horseman. It’s true enough you can pull from the ranch, but you’d be better with somebody over there who sticks over there. I can take over for Abe easy enough by the time he leaves next month, but you’re still one short.”