CHAPTER 2

C HAPTER 2

Pen set her notebook on the kitchen table and found her pencil. Bernie had given her a list of guests and the basic layout of the ranch and asked her to work out how to fit everyone in for both the ceremony and the sit-down reception afterward. Thirty guests didn't sound like a lot until you tried to squeeze them into spaces meant for a family of four.

She walked through the kitchen and onward into the family room, where a basket of toys sat beside a large TV and a couch. Everyone who lived at the ranch was out, and it was blessedly quiet, which gave her time to think things through. The family room was the biggest indoor space available, and unless Pen could come up with an alternative that didn't involve remodeling the house, it would have to double as both the place for the actual wedding and the meal afterward.

Pen turned a slow circle and nibbled the end of her pencil. Clearing the room of furniture wouldn't be a problem, and introducing rows of folding chairs was very doable. But because it was the only usable large space on the ranch, they wouldn't be able to set up the tables for the dinner until the last minute, which left the problem of what to do with the guests while the transformation happened.

She went back into the hallway and contemplated the closed doors that ran down both sides. There were four bedrooms, but none of them were big enough to house the guests, so where was she going to put them?

Pen got out her phone and sent a text to Bernie, who was working at the café.

Does anyone have a tape measure up here?

Bernie replied quickly.

How would I know? I don't live there yet. Check in with Luke or Sally. Or try the second drawer on the right in the kitchen. That's where they keep all their junk.

Pen headed back to the kitchen and had just opened the drawer when the screen door banged, and someone came into the mudroom.

"Hey, Luke!" Pen called out. "I swear I'm not a burglar. I'm just going through your stuff." She started looking through the miscellaneous things stuffed into the drawer.

Behind her someone cleared their throat. "I'm not Luke."

Pen jumped and spun around, a ladle in her hand.

"Rob?"

He gestured at the ladle. "Do you want to put that down?"

"You startled me."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn't expecting anyone to be home."

"Neither was I." Pen set the ladle on the countertop. "Are you here about the wedding?"

A crease appeared between his brows. "No, why would I be?"

"Because you're here."

Rob just stared at her.

Pen regarded him carefully. "And you look different."

"That's probably because I'm not in my work clothes."

He wore a tight black T-shirt, jeans, and socks, and his hair looked like it had been flattened under a hat.

"In fact, you look like a cowboy," Pen said.

His faint smile made her stare at his mouth.

"I guess that makes sense, since I live on a ranch."

"You live here?" Pen blinked at him.

"Yeah."

"Since when?"

"Since Luke offered to rent me one of the converted bunkhouses."

"I thought you lived with Anton in town."

"I did for a while, but he needed his space back." Rob looked out the window. "I like it here, and Luke gives me a break on the rent if I help out on the ranch."

"You do the cooking?"

"Nope."

"Then what do you do?"

"Cowboy stuff." He gestured at the ladle. "Can I help you find something? I know my way around this kitchen pretty well now. Sally insists I eat most of my meals with the family."

"I was looking for a tape measure," Pen said, aware that he'd obviously had enough of her incessant questions and certainly wasn't going to tell her how he knew how to cowboy up. "I'm trying to work out where to put the guests after the ceremony in the family room while we set up the tables for the wedding reception."

He glanced down the hallway. "Yeah, that's a tough one."

"I was thinking that if we took out the table in the kitchen there would at least be room to serve drinks." Pen frowned. "But then they'd be in the way of the food prep, and the kitchen staff won't like that."

"What about the mudroom?" Rob suggested.

"Too small, but it might work as a flow-through from the kitchen. Maybe if we put a narrow barrier between the dining areas and the actual kitchen and then remove the table, there would be enough space." Pen walked toward it. "Although I wonder whether we could rig up some kind of awning outside the house and send everyone out there."

Rob had followed her. "Not if it's snowing."

She sighed. "This isn't as easy as I'd thought it would be. Bernie's going to regret asking me to do anything."

"You'll figure it out," Rob said, and then paused. "I just came in to get something to eat before I go back to town. Can I get you anything?"

Pen checked the time. "I should be going soon myself. I've got a shift at the bookstore today while Mom's out."

"Just coffee, then?"

"That would be great."

She watched him deal with the coffee machine in his usual precise manner. He handed her a mug.

"Here you go."

"Thanks." She sipped her coffee as he looked in the fridge and got out some eggs. "Are you making an omelet?"

He got out a frying pan. "Yeah."

"Nice."

He turned to face her. "Are you sure you don't want one?"

"No, I'm good," she reassured him.

He frowned. "Did you have breakfast?"

Pen stared at him. "No."

"You should."

He started cracking eggs with one hand into a bowl, added various seasonings, and took a bag of cheese from the fridge.

"Why should I have breakfast?" Pen asked.

"It's good for you."

Rob put some butter in the heated pan and swirled it around, releasing a snap of salt and fat that made Pen lick her lips. She knew she should leave, but watching Rob cook was something else. His movements were so efficient and precise.

He added the egg mixture and swirled it expertly in the pan, flipped it, and sprinkled on cheese and fresh herbs. He set the omelet on a plate and looked over at Pen.

"Eat this."

"But it's yours."

"I made enough for two. Go ahead." He turned back to the stove. "I can't have you going hungry."

"I . . ." Pen moved closer to the table. The omelet looked perfect and smelled divine. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, all his attention on the pan. Pen sat down and carefully cut into the omelet. She ate the first bite and almost moaned.

"How do you get something so simple to taste so good?" she asked.

He offered her a quick smile. "Practice."

He joined her at the table and started eating his own omelet. Silence fell as they both dug in.

"Where did you learn to cook?" Pen asked.

He didn't look up. "Here and there."

He wasn't one of the world's great conversationalists, which made Pen want to fill the quiet with inane chatter. She determinedly didn't do that and continued to eat.

Eventually she finished her omelet. "That was delicious."

"You're welcome." Rob was still focused on his plate.

Pen rinsed her dishes, placed them in the dishwasher, and took the pan over to the sink.

"Don't worry about that," Rob said. "I'll take care of it."

She left the pan and turned to look at Rob. She was a totally easygoing person, but something was bugging her. His brown eyes reluctantly met hers, and he went still.

"What's up?"

Pen took a deep breath. "Do I annoy you?"

"No more than anyone else in the world. Why?"

"Because why go to all the bother of making me lunch and then ignore me?"

A crease appeared between his brows. "You looked hungry. I fed you."

"And that's it?"

"What more do you want?" He appeared generally confused.

"Most people make conversation while they eat. I'm told it's supposed to be a social occasion," Pen said. "I know you're shy, but—"

"I'm not shy," he insisted.

"Okay, that means you just don't like talking to me."

"Why would you want to talk to me?" Rob asked. "We have nothing in common."

Pen bit her lip. "I'd better get back. Thanks again."

She went into the mudroom, grabbed her coat and put on her boots. She was halfway to her truck when she heard Rob coming after her.

"Pen . . ."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. That didn't come out right."

She shrugged. "It's okay. I know I'm weird. It's the ADD. A lot of people don't like to talk to me."

"That's not it!" He looked appalled. "You're . . . great. It's me. I'm the problem." He shoved a hand through his thick, dark hair. "I'm not used to sharing stuff, and what the hell could I talk to you about that wouldn't make you regret asking? My bad behavior, my addiction to painkillers, or my prison record?"

"You were in prison?"

"Yeah." He finally looked her straight in the eye. "Are you still sure you want to talk to me?"

"If you can deal with me having the attention span of a gnat and for asking the world's most intrusive questions then, yes. I'm pretty sure I can."

"You can't help having ADD. I caused everything bad that happened to me."

"It's not a competition, Rob." Pen opened the door of her truck. "I'm sure both of us could do with a friend. Let me know if you change your mind."