13. Fable

Chapter 13

Fable

I 'm starting to think no one else wants to hang out with me when Gunnar meets me again on the third day. I'd foolishly thought that Rhett was going to show me around when he'd openly flirted with me the first day, but it seems like he has other things he has to attend to. Of course, Trent doesn't want to hang out with me, since he barely wants to even look at me. And I haven't met the fourth member of the group yet. I'm not sure what business he's away on, but someone mentions he's bringing back another puppy, so I stop asking. I just hope I get to pet the puppy when he comes back.

On the third day, I run out of the "cowgirl" clothing I'd purchased. I hate it immediately. My eyes dance over to my sewing machine, but I dismiss the idea of using it. It still hurts to think about, so I pull on a t-shirt and jeans instead, which turns out to be for the best.

Gunnar lets me know as soon as I make my way to breakfast that I won't actually be hanging out with him and that I'll instead be in the big house with Mel if I'd like. So that's how I find myself in a massive commercial-sized kitchen beside Mel as we work on bread dough.

"The key to a good dough is giving it enough time to rise," Mel explains as we each knead our own hunks of dough. "These will be the perfect rolls in time for dinner."

"I don't think I've ever made my own bread," I muse. "I've always considered it, and I even tried it once, but the bread came out flat."

He nods. "Sourdough?"

"How'd you know?"

"Everyone starts with sourdough," he laughs. "I can teach you how to make bread, but we're high up in altitude. Things work differently here than they do at sea level, but I'm sure things can be adjusted for Florida when you go back home."

"I'd love that," I say, smiling up at him.

My arms start to ache from kneading by the time Mel deems it time to pinch off balls and set them on trays. It's not only the two of us in the kitchen either. Mel doesn't work alone. There are two other woman and a teenage boy in the kitchen with us, helping out. The women, Juanita and Barb, are a team that work without speaking. Their work is only interrupted when they crack a joke at each other or goad Mel about some recipe. The teenager listens to music on his headphones and mostly ignores everyone, but I can tell he takes his work very seriously.

"George wants to be a chef," Mel explains when I ask. "I give him free reign in the kitchen as long as he helps with meals. Sometimes, I let him decide the meals. He makes a really good meatloaf. Best I've ever had."

"That's so sweet of you," I say.

"Not really. I get to eat good food, and I get help," he shrugs. "Purely beneficial. Poor George hasn't had the best of luck in the life department, so he always has a permanent spot here at Circle Bee thanks to Rhett."

"I can hear you," George says, but he doesn't look up from where he grinds rosemary up.

"Wasn't trying to be quiet," Mel says. "You makin' your roast chicken seasoning, kid?"

"Of course," he answers.

"Good. George makes the best seasoning mix for chicken, too. I swear."

This time, George looks up at the pride in Mel's voice and something flashes in his eyes. I can tell that this place, this kitchen, is home to him. Whatever happened to bring him here, Mel might as well be his father, and he only works to make him proud.

"I look forward to seeing what you can do, George," I say with a smile. "I'm not the best cook, but I can eat." I pat my stomach to prove my point and the first hint of a smile cracks George's face.

"Wait until you try Mel's cheesecake. You'll gain a few pounds just by lookin' at it," he warns.

"Pounds well worth it, I'm sure," I laugh, and settle into a comfortable work routine. I decide right then and there that I'll be back to help Mel. I enjoy my time way too much to never come back.

"So how long have you been here at Circle Bee?" I ask Mel once we get the rolls on the trays and have them set out to rise.

"Fifteen years," he admits. "Long before young Rhett had to take over and his momma and daddy ran this place. When I first got hired, Rhett was barely eleven. His sister, gosh, she was a baby still. Cutest little thing, too. She'd have grown up to be a fine woman. I have no doubt about that." When his words turn sad, I can't help but reach out and squeeze his arm in comfort.

"What happened to them?" I ask, curious, but keeping my tone neutral so he knows he doesn't have to tell me if he doesn't want to.

Mel shifts on his stool where he snaps fresh green beans. "A tragedy really. Car wreck while Rhett was at school. His parents and his little sister. All gone in the blink of an eye. He was only sixteen."

I tense at his words and look away. I want to ask more, but my heart is too loud in my ears, and I can't bring myself to. It's too close to my own trauma, too profoundly similar, that I can't stomach opening my mouth and prying anymore. "Everyone here seems like good people," I say instead, changing the subject. My heart starts to immediately calm as Mel follows my lead.

"The best people," he nods. "The boys, they may not like it when I talk about them, but every one of them are honorable and good men. Rhett can be cocky, but him and his friends have kept this place afloat. The investors came sniffing around right after he took over, like vultures, but he kept them at bay. It takes a special kind of man to do that."

Mel looks down instead of at me, and though I can hear the pride in his voice, there's something else there, too, something. . . hesitant. I don't ask, mostly because it feels like a story I should get from the men in question.

"Investors come around in times of loss like that?" I ask.

"Oh, do they. From all walks of life, from other countries, everything. They come crawling out of the woodwork the moment a ranch has a little bit of struggle. Thunder Valley Homestead is dealing with that right now. Ole Frank is on hospice. Brain cancer. His family is scrambling to figure things out before he passes, and the bank is chomping at the bits to jerk it right out from underneath them. The thirteen are important for many reasons, but our location is real good. We all supply something beneficial, and while some of the ranches have been sold and passed onto new families, and some have even been renamed, there're still always thirteen, and every year we all join together for the Green River drift, minus two ranches who don't participate."

"Gunnar told me about that," I muse. "It sounds amazing."

"It's a sight you'll never forget," he nods. "You're here for their trek home, but you should come out in the spring one year and see it for yourself."

"I'd like that," I nod.

"I'ma hold you to that," he says, pointing at me with a green bean. "I expect you out here in April next year."

"We'll see," I laugh, moving a stool up to help him with the rest of the green beans.

The sunrise the next day is a sight I think I'll remember for the rest of my life. The way it rises over the mountains and begins to shine on the dew from the evening before makes something in my soul ease, like I'm able to breathe for the first time in a long time. It's like I've never seen a sunrise before, not like this at least, and I snap a quick picture with my phone, so I'll never forget the colors. My hands itch to sew an outfit inspired by it, but I just tuck them back into my pocket, hiding them away, fighting the urge.

From a distance, I catch sight of Trent disappearing into the large garage, always in and out, never lingering in any other place besides the big house. He never looks over at me, never says a word. It's as if he thinks he can make me disappear by just ignoring me. I suppose it's working for him, but it only intrigues me further. What secrets does he hold? Why doesn't he want to spend any time at all with me? I don't buy Rhett's mention of him being shy as the real reason he wants nothing to do with me.

I expect today to be more of the same pattern, but with the early afternoon sun comes something new.

A silver pickup truck with a kennel in the back of it pulls into the main drive and parks. A man hops out, tall and lean with blond hair swept into a style that looks both disheveled and perfectly placed. He's leaner than the others, but that doesn't seem to deter him. He lifts the kennel out of the bed of the truck and plops it on the ground effortlessly.

"You must be Fable," he says as he looks up at me when I approach. "I'm Colt King. Sorry I couldn't be here when you arrived, but it's nice to meet you finally."

I wave away his words. "I'm hardly worth stopping business for," I reply. "Besides, I hear you had an important mission."

He pauses at my words, and so fast I almost miss it, his eyes dance down my body before he looks back down at the kennel. "Yes, well, to make up for it, you can meet the newest member of Circle Bee, the very important mission you mentioned."

He opens the door, and a tiny ball of white and gray fur comes tumbling out. "Meet Rugby. He's from a long line of working old English sheepdogs and comes with a beautiful pedigree to match."

"Oh!" I cry, kneeling down immediately. The puppy comes running right up to me, all happy butt wiggles and little yips. "Nice to meet you, Rugby!" He's so soft and fluffy, I can't help but pick him up and hold him. "Don't tell Rhett, but I think you're my favorite," I tell Colt with a grin.

He leans against the truck. "And all I had to do was bring a puppy home to be the favorite. Imagine how much I'll be ahead of the others when you actually know somethin' ‘bout me."

Though his words sound like flirting, his expression barely changes, as if he's keeping his emotions under check. The man certainly has a poker face that could win every game. I peer up at him, at the way he holds himself, and something tells me he used to be in some position of power, or maybe he still is.

"You planning on sticking around for the rest of my time here?" I ask, looking up at him.

The way he looks down at me, the way his eyes focus on mine, makes it feel like this is where he wants me, which is such a silly thing to flicker through my mind. Still, my chest tightens at that thought, at the way he holds me hostage with his gaze. Where Gunnar is all respectful and kind smiles, Colt feels like he'd do nothing but disrespect me and I'd somehow still enjoy it. But for the life of me, I can't figure out why he gives that impression. There's nothing about him that overtly says that. It's just his presence.

"I'll be here," he reassures me. "Don't you worry, Fable Everhart. I'll even come find you in a few days to show you what it is I do on this ranch."

Why does my mind go to sex with that promise? Colt King is a dangerous one. But damn if I'm not interested in finding out how.