7. Just Peaches

Chapter 7

Just Peaches

M aeve winced as she heard what sounded like the phone on the other end of the unusual call being slammed repeatedly on a hard surface. Her brow furrowed in concern, and she fired off a quick text to the unknown caller. The frantic voice on the other line sounded like Harper, but she couldn’t imagine why her sister would be reaching out, especially since their last conversation had ended in a heated exchange.

Setting her phone back on the nightstand, she was elated to see a large paper cup filled to the brim with hot coffee. Dallas’ thoughtfulness drove a smile to her face and dashed all worry straight from her mind. She swiped her hand over the smooth sheets and yawned, giving a long stretch.

Propping up on one elbow, she reached for her coffee cup and took her first sip. It certainly wasn’t as good as the rich brew she made at home, but the gesture alone had won her over .

The door cracked open, and Dallas quietly slipped into the room. He pulled off his dark brown cowboy hat and hung it on the rack next to the door.

“Hey there,” Maeve said, sipping her coffee. “And where’d you disappear to?”

His eyes held a conspiratorial look, and his smile pushed up the corners of his mustache as he pulled a greasy brown paper bag from behind his back.

Maeve’s eyes widened, and she sat up in bed. “Yes! Bless you,” she exclaimed. It wasn’t that the food at the inn had been terrible, but it wasn’t necessarily good either. They had been strategizing for days on how to sneak food into their room without insulting their gracious host. The elderly woman seemed to be a permanent fixture at the front desk at nearly all hours of the day.

“How’d you get it past Barb?” Maeve questioned, beckoning him to join her with a pat on the soft mattress.

Dallas climbed over the sheets beside her and set the bag of greasy food between them. “Weirdly enough, she wasn’t there.”

Maeve paused as she uncrinkled the top of the paper bag. “You think she’s okay?”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he replied, waving away her concern.

Crunching down on a delicious salty french fry, she couldn’t help but imagine Barb puttering around the kitchen, hard at work preparing their tasteless lunch .

It was as though Dallas could read her thoughts. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Stop worrying, woman.”

She nudged him playfully with her elbow, her lip curling into an amused smile.

The morning went by much too quickly, and before long, it was time to leave for the auction. Maeve could have kicked herself for planning ranch business that week. She buttoned up her shirt and pulled her belt through the loops of her bootcut jeans. She felt Dallas’ strong arms wrap around her, his fingers sweeping her long brown hair off her shoulder. She closed her eyes, enjoying the bristle of his beard and his soft lips tracing just below her ear. Taking one last glance at their reflection in the mirror, she couldn’t help but notice that it was perfect.

“We could just skip the auction, right?” she breathed, twisting the smooth button on his collared shirt.

He gave a low chuckle, sliding his hands to her waist. “You’re the boss.”

Maeve sighed.

“Well, when you put it like that.”

Despite their blissful week, she still felt the ranch’s future weighing heavily on her shoulders.

She led the way down the stairs, turning the corner to find Barb had returned as sentry to her post at the front desk.

“Will you be back in time for dinner?” Barb inquired, her voice crackling with the rasp of a thousand cigarettes.

“We’re giving you the night off,” Maeve informed. “We’ll be back late.” Folding her hands on the desk, she took the time to stop and chat. “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for us this week. We’ve had a great stay.” Ruth had taught her long ago that it didn’t take much to make someone’s day. Showing a little kindness was worth the risk of being pulled into another lengthy conversation with the chatty owner of the inn. She couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved that Barb simply beamed at the compliment and shooed them out the door.

Dallas took his place in the driver’s seat and hit the ignition. The diesel engine rumbled to life, and Maeve pulled the seatbelt across her chest. She felt him reach over and clasp her hand again, intertwining his fingers with hers while he navigated the truck out of the tight parking lot. With Dallas’ pastoral duties, it wouldn’t be often that he could accompany her for ranch business.

Pulling up to the auction house, she noticed the parking lot was already filling with dusty pickup trucks. Her eyes landed on four brand new, sparkling fleet trucks with Melody Fields painted in bold letters across their tailgates.

“Just great,” Maeve muttered under her breath. Although Melody Fields sounded beautiful and serene, they were her up-and-coming, fierce competition in the rodeo industry. Wherever team Callaway went, Melody Fields never seemed far behind.

Maeve pushed the heavy truck door open and stepped her boots into the powdery dirt. While waiting for Dallas to join her side, she pulled on her tan cowboy hat and adjusted her aviator sunglasses.

The Melody Fields ranch hands were grouped in the shade near their parked trucks, spitting tobacco and laughing obnoxiously together. In the middle of the huddle was a tall, lanky cowboy with a handlebar mustache. He took a noticeable second glance at Maeve and Dallas as they made their way toward the auction house doors. Lazily raising himself from a leaning position, he pulled his hands from the tight pockets of his Wrangler jeans.

Maeve bit the inside of her cheek and pressed out an exasperated exhale when she caught sight of Tucker sauntering their way.

“Here we go,” she emphasized with a deep eye roll, hidden behind her aviator sunglasses. She felt Dallas squeeze her hand, a subtle reminder to keep her composure.

“Well, well, well, Maeve Callaway,” he goaded with a thick country twang. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were tracking me.”

“I could say the same,” she replied, feeling another tight squeeze from Dallas. “Tucker Clay, this is Dallas —”

“Dallas Wilder,” Tucker declared, cutting her off entirely and swiveling with a wide grin. “My dad used to go on and on about competing against you back in the good ol’ days.” He gripped Dallas’ hand. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Getting married mostly,” Dallas answered, nearly pulling Tucker off his feet as he took control of the handshake .

Tucker’s eyebrows shot up as a smirk spread across his face.

“I guess a congratulation is in order,” he announced. “I suppose I should call you Mr. Callaway ?” He snickered, giving the men behind him a sidelong glance that sent them wheezing with laughter.

“You better watch out for this one, Maeve,” Tucker went on, slinging his arm around Dallas’ shoulder like they were old friends. “My dad always said the lucky dog had buckle bunnies chasing him at every rodeo — not to mention a girlfriend at every stop along the way.”

Dallas maintained his frozen smile, though there was an unmistakable dash of danger in his eye.

Knowing it was now her turn, Maeve reached over and squeezed Dallas’ hand.

“Well, Tucker,” Maeve spoke up, taking the reins of the conversation from Tucker’s arrogant clutches. “Always a pleasure, but I’ve got some cattle to win.” Without another word, they swept past him toward the auction house doors.

“In your dreams, Maeve,” Tucker taunted with a wide grin.

Once inside, Maeve went around the room, greeting her colleagues with a friendly handshake and a spark of pride as she introduced her new husband. Many of the old timers recognized Dallas from his time in rodeo, nearly shaking his arm off and wishing them well on their recent nuptials. When they finally took their seats, Maeve couldn’t help but observe that Dallas had been quiet since their run-in with Tucker.

“You okay?” she whispered .

“I’m sorry about all that,” he replied, his eyebrows gathering.

They had been friends for a long time, and the reputation from his youth as a wild, hotshot bull rider was no secret. Ruth Callaway would often shake her head and click her tongue against her teeth, muttering her doubts that Dallas would ever settle down. It was one of the few things Maeve was glad to say that Ruth had been wrong about. She was thankful that the Lord had gotten a hold of Dallas when he did, calling him into ministry as a chaplain and now as the pastor of their thriving little church.

Maeve gave his knee a firm pat.

“I don’t pay any mind to it, and neither should you,” she replied, focusing her attention on the matter at hand.

The auctioneer had a long white beard and was wearing a ten-gallon hat. He was stationed behind a large wooden platform, and above him was a large screen that listed the stats on each bull and heifer. There was a small pen where they would be presenting the various livestock, but there was only one animal that Maeve was interested in that day.

They brought out the first bull, and the auctioneer began his repetitious chant, stringing the bids together in lyrical poetry.

Maeve could feel the eyes of the Melody Fields team as she patiently waited through the first rounds of bidding. There were stock of various breeds, colors, and temperaments — and Tucker wasn’t bidding on any of them .

The next steer was scrawny and thin as a rake, with floppy ears and dopey large eyes. She cracked a smile, musing on how Oakleigh would have loved that little bull. She raised her number high, catching the auctioneer’s attention.

The auctioneer trilled, “That’s — three — won’t — you — bid — now — dollar — bid.”

From the corner of her eye, she observed the Melody Fields crew snap to attention and Tucker whip his placard high in the air.

Unhurried in the slightest, Maeve signaled another bid, sending Tucker practically sputtering as he followed suit. The bidding war continued to escalate, causing the auctioneer to ping-pong between the two rival ranch owners.

Dallas combed his fingers through his beard and leaned in close. “That tiny calf is the one you wanted?”

She bit her lip, concealing her amused smile as she quietly continued to bid, driving the price sky high. When the amount exceeded even the most superior-bred animals, Maeve dramatically snapped her finger and shook her head in defeat.

Tucker’s proud grin stretched across his face. His ranch hands raucously celebrated with hollers and high fives, clapping him hard on the shoulder.

The next animal brought into the arena was an old heifer edging toward the end of her lifespan.

“We’re starting the bid off low, folks,” the auctioneer announced.

Without hesitation, Maeve lifted her placard into the air .

“You sure about this?” Dallas hesitated.

“I’m sure,” Maeve firmly replied.

Tucker followed suit, confidently placing a bid.

“You can’t really be interested in that old girl,” Dallas remarked.

Maeve swiveled, raising an eyebrow at Dallas. “And what’s wrong with that old girl?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” he backpedaled, throwing his palms up in surrender. “Clearly, I love old girls.”

She gasped. Lifting her placard, she playfully smacked him in the forehead and in the same sweeping motion, signaled another bid to the auctioneer.

“Hey now,” he chuckled.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Tucker slump. “Dang it,” she whispered. “I overplayed.”

Tucker looked down the line at his crew. They waved their hands and shook their heads in a feeble attempt to dissuade him from further bidding.

The auctioneer rattled off his final words while Tucker shuffled indecisively in his seat.

“Annnnnd —” Before the auctioneer could say sold, Tucker shot his placard into the air.

Maeve sat back in her seat. “Thank goodness.”

Dallas’ mouth gaped open, finally understanding her strategy. “Maeve Callaway Wilder, I cannot believe you.”

“Just taking care of business, Dal,” she responded with a conspiratorial smile .

Despite their doubts, the Melody Fields team continued bolstering their boss’s ego. Their victory lap was noticeably cut short when the auctioneer announced Peaches, and the sturdy heifer was brought into the arena.

“Here we go,” Maeve confirmed. She started the bidding high, immediately knocking out the smaller ranches.

Tucker’s confidence evaporated. His face flushed red as he feebly waved his placard.

Maeve calmly bid again, taking an easy lead. Running her fingers down her chin, she scanned her competition around the room. Hearing Tucker swear and snap the stick of his placard in half, she pursed her lips together, attempting to conceal her satisfaction.

The auctioneer cracked his gavel. “Sold! Callaway Ranch.”

Tucker glared down the line at his team as though his mistake had been their fault all along.

Maeve gave Dallas a peck on the lips, ignoring the daggers from Melody Fields. Burning through Tucker’s auction funds felt almost as rewarding as winning the highly coveted heifer — and at a fraction of the price she was worth.

“See,” Maeve affirmed, pulling her phone from the tight pocket of her jeans. “I told you not to pay them any mind.”

Maeve — texting…

We got Peaches. Get Colton and Wade on the road .

Dallas proudly took her by the hand while they finalized their purchase and coordinated the pickup of their newest Callaway stock.

“We’ve got a honeymoon to get back to,” Maeve whispered to Dallas, feeling relieved that the day of ranch business had finally come to an end. Crossing the dusty parking lot, she clutched his firm bicep.

Tucker stood by his truck and trailer, barking orders at his crew while they loaded up the feeble livestock. He spun around to face them. “You got some sense of humor, Maeve Callaway,“ he fumed, his lip curling in disgust. “We’ll see who comes out on top at competition.”

“It’s for charity, Tucker,” Maeve clarified, slipping on her aviator sunglasses.

“Two weeks, Maeve,” Tucker seethed, “We’ll be seeing you.”

Maeve glanced over the top of her frames. “I’m sure you will, boys.”