So much for distancing myself from my beautiful guest.
After his morning trail ride, Walt and I finally had a few minutes to get together in the staff mess hall to discuss the campfire cookout we were planning for the following week. Lauren said she’d ride up with us this time, so I wanted it to be extra special. More importantly, nothing could go wrong, which was a big ask at a ranch where I was putting out one fire after another.
“How about we bring your guitar and do some cowboy songs while dinner is cooking?” I suggested. During my parents’ day, Walt often sang at our cookouts in his deep baritone voice, and guests loved it.
“My singing chops aren’t what they used to be.” He loaded up his baked potato with a huge slab of butter. “And don’t tell me it’s the cigarettes, cause I already know I need to quit.”
“I could sing, if you’ll play.”
Walt gave me a grave look. “The moose might think it’s mating season if you sing, son.”
“Very funny. My voice isn’t that bad.” He raised his bushy grey eyebrows. “Alright, maybe Tyler would sing for us. Is that better?”
“Why all the fuss?” Walt asked.
“I just want to make it special for the guests. The Shahs and Jernigans are here for two weeks, and they came to one cookout already this summer, and the Mason family is back at the ranch for the first time in several years. I feel like we should do something different for this one.”
“Uh huh.” Walt’s mouth slid into a half smile. “Nothing to do with impressing a certain New Yorker?”
My mouth hung open as I struggled to find the words to convince him otherwise. “Of course not. Although now that you mention it, I would like her to give us a rave review. She probably has a lot of wealthy friends back home who would?—”
“Enjoy a no-frills ranch experience?”
I groaned and leaned my elbows on the table, letting my head fall into my hands. “Give me a break, Walt.”
He laughed as he slapped my back. “No shame in admiring a beautiful woman. I once had feelings for a ranch guest.” He smoothed two fingers over his mustache. “Her name was Lola. She was a showgirl.”
I glared at him. “That is a Barry Manilow song.”
“Fine, she was a bookkeeper from Tucson, but her name was Lola, and she came to the ranch one summer with her sisters.” His eyes got a faraway look in them. “She had the prettiest smile, as well as some other lovely…assets.”
This was the most Walt had ever told me about a woman he’d dated. “So what happened to her?”
“We actually met up in Telluride that winter for a little ski vacation. That was the last time I ever saw her.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Turns out I don’t enjoy skiing.” He picked up his fork, took a bite of potato, and that was the end of his story. I knew I’d get nothing else out of him. The truth was, Walt was terrible at relationships. Everyone knew that about him. If anyone spotted him in the company of a woman—for example, leaving The Mangy Marmot on a Saturday night—he never spoke about it afterwards, at least not to me. Sometimes I thought my brother Bowie had taken on Walt as his romantic role model in life because he seemed to be cut from the same cloth.
With a loud bang and a strong breeze behind her, Gigi slammed through the mess hall’s screen door. “I need two sandwiches, some apples, chips, and two drinks.” She hurried past us toward the hot bar. “Potatoes? Those aren’t good on a picnic.”
“Sure they are,” I said. “And who are you going on a picnic with?”
“Lauren. I’m taking her down to the creek again. Don’t worry, we’re walking this time.” She reached for the bag of bread that was always present in the staff kitchen, in case someone wanted to make a sandwich. “We might bring fishing poles too.”
“Wash your hands first!” I scolded.
Gigi grumbled but went over to the small sink basin on the other side of the room. The two of them on a picnic was pretty cute to envision, and I longed to go with them. Unfortunately, I had a date with a caulk gun and a new shower pan in one of the guest cottages.
“You’ve taken a shine to Mrs. Wagonblast, huh?” Walt asked as she dried her hands and then headed toward the bread and peanut butter.
“She’s great,” Gigi said as she got to work on the sandwiches. “She picked up the two-step right away. Did you know she speaks French?”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “What else did you discover about her?”
Walt started to chuckle, but it turned into a coughing spell.
Gigi turned and shook a piece of whole wheat bread at him. “You need to quit smoking, Walt. It’s terrible for you.”
