“Ever consider knocking?” Bowie asked.
“Sorry, buddy, we’re on a mission,” Sam said. “The Dude has been kidnapped again.”
Jake pranced around the kitchen in his plaid coat and black booties like a miniature Sherlock Holmes, waiting for someone to drop a treat.
Lauren looked perplexed. “You mean the stuffed marmot from the bar?”
“That’s the one,” Sam said.
Ella’s cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her eyes shone with excitement. “Every six months or so, The Dude gets taken from the bar. A few days later, he’s back, and all these photos of him in various places get uploaded to an Instagram account called TheDudeTravels. Isn’t that wild?”
“That is one of the weirdest Wyoming things I’ve ever heard,” Lauren said. “Do you have any guesses who’s taking him?”
“I have no idea,” Ella said, wide-eyed. “Sam and I are looking for clues. Do you guys know anyone who’s leaving on a trip soon?”
None of us knew a thing, but Ella didn’t look defeated.
“That’s okay,” she said. “We’ll solve this mystery eventually. I wish I got to travel as much as The Dude does.”
“I’m starting to think travel is overrated.” Lauren stifled a yawn. “I wish I didn’t have to go back to New York so often.”
Lauren was still the CFO of Ms. Match, but she was in the process of training someone to take over most of her duties so she could focus on the ranch. She and Tori were currently deciding how they would advertise and run their retreats. Then, there was the reality show about dating out west, which was still in pre-production, whatever that meant. Gigi was thrilled about the show and kept asking if she could be an extra when they filmed at the ranch. The answer to that was a hard no.
“You won’t be wishing you were here in February,” Ella said. “There’s so much snow, Sam has to dig a path for Jake to go pee in the yard. Otherwise, he’d sink, and we’d never find him again.”
“Don’t forget about your snot freezing,” Sam added. “And your hair, if you go outside with a wet head.”
“And the wind.” I shivered thinking about the cold wind that seemed to blow constantly in Wyoming.
“She’ll be fine,” Bowie said with a smirk. “She’s got her cashmere blanket and matcha tea to keep her warm.”
I could tell he liked Lauren because he razzed her about her luxury items. Teasing was Bowie’s love language.
“Yeah, I saw you on the couch the other day taking a nap under my pink cashmere blanket,” Lauren shot back. “Snoring away under there.”
Everyone laughed, including Bowie. “It is soft,” he admitted.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving, Ella?” Lauren asked. “You’re welcome to join us.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Ella said, “but my mom is part Shoshone, so we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”
Her mom, Patty, was taking a new MS medication and doing much better, and Ella had taken up residence in the apartment above the bar instead of living at her parents’ house.
“She’ll eat pumpkin pie later, though,” Sam said. “I sneak some to her every year.”
Ella gave us a guilty smile. “What other time of year can you get pumpkin pie?”
Lauren picked up her mug and took a sip. “I hate to break up this party, but I need to take a shower. Ella, good luck with your marmot mystery.” She blew me a kiss as she walked out of the room.
Bowie tilted his head to the side and stared at me. “What on earth does that lovely woman see in you?”
“That I bathe regularly, for one thing,” I shot back. “Maybe the marmot is hiding in that mangy facial hair of yours.”
Ella and Sam laughed, but it was hardly a joke. His beard was grazing his chest, and it definitely needed grooming. “Are you gonna clean up for our Thanksgiving meal? You look like you wandered in off the highway.”
Bowie cracked two eggs into a bowl, one in each hand, like a magic act. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll trim it up a little.”
If our mom were alive, she’d make him shave that thing off or at least wear a hairnet over it in the kitchen.
