Ava waves her hand. “Will you teach me too?”
“Sure thing.” Archer rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to take over the conversation.”
Dag opens his mouth, but before words come out, Goldie gets in his face. “If you say anything about Archer crocheting, I’ll stop cleaning your cabin, and you can live in your own filth.”
He blinks, then closes his mouth. “I wasn’t going to say anything bad.”
Parker pushes the empty dessert plate away. “I think it’s cool. And she’s been getting frustrated, so I’m glad you can help her.”
Archer pokes a fork into his cake. “On the very first afghan I made, the sides were wonky because I missed stitches and forgot to chain before turning. It was kind of a mess.”
“Do you still have it?” Coming to the mess hall was a good choice. No one has mentioned the miscarriage, and it’s nice to be part of a family.
Archer looks at the table and shakes his head. “Made it for someone as a gift.”
Parker checks his phone, then stands. “New guy is here. Y’all ready to meet Anderson?”
There’s a flurry of yeses and sures, but I’m confused about who the new guy is. Parker probably mentioned something, but I’ve been so wrapped up in myself, it didn’t even register.
He steps outside and is back a minute later, a very tall guy striding in behind. Parker’s not anywhere near short, and the new guy is about four inches taller.
Parker points a thumb over his shoulder. “This is Anderson. He’ll be moving into Tyler’s old cabin and working with me in the barn.”
Anderson takes off his cowboy hat. “Nice to meet y’all.”
The ranch hands introduce themselves, then the rest of us follow suit. There is an air of uncertainty, which I might not have noticed before marrying Parker. But I’ve learned to watch for things. I get the hesitation. Change brings the possibility of good or bad, and it’s hard to know at the outset where it will end up.
Chapter 30
Parker
Anderson has taken to the job like a kid to a lollipop. Not sure that’s a saying, but he seems to like the job, and he’s good at it. It also frees up my time, but being home is making me crazy.
After lessons with Archer, Bluebonnet has moved on to making granny squares. Whatever those are. So every evening when we get home from dinner, she cuddles on the sofa and crochets her little heart out.
And mine breaks a little more each day.
After having her duck my kiss twice, I stopped trying. And she sure hasn’t initiated. It’s been six weeks, and aside from some handholding, we don’t act like a couple. Not even in public. She still wears my T-shirts to bed. They pretty much all smell like her now. And she still snuggles next to me when we crawl in bed.
But I’m starting to think that is only because she’s cold and I tend to be warm. I’m her electric blanket.
I need a break from the quiet cabin.
As I walk out to my truck, Dag skids to a stop and rolls down his window. “Have you seen Goldie?”
“Nope. You lose her?”
“Dallas said he saw her walking into Archer’s cabin, but I went over there, and no one answered.” He taps the steering wheel. “You don’t think...”
I’ve never seen Dag this stressed. “Has she been spending more time”—I make air quotes—“shopping?”
Creases appear in his brow, and his gaze intensifies as he nods. “Yeah. It’s bad, huh?”
“I saw her with Ava the other day. I think they’d gone into town together.”
He tips his head back and groans. “Oh no. Should I tell Mad Dog?”
“He’s probably seen the yarn. Shoot. He probably bought her a pretty basket for her current project.”
