Their Ranch Reunion. Mindy Obenhaus
couldn’t help smiling. “Sure. Why not?”
Watching them leave a short time later, he knew good and well that Carly was no more excited about having him for dinner than he was about sharing his grandmother’s house. But as Grandma was fond of saying, it is what it is.
Who knew? Maybe they’d have an opportunity to talk. And if all went well, by the time this evening was over, Grandma’s house would belong to him and him alone.
Carly removed the meat loaf from the oven and put in the apple pie she’d tossed together at the last minute. Throw in some mashed potatoes and green beans and it was comfort food all the way. She’d need all the comfort she could get if she hoped to make it through an evening with the man who had once been able to read her every thought.
Using a pot holder, she picked up the pan of meat and headed for the island. Nope. No plans at all. She all but flung the pan on the counter, sending spatters of tomato sauce across the butcher-block top.
She grabbed a rag and wiped up the mess, knowing good and well that Andrew was simply trying to get her goat. And enjoying every minute of it, no doubt. Just like he did back in high school. Only she was no longer the timid girl who was afraid to stand up for herself.
After throwing the rag into the sink, she returned to the stove to check the potatoes. Fork in hand, she lifted the lid on the large pot.
It irked her that Andrew was planning to use Livie’s house as a rental. Why wouldn’t he just let—Wait a minute.
Steam billowed in front of her.
She was half owner. That meant she had a say in what went on next door. He couldn’t use it as a rental without her permission.
Smiling, she poked at the vegetables. Yep, they were done.
She replaced the lid and carried the pot to the sink. This whole dispute would be over if Andrew would simply agree to sell. Unfortunately, for as eager as she was to discuss purchasing his half of the house so she could move forward with her expansion plans, she wasn’t at liberty to talk business with Megan in the room. Which meant this whole evening was a waste of time.
That is, unless her idea of plying Andrew with food actually worked.
Holding the lid slightly off-center so as not to lose any of the potatoes, she drained the water from the pot. Maybe he’d be in such a state of gastronomic euphoria by the end of this evening that it would be impossible for him to say no when she again extended her offer.
Dream on, girl.
“Can I help?” Megan emerged from the adjoining family room at the back of the house, directly off the kitchen. Carly’s parents had built the addition when she was young as a private space for the family. Now Carly appreciated it more than ever, because it allowed her to keep an eye on her daughter while she worked in the kitchen.
“Of course you can. Care to set the table?”
“Okay.”
Carly opened the cupboard to grab the plates.
“Not those plates, Mommy.”
“What?” She glanced down at her daughter.
“We need the guest plates.” Meaning the china she used for the bed-and-breakfast. And this time of year, guests were predominantly limited to weekends.
“Sweetie, we don’t use those for regular meals.”
“This isn’t a regular meal. Mr. Andrew is company, so we need to eat in the dining room with the pretty dishes.”
Oh, to be a child again, when everything was so simple.
Lord, help me make it through tonight.
“Okay. Let me get them for you.”
They moved around the corner into the dining room, and Carly retrieved the dishes from atop her grandmother’s antique sideboard. Meat loaf on china. That’d be a first.
Leaving Megan in charge of the table, Carly returned to the kitchen to mash the potatoes. She pulled the butter and cream from the large stainless steel refrigerator.
“Which side do the forks go on?”
Closing the refrigerator door, Carly grinned, recalling how she used to help her mother and wondering if Megan would one day take over Granger House Inn. If so, she’d be the third generation to run the B and B. Not that she was in any hurry for her daughter to grow up. Carly was already lamenting Megan’s occasional usage of Mom instead of Mommy.
“On the left.”
A knock on the back door nearly had Carly dropping the dairy products she still held.
Megan must have heard it, too, because she raced past Carly and threw open the door.
Carly deposited the butter and cream on the counter and hurried behind her daughter. “Young lady, what have I told you about looking to see who it is before you open the door?” Not that there was much to worry about in Ouray. Still, a mother could never be too cautious in this day and age.
“Sorry.”
“Evening, ladies.” A smiling Andrew stepped inside, looking far too appealing. His hair was damp, and he smelled freshly showered.
Closing the door behind him, Carly eyed her flour-speckled jeans. Clearly he’d done more primping than she had. An observation that had her as curious as it did bothered.
“Welcome to our home.” Megan swept her arm through the air in a flourish.
“Thank you for inviting me.” He stooped to her daughter’s level. “This is for you.” He handed her a small brown paper gift bag with white tissue sticking out the top.
Megan’s eyes were wide. “For me?”
“Yep. And this one—” straightening, he turned his attention to Carly “—is for your mother.”
Carly’s heart tripped as she accepted the package. A hostess gift had been unexpected, but the fact that he’d thought of both of them had her reevaluating their guest. At least momentarily.
“Th-thank you.”
“Can I open it?” Megan looked as if she was about to explode with anticipation.
“Of course. What are you waiting for?” Andrew looked like a kid himself as he watched Megan pull out the tissue, followed by a small rectangular box. “My own cards!”
“Did my grandmother ever teach you how to play Hearts?”
“I don’t think so.” Megan eyed him seriously.
“Looks like I’ll have to carry on the tradition, then. Perhaps we can play a game after dinner.”
“Okay.” Megan excitedly removed the plastic wrapping. “I can practice shuffling now, though, can’t I?”
“You sure can.” Andrew looked at Carly again. “You can open yours, too.”
Her stomach did a little flip-flop as she removed the tissue and pulled out a small box from Mouse’s Chocolates. “Ooo...”
“I hope you like truffles.”
She lifted a shoulder. “No, not really.”
His smile evaporated and, for just a moment, she felt bad for messing with him. Then again, after the way he’d coerced her into this dinner invitation, why should she care?
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought most women—”
“I love them.”
The corners of his mouth slowly lifted as he wagged a finger her way. “You had me going for a second.”
Looking up,