Dylan frowned at him. “I’m pretty sure climbing ladders is on the list of things you’re not supposed to do for the next few months, along with riding horses. I’ll fetch what we need. In fact, I’ll do that right now.” He set down his mug. “Come on, Susannah. Let’s get this project underway.”
Wyatt stayed where he was, fuming at...well, at the situation, more than anything else. At himself, for getting hurt. At being stuck in the house like an old man. Maybe he wasn’t a kid anymore, but he could hold his own against any of his brothers when it came to ranch chores.
And, yeah, he was ticked off at his youngest brother, though he wasn’t sure why. Dylan was just being himself—easygoing and sociable. His beguiling approach with women had never bothered Wyatt in the past.
Susannah, though... Susannah deserved to be treated with respect and deference. Not that Dylan had been disrespectful, exactly, but sometimes women took his flirting more seriously than he intended. As she recovered from a miserable marriage, she didn’t have to be confused by casual gallantry. Should he say something to Dylan?
Should he warn Susannah?
He couldn’t bring himself to speak to either of them, but in the days following he kept an eye on them when they were together, trying to judge how things were going.
But then the reporter from New York arrived, and Dylan immediately fell head over heels in love with her. Susannah didn’t seem bothered by that obvious fact. When everyone sat on the front porch in the evening to enjoy hand-cranked ice cream, or when they gathered in the living room for a sing-along by the fireplace, Wyatt couldn’t detect any difference between the way she behaved with Dylan and with Garrett or Ford. Or himself.
Which was as it should be. The only way it could be, for Susannah’s sake.
* * *
ONCE SHE’D CLEANED every other space in the house, Susannah had no choice but to tackle Wyatt’s bedroom. Just proposing the idea to him made her palms damp and her throat tight.
“I wondered—” she started one night during supper, while Amber was busy with her favorite meal of noodles topped by marinara sauce. “I wondered if I could spend some time in your room tomorrow.”
Wyatt looked up from his lasagna, a startled expression on his face.
“Cleaning, I mean. I’ve done Ford’s room and Garrett’s. It’s...um...your turn.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “Well, sure. That’ll be great. I can work somewhere else while you’re in there.”
“I’ll start with your desk area and try to finish as fast as I can. I don’t want to interrupt you.”
“These days, with the bad news I’m getting over the internet, being interrupted isn’t such a problem.” He was toying with his food, forking through it but not eating much.
Susannah rested her folded arms on the table. “What kind of bad news?”
“Prices, for one thing. Grass-fed beef, the kind we raise, is more expensive than conventional feedlot meat. A good portion of our market is the restaurant industry, but they’re rejecting the higher prices and serving other proteins, like pork and chicken. So demand for the product is down, meaning lower prices. But the cost of living—not to mention the cost of producing these cattle—doesn’t go down.”
“I’m not much help with economics,” she said. “But for what it’s worth, yours is the tenderest, most flavorful meat I’ve ever cooked with.”
Wyatt let out a big laugh. “That’s the best thing you could have said. Maybe what we need is an advertising program to appeal to the public. You can star in the TV commercials.”
Susannah felt herself blushing. “Not very likely.”
“Why not? You’re certainly pretty enough.”
She stared at him, her breath caught in her chest. Wyatt’s expression said he’d surprised himself.
“You are pretty, Mommy.” Amber chose that moment to join the conversation. “I want to watch you on TV.”
Thankful for the intrusion, Susannah turned to her daughter. “And I want to watch you finish up your green beans. Can you do that?”
Amber heaved a put-upon sigh. “Okay.”
Wyatt didn’t so much as glance up from his plate for the rest of the meal.
He was still avoiding her gaze when she saw him at breakfast the next morning. “I’ll get started on your room right away,” she said, hoping for interaction of some kind. “And work as fast as I can.”
“Dylan plugged in my laptop in the dining room.” Buttering his biscuit seemed to require all his attention. “And Amber is going to bring her coloring in to keep me company.” Despite himself, he flashed a quick smile in her direction. “We’ll be fine.”
As soon as the kitchen was set to rights, she started in Wyatt’s room. With some hesitation, she approached the big desk, where a computer screen and keyboard, along with multiple stacks of papers, books and magazines, obscured most of the space. In order to thoroughly dust the top, she would have to move them all. Did they have to be returned to exactly the same spots? How would she remember what went where?
She’d just moved the first pile to its corresponding position on the bed when Wyatt’s footsteps sounded in the hall. “I need a couple of reports,” he said as he entered the room. Then he stopped, hands on his narrow hips, surveying her and the desk. “You have to move all my stuff?”
Susannah decided to take the firm approach. “Yes,” she said simply and then relented at his worried frown. “I’ll replace them exactly the same way. I promise.”
He blew out a short breath. “I’ll do it.” Stepping to the desk, he reached for a stack of magazines about a foot high.
Having him in the room while she worked would be...distracting. But she couldn’t just shoo him away. “Those will be heavy. You shouldn’t—”
Without a word, he lifted the pile and, following her lead, set it down on the mattress. They worked together in silence for a few minutes, moving back and forth past each other, sometimes brushing shoulders, until Susannah’s nerves got the better of her.
“I didn’t realize ranching involved so much paperwork,” she volunteered in desperation.
“Most of it is done on the computer now. But I often refer to Henry MacPherson’s record books. They cover more than four decades.” Wyatt moved another set of papers. “I started out on paper, because he was teaching me. About five years ago I switched to the computer.” He surveyed the contents of the bed. “Doesn’t look like it, I guess. I’m still transferring relevant information from paper to digital.”
“What kind of information?” Conversation made him seem less overwhelming. “What do ranchers keep track of?”
“Everything to do with the cattle—breeding, birthing, weaning, vaccinations, weigh-ins, culling, castrating, branding, health records, sales and purchases. Files on the machinery and vehicles we use, plus purchase forms and maintenance. Tax documents and all the receipts to go with them.” He slid the keyboard and screen for the computer on the desk out of her way, so she could dust underneath. “And then there are deeds and notices for the grazing land we lease from the government. A couple of those piles of paper are from the Bureau of Land Management—and that’s from just this year.”
“Amazing.” Moving between the desk and the wall, she cleaned the window frame and sill, and then she started on the panes. “You said Mr. MacPherson taught you, but you must have the education to manage such a complicated business. Not to mention knowing how to use the computer software. Did you get a business degree?”
Behind her, Wyatt chuckled. “Not hardly.”
Susannah looked at him over