the one named after the wine, yeah, remember Bordeaux? He invited her to The Yard’s Christmas Eve dinner a few months earlier. Her dress, shirt, diaper, whatever she was wearing left little to the imagination. Right, stripper names and wine, that was the extent of Travis’s type. So he made lunch on the side and had those biceps. It didn’t matter because it would never work with someone like Travis. Besides, she would be dating soon. In fact, there were a few potentials to look over later this afternoon. She might even have a date by the weekend. Kenna let out a breath as she tied the apron Libby had given Paige to wear so she could play waitress while Kenna met with the men of the Rye family.
“Too tight, Mama.” Paige squirmed and stuck out her belly. “I need to be able to work.”
Kenna loosened the tie, made a bow, and flicked her daughter’s braids as she marched over to join Libby, who was taking an order.
“You’re early,” her father said, taking off his cowboy hat as he walked past Paige and winked at her.
“So are you.” Kenna put her bags down at the second booth, their booth, and took out her laptop.
“I know, but I’m always early. Peanut playing waitress again this morning?” Herbert Rye, her father, kissed Kenna on the cheek and she kissed him back, closing her eyes at the feel of his smooth cheek and the smell of Chaps cologne.
“I’m not sure how it happened, but we ended up early. Kind of nice not to be rushing for a change.” Kenna took a sip of the Coke Libby had dropped off.
“I’ll bet.” Her dad looked over at Paige, his first and, so far, only grandchild. “She’s getting so big. I can’t even believe where the time goes. I’m making her a swing for her birthday. One of those Indian or Moroccan ones that hang.”
Kenna glanced up from her computer.
“Heck, I don’t know. She was showing me pictures a few months back and I told her I’d make her one. I’m actually having fun with it. Marrakech, that’s what it’s called. She said she wants to put it outside so she can ‘be with her nature.’ That’s what she said.”
Kenna smiled. “That’s very sweet of you, Dad.”
“She told me we could buy one, but I’d just as soon make it for her.”
“It’s a great idea. I’m sure she will love it even more.”
“Hope so. Are we having her birthday at the farm or are you doing it at your place?”
“I haven’t really thought about it yet. We’ve got a couple of months.”
“Couple of months for what?” Garrett asked, bringing a cup of coffee over from the counter and taking his seat in the booth. “I hope we aren’t waiting a couple of months to replace the blades on the number-two cultivator, because Ray says they’re already shot.”
Kenna shook her head. “Why do you always just barge in and assume your place in a conversation you know nothing about?”
“I’m just saying, we can’t wait. And last time I checked”—Garrett looked at his watch—“this is the family meeting, so what the hell else would we be talking about?”
“Paige’s birthday.” Their father sipped his coffee.
“Oh, well, then I guess that’s more important. I see you’ve put Paige the Magnificent to work again this morning. You’re like the evil stepmother.” He bumped Makenna’s shoulder and she bumped him back while she pulled up her notes on the restaurant and the farm. She wanted to talk about catering the Malendar wedding and find out if Logan was going to expand the on-site garden next month or wait until next year.
When she looked up, Logan was heading toward the booth with Paige dangling from under his arm. Her brother looked fresh out the shower, and he was late.
“Put me down Uncle Rogan, I’ve got customers.” Paige giggled, and Logan plopped his niece in Garrett’s waiting arms.
“Uncle, now be re—son—” Paige furrowed her brow as she searched for the word well past her almost six-year-old vocabulary.
“Reasonable.” Garrett
“Too tight, Mama.” Paige squirmed and stuck out her belly. “I need to be able to work.”
Kenna loosened the tie, made a bow, and flicked her daughter’s braids as she marched over to join Libby, who was taking an order.
“You’re early,” her father said, taking off his cowboy hat as he walked past Paige and winked at her.
“So are you.” Kenna put her bags down at the second booth, their booth, and took out her laptop.
“I know, but I’m always early. Peanut playing waitress again this morning?” Herbert Rye, her father, kissed Kenna on the cheek and she kissed him back, closing her eyes at the feel of his smooth cheek and the smell of Chaps cologne.
“I’m not sure how it happened, but we ended up early. Kind of nice not to be rushing for a change.” Kenna took a sip of the Coke Libby had dropped off.
“I’ll bet.” Her dad looked over at Paige, his first and, so far, only grandchild. “She’s getting so big. I can’t even believe where the time goes. I’m making her a swing for her birthday. One of those Indian or Moroccan ones that hang.”
Kenna glanced up from her computer.
“Heck, I don’t know. She was showing me pictures a few months back and I told her I’d make her one. I’m actually having fun with it. Marrakech, that’s what it’s called. She said she wants to put it outside so she can ‘be with her nature.’ That’s what she said.”
Kenna smiled. “That’s very sweet of you, Dad.”
“She told me we could buy one, but I’d just as soon make it for her.”
“It’s a great idea. I’m sure she will love it even more.”
“Hope so. Are we having her birthday at the farm or are you doing it at your place?”
“I haven’t really thought about it yet. We’ve got a couple of months.”
“Couple of months for what?” Garrett asked, bringing a cup of coffee over from the counter and taking his seat in the booth. “I hope we aren’t waiting a couple of months to replace the blades on the number-two cultivator, because Ray says they’re already shot.”
Kenna shook her head. “Why do you always just barge in and assume your place in a conversation you know nothing about?”
“I’m just saying, we can’t wait. And last time I checked”—Garrett looked at his watch—“this is the family meeting, so what the hell else would we be talking about?”
“Paige’s birthday.” Their father sipped his coffee.
“Oh, well, then I guess that’s more important. I see you’ve put Paige the Magnificent to work again this morning. You’re like the evil stepmother.” He bumped Makenna’s shoulder and she bumped him back while she pulled up her notes on the restaurant and the farm. She wanted to talk about catering the Malendar wedding and find out if Logan was going to expand the on-site garden next month or wait until next year.
When she looked up, Logan was heading toward the booth with Paige dangling from under his arm. Her brother looked fresh out the shower, and he was late.
“Put me down Uncle Rogan, I’ve got customers.” Paige giggled, and Logan plopped his niece in Garrett’s waiting arms.
“Uncle, now be re—son—” Paige furrowed her brow as she searched for the word well past her almost six-year-old vocabulary.
“Reasonable.” Garrett
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