Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
He frowned. “Glamping?”
“Glamorized camping.”
He shook his head. “But that’s not real.”
“We’re not selling them real, Luke. We’re selling them an escape. They don’t want to shovel shit in the barn. They want to walk the fields. Eat under the stars and listen to cowboys tell stories of the old days. That’s what they want.”
He shook his head. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Cowboys who tip their hats and say ‘howdy’ and ‘ma’am,’ but know what the Wi-Fi password is. Someone named Cookie making their breakfast. The illusion of being a ranch hand for a week.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I see.”
“The beauty is you can decide the limits. Four people max. Ten people. One week. Three days. You can build the package. Tell them what they get. Then you surprise them. Add in a couple unexpected things. Their own cowboy hat. A bathtub under the stars that looks like a horse water bowl—”
“Excuse me?” He laughed. “A horse water bowl? You mean a trough?”
“Yes. A simple romantic fantasy many have about a ranch.”
He shook his head. “There isn’t much romantic about a ranch. And my biggest fear is the interruption of the work. Or someone having over-the-top fantasies about cowboys.”
“Like I said, you can decide. You can structure where they are allowed to go. Rules can be set in place. We can start small and build up. Assign certain staff to the tourists. But if you make them happy, word will spread. They’ll return. Some are simply looking to escape their daily grind.”
“Life is a grind here as well.”
“But to them, it’s different. And they’ll only see the beauty and peace of this place.” I winked. “You hide the business behind the façade. Like Disney.”
He stood and stretched. “This all makes me uncomfortable, Lady. But I’m going to do as my sister asked and keep an open mind.” He paused by my chair, lowering his face. I blinked, my heart rate picking up.
Was he about to kiss me?
Instead, his long fingers tilted my chin up, and he looked at my forehead. I inhaled, smelling straw, fresh air, and something distinctly masculine. He touched the lump, his fingers gentle, and shook his head. “Be careful today, Sammy. Wear a hat. And sunscreen. You’ll burn.” Straightening, he placed his hat on his head, looking sexy and worried. “The cookhouse has a weathervane on top of it. You can’t miss it. Callie will feed you when you get hungry.”
Then he walked out.
I put the dishes in the dishwasher and looked around the house, feeling curious. The sizable living room had a beautiful fireplace, all done in river rock, the stones smooth and almost glossy in the sunlight. A thick wooden mantel held a few pictures, and I studied them. There was a family portrait, and I smiled as I saw how much Luke looked like his dad. Tall, strong, and handsome. Rachel resembled their mother, but they both had their dad’s blue eyes. Their mom was tall, blond, and willowy. They were a nice-looking family.
The same wide wood floors were throughout the house. Worn, comfortable furniture. Old, hand-braided rugs were scattered around. A TV in the corner was the most modern item in the room. The kitchen was expansive and lined with lots of cupboards. A huge island with a butcher block top was well used. There was a massive table in the dining area and French doors that led outside to a deck that was home to a monster grill and a smoker. My dad had one just like it back in Port Albany.
I turned back to the interior. Everything was homey and warm. Two hefty fans moved slowly, keeping the room cool. I peeked in the other rooms on my side of the house then, after hesitating a moment, walked into Luke’s room. I told myself it was part of my tour, but mainly, I was curious about it. The furniture was heavy and masculine. A king-size bed with a sturdy frame. A tall dresser. A large chair in the corner, with a pile of books on the table beside it. There was an en suite, and I peeked in. His damp towel was thrown over the top of the door, and the room smelled like him. Crisp. Clean. Fresh air mixed with spices. Sage, maybe? Something subtle but pleasing. The room was neat, the walls white and the bedding navy. All simple, organized, and somehow, very Luke. His closet door was open, and I saw a variety of plaid shirts hanging inside, and on top of his dresser was a folded pile of T-shirts. Obviously, his standard “uniform” for the day. I resisted sniffing them.
Barely.
His office held boxes of paperwork. Files. A computer with a large screen. It wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t neat either—a work in progress, my dad would say. A pair of glasses sat on a pile of paperwork. I picked them up. Classic, straight black frames—they would highlight his blue eyes perfectly. I could only imagine how sexy he looked in the timeless eyeglasses. I wasn’t sure I’d survive that.