“Are you the one to speak to about booking a wedding? It looks like my daughter is going to get engaged soon, and I know she’d love to hold her reception here,” a woman said.
Addison handed her a brochure and went over the various packages they offered.
“I was hoping to do a sisters’ reunion here sometime this winter,” an older woman said. “But I’m afraid nothing will be in our price range.”
“We have options for every budget,” Addison said smoothly. They’d worked hard to make sure they kept things affordable when the show made their bed-and-breakfast a hit last year. They wanted locals to feel they had access to Base Camp.
She continued answering questions and handing out brochures and cards.
“You’re a natural at this,” one of the newer members of Base Camp said, bringing a tour to the ballroom, where they fell on the refreshments with vigor.
“Thanks.” Addison always felt she’d finally found the place where she belonged. Thank goodness for her sister and her crazy ideas.
She didn’t miss New York City at all. Couldn’t care less about living in a penthouse.
Wanted nothing more than to stay right here with the people she loved.
“Are you sure I couldn’t persuade you to come to Houston for six months?” a tall man in a cowboy hat said. “You’re just the man to give my house all the finishing touches it needs.”
“Sorry,” Curtis told him. “There’s too much for me to do right here.”
“I’d pay you plenty for your time.”
“No can do,” Curtis told him. “I’m sure there’s someone in your neck of the woods who’d be happy for the work, though.”
“I hope so,” the man said disgruntledly.
As he wandered off, Curtis stepped away from the booth he’d been manning and took a long swig of water. It was hot, and the open house had been going on for hours. He was ready for a break.
“Can you handle things for a minute?” he asked Clay.
Clay waved him off. “I’m fine.”
Curtis whistled for Daisy and made his way past the bunkhouse toward the pastures where he knew he’d find Hope. The man in the cowboy hat wasn’t the only one who’d tried to hire him, but the truth was he had projects booked for months, on and off the ranch. Although he’d added special finishing touches to all the tiny houses he’d built for the original members of Base Camp, there were far too many being built for him to do so for all of them. Their team had expanded, and while every tiny house was finished well, if someone wanted his personal work, they had to hire him like anyone else.
He’d also taken on several commissions in town and on the surrounding ranches. He didn’t want to book anything more until he’d made a dent in his current commitments.
He was proud of everything he was doing and for his skills to be so recognized. He got inquiries from all around the world now that people had seen examples of his work on the show. A gallery had gotten in touch recently, wanting to add some of his carved wooden pieces to a collection they were going to show next year. He’d never expected that, but their theme was the crossroads of art and architecture, which was definitely his niche.
As he approached the closest pasture, he caught sight of Hope standing a little to one side while Walker talked about bison herd management and the grazing patterns they were using to a group that had gathered to listen. Everyone was focused on the tall Native American man, which was unfortunate, because they were missing what Hope was surreptitiously doing: waiting until one of the bison ambled closer and closer, grazing contentedly, until it lifted its face to gaze at the crowd and Hope reached out and stroked its nose.
The bison blew out a huff of breath and ambled off again. Curtis walked up to her, shaking his head.
“You’ll be sorry the day one of them bites off your hand.”
“It’s only Charlie I do that to. It’s a game we play.” She bent down and patted Daisy’s head.
“Weren’t you going to be a park ranger at Yellowstone? Park rangers know better than to pet bison. Besides, how do you know which one is Charlie?”
“I would have made a lousy park ranger,” she admitted, straightening again. Daisy flopped down at their feet. “But I love studying bison, and for your information, every one of them looks different. Just ask Avery. Do you think I could prove they have a sense of humor?”
“Nope.”
She laughed. “You’re probably right, but I swear that one does.”
“I thought you were studying the effects of cropping patterns on the health of the pasture.”
“I am. I’m getting together with Evan Mortimer and Jake Matheson to compare notes next week and see where we are in the study. If our suppositions match the data at all.”
“I’m glad you found some partners to work with.” Curtis tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears. He still had to take a breath and let his jealousy settle when Hope talked about other men. He realized that some part of him might never truly get over being left at the altar, but he trusted Hope, and the jealousy passed in moments. They saw each other throughout the day, stole moments alone between their working hours, and every night with her was heaven—
Even those early days when their son was first born. Zeke Matthew Lloyd had taken several months to figure out the difference between daytime and nighttime, but Curtis treasured every moment with him. He was a serious baby, who watched everything around him with a slightly offended tilt to his eyebrows. Hope told him he’d grow out of it, but Curtis thought he understood.
“The world is a weird place,” he told his baby when Hope wasn’t around, “but it’s not so bad. You’ll see.”
As one of the Contingent,
