feeling swept through Griff as he took out three red ceramic bowls from the cabinet. It felt so good to be part of a household again. Setting the bowls on the counter, he watched Val retrieve the cheddar cheese from the fridge. Her hands were beautiful, fingers long and movements fluid. Watching as she cut the pie and placed thick wedges into the awaiting bowls, Griff sliced the cheese.
He was a bit awkward with the knife.
“Cheese alert, ladies,” he said. “These slices aren’t going to be exactly even.”
Picking two bowls up, Val accidentally brushed against his arm and tried to ignore his blatant masculinity. Griff was lean like a mountain lion. She controlled her voice as she responded. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Where this dessert is going, it won’t matter.”
Chortling, Gus called, “The stomach don’t care at all, Mr. McPherson. It’s just going to sing with pleasure at getting filled, is all.”
“You’re right about that.” Griff wrapped up the cheese and put it back into the fridge. Val took the bowls to the table and her eager grandmother. The pie smelled marvelous and Griff quickly moved to pull out Val’s chair so she could sit down. Again, she said nothing. What did he expect? After all, he was a stranger who had suddenly fallen into her life.
Sitting down, he confided to Gus, “You really know how to make someone feel welcome. Thank you.”
Grinning a little, Gus cut eagerly into her pie. “It’s a Wyoming custom to welcome those who come through our door and to treat them like family.”
Griff remembered that from so long ago. As he cut into the warm pie with cheddar cheese melting across its browned crust, more memories arose from his childhood. When Griff was five his aunt and uncle had come out from New York to Jackson Hole for a weeklong visit. It was something they did every year. He and his brother always looked forward to their arrival because they brought them gifts of toys. Their parents were dirt-poor and even though they never made the boys feel their economic status, the boys certainly never had much. But they were always extremely hospitable to any guests.
“Did your real mom cook and bake?” Gus asked.
“Yes, Miss Gus, she did,” he said, savoring the warm tartness of the apples and cinnamon along with the tangy sharp cheddar melting in his mouth. “My dad worked the ranch and she sewed our clothes, did the washing and kept us and the ranch house together.”
Val heard the far-off dreaminess in Griff’s lowered voice, and found herself hungry to know more about him. He seemed attuned to helping out women in the kitchen, which surprised her. Looking up, she asked, “Did your mom make you boys work in the house? Dry dishes? Clean up the table up after dinner?”
“Yep, she did,” Griff fondly recalled. “My brother and I were like wriggling puppies growing up. Mom harnessed all that energy. We learned to dry dishes standing on top of a stool at the kitchen sink as she washed them and handed them to us. Slade hated dish duty, but he liked dusting and sweeping. So we made an agreement to each do the chores we preferred.”
“Did she teach you to cook?” Gus demanded.
“No, but I wish she had. Slade liked to cook, so he was always in there watching Mom. Sometimes, she’d let Slade make chocolate-chip cookies.”
Val saw the gleam in his green eyes as he spoke. There was happiness lurking in the depths of them. And for whatever reason, it made Val feel good. To her utter surprise, an ache centered in her lower body. She couldn’t help but stare at his strong mouth. Griff smiled often. He reacted to their questions and took them seriously. Part of her was relieved to realize Griff wasn’t one of those proud cowboys. They were such a pain in the butt to deal with.
“I preferred being outside helping our father,” he continued. “Slade was always mesmerized by recipes and mixing ingredients together to create new things. Mom swore he’d grow up to be a chemist.” He chuckled fondly over those memories.
“What did you do?”
“I liked riding, Miss Gus. Our father gave us each a mustang gelding when we were three years old. I rode my horse as much as I could.”
“That’s good.” Gus spooned into her dish. “Because you’re going to get a lot of saddle time around here. We have one real nice quarter horse and an Appaloosa left. I’m sure Val will assign you one of ’em tomorrow.”
“I will,” Val promised. Their black Appaloosa, Freckles, had a white blanket with black spots over its rump. Griff would be well matched with the gelding, as it stood sixteen hands tall.
“I think you’re gonna be good for the Bar H, Mr. McPherson,” Gus said.
“Could you call me Griff?” He knew ranchers were always respectful and would call a person by their surname, unless otherwise asked.
“Why sure I can.” Gus smiled. “Griff’s a good, strong name. Why’d your parents decide to call you that?”
“My dad got to name the firstborn, Slade, but the agreement was my mom would get to name the second twin. She loved King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. She was really into dragons and griffins in literature, so she called me Griff.”
“Griffins were often found on the shields of royalty,” Gus noted with pride. “They had the body of a lion, the head and wings of an eagle. In mythology, they were considered heroic, courageous, and represented strength.”
Smiling faintly, Griff was impressed with her knowledge of the ancient symbolic animal. “My mother shared many stories about griffins with me. She said that they would find gold in the mountains and make their nest out of the metal. I remember she told me that I’d grow up and be very rich someday.” His heart filled with pain. “And she was right about that. When I worked at my uncle’s company, I was worth millions. I wish she’d lived to see that.”
Val frowned and said nothing. Seeing the anguish in his eyes, she felt badly for Griff. No one should have their parents torn away from them.
Gus sighed. “I can’t even begin to know how it would feel to lose millions.”
“I stupidly tied everything up in derivatives. My uncle was always chiding me to put a chunk of it into the blue-chip stocks, instead. I didn’t listen.” Griff shrugged. “If I had, I wouldn’t be flat broke as I am today.”
Val absorbed the pain and the frustration embedded in his deep voice. When she glanced up, Griff was frowning down at the half-eaten dessert in front of him. She could see he was thinking about the past, about the horrendous mistakes he’d made. But didn’t everyone make mistakes? Oh, yes. Everyone made plenty. But to lose millions? Val couldn’t fathom that. She cleared her throat. “Maybe this is your chance to rebuild your life back here in Wyoming.”
Griff caught and held her blue gaze. For once, the walls that kept him from reading Val’s face weren’t up. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m hoping I can find the fabled gold of the griffin here, where I was born.”
Chuckling indulgently, Gus said, “Oh, I think you have what it takes to be successful, Griff. Now, your focus is different. I don’t know too many wranglers who get rich, but over time, you can build a nice nest egg.”
“That’s my plan.” Finishing off the dessert, Griff sat back and rubbed his belly. “That was really good pie. Thanks, Miss Gus. It’s
