On the other hand, she might hurt him. She’d come so close to telling him about the baby, only to freeze at the opportunity. He’d asked what was going on, but she hadn’t come up with those exactly right words she needed to say. By now her first shock had worn off, and she’d realized this baby was truly a miracle—she’d never expected to get pregnant again. She just needed to find a better moment when Dallas might be more receptive to her news. Or not. And what if, before that...she could barely form the thought...she miscarried again?
“Good morning, Elizabeth.” Clara met her at the screened back door. She cradled an apron full of eggs, which she was tenderly holding so as not to drop them. “Ten o’clock and the temperature must be in the nineties. Midsummer’s not my favorite season of the year. My poor chickens are panting.” She led the way into the big ranch house kitchen. “I have coffee, but it’s been on since before dawn—the men have finished most of it—and I’d make a new pot—” she paused “—but I was about to leave for town.”
“I’m fine, thanks. I’ve had my tea. I won’t stay long,” she promised. “I’m on my way to work, but I wanted to talk to you—I’ll be brief—about some competitions for the town rodeo Dallas is planning.”
She might have dashed his romantic hopes, if that’s what they were, but she would at least play her low-key role in his rodeo. As promised. And he’d told her Clara would be interested.
Clara set each egg in a blue stoneware bowl on the table. The warm air smelled of something delicious, as it always did on one of Elizabeth’s rare visits. Clara said, “Dallas has been working so hard on that event. After my husband died, this ranch wasn’t a working spread for too long, and I’m going to enjoy seeing it full of people and animals again beyond Hadley’s cows and those three ornery horses we bought. My, it seems forever since the county fair folded its tent and abandoned us for Farrier. What kind of competition, dear?”
“Dallas and I talked about jams and jellies, baked goods, whatever anyone wants to contribute.”
“We’d need judges, of course.” Having already included herself in the planning, Clara smiled. “I can imagine Bernice crowing over her usual lemon meringue pie. I admit, it’s good, but not as good as she thinks it is, and—” this with a wink “—I’d be willing to bet someone will knock her off her throne. Possibly me.” She named a number of other local women who were known for their baking. “A good thing Olivia’s out of town,” Clara finished. “She’d feel obligated to enter and support the community...but she’s not the best cook.”
Elizabeth, of course, knew most of those people. Unlike Clara, however, she didn’t keep track of who baked and who didn’t. And frankly, Bernice’s breakfast casserole hadn’t been that tasty. Clara looked at the back door, obviously drawn by the sounds of men working at the barn. “That is music to my ears, thanks to Hadley, his brother and young Calvin Stern.”
The last alerted Elizabeth. Did Calvin know he was about to become a father? If, indeed, she’d been correct about Becca’s symptoms. The girl had left the shop before answering her question. As hard as Becca’s situation was, Elizabeth’s was no better. At Olivia’s shop she’d kissed Dallas but shied away again when he asked what else was troubling her. What if the unthinkable did happen again? Then there’d be no reason to ever tell him.
Elizabeth focused on the tabletop. “The stock events and the kids’ rodeo are Dallas’s to worry about. I’m excited over this baked goods competition, but the PR work is more my territory. I’m glad to have your input, Clara, whatever you’d like to do.”
Clara carried the blue bowl to the refrigerator, then set the eggs inside.
“For years I lived in this house alone. I’m not one to isolate myself, so that was very hard for me until Hadley came home. I was his last foster mother.” She blinked, then sniffed. “Really, it’s my pleasure, Elizabeth, to be part of this event. I’m sure we’ll make a good team. Oh, and we’ll need a chili contest.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, “that was mentioned.”
The next few minutes passed in a blur of ideas traded back and forth until, finally, Clara noted the time on the kitchen wall clock. Taking her cue, Elizabeth stood up. “I won’t keep you any longer. Let’s meet soon to sort out the details.”
Clara walked her to the door. “More notions are buzzing in my head. I’ll make the calls to see what sort of possible numbers we’re talking about for entrants, and do you agree that all the entered goods should also be for sale?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “More money for the rodeo and for charity.”
“Have you chosen one yet?”
“I need to talk to... Dallas about that.” At Elizabeth’s hesitation over the name, Clara sent her a look. “The first flyers should go out. Then we’ll need other advertising, local radio, social media...” As she stepped onto the porch, Elizabeth trailed off. Dallas was walking this way, his gaze on the ground that ran slightly uphill. His mood seemed the opposite of yesterday. Did he regret their kiss?
Clara cleared her throat. “Oh, dear. What’s happened? I hope no one’s hurt.” Accidents were common on any ranch, but Elizabeth doubted that was the problem.
“I believe he’s headed for me, Clara.”
“If you need help there too, let me know.” With a wave toward Dallas, which he returned, and another questioning look at Elizabeth, Clara disappeared into the house.
Stopping at the foot of the stairs, frowning, Dallas removed his hat. “I just had a call. Dusty Malone, the foreman at Wilson Cattle, got injured trying to fix their hay baler.”
Elizabeth touched her chest. “Clara must have had a premonition. How
