Becca hurried to the counter for some tape. While Clara tacked the flyer on the glass, Becca felt Jenna watching her. Her gaze moved from Becca’s face, down her front, then settled on her abdomen before she quickly looked away.
“There will be a kids’ event too,” Jenna said. “If you know anyone who might be interested, please let them know.”
“I don’t know any kids,” Becca murmured, thinking, except my own.
Clara turned from the window. “Thank you so much, Rebecca. We’d better go, Jenna, to the other shops. If I’m not back in time to feed three hungry men their lunch, there may be a riot.” She laughed. “They’re eating me out of house and home, though I could never manage without them.” She and Jenna were at the door when Clara faced Becca again.
“Two men, I should have said.” Clara’s expression dimmed. “When I served breakfast, Calvin was nowhere to be seen. Hadley tells me the bunkhouse has been cleared of all his belongings. No notice,” she said with a sniff, “just when we’re going to need his help on rodeo day.” Her voice was tinged with concern. “Calvin Stern seems to have vanished.”
AFTER WORK THAT AFTERNOON, Dallas pulled into his driveway. Living in town wasn’t really his thing, and at the McMann ranch, he loved hearing the soft lowing of cattle, smelling the sweet scent of grass, being outdoors all day. He’d never liked closed-in spaces. He liked living next door to Lizzie, though.
Still, kissing her was one thing. Making a commitment he wasn’t ready for, and that she would shy away from, was another—even when he wanted something more than friendship. And where might that lead them? He had no clue. Maybe he’d simply lost his head with Lizzie, but he wouldn’t apologize this time. She’d liked kissing him too.
Dallas went into the house, dropped his mail on the kitchen counter, then walked out the back again, where he’d heard a lot of taunting and name-calling from next door. He found Lizzie’s kids chasing each other around the yard with big water pistols, or rather the two boys were chasing Stella, who was screaming at the top of her lungs. Dallas didn’t hesitate. “Hey!” He whistled through his teeth. “Leave your sister alone!” He couldn’t believe Lizzie would let them fight like this, not with Bernice keeping watch, ready to report anything amiss to Lizzie’s mother, if not the whole town.
“You’re not the boss of me,” little Seth threw back over his shoulder at Dallas as he ran. He spun around, then squirted Stella right between the eyes.
More bloodcurdling shrieks. “You got my hair wet! Brat!” she yelled.
Dallas considered confiscating the pistols, but they weren’t his children. He had no right to discipline them. He sprinted from the rear lawn to the door, where he didn’t bother to knock.
“Lizzie! There’s a war going on in your backyard,” he announced, but she wasn’t in the kitchen. Where was she? There was another telling silence in the house like last night, but she would never leave her kids home alone.
He strode through the living room. Empty, yet cluttered again with debris that only three kids could create. There were candy wrappers strewn on the coffee table. A pair of Nerf rifles lay abandoned on the carpet alongside a one-armed doll with glazed eyes—as if there’d been a murder here. The area behind the chutes at a rodeo would look neater. “Lizzie?” he called again.
Now he was getting worried. This wasn’t his business, and yet it was. If something was wrong, he couldn’t ignore it. What if there’d been an accident, and Lizzie had been electrocuted by a hair dryer falling into the bathtub? Slashed her finger while trying to fix dinner and was bleeding somewhere? Upstairs? The kids wouldn’t hear her cries for help.
Trying to shut out the still-growing clamor from the yard, Dallas took the steps two at a time. The first bedrooms on either side of the hall were clearly the boys’ rooms, one in blue with a mountain of stuffed animals on the bed, which was shaped like a race car. Seth’s, most likely. The other had a space theme with a large decal of a Starfighter blazing across the wall. Jordan’s room. Next on the right looked to be Stella’s—it boasted one purple wall, three pink, and shelves lined with dolls. The last room on the left had to be Lizzie’s with its door shut.
Dallas pushed it open. Dark, with the draperies closed, at first it seemed empty too. Then he heard a soft moan, a shape moved under the covers and his pulse shot up. “Lizzie.” Remembering how pale she’d been the night before, he crouched by the bed. “You sick?”
“Um,” she answered, then shifted the blankets enough to reveal one eye, dull and not quite aware. “I missed work. Didn’t get to the store.” She waved a limp hand toward the ruckus still coming from the yard. “Oh, God, what are they doing out there?”
“Torturing each other.”
“So. Normal,” she said but didn’t smile. “My stomach’s not good. I called Olivia’s sitter. Isn’t she with them?”
“No.”
“What time is it?”
“Five thirty.”
She groaned. “I should have known. Her boyfriend’s always the priority. She never told me she was leaving. I could have phoned my mother instead, but you know how that would turn out.”
He frowned. “Why didn’t you call me? You have my cell number.”
“When I came out of the bathroom for the third time—which I thought was the last—this morning, I saw your truck leave. I assumed you were on your way to Clara’s.”
He touched her forehead. “Fever?”
“I don’t think so.” She clamped a hand on his forearm. “Don’t fuss, it’s likely...some sort of flu.”
He disagreed. He wouldn’t let her light touch distract him, and he sure didn’t miss her evasive gaze. First, food poisoning, now this, along with the way she kept avoiding some
