And her mother was half-right. Harry had seemed eager to spend the summer months with the children. But the still-painful reality of his betrayal swamped her every morning as soon as she woke up. Her mother thought Elizabeth should have come to terms with all her losses by now. And she definitely thought that if Elizabeth had been a better wife, Harry wouldn’t have strayed.
“I’m still appalled by your behavior, Elizabeth,” her mother had said. “When you married, you promised for better or worse to stand by him.” She didn’t seem to realize she’d all but quoted the lyrics of a classic country song.
“I guess the worst became too much for me. Do we really have to talk about this?”
Claudia patted her carefully highlighted brown hair into place. She’d leaned across their lunch table. “Why not admit you’ve made a mistake? More than one, actually.”
But “I have to go” was all Elizabeth had answered. Thank goodness her mother didn’t know about her transgression in May with Dallas. Elizabeth had stood, tucked some bills into the folder that held their check, then left the café before her mother could voice another attack. Elizabeth would hear about her rudeness the next time she saw Claudia.
“The story of my life,” she muttered now.
The front bell chimed and, expecting it was Bernice hoping to hear some dirt about Elizabeth’s lunch with her mother, this time she hurried to answer. Elizabeth, who avoided confrontation, was in the mood to put Bernice in her place.
Instead, she saw Dallas waiting on the porch again, wearing obviously new, pressed jeans and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled back over his strong forearms. The cowboy’s version of dress clothes. He held a large bag from the Bon Appetit. “Dinner, as promised,” he said. “Please don’t say no again. This food’s getting cold, and I have something to run by you. Please,” he repeated.
With a wave of her hand, Elizabeth stepped back out of the doorway. Persistence must be his middle name. But she did feel guilty about how she’d treated him when he asked her to dinner yesterday. She’d definitely overreacted. This would be her chance to apologize—once she worked up to it. “All right, but don’t expect brilliant conversation.” Or anything else. “Frankly, I’m in recovery mode.”
With a slight limp, he carried the bag into the living room with Elizabeth trailing after him. “Ah, yesterday you were in hiding. I’d see this as progress, but obviously you spoke to your mother and there’s been a setback. You always look this way afterward.” Elizabeth was surprised that he’d noticed, but in the six months he’d lived next door, she’d told him several times in passing about some meeting with Claudia, and Dallas was perceptive. He turned to assess her unhappy expression.
“I met her at the café for lunch, and we talked—or she did.” Elizabeth half smiled. “All I had to do was murmur a few words. I’m never the one she’s listening to.”
“Herself, then. Not a conversation, brilliant or otherwise.”
She hadn’t intended to share but found herself telling Dallas what had been said during the meal she’d barely touched.
He held her gaze. “Bad day,” he said, and as if to change her mood, he swiftly laid out their meal on her glass-topped coffee table, lining up plastic knives and forks beside paper plates, which would have horrified her mother.
“You don’t eat on real china in your dining room?”
“It’ll be like a picnic. Since you’re not into talking, we can watch rodeo while we eat. A PBR event’s about to start.”
Oh, goodie. That didn’t appeal to Elizabeth either—she wasn’t a fan of the dangerous sport—but at least he didn’t see this as a date. She gestured at the next box he opened, which was releasing a delicious aroma. “What is that?”
“Celebration.” Dallas told her about working for his brother at the McMann ranch. “That’s part of it,” he finished, and Elizabeth wondered what else he meant to run by her. “So, Jack made us this chicken dish with some fancy French name.” Jack Hancock was the owner and head chef at the Bon Appetit restaurant.
“Coq au vin?”
“Yeah. His specialty, he said.” Dallas pulled a loaf of bread from the bag. “This too.”
Her mouth watered. “A freshly baked baguette. That is worth a celebration.” She added, “Congratulations on your new job.”
“Thanks. We’ll need butter.” He took out another container of salad. “And I’d like some extra dressing.”
“Me too.” Elizabeth’s stomach rumbled—her plate had still been full when she’d left the café. “I’m often starving after I see my mother,” she admitted.
While she fetched the bottle of vinaigrette, a crock of butter, and the salt and pepper grinders, Elizabeth put the scene with her mother on the back burner. When she reentered the living room, Dallas had switched on the TV, and the room was suddenly full of light and sound. Soon, they were downing the most incredible meal she’d eaten in a long time, and Elizabeth was sharing the rest of the blush wine with Dallas because, without Harry in the house, she kept no beer in the fridge.
“Ugh,” Dallas said more than once, his gaze glued to the television screen.
“If you don’t like wine, I have—”
“Nah, don’t get up.” Shoulders hunched, he said little else, intent upon the rodeo action and giving Elizabeth space, she supposed, at the opposite end of the sofa. The event didn’t thrill her. Even though she saw it on TV, she couldn’t understand the appeal of the dust in the actual arena that would clog her nostrils, the smell of dirty animals, and then there was the danger, one cowboy after another risking his life. As Dallas had done and would do again.
Finally, during a series
