* * *
They crossed the creek and were headed to the barn when Raney broached the idea of him being sent to work with Prescott Amala for a week or so.
“The old guy who started Rosco?” Dalton asked.
She nodded. “Mama thinks Press might bring you along faster as a trainer.”
“Faster than what?”
“Than you muddling through on your own.”
“You trying to get rid of me again?”
She looked up at him. Saw the laughter in his green eyes and had to smile. “Could I?”
“Not without your mama’s say-so.”
Still smiling, she looked away, feeling nervous but not sure why. “Then no, I’m not trying to get rid of you. Mama’s convinced you’re just what I need.”
“Really?”
“As a trainer.”
“Oh. As a trainer.”
He was laughing at her again. It was there in his voice.
She couldn’t blame him. It seemed every time she was around him, she acted like a complete idiot. Determined to avoid making a bigger fool of herself, she decided to keep her head down and speak only when she had to.
“I never met Press,” he said. “Never saw him ride, either. But I heard he was a hell of a roper in his day. How old is he now? Seventy?”
“At least. But he’s still got the know-how. He could teach you a lot, if you were willing.”
“I’m sure he could. And I’d jump at the chance to learn from him if I wasn’t already employed here.”
“You’d still be working for Four Star. We’d send you to him for a few training sessions, is all. We’d pay for it, too, since the ranch would benefit.” When he didn’t answer right away, she shot him a smirk. “Do I have to seal the deal with another contract?” she asked, mimicking his words from the other day.
Abruptly he stopped and stuck out his hand. It was huge. Could probably span a dinner plate. “With you, Raney, a handshake is enough.”
Not sure if he was joking, she hesitated before putting her hand in his. It felt tiny in his broad, callused grip. A quick squeeze then she let go. “It better be,” she said, fighting a smile. “’Cause that’s all you’re going to get, cowboy.”
“Ouch,” he said, and laughed out loud.
It changed things—the teasing, the laughter, the touch of his hand. Now she was more aware of him than ever. And trusted him even less.
When they reached the barn, Raney saw cars coming down the drive. Sunday services were over. She watched her mother’s Ford Expedition turn into the parking area behind the house, then an older-model SUV pull in beside it. Three people got out of the second car. A big guy and two smaller people, one wearing a dress.
Raney sighed. “Mama’s back and she brought company. You know what that means.” Dalton didn’t respond, his attention focused on the people talking with her mother. “Sunday dinner with all the fixings. Brace yourself. And dress up.” With a backward wave, she headed toward the house and left him still staring at the cars.
“Dress up?” he called after her. “What does that mean?”
Without slowing, she called over her shoulder, “White shirt, tucked in. Tie, clean jeans, and boots. No hat. If you don’t have a tie, Alejandro can loan you a bolo. And don’t be late.” She never glanced back to check, but the itch between her shoulder blades told her he watched her the whole way.
She took a quick shower to get rid of the dust and smell of spent powder, then hunted for a dress that would be comfortable, flattering, and meet her mother’s exacting, if illogical, requirements.
As part of her edict that they eat in the dining room, Mama had decreed that since her daughters rarely joined her for church services anymore, they should honor the Sabbath by wearing a proper dress at Sunday luncheon. No matter that her daughters were all grown women, fully capable of picking out their own clothes. Even Joss, the unmarried, pregnant one, had been dressing herself—and apparently, undressing herself—for years. But who dared argue with Mama, especially on a Sunday? Her house, her rules.
Raney finally settled on a simple blue, knee-length dress with a flared hem and draped neckline, one she’d been told was the exact color of her blue eyes. She put her hair up in a loose knot, smeared on enough makeup to tame the freckles and sunburn, added gloss, mascara, and a dab of perfume, and that was that.
The three guests were Dalton Caldwell’s parents and his younger brother, Timmy, who had a learning disability. Since Mama rotated between churches to maintain her social contacts, Raney had met the elder Cardwells years ago, although she hadn’t spoken to them often. They were at least a decade older than Mama, and looked it. Dalton’s arrest and the last two years with him gone had probably been hard on them, and now with the move, they looked worn to a nub. Raney felt bad for them. Her family had weathered rough patches, too, but there were enough of them to hold each other up when times were tough.
Timmy was the same as always, only bigger. A big, friendly teddy bear. He was no longer a harmless little kid, but a fully grown, very strong young man. Mama had told her that part of the reason for the Cardwells’ move to Plainview was to find a group home for Timmy, which sounded like a good idea. For Timmy and his parents.
Right on time, the three guys showed up. “Welcome,” Raney said, waving them inside. “The others are in the den.”
Alejandro looked like he’d had a rough night. Hicks looked the same, except for trading in the plaid for a white shirt with snap pockets and adding a slightly frayed string tie. Dalton wore a clean, but faded, light beige shirt and one of Alejandro’s bolo ties. She recognized the silver arrowhead tips and the garish four-inch-wide silver-and-turquoise sliding clasp. Another Christmas gift. He was partial to silver.
“I hope this is
