“I think they were pretty serious.”
Raney was saved from responding when Suze came back with their iced tea.
She thunked the glasses on the table, propped her fists on her hips, and said, “Karla Jenkins moved to Fort Worth last Christmas. After she wrote Dalton a Dear John letter in prison. A pretty low-class thing to do, in my opinion.” She turned to Raney. “And you’re right. Dalton should have gotten off. Everybody knows Jim Bob was drunk and speeding. But Dalton took responsibility because that’s the kind of guy he is. Anything else you want to know? No? All right, then. Your orders will be up in a minute.”
Raney and Bertie blinked after her as she stomped off to the kitchen. But they got the message, and for the rest of the meal they limited the conversation to Phil, Bertie, her job, her mother’s new hip, and Phil, Fort Worth’s most amazing vet.
“You’d like him,” Bertie said later after they’d left the diner and were standing outside, going through the motions of a protracted good-bye. “Maybe next time I come visit my folks, I’ll bring him.”
“I hope so. I’d like to meet him.” In truth, Raney didn’t care if she ever met Amazing Phil. He sounded pretty full of himself. Or maybe she was just upset because he was one of the main reasons she and Bertie were drifting apart.
As she watched Bertie drive away, a sense of loss stole over Raney. She wondered why she couldn’t be more social, like Mama. Apparently, even an ex-con had more friends than she did.
But it had always been that way.
As a little kid, she’d hated being dressed up and paraded around—Mama and Daddy’s little darlings. So precious. So pretty. Even at an early age, the weight of her parents’ expectations and all that attention from people who didn’t even know her felt false. Consequently, she avoided it whenever she could. Which only generated another, more hurtful kind of attention. One messy or off day, and she might be whispered about for weeks. Eventually, she learned to go along to get along, but it still felt false.
She’d never wanted to be in the rodeo court, or wear a homecoming crown, or kick up her heels as a cheerleader. Yet she did it to avoid the whispers, and because that was what was expected of the Whitcomb girls, who were pretty and rich and so special they even had a ranch named after them.
Over time, she gained a lot of admirers, but few friends. And because she hung back whenever she could, she never learned how to be sociable. If it didn’t involve horses or the ranch, Raney didn’t have much to say.
Except to Dalton Cardwell, it seemed.
The ex-con.
CHAPTER 7
“Where have you been?” Mama asked when Raney came up the veranda steps after her brunch with Bertie.
“In town.”
“But you’re so dressed up.”
“I’m not dressed up.” Raney wondered again if she’d turned into a complete slob without even knowing it.
Mama gave an indulgent smile. “Whatever the reason, you look very nice.”
She was sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs, nibbling on her usual tiny triangular-shaped cucumber sandwiches. Raney wondered if she was trying to make herself allergic so if she found herself stranded on some non-cucumber-producing island somewhere, she wouldn’t feel so deprived. Mama didn’t handle deprivation well. Hence the Jimmy Choo sandals and designer capris with Swarovski crystals on the pockets.
Her mother waved a hand toward the plate on the ottoman. “Join me?”
“I had an early lunch with Bertie.”
“Oh, that’s why you’re so dressed up.”
“Yeah, that’s it. I was trying to impress Bertie.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, dear. It’s unbecoming.”
“Then quit making it so easy.”
Raney plopped into the chair facing her mother and crossed her ankles atop the ottoman. Even though it was barely midday, the sun was already baking everything it touched. If it was this hot in early May, by summer they’d be cooked.
“How’s her mother?” Mama asked.
“Well enough for Bertie to leave in a day or two.”
“That’s nice.”
Obviously, Mama had something on her mind. All these bland pleasantries came at a cost. But Raney didn’t pry, content to enjoy the silence while she could.
After her mother finished her tiny sandwich, she brushed the crumbs off her lap and said, “I heard from Josslyn this morning. She’ll be here by the end of the week. Or next week, at the latest.”
“To stay?” Raney tried to keep the panic from her voice. She and Joss were so different it was hard for them to live in close quarters without going at each other’s throats. Raney considered Joss irresponsible and undisciplined. Joss thought Raney was a rule-bound stick-in-the-mud. Right brain versus left brain. Life of the party versus fringe dweller. And now they would be adding a newborn to the mix.
Instant chaos.
“She wants to get everything ready for the baby,” her mother said.
“So soon?”
“She’s due in just a few months,” Mama reminded her.
Maybe Joss would be late. She was late for everything else, why not a baby, too? Three or four months until the baby, then at least two more months before Joss would cut and run. Six months total, with Mama there only between trips to referee or run interference. Raney wondered how she’d get through it.
“I thought we could turn the guest room into a nursery,” Mama suggested.
“Downstairs? Will she want the baby that far away? Why not use Len’s or KD’s room?” Seemed impractical to make a permanent kid room when it was doubtful Joss would stay very long.
Mama shook her head. “It’s superstitious, I know, but as long as your sisters’ bedrooms stay the same, I’m convinced they’ll come back. I want them to know they’ll always have a place here at the house.”
“I think they already know that.”
“It’s not the same, Raney. When you have children, you’ll understand.”
And there it was. Another gentle reminder that Raney was still the odd one out,
