“Why would she take responsibility if you’re always around to cover for her?”
“What are you, my shrink?” She’d heard that lecture from Len, and a couple of times from Mama. But what else could she do? Joss was her little sister and it was Raney’s job to watch over her. When they were younger, it had mostly been fun. But once Joss hit puberty and discovered boys, it got a lot harder.
“Is she going to keep the baby?”
She glared over at him. “Of course she is! In fact, she’s very excited about it—her. She was coming home next week to start fixing up the nursery.”
“Sounds pretty responsible to me.”
Raney refrained from backhanding him. Everyone always stuck up for Joss. Or made excuses for her. Or wondered why her party-pooper sister was constantly trying to rein her in. “I should have guessed you’d take her side.” She tried not to sound too resentful.
“Why?”
“Because you’re a guy. And guys drop like stones at Joss’s feet.”
“I didn’t.”
“You were too skinny.”
He grinned and spread his hands as if to show off his broad, sturdy frame that was anything but skinny. “Well, I’m not anymore. Think she’ll like me now?”
“Oh, I’m sure of it.” And that was what concerned Raney most of all.
They didn’t talk again until she turned off the interstate onto State Highway 6, a winding two-lane dotted with small towns already buttoned up for the night even though the sun had barely gone down.
“You’ve been driving for over two and a half hours,” Dalton said. “If you want, I can take us on into Waco. I’m familiar with the route and promise I’ll drive safe.”
She saw he was serious and realized how hard it must be for someone as capable as he was to take a backseat and let others do for him. “Sure,” she said, and hoped she was doing the right thing. “I’ll look for a pullout. We can take a break and see about those sandwiches Mama packed in the cooler.”
“Thanks.”
“Best wait until you see what she made. She’s partial to mashed cucumber.”
“No, I meant thanks for trusting me to drive.”
Raney nodded. But it wasn’t really his driving she distrusted. It was everything else. Especially the way she was starting to enjoy being around him.
They found a pullout a mile up the road that had an overflowing garbage can and a picnic table under a stand of elms. No water, so hopefully no mosquitoes.
Dalton brought over the cooler while Raney scouted for snakes and dead things as best she could in the fading light. Finding neither, she sat across from him at the warped table and ate triangular ham sandwiches, chips, bottled tea, and Maria’s homemade pecan pie. It was a lovely evening.
As she watched the first stars blink on in the eastern sky, Raney thought this was the best non–first date she had ever been on.
Until Dalton went to put their garbage in the trash can.
CHAPTER 8
The can hadn’t been emptied in days. Even from twenty feet away, Raney could smell it. Decaying apricots, maybe. Apple cores. Something fruity. She didn’t think wasps were normally that active at night in spring, but as soon as Dalton lifted the lid, hundreds of yellow jackets swarmed out.
And they were pissed.
“Shit!” He dropped the lid and their bag of trash and started running, arms waving madly as the yellow jackets dive-bombed him from every direction.
At first Raney thought it was funny the way the oversized cowboy hopped and flapped like a cartoon chicken. Then she realized he was actually getting stung.
Alarmed, she raced to the car and yanked open the back door. “Get in,” she shouted, and jumped into the driver’s seat.
He flung himself onto the seat behind her, cussing and waving to head off the wasps trying to follow him in. “Drive!” he shouted as he slammed the door. “Maybe the wind will suck them out.”
She drove, flinching every time she heard him swat a wasp on the seat, the headrest, the ceiling, the window. She’d have to have the car detailed before Mama saw it. She hit the controls to open all the windows. After a few minutes, things got quieter behind her. She checked the rearview mirror and saw him flinging dead yellow jackets out the window.
“I think I got them all,” he said. “You can slow down now.”
She glanced at the speedometer and saw she was going over seventy on a fifty-five-mile-an-hour road. Easing off the gas, she looked for a place to pull over.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Damn bastards got me good.”
Seeing a wide graveled spot where a ranch road joined the highway, Raney turned in, put the car in park, and swiveled to look in the backseat. She had been a Girl Scout. She knew yellow jackets could sting multiple times and the pain from their venom lasted a long time. And she also knew too much venom could send a person into shock. “How many times did they get you?”
“Not sure. A dozen or so.”
“Are you allergic to bees?”
“They weren’t bees.”
“Are you allergic!” she repeated, trying not to panic.
“Not that I know of.”
She dug through the console to see what might help. Nothing for insect bites, but several pairs of sunglasses, hairspray, Kleenex, a year’s supply of antibacterial gel, and at the very bottom, a small bottle of Benadryl.
She popped the lid, shook out two pills, and passed them back. “Take these.”
“I don’t have any water.” Even in the dim light, she could see the bumps rising on his neck.
“Do it anyway!” She jumped out of the car and started toward the rear door, then remembered they’d left the cooler and all their ice by the picnic table. Damn!
She got back in and checked the map on the GPS display. Eight miles to the next town. Hopefully, something would be open. “How do you feel now?”
“Same as before. Maybe a little dizzy. Why are you getting so worked up?”
“I’m not worked
