“Raney doesn’t cry.”
“That’s what she said. But there you have it. Tears everywhere. I thought it was sweet.”
Raney flexed her hands on the steering wheel, wishing it were Dalton’s throat instead.
“Who’s Grady?” Dalton asked in hour three after they’d stopped at a gas station outside of Abilene for gas and snacks and yet another potty break for Joss.
“Just a guy.” Her sister flipped her hand in a dismissive motion. “A very bossy guy who thinks he knows best about everything.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Raney gave Dalton a please don’t encourage her look in the mirror.
“Why not?” he asked Joss.
“I’m tired of him telling me what to do, what not to do, what to eat, what not to eat—the man acts like he’s my mother, for heaven’s sake.”
“Maybe he’s got the hots for you.”
“Well, I don’t have the hots for him. Are there any chips left?”
Dalton gave up talking to Joss and went back to staring at Raney in the mirror.
She ignored him as best she could.
They were almost to Gunther and had a little over thirty minutes to go when Joss brought up the subject Raney had hoped to avoid. “So, Dalton,” her sister began with a sideways smirk at Raney. “What’s between you and my big sister?”
“Nothing,” Raney blurted out before Dalton could say anything.
Dalton gave a hearty laugh that sounded fake to Raney. “Your sister’s just being modest. There’s a lot between Raney and me. Especially yesterday.”
Joss perked up. “Really? What happened?”
“For one thing, she saved my life. And then later—”
“Dalton,” Raney cut in. “Let’s not make a big deal out of something so trivial.”
“Trivial? How can you say that, Raney? It was one of the most inspiring moments of my life. You seemed pretty moved, too.” He was all but rocking in his seat with suppressed laughter.
“What’d she do?” Joss asked.
It took him a moment to get himself in hand. “Well, after the yellow jacket attack and she was through laughing at me and crying, she made me take two Benadryls. The EMTs said I might have gone into shock and died if she hadn’t.”
“That’s awful.”
“It was,” Dalton agreed. “You know, in some cultures, Joss, if you save a person’s life, you’re responsible for them forever.”
“I thought it was the other way around.”
“Nobody’s responsible for anybody,” Raney snapped, needing to put a stop to this before it went too far. “And you weren’t anywhere near dying, Dalton. Not then, at least. But there’s still time.”
Joss gave her a shocked look.
Dalton laughed silently.
Raney drove faster.
They turned through the front gate just before one o’clock. Joss had called ahead to Mama to make sure there would be something to eat, since “mean ole Raney was so desperate to get home she barely let us pee, much less get anything decent to eat.”
As soon as they stopped, Raney handed out the Walmart bags she’d saved and told them to collect their trash or they’d have to answer to Mama. By the time they got everything gathered and were heading to the house, Mama was waiting with a full spread on the veranda table.
“I’ve been so worried,” she said, not quite wringing her hands, but showing a goodly amount of motherly concern. Sadly, none of it was directed at her offspring. “Dalton, dear, how are you feeling?”
“Much better, ma’am. Your daughter, here, took good care of me.”
Mama looked at Raney, brows raised. “She did?”
“Gave me two Benadryl and got me to the EMTs in record time.”
“EMTs? I had no idea it was so serious.”
“It wasn’t,” Raney cut in before Dalton could elaborate on his harrowing, near-death experience. “But you know what babies men can be. I had to do something to keep him calm. Can we eat now? I’m starving.”
As soon as they settled at the table, Mama took charge of the food and the conversation, which hopefully would put a damper on Dalton’s foolishness.
“How soon do you think you’ll be able to work, Dalton?” Mama asked as she passed around a jar of blackberry preserves to complement the croque monsieur. Or, as unpretentious Americans called them, Monte Cristos. Or, as the even less pretentious called them, fried ham and cheese and turkey sandwiches. Raney wondered who Mama was trying to impress. And why.
“I’m ready now,” Dalton answered. “These stings look a lot worse than they feel, thanks to all the medicines Raney put on them.” He sent her a fond smile.
She ignored him.
“That’s good news,” Mama said. “Press Amala got back sooner than expected, and he’s ready to take you whenever you’re up to it. He suggested you bring Rosco so he can see how you do together.”
“Good idea. I’m assuming Rosco’s been trailered before.”
“Many times. Amala’s barn is this side of Gunther, so you should be able to commute unless he needs you to stay overnight.”
“I can start tomorrow if that suits him.”
Mama said she’d check with Press and let him know, then turned to the soon-to-be mama and lapsed into an elaborate and enthusiastic explanation of all the plans she’d already put in motion to fix up her new granddaughter’s nursery. Poor Joss.
As soon as the meal ended, Dalton thanked Mama and said he needed to check on Rosco.
Raney almost went with him—only to see how the colt’s session with Alejandro had gone—then saw the way Mama and Joss watched her, and went to Daddy’s office instead.
When she sat behind the desk, motion caught her eye and she glanced out the big office window to see Dalton heading up to the barn. Even from this distance, she could see that sway in his shoulders with each authoritative stride, the hotel laundry bag containing his dirty clothes and the medicines swinging at his knee. His head was down as if in thought, and the sun brought out the reds and golds in his dark brown hair. Or maybe she was
