“Well, I—”
“Do speak up, Deputy. I’m recording this.”
Silence.
“Shall I have my lawyers meet you and Mr. Cardwell at your office, Deputy Langers? Or would you prefer we handle this directly with your boss, Sheriff Ford? I’m certain either he or my lawyers can explain all about probable cause, illegal searches, and what the penalties are for police harassment.”
Silence.
“Or you can simply apologize to Mr. Cardwell for this misunderstanding and send him on his way. He’ll be late for supper as it is.”
A long sigh. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that. And you have a nice day.” Mama returned the phone to Raney.
“I could have handled it,” Raney snapped.
“Of course you could. But the deputy is less likely to take the reprimand personally if it comes from a grandmother, rather than from someone who wouldn’t even dance with him at the Grange Christmas party last year.” Mama’s smile would have made a preacher sweat. “But as it happens, I did dance with Sheriff Ford, and I can assure you the man hasn’t forgotten it. Vinegar or honey, my dears. Men always choose honey. Now can we get back to the swatches?”
Supper was delayed while they waited for Dalton to return, put Rosco away, and change clothes, since it was Saturday and they would be eating in the dining room. When Raney opened the door a while later, his hair was wet and he was slightly out of breath, but grinning. “Sorry I’m late.”
Mercy, the things that grin could do to an empty stomach. “No problem,” she managed to say.
As soon as they took their places at the table, the interrogation began. To bring the mutes up to date, Dalton spent the next half hour going into a detailed rendering of every “he said,” “I said,” and “Mrs. Whitcomb said” during his run-in with Langers. At least it was different from the usual Rosco report.
Glenn was so transfixed by the account he stopped chewing for a moment.
“Es un culero,” Alejandro muttered when Dalton finished.
“What was that, Alejandro?”
Alejandro met Dalton’s grin with a shrug. “I said he is an asshole, Senora.”
Mama’s smile faltered momentarily then quickly recovered. “He certainly is. Would anyone care for more potatoes?” Ever gracious, Mama was.
Joss, not so much. “Why is Deputy Langers out to get you?” she asked Dalton.
“I took his spot on the high school football team.”
“Seriously? He’s still upset about something that happened twenty years ago?”
“Seventeen. Toby was two years older than me. He took it hard.”
“And that’s it? Some seventeen-year-old grudge? God, men can be so dumb.”
Raney watched color rise up Dalton’s neck. A very nice neck. Full of muscles and tendons and that angular Adam’s apple that slid up and down whenever he swallowed. Like now.
“I also dated a girl he had his eye on.”
“Karla Jenkins?” Joss guessed.
A darting glance at Raney. “Before that.”
“Suze Anderson. No, wait! Mary Freed. Or was it Rachel Whatshername?”
“Yes.”
“All of them? My, you’ve certainly been busy.” Joss grinned at Raney. “He doesn’t sound gay to me.”
Five gazes swung toward Raney. Two showed amusement.
Dalton’s didn’t. “Who said I was gay?”
“It was just a silly joke,” Mama said with a blindingly bright smile. “Who wants dessert? Shall we take it on the veranda?”
Dalton followed Raney onto the porch. Herded her, actually. Knowing her moment of reckoning was coming, she decided to forgo the strawberry shortcake and concentrate on wine. She was more embarrassed than afraid of Dalton’s anger. He didn’t deserve to be the butt of her offhand remark and she was ashamed that she’d used him that way. But she couldn’t come up with the right words to explain it. Mama thinks she’s my pimp seemed a bit harsh.
The mutes were finished and heading down the veranda steps when Dalton turned to Raney and said, “Could I talk to you a minute?”
“Sure.” Unwilling to have this conversation within hearing of her nosy mother and sister, Raney suggested they take a walk. By mutual unspoken agreement, they headed down the long sloping lawn toward the creek.
It was another beautiful evening, warm, but with enough breeze to keep the bugs away, and the western sky gearing up for another stunning Texas sunset. They didn’t speak and were careful not to touch, not with her mother and sister watching from the veranda, so Raney spent the silence rehearsing what she might say in her own defense and wondering what Dalton was thinking.
Nothing good, judging by his concentrated expression.
The creek that had given the town its name was little more than a meandering brook that cascaded from one shallow, rock-lined pool to another as it followed the pitch of the gently rolling grasslands. It provided more music than water, but was so picturesque that photographs of it had appeared in several magazine articles aimed at bringing tourists to the area. On the other side of the county, a natural dam had created a clear swimming hole that had been a favorite teenage hangout for decades until the state took it over for a day-use-only state park.
Here, at the ranch, it was less picturesque and served the more practical purpose of providing water for the stock and irrigation for the small vegetable garden tended by las esposas. Years ago, Daddy had hired workers to cut back the brush to make a small clearing along the bank under the shade of a wide-limbed oak tree where the four sisters often had picnics when they were younger. It was a quiet, peaceful place, and Raney hoped it would have a soothing effect on Dalton.
She had just reached the tree when Dalton put his hand on her shoulder, spun her around, and pulled her into his arms.
Startled, she froze.
He looked anything but soothed as he stared down at her, unsmiling, his gaze fixed on her mouth. “I came out here to give you hell. Now all I want to do is get you naked.”
“Does that mean I’m off the hook for saying you’re gay?”
“Not a chance,” he
