“I’m sure your parents miss you terribly, Dalton. Cancel Press. He’ll understand. Unless you don’t really need to talk to me.”
Blackmail. Dalton sighed. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be happy to drive you.” What was another hour to Plainview if he got the answers he needed?
“We leave at seven thirty in the morning.”
* * *
When he arrived at the parking area the next morning, he was surprised to see Raney leaning against her mother’s Expedition, a cup of coffee in her hand. “I thought I was driving your mother to Lubbock.”
“You are.” She tipped her head toward the back door. “If you haven’t eaten, Maria can whip up some eggs while you get Mama’s luggage.”
A few minutes later, he knocked on Mrs. Whitcomb’s door. “Bellhop.”
“We’ll have to hurry,” she said, waving him inside. “I forgot about TSA, although why they would be worried about a woman my age, I’ll never know.” She pointed to the big roller by the bed. “Take that one. I’ll bring the carry-on.” As he rolled the suitcase into the hall, she said, “Raney insisted on coming, too.”
“I saw.”
“I know you wanted to speak to me about whatever’s going on between you two, but it’s probably best if you speak directly to her.”
It probably was. But how was he supposed to do that when she would barely talk to him?
“She just needs reassurance, Dalton. Have patience.” She pointed down the stairs. “You go first. I don’t want you falling on top of me.”
“Reassurance about what?” he asked over his shoulder as he headed down.
“You. You don’t share much of yourself, you know.”
That again. Why did women insist on knowing every little detail about stuff that didn’t concern them? “I won’t discuss the accident,” he said when they reached the first-floor landing.
“I know. I talked to your mother.”
He stopped so abruptly, she almost ran into him. “My mother spoke to you about the wreck?” They had promised each other to never talk about that night.
“In a roundabout way. Nothing specific. Keep moving. I’m late as it is.”
Dalton was so shocked he could barely wolf down the scrambled eggs waiting on the kitchen counter while Mrs. Whitcomb gave out last-minute instructions to Maria. What had his mother said?
Since Raney was sitting in the backseat when he went out to load the luggage, Dalton assumed that meant he’d drive. By the time he’d stowed the big roller into the rear deck of the car, Mrs. Whitcomb was in the passenger seat, passing kisses through the open window to sleepy-eyed Joss and promising she’d be back well before the baby came.
When they drove through the main gate a few minutes later, Mrs. Whitcomb turned to Dalton and said, “Since we’re running fifteen minutes late, you may speed, but only if you do it prudently. I don’t want to die before my cruise.”
He didn’t question the weirdness of her comment, but happily pressed down on the gas pedal, making the hundred-mile drive in an hour and twenty minutes and pulling up to the terminal with time to spare.
More good-bye hugs, this time directed at him, then, leaving him to guard the car, Mrs. Whitcomb and Raney went inside to make sure her luggage was sent to Boeing Field, rather than Seattle-Tacoma International.
Fifteen minutes later, Raney came back out, a big smile on her face. Dalton didn’t know the cause, but guessed it wasn’t because she’d be alone with him on the drive back, but rather that she’d be motherless for several weeks.
“I thought she’d never leave,” she said with a deep sigh as she climbed into the passenger seat. “Mama can drag out a good-bye for hours if you let her. She said you might want to swing by Plainview to see your folks?”
“Maybe another time,” Dalton hedged. “Amala’s bringing the mare later this afternoon. I’d like to be there when they arrive. That okay with you?”
“Peachy.”
Dalton drove to the Highway 82 interchange and headed east, retracing their route back to the ranch. This time, he didn’t speed. Raney sat quietly beside him, staring out the window. After half an hour of silence, he accepted that she wasn’t going to speak to him unless he drove her to it.
“What’d I do?” he finally asked.
She turned her head and looked at him. “About what?”
“Whatever it is you’re mad at me about.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Then why won’t you talk to me?”
She gave a half smile. “I could ask you the same thing.”
He thought back to his conversation with her mother and let out a deep breath. “This is about what you said the night of the fight, isn’t it? About us not knowing each other.”
“We don’t. Not really. What do we ever talk about but Rosco and the ranch?”
“Fine. Then what do you want to talk about?”
“Forget it,” she snapped, and turned back to the window.
He probably shouldn’t have said it so impatiently, but it pissed him off that she’d shut him down when he was trying to do what she’d asked. “Don’t pull that crap, Raney. You wanted to talk, so let’s talk. But since I’m just a guy and don’t know all the rules, you’ll have to spell it out. What do you want to talk about?”
“You. For starters.”
Hell. But he gamely said, “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” She spread her hands, palms up, then dropped them back to her lap. “There are big sections of your life you won’t discuss, Dalton. Maybe you locked them away. Maybe you have good reason. But they’re still there, still part of who you are. And if we’re to go any further with whatever we have between us, I need to know that stuff. How you think. How you feel. What makes you happy, or sad, or afraid. I need to know you, Dalton. Only then can I trust you.”
Dalton was astounded. “You don’t trust me?”
“I trust what I know about you. But I don’t know much. That’s the problem.”
He didn’t know what to say. Despite the one incident when he’d felt compelled to
