Could he be lured away? How far would she go to keep him at Four Star?
Questions she couldn’t answer. But that didn’t keep them from adding to her conflicted feelings about the man who occupied more of her thoughts as time passed. She had worked hard to keep firm control over whatever was happening between them. But she had never thought he might up and leave her.
It felt like everything was moving too fast, that a crossroads was approaching too soon, and she’d have to face decisions she wasn’t ready to make. All she knew for certain was that the idea of losing Dalton was suddenly a lot more frightening than the idea of keeping him.
* * *
On the Friday before Rosco’s first small show, Harvey and Uno washed the newer of the two ranch trucks and the smaller horse trailer, taking extra care to shine up the Whitcomb Four Star logos on the sides of both the truck and trailer, and the rear loading door. Good advertising, Dalton thought.
Then, after Rosco’s daily workout and Dalton went to tend to his new duties at the breeding offices, they cleaned and oiled the tack, loaded it into the trailer with enough feed and hay for two horses, and made sure the gas tank was full.
Rosco got the full treatment, too. Alejandro checked his hooves and made sure the shoes were tight and his legs were sound. Then he gave the colt a trim, a bath, a rubdown, and called it a day.
Meanwhile, Raney was trapped in the office going over the quarterly reports—her least favorite task in running the ranch. The transition from cattle ranch to breeding facility was going well, despite still being in the red. But since the losses were less than those in the first quarter, neither Raney nor the accountants were worried. She was almost through when Maria came in, her face flushed, her eyes round with worry. “Miss Raney, someone comes. In Miss Joss’s car.”
“Where’s my sister?”
“Napping, I think.”
“Don’t wake her. We’ll see who it is first.” Raney picked up her cell phone and left the office, Maria on her heels.
“I think he went to the back where the cars park,” the housekeeper said.
“It was a man?”
“Sí. I think so.”
Raney quickly punched in Dalton’s number.
“I see him,” he said before she even spoke. “I’m on my way.”
Raney ended the call and told Maria to come with her as she hurried through the kitchen toward the veranda.
It had to be Grady Douglas. Who else would drive all the way from Houston to return her sister’s car? As she stepped out onto the veranda, she heard men’s voices approaching from the parking area. Dalton’s, she recognized. The other, she didn’t.
When they came around the corner of the house, she studied the newcomer.
Nice-looking. Neat, rather than scruffy like most of the musicians she’d met. Fit. No obvious signs of drug use. Blond, blue eyed, no man bun or weird haircut, no obvious piercings or visible tattoos. Rather mild for Joss’s tastes. He was a couple of inches shorter than Dalton, and moved like an athlete. His features weren’t as chiseled as Dalton’s, his jaw less obstinate, his eyes not as deep set. Sort of a softer version. Younger-looking, too, even though Joss had said he and Dalton were about the same age. But then, he hadn’t spent his life outdoors, or gone to war, or spent time in prison. She hoped.
She met them as they came up the veranda steps. “Hello,” she said, and extended her hand. “I’m Raney Whitcomb.”
“Grady Douglas. Pleased to meet you.”
It was true that you could tell a lot about a man by his handshake. Grady’s hand wasn’t as large as Dalton’s, or as callused. But he had a firm grip and took her hand fully into his, rather than just clasping her fingers. She liked that. Not an overly robust grip, like a man trying to show dominance, or as tentative as that of a surgeon or pianist who was protective of his, or her, fingers. Just a normal, regular handshake from a normal, regular-looking guy. Raney was relieved. And a little surprised. Not exactly what she had expected from her semiwild sister.
“This is Maria, our housekeeper.” Raney nodded to the woman hovering in the hall doorway. “Can she get you something to drink? Beer, iced tea, fruit—”
“Iced tea would be great,” Grady cut in.
“Me, too,” Dalton said, then added with a boyishly disarming grin, “And maybe some of your wonderful cookies, Maria, if you have them.”
He was such a suck-up.
As Maria left, Raney sat in one of the cushioned chairs by the patio fireplace and motioned for the men to sit in two others. “Thanks, Grady, for bringing Joss’s car. That’s a long drive from Houston.”
“I was motivated.”
She raised her brows. “To see my sister?”
“To find out why she won’t marry me.”
The man certainly didn’t waste time on trivialities. Raney liked that, too. But before she could respond, he leaned forward, elbows on armrests, hands clasped in front of him. “I may have overplayed my hand.”
“In what way?”
“I’ll admit, when she told me she was pregnant, it was a shocker. But only for a minute. Soon as I thought about it, I realized there was nothing more I wanted in this world than to have Joss and our baby in my life.”
Score one for Grady Douglas.
“I can take care of them,” he went on, his voice and expression earnest. “And I will, whether she marries me or not. But I might have pressured her about marriage more than I should have.” He gave a sheepish and utterly charming smile. “I tend to worry about her. She thinks that means I don’t think she can take care of herself, but that’s the farthest thing from the truth. Joss may act a little wild, but it’s mostly a front. She’s smarter than she lets on. Creative. And totally dedicated to her music. I respect that. But the music
