She jumped back, startled. “Damn, Len. You freaked me out.”
Dalton just grinned.
“You knew she was there,” Raney accused him.
“I might have heard her coming down the stairs. Hi, Len.”
“Hi, Dalton. Hope you didn’t loosen any of my sister’s fillings with that kiss.” Len walked the rest of the way into the kitchen. “Is this a private party or can I have a snack, too?”
“We can share my sandwich,” Dalton offered. “I only asked your sister to make me one so I could lure her out of her room to check her fillings.”
Len laughed. “Horse trainer, security guard, and dental technician. Who would have guessed? How’s your family?”
“Doing great. And loving Plainview. They probably should have made the move years ago.”
“I’m glad.” When Raney started to get out more bread, Len shook her head. “Just some cheese and a glass of milk. My stomach is still bubbling from all that wine you made me drink.”
As they carried their plates to the kitchen table, Raney thought again how seamlessly Dalton had settled into her family. Everyone seemed to accept him, ex-con and all. He was part of them now, and if things didn’t work between the two of them, they would all mourn the loss.
While they ate, they chatted about Rosco’s progress, Grady, and what they thought Joss should name the baby. They were all worried about her, which dampened the mood until Len asked about the AI program.
That set Dalton off on a hysterical rant about his horror at the application of low-voltage electrical pulses to get the bull primed and the use of an artificial vagina to collect the semen, and his profound relief that they had technicians to do all that as well as handle the impregnation of the cows. “No wonder Hicks didn’t want to do it,” he finished with a dramatic shudder.
Raney hadn’t laughed so hard in a long time.
“I can’t believe they used to call you Beanpole in high school,” Len said to him once she’d gotten her own laughter under control. “Look at you now.”
“Joss likes me better, too. Can’t stop talking about my pants. I never realized the Whitcomb girls would be so interested in my weight.”
“It’s not the weight or the pants,” Len said with a wink. “It’s the distribution.”
“Want me to flex for you? Raney really likes it when I do that.”
Ignoring him, Raney said to Len, “Speaking of high school, remember the first time they found a bra hanging over the goalpost bar the day after homecoming?”
“I do. It caused quite a flap. We were sure it belonged to one of the girls on the cheer squad but no one owned up to it. Then the next year, there were half a dozen bras up there. Drove the coaches crazy. It became a tradition after that.”
“Guess who started it.”
Len glanced from Raney to Dalton. “Not you? Quiet, studious Beanpole? You didn’t even go to our high school.”
“Probably why we weren’t recognized or caught.”
“And guess whose bra it was,” Raney went on. “But you can’t tell. Dalton’s already in enough trouble with our esteemed deputy Langers.”
“You don’t mean . . .”
“It was his mother’s. Isn’t that a hoot?”
Len looked at Dalton with an expression of appalled disbelief. “You were what, fourteen? Please tell me you didn’t get it directly from her . . . hand.”
“God, no!” Dalton gave another shudder. “Buddy Anderson stole it off their clothesline. Then once we had it, we didn’t know what to do with it.”
And he was off again, sending Raney and Len into renewed laughter as he described in great detail the heist of the four-foot-long, cotton double E–cup bra—“big enough to serve as feed bags for a team of draft horses”—hanging next to a pair of huge cotton drawers they were afraid to touch—“we didn’t know they made women that big”—their desperate attempts to get their plunder to stay on the goalpost crossbar without sliding off, and their narrow escape over a back fence when a police cruiser drove by. “We had no idea we’d be starting a tradition.”
“Did you ever do it again?” Len asked, still laughing.
“Hell, no. Too scary. For months after, we expected the cops to show up at our doors with handcuffs.”
“Was yours ever up there?” Raney asked her sister.
“I’ll never tell. But I guess I should keep a closer eye on Jake and my bras, although I doubt the boys in his Catholic school would ever think of such a prank.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Mom,” Dalton warned her. “All boys, no matter the age or school, spend most of their time thinking about bras and what goes into them. Or so I’ve heard.”
“Uh-huh.” Len rose and carried her plate and glass to the sink. “Thanks for the snacks and the laughs. It’s been fun. But it’s almost midnight so I’m heading up.”
Raney rose. “I’m right behind you.”
Len paused in the doorway, then turned and gave her sister a gentle smile. “Just so you know, Raney, I don’t care when, or if, you come upstairs. You’re both grown-ups.” Her gaze shifted to Dalton. “But if it makes you feel any better, I approve of your choice. Good night, kids.”
Raney looked at Dalton, indecision and desire battling within her.
He must have seen it. “That was sweet of Len to give us permission to do what we’ve already done. But it doesn’t change anything.”
As he spoke, he rose, carried his plate to the sink, and dropped his empty beer bottle into the recycle bin. Then he leaned back against the counter, elbows bent behind him, his big hands gripping the edge of the granite in a pose that pulled the cloth of his wash-worn, too-small T-shirt tight across his amazing chest.
Raney barely heard him as he added, “You wanted to go slow until the Futurity,
