The voice sounded like a seasoned sixth-grade teacher. “Where are you right now?”
“On Mrs. Tagley’s front porch with an orange Popsicle, talk ing on the cell phone to Lily-gone-wild,” Develyn replied.
“Me?” Lily shouted.
Develyn moved the cell phone away from her ear.
“I didn’t move to the edge of the earth to chase cowboys!”
Two dusty cowboys in an old dirt-plastered International pickup sputtered by and waved at Develyn. “I am not chasing cowboys. I’m a forty-five-year-old Indiana schoolteacher on summer vacation.” She waved back at the two unknown men.
“Hmmm. Yeah, right. Do you have any more dates lined up?”
“I haven’t had a date yet.”
“What about last week when you went to supper with the bowlegged and dimpled Renny what’s-his-name?”
Develyn paced the worn wooden porch and listened to her heels tap out a tune. “Renny Slater. It was not a date. Casey went with us and did most of the talking.”
“Who sat next to the cowboy in his pickup? You or this Casey?”
“I did,” Develyn admitted.
“You see?”
“She called ‘shotgun’ first. What could I do, ride in the back of the pickup with Uncle Henry?”
“You had a burro in the back of the pickup?”
Develyn stopped at the wagon-seat bench and traced her fingers in her brother’s initials. “No, but he was invited. What about you? You and that lawyer seem very chummy.”
“He’s smart and funny … you’d like him,” Lily admitted. “But you changed the subject.”
“What is the subject?”
“The many loves of Develyn Gail Upton Worrell.”
“Hah, that would make a very short book.”
“You are writing new chapters.”
“Not yet.”
“Are you complaining?”
“No, I’m having a good time, Lily.”
“Are you sitting down?”
“No, I’m standing. I only sit in the saddle nowadays.”
Lily lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you try some of that ‘Female Remedy’ you mentioned?”
“Yes.”
“How did it make you feel?”
“Sleepy.”
“How about your buns?”
“They felt sleepy, too.”
“Well, you might want to sit down anyway,” Lily insisted.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting married.”
“Ms. Worrell, don’t get silly on me.”
“Why do you want me to sit down? Did the new superintendent turn out to have purple hair and a tattoo?” Develyn perched herself on the edge of the hard wooden bench and felt a sharp pain in her thighs.
“I know nothing about the new superintendent. But I saw Lisa D. at the Steak Haus in Waynetown. She’s waiting tables again this summer. Lisa said that Delaney called her.”
“How is my wayward daughter? She hasn’t called me.”
“You aren’t at home.”
“She has my cell phone number.”
Lily cleared her throat. “Delaney wanted to borrow some money from Lisa D.”
“Why?”
“Lisa said she thinks things aren’t going too well in South Carolina and Delaney wants to come home.”
“Home,” Develyn choked. “Back home to Purdue at West Lafayette … or to Crawfordsville?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Lily, I don’t even know how to contact her.”
“Stewart’s taking me to the Steak Haus after church on Sunday. Do you want me to ask Lisa D. to tell Delaney to call her mama?”
“Yes, I would. So, he’s taking you to church now?”
There was a pause. “He’s a Christian man. It’s just church, Dev. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Hah! I happen to know that’s a big date in Indiana for the over-fifty crowd, and in Montgomery County it’s considered being engaged.”
Lily exploded. “You’re sounding weird. You’ve been gone too long, Dev.”
“Yeah … about thirty-five years too long.”
“You like it out there, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. But I’ve only been here a couple of weeks.”
“When’s the big barbecue?” Lily asked.
“Tomorrow night.”
“So, are all your admirers going to be there?”
Develyn stood and strolled across the porch. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“It’s at Mr. Burdett’s ranch, right?”
“Yes…”
“And he said you have a smile like his late wife?”
“Well, yes…”
“And dimpled Renny, didn’t he say you were a Wyoming version of Meg Ryan?”
“He’s a talker, Lily. He said Casey looked a lot like Catherine Zeta-Jones.”
“Does she?”
“Not in any conceivable way. The only similarity is their hyphenated last names.”
“And then there’s your landlord. How are you and Mr. Tallon getting along?”
“Lily, I told you he rather despises me. Anyway, he went back to Colorado, or somewhere, I suppose.”
“He won’t be at the barbecue?”
“I don’t think so. How are my cats doing?”
“Are you changing the subject again?”
“I hope so.”
“One of them did something naughty on your sofa.”
“On my white couch? She’s better trained than that.”
“I think she’s pouting ’cause Mama deserted her. You know how children try to get attention. Anyway, don’t worry. I took the cushion to Busy Bee’s, and Betty Harington said it would clean right up.”
“Maybe you should put some towels over the cushions.”
“I’m way ahead of you, honey,” Lily reported. “I have old sheets draped over every piece of furniture, including your bed.”
“Oh, my…”
“It looks like an abandoned dwelling or something. I just about cry when I look at it.”
“Lily, this summer will fly. We’ll be decorating our bulletin boards at school before you know it.”
“I suppose, Ms. Worrell, yet … oh … I have to go … the man who’s going to fix my sliding glass door is here.”
“Is it Stewart?”
There was no reply.
“Lily, talk to me.”
“He’s very handy, Ms. Worrell.”
“Yes, I can imagine … have fun, honey.”
“I am, Dev. I really am. Bye, sweetie.”
* * *
“If you drove faster, you wouldn’t have to stay in this cloud of dust,” Casey insisted.
Develyn Worrell steered her silver Jeep Cherokee along the gravel road. “You aren’t anxious to get to the barbecue are you?”
Casey peeked in the mirror on the sun visor, then flopped her black bangs to the side. “Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting my whole life to get an invitation.”
“I hope you aren’t disappointed.”
“I feel weird with my hair down. I’m so used to that braid.”
Develyn kept both hands on the steering wheel and glanced over at Casey. “Your hair looks beautiful.”
“Some say it looks like that Zorro chick who’s married to that old actor. What do you think?”
“I think you have beautiful hair.”
“Yeah, you said that.” Casey waved her hands. “Turn here.”
“Where?”
“Along that dry crick bed.”
“That’s a road?”
“You didn’t expect blacktop, did you?”
“No, but I assumed gravel, at least.” Develyn felt the rear tires slide as she turned the corner. “How in the world can a whole crowd travel on a road like this?”
“Some of them come in from the west.”
“Why didn’t we take that road?”
“It’s worse than this. Besides, I think the important ones fly in.”
Develyn gazed at the treeless prairie in front of them. “There’s an airport?”
“An airstrip. Burdett flies his own plane. So does his daughter.”
Develyn gripped the steering wheel. “What’s Lindsay like?”
“Linds was Miss Rodeo Wyoming a few years ago. You know what that tells you,” Casey said.
Develyn slowed as the dirt road washboarded. “Eh, no. I don’t.”
“Oh, you know … plastic smile, unflappable wavy hair, and that mechanical wave of hers as she races around the arena.”
As the roadway smoothed out, Develyn sped up to forty-five miles per hour. “You’ve known Linds for quite a while?”
“I don’t know her at all. I’ve just seen her around. We don’t hang with the same kind of people, if you know what I mean. Actually, I heard she was nice, in a snooty sort of way.”
“Who told you that?”
“Carli Myers. She was runner-up the year Linds was queen. They traveled a lot together. Carli’s been to the barbecue. The year she went, Harrison Ford flew his helicopter to the ranch.”
Develyn stared over at Casey, one eyebrow cocked.
“It’s true. I told you this is a big deal.”
“But how can something so remote be…”
“Stop the rig,” Casey shouted. “Pull over.”
Develyn slammed on the brakes. “Are you sick?”
Cree-Ryder hurled out of the car and pointed at the blue, clear Wyoming sky. “I told you,” she hollered.
Even before Develyn sprang out of the rig, she heard the roar in the sky above. She shaded her eyes with her hand. “Are you telling me that’s Harrison Ford in that helicopter?”
“Nope.” Casey waved at the helicopter. “That’s a State of Wyoming chopper. Probably the governor or someone like that.”
“But I thought the barbecue was for cowboys.”
“Mostly cowboys … and politicians … and celebrities … and Indiana schoolteachers.”
“And bronzed lady horse trainers?”
“Are you alluding to my dark skin?”
“I am totally jealous of your dark skin.”
Cree-Ryder nodded. “I’ve always thought white is a pathetic color for skin. I mean, people turn white when they die.”
“Yes, well.” Develyn glanced in the rearview mirror at the creases around her eyes. “We are forced to make up for our deficiencies with wit and charm.”
Cree-Ryder stared at her for a minute, then chuckled. “Yeah, right.”
A roar slung itself over the rise behind them and they jumped in the car and rolled up the windows, waiting for the vehicle to pass.
“It’s a Hummer,” Casey declared.
Develyn studied the vehicle in the mirror. “I think they are slowing down.”
“How do I roll down the window?”
“The button to your right.”
Develyn leaned over toward Casey and peered out as the electronic tinted window on the big black vehicle rolled lower. A broad-shouldered, square-jawed man with sunglasses leaned out.
“Do you ladies need some help?” he said with an accent.
Casey’s chin dropped. Her eyes widened. “Ugh … ugh … ugh … ugh…”
“No, we just stopped to look at something,” Develyn called out. “Thank you, anyway.”
“I suppose you are going to the barbecue,” he replied.
“You … you … you … you …” Cree-Ryder stammered.
Develyn nodded. I think I’ve seen him somewhere. “Yes, thank you. Perhaps we’ll see you there.”
“That would be nice. Does your friend have a speech impediment?”
Casey waved her finger as she choked. “I … I … I … I…”
“No, she’s usually quite loquacious.”
He peered over the frames of his dark glasses. “I know where there are some great speech coaches. They are all in southern California, but they can do wonders. I’ll give you a phone number at the barbecue.”
“Thank you very much,” Develyn replied.
As he rolled up his window, Develyn heard him say, “Maria, write that down, so I don’t forget.”
The Hummer and a stampede of accompanying dust roared north.
“That was … that was …” Cree-Ryder stammered. “That was…”
Develyn pulled back to the middle of the dirt road. “You are acting so strange.”
“That was … you know … you know … you know …” Casey gasped.
Develyn felt her eyes widen, and she slapped the steering wheel. “Isn’t he the governor of California?”
“Turn around,” Casey commanded.
“What?”
“I said, turn around. I want to go back. I’m not going to the barbecue. I acted like an idiot. I can’t show up. It’s too embarrassing.”
“That’s absurd. We are not turning back. I’m sure he sees that all the time.”
Casey folded her arms across her gold-sequined black T-shirt, and hugged herself. “I don’t handle ridicule well.”
“You think Arnold is going to get on a loudspeaker and announce that Casey Cree-Ryder is a stammering fool?”
“You aren’t going to turn around?” Casey demanded.
“No.”
“Then I’ll destroy the first cowboy who ridicules me.”
Develyn tasted the bitter yellow dust that oozed into the rig. “You were supposed to leave your guns and knives at home.”
“You didn’t say anything about a half-stick of dynamite.”
* * *
Cottonwood trees towered along both sides of the mile-long driveway up to the headquarters of the Quarter-Circle Diamond ranch. Red dirt prairie opened to the west. Cedar-lined rimrock framed the north. The distant Bighorn Mountains looked a dull purple. A three-slat wooden fence that covered eighty acres of irrigated pasture on the east had been turned into a temporary parking lot as they neared the structures. A thin cowboy with a flat-crowned hat and tall, stove-top black boots rode a red roan horse and signaled them where to park.
Develyn stepped out of the Jeep as the cowboy shouted back to the long one-story building, “She’s here!”
Like an echo off a cliff, they heard the shout repeated. “She’s here! She’s here! She’s here!”
Develyn slipped her arm into Casey’s. The two boot-and-jeans-wearing women giggled their way toward the road. “Are they talking about you?” Develyn teased.
“Yeah, right. It’s not me. It’s you they’re interested in.”
“Haven’t they ever seen an Indiana schoolteacher before?”
“Not one as cute as you.”
“Thank you, Miss Cree-Ryder, but I do look in a mirror from time to time. That’s not what I see.”
“Dev, what do you see when you look in a mirror?”
“Forty-five hard years, crow’s feet and dark rings under the eyes that can barely be covered up with foundation cream, and loose skin sagging under my chin. I see three slight pock marks left from a bad case of chicken pox when I was eight, and hair that would be half mousy brown and half gray if it were not for the magic of Clarice at the Hair Port in Crawfordsville … shall I go on?”
“No, but if I were you, I wouldn’t mention any of that to the cowboys.”
“I have no intention of doing so, and if you say a word about any of that, I will rip your lips off,” Develyn challenged.
Most of the gathering lounged around fifty eight-foot tables lined out in five long rows between the largest building and the fenced corral.
Develyn pointed at the big house. “I presume that is the Burdett residence.”
“That’s my guess.” Casey swaggered along ahead of Develyn. “I hear they put that screened porch clear around buildings in the old days so you could drag the beds out in the summertime. The long one-story building must be the bunk house, and that one at the end with three chimney stacks has to be the cook house.”
A man on a black horse trotted toward them. “Evenin’, Miss Dev.” He tipped his black cowboy hat, then nodded at Casey. “Welcome to the Quarter-Circle Diamond annual barbecue.”
“Hello, Cuban. Thank you for inviting me,” Develyn said.
“Inviting us,” Cree-Ryder corrected.
“You ain’t packin’, are you?”
“No, your manhood is safe,” Cree-Ryder replied.
“Casey.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Develyn surveyed the headquarters. “Cuban, how many people live back here? It’s like a town.”
“During the spring work and the fall gather, they carry two dozen punchers and a cook, plus Mom and Pop Gleason, the Old Man, and Lindsay. But in the off season, only six of us and the Gleasons are on steady. And most take off a couple of weeks at Christmas. Last year it was just me and Tiny here with the old man and Linds. They invited us into the big house, and we ate right off fine china and linen tablecloths. They are nice folks. I wouldn’t want to work for anyone else.”
“Looks like a big turnout tonight,” Develyn remarked.
“Yeah, did you know the Terminator is here?”
Casey waved toward the pasture with the parked rigs. “We saw his Hummer pass us as we came in.”
“He and the Old Man are up on the porch discussing politics, no doubt.”
Develyn studied the young cowboy’s face. “Cuban, Quint Burdett isn’t really that old.”
His eyes widened. “No, ma’am.”
“Then why do you call him the Old Man?”
“Miss Dev, I don’t rightly know, but the ranch owner is always called the Old Man, no matter what his age. Would you like me to introduce you around?”
“That would be nice,” Develyn replied.
“Climb up here behind me.” He motioned.
Develyn glanced over at Casey.
“Don’t worry abut me. I’ll check out the chow … and stay as far away from the front porch as I can.”
Cuban reached down and offered his hand.
“I can just walk.”
“The ones I want to introduce you to are all on horseback,” he insisted.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Develyn had met twenty ranch hands, toured their spotless bunkhouse, and visited the horse barn. She and Cuban rode back toward the crowd when she heard a signal clang. “That sounds like a school bell.”
“Almost,” Cuban reported. “It’s the supper bell. I reckon we can go get in line soon.”
“I still can’t believe there are this many people back here,” Develyn said.
“Sort of like half the state, ain’t it? We was expectin’ over four hundred people.”
Only in Wyoming do four hundred people seem like half the state … “Cuban, where can I wash up? I petted too many ponies not to clean up a little.”
“The ladies and children use the big house … the men use the bunkhouse. Go straight through the screen door, then the door straight behind it. Once inside, take the first door to your left.”
Develyn tried to brush horse hair off her jeans as she strolled toward the huge, square two-story house with screen porches on all four sides. People milled toward the south side, and the crowd noise muffled the western background music.
The wide stairs up to the porch were weather-beaten and worn, but the screen porch was more like a sunroom, furnished with beautiful overstuffed chaises and glass-top coffee tables.
The door to the house led to a hall just off the kitchen that gave off a warm sweet aroma like daybreak at a Krispy Kreme. The door to the left had a cold, round, old-fashioned brass doorknob. It was locked.
Hearing running water, Develyn gawked into the kitchen. There are large restaurants in Indiana that don’t have kitchens this size.
“Hi, there.”
Develyn glanced under hanging pans above a huge chopping block and spotted a younger lady, with a bright hot-pink sequined blouse and a white cowboy hat pulled down on her long wavy blonde hair. “Well, hi. I was just waiting to wash up.”
“Come over here and use one of the sinks.”
Develyn sauntered to the counter that sported three stainless steel sinks side-by-side. “Thank you. I’m going to take a wild guess and say you are Lindsay Burdett.”
The lady held out her hand. “How did you know?”
“Your father said you were a beautiful blonde.”
“Yes, and he said you had a smile and eyes just like Mama’s. I recognized you the moment you rode up with Cuban.”
“You know who I am?”
“You are Ms. Develyn Worrell. You teach fifth grade at Riverbend Elementary School in Crawfordsville, Indiana. Your favorite color is green, and your favorite movie is Gone with the Wind. You have two cats, named Josephine and Smoky, and like to eat at an Italian restaurant called Carrabbas Italian Grill in Southport.”
“How did you know all that?”
“I cheated,” Lindsay grinned. “I checked you out on the Internet and found your school Web site.”
“You checked me out?”
The blonde leaned her backside against the polished wood counter. “When Daddy came home with a big grin talking about some schoolteacher, I figured it was time to investigate.”
“Oh, dear, and that’s such an old picture of me.”
“You’ve lost a few pounds since then, I take it.”
“Yes … I’ve lost … well … more than pounds. Anyway, I’m flattered Quint mentioned me.”
“I like it when people call him Quint. Around here, he’s known as ‘Daddy’ to me. And ‘Mr. Burdett’ to everyone else.”
Develyn admired the immaculate kitchen. “I’ve enjoyed getting to visit with him. Where is he?”
Lindsay pointed out the window above the sinks. “Probably out front looking for you.”
Develyn dried her wet hands on the starched and pressed tea towel, then turned back toward the screen porch.
“No, no … come with me through the front room.” Lindsay swooped over and laced her arm into Develyn’s.
They promenaded through a polished oak doorway. “Oh, my. What a beautiful room,” Develyn said.
“Mama loved to decorate. She was always bringing home another piece of furniture.”
Develyn paused near a huge river-rock fireplace and gaped above the mantel. “Is that your mother?”
“Yes. Daddy calls her Miss Emily.”
“What a lovely lady.”
Lindsay bit her lip, then murmured, “Thank you, and she was a true lady. She was at home while attending the Metropolitan Opera … or the calving shed at 2:00 a.m. Absolutely nothing ever upset her. Talk about cool under pressure.”
“I wish I could have met her.”
“Everyone liked Mama.”
“There you two are!” Quint Burdett burst through the door. “Dev, I’m really glad you came tonight.”
“So am I. I’ve had a delightful talk with Linds. And met all your ranch hands.”
“They were all anxious to visit with you. But there are other guests to meet, and we need to get this supper started right.”
Quint offered his right arm to his daughter and his left to Develyn. They strolled onto the porch and down the stairs. A large gathering waited on the south lawn. Most of the men sported boots and cowboy hats. A few of the women wore prairie skirts, but the majority had on jeans and bright-colored blouses.
Quint led them to a microphone, then released the women.
“I didn’t know you’d have a live band,” Develyn whispered.
“Daddy brought them down from Calgary,” Lindsay reported. “They are quite good.”
Quint tapped on the mike, then waited for the feedback to die down. “Folks, can I have your attention?”
He paused for the crowd to grow quiet.
Develyn spotted a waving Casey Cree-Ryder standing next to Tiny, a huge cowboy who looked like he surely must have played nose guard for the Colts. She waved back.
“Ladies and gents, welcome to the annual Quarter-Circle Diamond ranch-hand barbecue. We have lots of special guests tonight. I hope they introduced themselves to you, because I’m not goin’ to. It was Miss Emily’s idea, and me and Linds are happy to keep it going. There are no introductions, no name tags … everyone is on equal ground at the ranch tonight. Among us are three governors, two senators, a congressman, and a niece of a U.S. president, to name a few. So visit with whomever you want, eat next to anyone who will have you, and dance with anyone who keeps from stepping on your toes. But before supper we should take a minute to thank the good Lord.”
He dropped his head. “Lord Jesus, there isn’t much in this world worth havin’ if it doesn’t come from you. So we thank you for the spring gather, for healthy calves, nutritious grass. We ask your blessing for all the folks with strong bodies and beautiful smiles who have gathered here. We are sinful, Lord, and deserve none of your blessings, but thanks to the cross of Jesus, we are given a chance. May we use it wisely, give you thanks for all things, including the best ranch food on earth. And all the cowboys said …”
There was a thunderous chorus of “Amen!”
“Now, there is another tradition that Miss Emily insisted on. This is a ranch hand barbecue, so all the ranch hands of the Quarter-Circle Diamond … and any other hands … get to be first in line. Sorry, governors, that’s the rules. It’s a salute to the men who do the work. So, the ranch hands and their guests go first.”
Cuban pushed his way to the front of the crowd, holding his hat in his hand. “Miss Dev, I’d be pleased to escort you to the line.”
She glanced up at Quint. “Cuban asked you first, Ms. Worrell. But I intend to occupy some of your time later on.”
“I look forward to it, Quint.”
Develyn took the arm of the beaming, bowlegged cowboy as they snaked their way through the crowd.
“What about Casey?” she asked.
Cuban paused and turned back. “Tiny, you escort Cree-Ryder!” he hollered.
“Is she packing guns or knives?” Tiny shouted back.
“No,” Develyn replied.
“What about scissors or pruning shears?” Tiny said.
The crowd roared as he took Cree-Ryder’s arm and led her behind Develyn and Cuban.
* * *
The sun dropped over the western horizon about 8:30 p.m., but twilight lingered until after 10:00 p.m.
Develyn lounged in the shadows of the Chinese lanterns near the corral fence and watched the dance. The floor consisted of plywood nailed to wooden pallets that were crushing a very nice lawn.
“Miss Dev, are you up to another dance?” the cowboy drawled.
“Cuban, I’m flattered you asked, but you cowboys have worn me out. These boots are fine in the saddle, but I’m afraid I’ve blistered my feet with about thirty dances.”
“Pull ’em off, Miss Dev.”
“I think I will.”
“Would you like a hand?”
“Oh, no,” Dev blushed. “I can…”
“Shoot, Miss Dev, it don’t mean nothin’ to help pull off boots.”
“You’re right. Yes, thank you.” She lifted her right foot toward the cowboy in the shadows.
Cuban grabbed her heel with one hand and the toe with the other, then slowly tugged off the boot.
“You’ve done that before, cowboy.”
“No, ma’am … I mean … it’s jist sometimes me and the boys need help with our boots and … I ain’t never … it ain’t that I …” He smoothly tugged off the other boot.
“Cuban, if it were daylight … I bet your face is red.”
“Shoot, ma’am, I reckon my ever’thin’ is red. Did you want to dance barefoot?”
“Not until every cowboy on that dance floor is barefoot.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.” Cuban tipped his cowboy hat and meandered back into the noisy crowd.
Develyn studied the shadows. She thought she saw Renny Slater dancing with Casey, but they were so close together she couldn’t tell. Lord, this is nice. I don’t know anyone but Casey and Quint and Renny, oh, and Cuban and Lindsay … but the others have made me feel so at home. These are good people whom I never knew existed until a few weeks ago.
“There you are.”
She studied the tall cowboy. “Good evening, Quint.”
He swung his long leg over a metal folding chair and sat in it backward to face her. “You’re a good dancer, I see.”
“I danced more tonight than I have in twenty-five years combined. I enjoyed it until my feet wore out.”
“Miss Emily loved to dance.”
“Do you miss her tonight?”
“Actually, I’ve been too busy. The governors decided to do some advance planning for the western governor’s conference … and in between that and the stopped-up toilets in the ladies’ room, I haven’t had much time for anything or anyone.”
“Oh, dear, are you the plumber?”
“And mechanic and electrician, etc. This far from town, you either fix it or keep it broke.” He glanced down at her sock-covered feet. “Your boots too tight?”
“Yes, I do believe I got to dance with every working cowboy in the county.”
“You might be close to the truth on that one.”
“Excuse the socks, but I’m not used to dancing in boots all evening.”
“What size do you wear?” Burdett asked.
“This is embarrassing,” Develyn mumbled. “Size ten.”
“That’s what I figured. Miss Emily wore the same. Say, she has … I mean, I have a pair of eel-skin boots that she said were so soft she could dance across Texas in them. She was from Amarillo, you know.”
“Did she grow up on a ranch?”
“Yep. Cattle … and, well … other more profitable interests. Let me get those boots for you.”
“Oh, no, Quint … don’t trouble yourself. I really am too tired to dance anymore.”
“I didn’t mean just tonight. I want to give them to you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t …”
“It would be a help to have someone enjoy them. Linds has size-six feet, so she will never need them. I insist. It’s a waste for them to sit in a closet until they rot.”
“Thank you for your generosity.”
Quint pointed toward the lights in the big house. “Did you get to meet the governors and their wives?”
“Yes, Linds introduced me.”
“I like them,” he reported.
“Yes, but I’m afraid I blabbed too much to Mrs. Schwarzenegger when I said I had a horse named Maria. I presume they all left in the helicopter.”
“Yes, they all flew to Jackson Hole. He left the Hummer here at the ranch and will pick it up next Wednesday.”
“You have a beautiful spread, Quint. Remote, but so peaceful.”
“I love it back here, Dev. Always have. My granddaddy bought this place back in 1909.”
“Did your Miss Emily enjoy the remoteness of the ranch?”
He pulled off his hat and ran calloused fingers through his hair. “She cried for the first two years, she was so lonesome. Then one day, she just sucked it up and said, ‘I’m through mop ing, Quintin. This is my home, and I choose to enjoy it.’”
“Good for her!”
“Of course, once we got the airplanes and learned to fly, she didn’t feel so isolated.”
“Miss Emily was a pilot too?”
“Yes, ma’am, the best of all of us … well, our boy, Ted, was probably the best.”
“Is there anything she couldn’t do? Oh, I didn’t mean that in a negative way.”
Burdett laughed. “Miss Emily couldn’t make a decent potato salad, if her life depended on it.”
“What?”
“I like potato salad, and hers was always awful. Other than that, she could do it all.”
When the music stopped and the dance floor cleared, Renny and Casey slalomed through scattered chairs and guests.
Cree-Ryder flopped down in a chair next to Develyn. “By daylight, I’ll be danced out.”
“How about you, Mr. Slater?” Develyn challenged. “Are you worn out?”
“Dancin’ with Cree-Ryder is always an adventure,” he drawled.
“Don’t tell me she steps on your cowboy toes.”
“Gettin’ my boots crushed is the least of my worries.”
“You braggin’ or complainin’, cowboy?” Casey challenged.
“Just statin’ the facts, ma’am. You have dance steps previously unknown by any man on the face of the earth.”
“Did you hear that, Dev? Renny likes my moves!”
Slater shook his head and grinned. “It has been a fun evenin’. Mr. Burdett, thanks for the invite. I think I’ll call it a night while I’m reasonably healthy.”
“See you Wednesday, Slater. It won’t be so fun, then,” Burdett said.
“I reckon not. How many you got for me?”
“Eighteen. The first dozen you won’t break a sweat. Four of them will take some time … and those other two … well … don’t get yourself hurt. They aren’t worth it. If you don’t break them, I’ll just shoot them and be done with it.”
“Ah, that’s what I like … a challenge. They aren’t as bad as those two you had back in ’99 are they?”
“Worse. And those broke your leg and dislocated your shoulder.”
“Hmmm … well, thanks for the warning.” Renny pulled off his hat. “Evenin,’ Miss Dev, thanks for the dances.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then turned to Cree-Ryder. “And thank you, ma’am, for the dances. I’ll kiss your cheek, too, if you promise not to maim me.”
“I ain’t promisin’ nothin’.”
Renny bent forward, and Cree-Ryder threw her arms around his neck and slammed her lips into his. When she released him, he staggered back.
“I don’t kiss cheeks well,” she said.
“And I think I’ll just shake hands,” Quint laughed. “See you in a couple of days, Renny.”
“Five o’clock?”
“Come on out at 4:00 and have breakfast. We’ll have room in the bunk house, of course.”
Renny scooted through the crowd.
“Did you ever notice that roughstock riders only kiss you for eight seconds, then quit as if the event was over?” Casey smirked.
“No,” Develyn said, “I don’t suppose I ever thought about that.”
“Well, it’s true.” Casey stood up. “I’m going for punch.”
“You goin’ to throw one or drink one?” Develyn asked.
“Now I’m gettin’ it from my best friend!”
I’ve known Casey a couple of weeks and I’m her best friend? Maybe she’s right. “Bring me some punch.”
“Which one? The red, the white, or the blue?”
“The white one.”
Quint pulled off his hat and twirled it in his hand. “Dev, I was hoping you and me could spend a little more time visiting tonight. It just got crazy. Sorry about that. Maybe you could come back out, and I’ll show you around in daylight.”
“That would be wonderful. I’d enjoy it.”
“Do you have any problem flying in a small plane?”
“I don’t think so. But I haven’t been in anything smaller than a commuter plane between Indy and Chicago.” And I thought I would die when we hit turbulence.
“I could land down near Argenta … there’s a strip out behind Mrs. Tagley’s. I could show you the ranch from the air.”
“That would be fun.” As long as I remember some Dramamine.
“In the old days, Miss Emily would tend to party details, and I would circulate and visit with everyone. Now I’m too busy to see them all. I miss that.”
“You make a very gracious host, Quint.”
“I must say, Dev … seeing you here … even when you danced with the hired help … put a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. That feels so good.” He stood up and offered her his hand.
She reached up, and he pulled her to her feet. “Quint, you know how to make a middle-aged schoolteacher feel good about herself.” Her hand lingered in his.
He stepped around in front of her, still clutching her hand. His other calloused hand slid across her shoulder and parked on the back of her neck.
“Miss Dev!” a cowboy shouted, and Burdett’s hands slid to his side.
She peered through the shadows to see Cuban hurrying toward her. “You promised me one more dance.”
“Cuban, I think I said my feet hurt.”
“Yes, ma’am, but you also said you wouldn’t dance until all the cowboys pulled off their boots.”
“Yes, I believe I did.”
He pointed down at his wiggling toes. “We are all barefooted, Miss Dev.”