“Wasn’t that a grand party the kids threw for Martha and Jay?” Leonora said, pleased to be presiding over the full table with her husband, three of her sons, and both daughters.
“Very nice,” her husband said, winking at her from the far end of the table.
“Hope they got him to bed okay,” Robbie said, forking several more pancakes from one of two platters in the middle of the table. “Old Jaybo was pretty smashed.”
“Old Jaybo is always smashed after five o’clock,” Ruthie said, waving her orange juice glass.
“Now, now, let’s not indulge in idle gossip.”
“Mom, it’s just us,” Beth said quietly. “Mr. Dillon’s been a drunk for many years. It’s certainly no secret.”
Leonora stared at her older daughter, who rarely interjected comments or opinions during these kinds of conversations. “Are you feeling alright, Bethie?”
Beth ignored her mother’s question and turned her attention to Carmela’s amazing buttermilk pancakes. Truth was, she did not feel at all well. Unbalanced would be the best description.
“Yeah,” Kyle said, peering over at his sister. “How ’bout Sampson showing up last night? How was that?”
Ben Senior saw his daughter’s face blanch and eyed his son. “Leave her be, Kyle. That goes for the rest of you, too.”
“Okay,” Robbie said. “Can’t we at least ask Ruthie about a certain cowboy whom she was lookin’ really friendly with most of the night?”
“No, you cannot,” Ruthie said, glaring at him. “Harley and I are friends and coworkers.”
“Yeah, and I’m John Wayne,” Sam said, grinning from ear to ear.
“John Wayne never indulged in gossip,” Leonora said, giving her second son the eye.
Oh, for goodness’ sakes, Beth thought. This is why people don’t have large families anymore! She took her last bite of pancake and set her blue calico napkin aside. “This was great, Mom, but I’ve gotta run.”
“Where?”
“I have a bunch of errands, and want to stop by the farm later.” She stooped to kiss Sam and Robbie goodbye. Kyle was staying for the week, until after the fair, and both the others had promised to return.
“But, I thought…?” her mother said.
“Leave her be, Nora.”
Ben Senior winked at his oldest daughter. Beth hugged him and hurried out, forestalling any further questions. Midway through breakfast, she had made a decision. She went up to her room, grabbed her cell phone, and punched in Lang’s number before she could chicken out.
He answered immediately. “Hey, good morning.”
“Hello. Great party last night. Hope cleanup wasn’t too bad.”
“That’s where magical people like caterers come in, and, of course, Neecy, Manual, and the crew.”
“Wasn’t Jon involved in any of the party prep?” She referred to the Dillons’ cook, Jon Wilson, who had been noticeably absent the previous evening.
“He doesn’t do parties. He took the weekend off and went back to Laguna to see friends. How’re you doing?”
A simple question, fraught with layers of meaning that Beth decided were best left unexcavated. “Fine. I was calling—I mean, I wondered—if you were busy later on today? I mean, if you are, there’s no problem and I—”
Lang smiled, wishing they were speaking in person so he could take her in his arms draw her close, kissing her nervousness away. “Not busy at all. What’dya have in mind?”
“I thought I could ask Carmela to pack a picnic and we could take a ride?”
“I’ve only been riding the once with Rose. Sure you want to be with a tenderfoot from Boston?”
Beth laughed, happy for the first time since she woke up. “I’ll take the risk. Would four-thirty or five suit you? We can meet behind Maggie and Ben’s? That’s about halfway. Unless you want to come here and ride one of our horses?”
“Four thirty is perfect. I’ll be there, trying to stay in the saddle. Why don’t I bring drinks or something? We have a shitload of food over here.”
“Drinks would be great. See you then?”
“Absolutely.”
Lang hung up, grinning from ear to ear. The prospect of a picnic with Beth made the conversation ahead with his father a little less daunting. As it turned out, their talk had to wait. The elder Dillon had risen early and disappeared, supposedly on winery business. He was still not back when Lang packed a saddle bag with wine and a thermos of lemonade, said goodbye to Rosie, and headed for the stable.