“HEY, DALLAS,” LOGAN HUNTER called over his shoulder.
Dallas raised a hand in greeting. He didn’t know Logan well, but he’d met him and his brother at a cookout at Clara McMann’s once. “Five minutes,” his brother, Sawyer McCord, added, “and we’ll be done here.”
At the Circle H, Dallas had found them working side by side in the outdoor ring, where a flashy chestnut colt made circles in the dust, urged on by the lunge line playing out from Logan’s hand and the light whip that Sawyer held. The adult twins, like Dallas’s niece and nephew, seemed to be in sync, their movements coordinated without the need for verbal cues. But Dallas knew it hadn’t always been that way. Their family rift, if not the same as his separation from Hadley, had been enough to make Sawyer change his last name.
Dallas felt his insides start to unwind. His few days in Denver had turned into a week, but the visit only increased the concern he felt for his folks. As he’d suspected, his mom wasn’t doing as well as she and his dad had tried to tell him, and Dallas had come back to Barren feeling even more tense. In spite of their loving nature, and the recent attempts they’d made to talk about the damage from his childhood, his parents could be masters of deception.
But he could see that his mother’s color was as bad as before, if not worse. And how she tired so easily that even going out for an early-bird dinner—his treat—had sent her to bed before eight o’clock.
This morning, as a distraction, he was making a tour of area ranches, trying to drum up interest in his rodeo-that-might-not-happen-after-all.
Dallas didn’t have much time, so he had to multitask and find riders, a venue and the necessary stock for the events all at once. If the thing didn’t work out and there was no rodeo after all, the cowboys wouldn’t have to pay their entry fees. No risk.
Sawyer gestured with the whip at the colt. “What do you think of this guy?”
Dallas, who seemed to be a temporary local celebrity, climbed the four-board wooden fence and surveyed the horse, but mostly he watched the two men. Both athletic-looking with deep blue eyes and dark hair, they were identical rather than fraternal twins like Hadley’s two, Luke and Grace. He wouldn’t be able to tell one from the other except that now Sawyer wore a shirt and tie, probably because he’d soon head into town for his other job as a family physician at the office he and old Doc Baxter shared.
Watching the sun gleam off the colt’s sleek hide, Dallas finally said, “Good lines.” The Circle H kept its stock in prime condition, including the bison herd the twins’ grandfather ran on this land. In the distance, Logan’s newer Black Angus grazed on rich summer grass, the warm air filled with the sounds of their shifting hooves and, from a solitary paddock, the occasional bellow of the lonely bull apparently longing for love.
Dallas couldn’t smile. He wasn’t in the market for romance, but an image of Lizzie, her neat dark hair and unhappy green eyes, slid across the screen of his mind anyway. A dangerous bit of woolgathering on his part. Years ago Dallas had learned from his drug-addicted birth parents that marriage wasn’t for him—and neither was a family—at least, not until he was financially secure and emotionally ready. A woman so recently divorced and with children—Lizzie had three of them!—should send up bright red warning flares. He’d already made one mistake with her, and the last time he saw her they’d quarreled.
“That all you can say?” Sawyer asked, the whip twitching toward the colt’s backside to keep him moving.
“Horses aren’t part of my skill set,” Dallas said, although he could ride. “I leave that to you and the Circle H, but he’s sure a fine specimen. Now, put me on that black bull out there and you’ll see some action.” Sawyer, always the doctor, sent him a skeptical look. “My hip’s okay,” Dallas said, then saw his opening. He already had his brother and Calvin on the roster. “I hear you two did some rodeoing back in the day.”
Logan reeled in the chestnut colt, its hide showing damp patches from the workout. It stood blowing, head down, at Logan’s shoulder. “What boy from Barren hasn’t?”
Dallas couldn’t think of any, but he was new to the area. “I’m hoping no one,” he said, “because I’m setting up a rodeo for later this summer and I need cowboys.”
“Full rodeo? Not just bull riders?” Walking the colt around the ring to cool him, Logan grinned. “That being your specialty.”
Dallas squared his shoulders. “All-out event. With a starting parade and everything, including barrel racing.” That was if, other than the valuable specialty horses owned by those barrel riders, he could find other stock. During his stay with his folks, Dallas had made some calls but had come up empty with the contractors he knew best, and he was worried about that.
“Where? You aren’t thinking of the fairgrounds, are you?”
Dallas shoved his hat back on his head. Everyone he talked to seemed to have the same opinion. “Well, yeah.”
“Won’t happen, Dallas.”
“It will if I can come up with the right name to handle some permits.”
Sawyer led the horse to the gate. “Have you been over to the site?”
“Not yet.”
“You won’t like what you see. Believe me, the place is a wreck. It hasn’t been used in years. Bleachers are falling down, the arena footing’s lumpy—no good even when it was in use—and what about the chutes? They don’t exist, never did. Our county fair was always a kind of third-, no, make that fourth-class, event. Mostly for local kids to show their pigs and calves, and for people to display their best pies and homemade jams.”
That part sounded good to Dallas. He hadn’t considered such a competition to enhance the other events and draw in the crowd. “Guess the fairgrounds are my next stop.”
He walked with the other men to the barn. Logan put the colt in its clean stall with a fresh bucket of water, and Sawyer slid the door shut. They both turned to him.
Logan wiped sweat from his forehead. “You’re taking on a lot, you know that, right?”
“Nothing new,” Dallas agreed. “I’m still going through with the plan.”
“Just you?” Sawyer asked.
“So far.” Thoughts of Lizzie filled his mind. Maybe instead of getting the name from her, he’d run into the person at the fairgrounds—or someone else would tip them off beforehand, and he—or she—would approach Dallas regarding the permit. If not, he’d find another way.
The Circle H boys were both trying to hide their grins. “Who’s gonna ride?” Sawyer asked.
Dallas tensed. “Me. Calvin Stern. My brother.”
“Really? You talked Hadley into that?”
“He volunteered,” Dallas said.
“Next thing, you’ll be telling us Finn Donovan has signed on.” Which sounded like a private joke about the county sheriff. Maybe, with Finn’s smaller ranch, they didn’t think of him as a cowboy.
“I haven’t talked to him. But I will.” The sheriff might know about permits.
“No wonder you ride bulls. You guys are gluttons for punishment.” Another common reaction that Dallas was used to. Logan’s arms were crossed as he leaned against the colt’s stall. He glanced at Sawyer, who stood in the middle of the barn aisle, tongue in his cheek, probably trying not to laugh. Well, let them. “What do you think, Tom?” Logan asked, the name another private joke between them, apparently.
Sawyer gave his brother the side-eye. “I haven’t been in an arena except the one here since I was out of high school.”
“Me either,” Logan said. Dallas knew he’d led an interesting life. Rather than stay on the Circle H, Logan had become a test pilot, but he gave that up after he’d remarried to ranch with his twin and their grandfather. He’d recently added an airstrip to the property, just to keep his hand in, Hadley had also told Dallas, but more importantly as a safety measure. During a spring flood years ago when the ranch road had become impassable, Logan had nearly lost his first child, who’d been ill with pneumonia, and he wasn’t taking that chance again.
Logan clapped Sawyer on the shoulder. “Let’s do it.”
Dallas blinked at them. “You want to enter?”
“Two for the price of one,” they said in unison.
His roster was growing. Dallas left the Circle H wearing a grin.
* * *
THE DAY AFTER her pity party in the might-have-been-nursery, Elizabeth had talked to Sawyer’s wife, Olivia McCord, at her antiques store, and now, thanks to Jenna’s suggestion, she had a job. On her first day here, she’d been training with Olivia’s young assistant, but that didn’t seem to be going well for Elizabeth or Rebecca Carter.
In the center of the showroom floor, Becca fussed over a Brussels lace tablecloth with an Olivia McCord Antiques price tag that could have bought Elizabeth a high-end salon treatment. Showing her the way to fold the cloth, Becca couldn’t make the sides match up neatly. Olivia must have seen the girl’s fumbling attempts, because she marched from her office. “This is delicate, Becca, so please be careful. One of my clients who collects lace, Bernice Caldwell, is coming in today to take a look at it. She’ll be here any minute.”
Elizabeth stood back with Becca while Olivia refolded then set the cloth on a wooden rack with bars that held similar items.
“Do you want us to inventory the glassware next from that estate sale last weekend?” Becca asked.
Olivia was now flying around the room, straightening things that Becca had shown Elizabeth before, her mouth set. She lined up some gleaming silver plates, then spun around. “I’ll take care of the estate items. You can tidy up the front counter. When I came in this morning, there were papers scattered everywhere.”
Becca sent Elizabeth a rueful glance. Blond ponytail swinging, she hurried toward the front desk. “If you need help, Mrs. Barnes, just call.”
“Thank you, Becca.”
Hands on her hips, Olivia gazed after her young employee. “I promised her poor father I’d instill a good work ethic in that girl, but I wonder,” she whispered. “There are times—many of them—when even I despair.”
“She seems to be trying hard, Libby.”
She sighed. “Becca shows up on time, but she never quite grasps the truly important stuff. Like finding just the right item for someone. Rather than call me in to close a sale, she talks up the completely wrong chest of drawers or occasional chair to someone, and I lose money I could have made. Our numbers are down this month. I’m hoping you’ll be able to help raise them.”
Elizabeth studied the slender girl, who was now on the phone across the room, talking with her hands as she spoke to the caller. “Maybe Becca just needs more coaching,” she said. And I will too. Had Olivia given Becca a job out of the goodness of her heart? The woman wasn’t as tough as people thought. Had she felt sorry for Elizabeth as well?
“If only coaching would help,” Olivia said. “Becca’s had a number of jobs since she graduated from high school, but none of them stuck. She wasn’t interested in college, still lives at home on the Carter farm outside of Farrier, and lately she’s taken up with a man of whom her father doesn’t approve.”
Elizabeth felt sorry for the girl. “Once she settles in, she may be okay.”
“She’s been working here for six months.”
“Olivia, I’m about to make a hundred mistakes. I can run my home without effort because that’s my territory, my comfort zone—” my refuge “—but it’s been a long time since I worked for someone else. I’d hate to ruin your business or our friendship.”
Olivia shook her head. “No, Becca’s different. She’s a failure to launch. I’ve given her antiques books to read. I’ve spent hours trying to school her about our inventory, urged her to showcase the pieces that have been sitting too long on the floor so we can move them even at a discounted price, but Becca hasn’t improved. Please don’t ask her for advice. If I hadn’t promised to take her under my wing at least until September, I’d let her go. She’s certainly a challenge.”
Elizabeth watched Becca skim through the store, straightening a lace doily on a nineteenth-century drum table, righting a ceramic figurine of a Parisian lady, running a hand over the top of a mahogany sideboard to check for dust. “Conscientious, though,” she said just as Becca banged into the delicate-looking Louis XVI vanity chair in the center of the room and knocked it over.
Rushing to the rescue again, Olivia said under her breath, “Reminds me of my son Nick when he was seven years old.”
Elizabeth refrained from further comment. Olivia could well have two subpar employees on her hands. It wasn’t until later, after Olivia had left the shop to grab lunch at the café, that Elizabeth had an opportunity to talk to the girl alone.
“Let’s take a break, Becca.” It wouldn’t hurt to get to know her, and as a mother Elizabeth had felt an immediate instinct to nurture her. Pretty and petite, with clear blue eyes and a satiny complexion, Becca struck Elizabeth as a rather wounded soul, with which she could empathize. They sat in Olivia’s office with cups of tea. Becca curled her legs under her in one of the two chairs, and Elizabeth perched on the other. “Do you like working here, Becca?”
“My dad thought I would. Olivia doesn’t like me, though.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. “That’s not true. She hired you.”
“Because he talked her into it.” That jibed with what Olivia had said, but Elizabeth was surprised Becca was that aware. “I’ve been a waitress at the café, a stock clerk at Earl’s Hardware, an online customer service rep for a software company, a teacher’s assistant at the elementary school. One summer I helped answer phones at Doc and Sawyer’s medical office. But I never last anywhere. I guess I’ll be putting this one on my list soon.”
“Maybe you’re trying too hard to please Olivia.” Elizabeth smiled. “She can be…difficult. I was afraid of her myself years ago when we were in school. Olivia has her standards—though not as rigid as my mother’s. And thank goodness, she’s mellowed over time, especially since she married Sawyer and had a second child. You wouldn’t believe how overly protective she was of her older boy.” The aforementioned Nick, a friend of Jordan’s.
Becca said, “Your mom is tough like Olivia?”
Elizabeth touched her hand. “Yes, and I’m obviously older than you. Thirty-three.”
“I’m twenty-three.”
“I shouldn’t offer advice, but try to believe you can make it here, and that attitude could change everything. Goodness, I might be talking to myself.” She paused, not wanting to belabor the subject. “Olivia mentioned that you have a boyfriend.”
Becca’s gaze turned softer. “He’s the greatest, but my dad doesn’t like him.”
Elizabeth didn’t want to pry. She wasn’t here to become anyone’s counselor, yet Becca’s apparent vulnerability spoke to her as if it were her own. When Becca toyed with her spoon and remained silent, Elizabeth finished her own tea then started to stand. “I hope your boyfriend wins him over. We should both get back to work.”
Becca dropped the spoon. The words burst from her, and her chin quivered. “Calvin…has a record. He and two of his friends stole some cattle. The judge may send one of them to prison, but he gave Calvin community service, and he has a job now.”
Elizabeth sank back onto her chair. There were few people in town who didn’t know his story. “You mean Calvin Stern?”
“Yes, ma’am. Isn’t he the cutest thing?”
He might be adorable, but there was more to any relationship than that. Elizabeth ought to know. She had a handsome ex-husband, and she’d certainly made a mistake with Dallas, not that they had any sort of relationship. Becca seemed immature. Perhaps, beyond befriending her at work, Elizabeth might do a bit of counseling after all.
* * *
SOON AFTER HER talk with Elizabeth, Becca drove home, but to her surprise, her father wasn’t out in the fields. Their farm was nowhere near as big as the Circle H, for instance, and he still worked it himself, but he must have finished his chores. She found him in the garden, gloves on, spraying the roses. For years, her mother had nurtured them, but since last fall he’d taken over the task.
Becca fretted about him. Poor Daddy, kneeling as if to pray for a different outcome to his life rather than the loss of the woman he loved. She slipped up behind him, wrapped her arms around his too-thin frame, then kissed the top of his head. His hair was the same flaxen blond as her own.
He turned to her and beamed, as he did whenever he saw her. The apple of his eye, he always said. “You’re home early.”
“Olivia didn’t need me.” Becca had thrown out those papers by mistake, thinking they were duplicates of charge slips, but instead they’d been store copies. She’d left Olivia, just back from lunch, red-faced with anger. “I thought I’d spend the afternoon with you. Need help with the flowers?”
She knew better. He wouldn’t let anyone else care for them. They were like children, spoiled with attention, but that didn’t surprise Becca. As his daughter, she received similar devotion. If only her mother hadn’t gotten sick, but now it was only Becca and her dad. That hadn’t been a problem in itself until a few months ago.
“I’m fine, baby.” He rose, knees popping. He’d always been a big man but looked as if he’d lost height while she was in town. “How was work?”
“Fine. Great. Olivia says I’m learning more every day.” Olivia had said no such thing. “Let’s make lunch. I haven’t eaten.”
Mentally, she crossed her fingers about her job. Becca didn’t want to let her father down. He worked so hard to provide for them, even when she guessed he’d rather spend his days in bed with the covers over his head. Sometimes the sadness in his eyes made her want to cry. Yet she’d rarely seen him shed a tear. He held his grief inside, so as not to upset her.
In the kitchen, Becca spread mayonnaise on their bread, then tore freshly washed Bibb lettuce from the garden into pieces. “The corn’s already up to the fences,” she said, watching her father turn bacon in the skillet. “Maybe we can sell some here, open the farm stand again this summer. These tomatoes would be awesome too, Daddy. What do you think?”
“I don’t have time to work the stand. Neither do you.”
If she didn’t start doing better at Olivia’s, she might have all the time they needed. She’d try to take Elizabeth’s advice, but still felt she was in over her head. She liked Elizabeth, though.
Her father drained the bacon, then set a plate of it on the counter. Becca assembled their sandwiches, added fruit she’d cut for breakfast and poured tall glasses of milk. At the table, she tried another topic, hoping to make him happy. Her daily assignment. “Did you answer that lady’s message? She sounded nice.”
He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed, then pushed the BLT aside. “Becca, doesn’t matter if she’s nice or a raving lunatic. You should never have signed me up on that website. I don’t need a date—or a second chance. No, I didn’t answer and I’m not going to. Now eat.”
The firm note in his voice ended that discussion. Well, she’d tried. Maybe in a few weeks, another month, he’d change his mind. The thought of his being lonely made her feel like a traitor. It wasn’t right for him to spend so much of his time alone. Always, her father had had Mom waiting when he came in after evening chores. Her dad would smile, bend his head to kiss her mother’s neck and the two of them would laugh, looking into each other’s eyes with all that love they’d shared. The kind she wanted for herself. Becca couldn’t wait to get out of the house to see Calvin tonight.
She said with a familiar lump in her throat, “Think about it, Daddy. Really, you need someone, maybe not right now, but Mom would want you to be happy.”
A line appeared between his brows. “Becca. I was happy. Nothing can take that away from me. I don’t need anyone new. That would be sacrilege to your mother’s memory.”
She disagreed but didn’t say more. Her main goal was simply not to add to his sorrow.
Her dad took a slice of apple from his plate, then stood. One slice, when he used to eat several apples at once, would have had two sandwiches and another glass of milk. “Back to work now. I need to spread manure on the east pasture squash and melons.”
Becca wished they ran cattle like her friend Willow’s family did. In her view the crops took too much care and effort, sapping what little energy her dad seemed to have. Couldn’t cows take care of themselves? Even the roses required work.
“I’ll thaw steaks for dinner. How does that sound?” Becca wanted to eat early and felt a small thrill of anticipation then guilt. “Five thirty today?” Usually they ate after seven or even after dark, whenever he finished evening chores. His gaze homed in on her, his mouth set. She shouldn’t have said that.
“You going somewhere tonight?” He knew Willow was away on vacation with her family.
“Um, I thought I’d see a movie in town.”
He also knew what that meant. “You mean with Calvin Stern? Didn’t I make myself clear? A boy with his history, no family I’ve heard of…not to mention the company he keeps.”
“Kept,” she murmured. “He has an uncle in Farrier. Fred Miller. You know him, don’t you? Calvin doesn’t see those other guys anymore.”
“Yeah, well, people may say his pal Derek Moran’s a reformed sinner, but what about Cody Jones? He’s still awaiting trial. He’ll soon be in prison, Becca, where they all belong. They’re a bad bunch.” He took a breath. “I’m telling you again to break it off with Stern. He’s not welcome on this property and he’s sure not going to take my little girl away from me.”
Becca wanted to curl up in a ball. This had been the worst day, except for meeting Elizabeth, who might make life easier for her with Olivia. Tonight’s movie wasn’t going to happen. She’d have to call Calvin and tell him their date was off. She didn’t dare mention to her father the fact that she wanted to move in with him.