“Six o’clock,” he said, striding past her. “I’ll bring the video. My advice concerning it is...you’ll probably want to preview it after Lucas goes to bed.”
Climbing in the Ford, he set the horse treats on the floor next to the sack of apples he didn’t need, and made a U-turn so he could complete his mission of hanging flyers. Why was life so complicated? Why in the devil couldn’t he be attracted to a nice woman who loved rodeos?
Chapter Five
At five-thirty Duke entered the sheriff’s office and pulled up short. He was surprised to see Dinah at her desk pounding away on her computer. An even bigger surprise, Austin Wright, owner of Wright’s Western Wear and Tack Shop, sat on the narrow, uncomfortable bench under the front window. The space was miniscule, and the man sitting there overpowered it with his wide shoulders. Dinah had squeezed in the small bench for people who chanced to walk in at a time she or Duke were tied up on the phone.
She wasn’t on the phone, and Duke knew Dinah hated writing her reports on the computer. More often than not she plied him with coffee and doughnuts so he’d type them up for her. So he figured she wanted to look too busy to carry on small talk with Austin.
Duke casually gauged the jut of Dinah’s jaw, the way Austin leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and avoided looking at Dinah as he twirled his dove-gray cowboy hat around and around in his hands.
Those two! Duke took a deep breath. Going way back to their troubled high school days for both of them, there hadn’t been any love lost between them in a while. It seemed odd to Duke since both had straightened up and changed course.
“Where have you been all afternoon?” Dinah demanded of Duke.
“All day,” he said mildly. “I’ve been hanging our missing-horse flyers. Is there a problem? You had only to call my cell if you needed me.”
“She’s huffy because I elected to invade her space for fifteen damn minutes while I waited for you to show up.”
“I don’t care what you do,” Dinah snapped at Austin.
“Whoa, whoa!” Duke spread his hands. “We’re all friends here.”
Austin got up. “I actually tried to call you, but the ring tone broke off.”
“I drove almost to Miles City, could be I was out of range of a cell tower.” He pulled out his phone and checked it. “Says I have juice. You’re lucky I stopped back at the office. I only came in to pick up one of the videos we shot of last year’s Wild Pony Race.” That information, Duke aimed at Dinah. Swinging back to Austin, he asked, “What do you need from me, pal?”
“I wondered if I could hitch a ride with you to Bozeman. I did my entry online weeks ago, and today my pickup started acting up. My mechanic says the radiator needs flushing. He can’t work on it until the weekend. I could scratch this rodeo, but if I can place in the money it’ll help pay for fixing my truck, and other things.”
“Hey, anytime,” Duke said. “I’ll enjoy the company. My plan is to get on the road by six-thirty at the latest. I’ll pull up and honk. Do you need a lift to your shop now? Once I grab the video I’ll be on my way.” He searched the small bookcase to no avail. “Are those videos in a drawer, Dinah?”
“The TV station is using last year’s copy to advertise the upcoming event. Will the two-year-old version do? What do you want it for?” She leaned out of her chair, rummaged in a bottom drawer and tossed a DVD on Duke’s desk.
“I saw Angie at her vegetable stand out on the road today and gave her Pam Marshall’s phone number,” he said, snatching up the disc.
Austin, who had opened the door, glanced back over his shoulder.
“Angie still has concerns centered on safety,” Duke explained. “I thought she could watch one of the videos before she contacts Pam. I promised to run it out to her ranch tonight,” he said, deliberately not saying he’d been invited out there for supper.
“You’re getting pretty chummy with her.” Dinah made the observation with a raised eyebrow. “Is she why you shaved and changed out of your deputy duds?”
“Does Angie know the pony race is part of Roundup’s rodeo?” Austin asked, saving Duke from answering Dinah. “Judging from remarks she’s made during our business dealings, she dislikes most everything about rodeos.”
“What business dealings would you be having with Angie?” Dinah probed in a tone doubting the credibility of the man’s assertion.
Hustling his friend outside because Duke was already late and he didn’t want Dinah and Austin to start World War Three, he called back, “So long, boss. I’ll be in touch from Bozeman. Good luck tracking down Midnight while Austin and I are gone.”
Dinah got up and followed the men to the door. “What’s Angie got against rodeos? It seems the perfect spot for her to hawk her horse treats. If she wore a flashy little outfit she’d sell a ton.”
“Some women maybe prefer to be less flashy and more reserved than others,” Austin said.
Dinah hooked her thumbs in the service belt she wore that held handcuffs, a nightstick, pepper spray and her Glock. “Says you, who used to only date the flashiest bimbos around, Austin Wright.”
“Bye, Dinah,” Duke yelled as he all but pushed Austin down the street. “Sure I can’t give you a lift to your store?”
“Nah, the walk will do me good.” Hunching his shoulders, the other man shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Dinah loves to argue, but she’d be first to come to your aid if you needed a helping hand, Austin.”
“Maybe other people. She’d throw my sorry ass in jail in a nanosecond if I ever stepped out of line.”
“You’ve got her wrong. She’s really fair.” Duke stopped at his pickup, which he’d parked down the street from the office. Zorro sat up and pawed the back window.
“Good luck this weekend in Bozeman, you guys,” a sweet voice trilled. The men turned around and Dinah, who had stepped out in the middle of the sidewalk, gave a thumbs-up before she went back into the office.
“See,” Duke said, lightly slapping Austin’s shoulder.
Austin rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you in the a.m. Hey, is there something going on between you and Angie?”
Duke straightened. “Going on how? I’m taking her a video of the Wild Pony Race. Why? Do you like her?”
“I do, but not the way you mean,” Austin rushed to say, because Duke visibly stiffened. “Unlike you in the Hart clan, Angie had life kinda tough. I identify with underdogs, having been one, and watching my dad flounder for so long.”
“Buddy’s doing okay now, isn’t he?” Duke inquired of Austin about his father, who for a lot of years hadn’t been the most upstanding citizen of Roundup.
“Don’t know and don’t care,” Austin shot back. “I’m sure you’re aware my sister Cheyenne’s living with him again.”
“Yeah. I see her and her twin girls now and then with Colt’s wife. Cheyenne has cute kids. I was sorry to hear about their dad’s passing.” Duke shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I’d better get going. See you tomorrow.”
Austin waved and trudged on toward his apartment above his store. Duke got in his pickup, greeted Zorro, then tossed the video on the passenger seat and drove off in the opposite direction.
Almost fifteen minutes after six he pulled up outside Angie’s back door in a cloud of summer dust. Luke Barrington, who’d been sitting on the back stoop, jumped up and rushed out to meet Duke and Zorro as they left the vehicle.
“My mom said you w-wasn’t c-coming,” Luke shouted. “I knew yo
u would, ’cause you promised.” His eyes shone brightly as he tried to hug the dog and Duke. The boy stuttered only minimally. “What’s that?” he asked, seeing the video in Duke’s hand.
“It’s the reason why I’m late,” Duke said, tousling Luke’s sandy-colored hair. “It’s just something I told your mom I’d pick up from my office. Um, whatever is cooking smells good. Zorro, stay,” he added, pointing to an outside rug where Luke had been sitting. “You want to tell your mother I’m here?”
“She already knows,” Angie announced, holding the screen door open. “How could I miss hearing all the commotion Luke set up?”
“Sorry I’m late,” Duke said as he removed his hat and handed her the video. “I ran into Austin at the office, and we got to talking. I hope it didn’t ruin whatever you’re cooking.”
“The chicken may fall off the bones, but that’s the beauty of fixing a one-dish meal in the Crock-Pot. If it cooks too long you call it stew.”
“Mom, can Z-Zorro come inside?” Luke asked in a pleading voice.
She lifted her eyes to Duke, and for a moment he got lost in the clear, sky-blue depths. “Uh, whatever works for you,” he told Angie. “He’s an indoor dog most of the time. But no feeding him under the table,” he cautioned Luke.
“Aw.”
Angie laughed. “He knows that would have been my edict, too. Here, let me take your hat. Do you need to wash up? The bathroom is down the hall.” She pointed and took Duke’s hat out of his hands.
It was a narrow hall, Duke discovered, but the bathroom was roomy. In spite of not finding it too feminine or cloying, he suddenly felt jittery. He could probably count on one hand the number of meals he’d eaten with a woman who wasn’t part of his family. Not that he worried about his manners. His aunt Sarah had drilled those into her kids and him and Beau at an early age. Keeping up his end of table conversation, that’s what concerned Duke. Typically at family gatherings, he sat back and listened and let others talk. At Hart festivities it generally meant a lot of debate if not outright arguing. Duke slicked a wet hand through his hair to keep the dark locks from falling in his face. He rewashed and dried his hands all while trying not to panic. He really was sweet on this woman, and he didn’t want to blow his chances of maybe asking her out when he returned from Bozeman, to further explore the pleasure he experienced merely being around her.
“Mom said to t-tell you supper’s on the table,” Luke hollered through the bathroom door.
Duke yanked it open fast. “I’m coming.” Supper being overcooked because he showed up late might be passable. Letting a meal go cold as a result of his dallying would probably not put any points in his column as far as the cook was concerned.
Luke raced to the kitchen table ahead of him and pulled out a chair at the head. “This used to be where our grandpa s-sat,” Luke blurted.
“Is it your spot as man of the house now?” Duke asked, smiling down at the boy.
“Uh-uh. I sit across from Mom. You sit here, that way you have to s-say grace.”
Duke stopped halfway bent to sit in the proffered chair. He ran a finger around the neck of his T-shirt and shot Angie a helpless look.
“I’ll say grace as usual, Luke,” she said, “if you’ll stop talking and take your chair.”
Duke knew, of course, that Angie attended church most Sundays. He attended hit-and-miss with his aunt because he spent a lot of weekends at rodeos. Aunt Sarah asked the blessing at holiday dinners. When they all got together for casual meals or barbecues or for Super Bowl, they tended to skip blessing the food. Chalk this up to another thing he didn’t know about Angie, Duke thought as she bowed her head and thanked God for good health, good food and for his presence at their table as a friend. Duke mulled that over when Angie finished, and Luke piped up to say, “You forgot to say th-th-thank y-you for Z-Z-Zorro being here.”
At his name, the dog, who lay by the door, thumped his tail on the floor. They all laughed, and it lightened the mood.
Angie passed him a steaming platter filled with a well-roasted hen, flanked by potatoes, carrots and florets of broccoli all cooked in thick chicken broth.
“Why don’t I help Luke take what he wants,” Duke suggested, but deferred to Angie.
“Thank you. Give him a drumstick and a spoonful of each vegetable.”
The boy made a face and cupped his chin in a palm. “Do I hafta eat broccoli?” he whined.
Angie stared at him. “Need you ask?”
Duke dished out the smallest floret he could find, but said, “Green vegetables build strong muscles. You know all those bigger kids in your class at school—they probably eat second helpings of beans, broccoli and spinach.”
The boy watched Duke take a helping of everything before he handed the platter back to Angie. Without further comment, Lucas picked up his fork and the first thing he ate was his broccoli. Duke saw Angie smother a smile.
“Bread? It’s homemade herb,” she said, taking the top off the butter dish.
“Um, yum.” Luke jiggled in his chair and waved his fork. “It’s my fav’rite.” Then, looking up at Duke, he asked, “Bread builds muscles, too, r-right?”
“You bet. Home-cooked meals of practically anything taste good and are good for you. This home cooking is a special treat for me.”
“Don’t you got a mom?” Luke responded, his eyes on Duke.
“Lucas...” His mother put a finger over her lips. She’d heard from Sarah Hart that the Adams twins only had one parent. Not knowing more, she’d hate for her son to inadvertently cause Dylan distress. “Remember, Lucas, Pastor Morrison says some subjects are too personal to bring up in groups where you don’t know everyone very well? You just asked a very personal question.”
“Oh. B-but we know ev’rybody here.”
“It’s okay, Luke. I only meant I eat out a lot because I work in town. The food at Sierra Byrne’s diner is close to home cooking. I eat there a lot. The people you share a meal with can make eating a more homey experience. So being here with you and your mom is special to me.”
Luke beamed. “We like having you here, too, don’t we, Mom?” The boy’s speech was flawless, but it was plain from the way color rose in Angie’s cheeks that he’d embarrassed his mother.
“Glad to oblige,” Duke said. “Say, Luke, time’s ticking by. If you want to have some time to play catch or fetch with Zorro before it gets dark, you’d better eat up.”
The boy did just that. Surprisingly he took one more helping of broccoli and carrots before saying, “May I be ’scused?”
“I made apple pie for dessert,” his mother said.
Clearly torn, Luke finally pushed back his chair. “I want to play with Zorro. Is it okay to save my p-pie till later?”
“All right, but don’t go far from the house. The sun will be setting soon.”
The boy took off at a run, called to the dog and the pair banged out the back door amid laughter and short, happy barks.
Angie shook her head. “If broccoli gives him any more energy,” she lamented, “he’ll run me ragged. But, I thank you for getting him to eat a green vegetable. Starting six months or so ago, he began boycotting eating anything green.”
Duke laughed. “Probably some kid in school said they were pukey or something. Beau and I went through a period of refusing to drink milk because Owen Harper hated milk and he was the coolest kid in our class. A big, strapping football player, he claimed milk made kids shrimpy. I think we were twelve, an age when
boys really start to compare their size and physical prowess with those guys who excel at sports.”
“Oh, don’t tell me that. Already I’ve experienced times when Luke’s male logic escapes me.”
“Did you not have brothers?” Duke asked, curious to learn more about her.
“I’m an only child. You’re lucky to have grown up with a brother and a house full of cousins,” she said, propping her chin in the palm of a hand.
“I remember Aunt Sarah used to say of her brood that she raised six kids, who each considered themselves an only child. She was counting Beau and me in that. We’re all so different. Where did you live as a kid, Angie? Someone said you came from Texas, but I can’t place your accent. You don’t sound like those of us who grew up in Montana.”
“I was born in Tennessee. My dad worked with race horses. Stable work. He cooled out horses that came off the track after exercise runs. Then mom met a race-car driver so the two of us moved with him to Miami. My next stepfather owned a string of shrimp boats in the gulf. At the start of each new marriage, Mom sent me here to stay with her parents. I actually lived in Texas the longest, while she was married to a wildcatter oilman. I was almost eighteen when she met a vineyard owner and took off for California. We didn’t get along, so I balked and stayed in Texas where I worked at a restaurant where tips were big enough to support me. She died of cancer before I got pregnant with her only grandchild. But that’s more than enough about my life. Would you like a slice of pie?”
“I’d love it, but I’m stuffed.” Duke was sorry she’d stopped short of bringing up the bronc rider that led to her moving in with her granddad. By then, he thought she’d lost her grandmother. As Austin said, Angie had had a tough life.
She rose and began clearing the table.
Duke pitched in to help.
“You don’t need to clear plates. If you don’t want pie, at least have a cup of coffee. It’s ready.” She handed him a mug and pointed to where a pot simmered on a coffeemaker mounted beneath a corner cabinet.
Harts Of The Rodeo 3 - Duke - Deputy Cowboy Page 7
