by Diana Palmer
She drew herself up to her full height. “If I were lonely, this is the last place in the world that I’d look for relief!” she informed him.
“Then why are you still here?”
She wouldn’t kick him, she wouldn’t kick him …
“And don’t spin out going down my driveway,” he called after her. “That’s new gravel!”
She hoped he was watching her the whole way. She dislodged enough gravel to cover a flower bed on her way down the driveway.
It was a long, wet weekend. She knew that nobody around Jacobs County would be complaining about the rain. It was a dry, unusually hot spring. She read in the market bulletins online that ranchers were going to pay high prices for corn. Floods in the Midwest and Great Plains were killing the corn there, and drought was getting it in the South and Southwest. Considering the vast amounts of the grain that were being used as biofuel, and the correspondingly higher prices it was commanding, it looked as if some small ranchers and farmers might go broke because they couldn’t afford to feed it to their cattle. Not to mention the expense of running farm machinery, which mostly burned gasoline.
She was glad she wasn’t a farmer or rancher. She did feel sorry for the handful of small ranchers around town. One day, she thought, there would be no more family agriculture in the country. Everything would be owned by international corporations, using patented seed and genetically enhanced produce. It was a good thing that some small farmers were holding on to genetically pure seeds, raising organic crops. One day, the agricultural community might be grateful, if there was ever a wholesale dying out of the genetically modified plants.
“Well, you’re deep in thought, aren’t you?” Dee teased as she walked in the door the following Wednesday, just before noon.
Sara blinked, startled by her boss’s appearance. “Sorry,” she said, laughing. “I was thinking about corn.”
Dee stared at her. “OOOOOkay,” she drawled.
“No, I’m not going mad,” Sara chuckled. “I read an article in this farm life magazine.” She showed it to the older woman. “It’s about the high prices corn is going to get this year.”
Dee shook her head. “I don’t know what the smaller ranchers are going to do,” she said. “Gas prices are so high that it’s hard to afford enough fuel to run tractors and trucks, and now they’ll have to hope the hay crop is good or they’ll have to sell off cattle before winter rather than having to feed them stored corn.” She sighed. “I expect even the Ballengers will be feeling a pinch, with their feedlot.”
“It must be tough, having your livelihood depend on the weather,” she remarked.
“Yes, it is. I grew up on a little truck farm north of here,” Dee told her. “One year, we had a drought so bad that everything we grew died. Dad had to borrow on the next year’s profits to buy seed and fertilizer.” She shook her head. “Finally he couldn’t deal with the uncertainty anymore. He got a job fixing engines at one of the car dealerships.”
“It’s so bad, you know—floods in the Midwest and drought here and in the Southeast. Too much water or not enough. They need to build aqueducts like the Romans did and share that water with places that need it.”
“Not a bad idea, but who’d pay for it?”
Sara laughed. “I don’t guess anybody could. But it was a nice thought.”
Dee checked her watch. “You’d better get a move on, before we get swamped with customers and you’re late leaving.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Dee.”
The older woman smiled. “Good luck with those drawings.”
Lisa Parks had blond hair and a sweet smile. She was carrying Gil, her eighteen-month-old toddler, when she came to the door to let Sara in. The baby had brownish colored hair and his eyes were green, like his father’s. He was wearing a two-piece sailor suit.
“Doesn’t he look cute!” Sara enthused over the little boy, while Lisa beamed.
“Our pride and joy,” Lisa murmured, kissing the child on his soft nose. “Come in.”
Sara stepped into the cool confines of the house. It had been a bachelor house for years, but Lisa’s feminine touches made it into a home.
“Want coffee before you start?” Lisa asked, shifting Gil on her hip while he chanted happy noises.
“After, if you don’t mind,” came the smiling reply. “I always try to avoid work if it’s at all possible.”
“Don’t we all? I’ve got the puppies out in the barn.” She led the way down the back steps, pausing at the sound of a horse approaching. Gil was still making happy baby sounds, cradled on his mother’s hip.
Harley Fowler was just riding into the yard. He spotted Sara with Lisa and smiled hugely. “Hi, Sara.”
“Hello, Harley. How’s the Spanish coming along?”
He glanced at Lisa, who grinned at him. He shrugged. “Well, I guess I’m learning some. But Juan is a better teacher than any book.”
“How’s your jaw?” Sara asked with twinkling eyes.
He fingered it. “Much better.” He smiled back.
“Uh oh, Mama,” Gil said, frowning. “Uh oh.” He squirmed.
“Uh oh means somebody needs a diaper change,” Lisa laughed. She glanced at Harley and, sensing something, concealed a smile. “Harley, if you’ve got a minute, would you mind showing Sara the pups while I change Gil? We’re working on potty training, but it’s early days yet,” she added on a laugh.
Harley beamed. “I’d be happy to!” He climbed down gracefully out of the saddle and held the reins, waiting for Sara. “Are you going to adopt one of the puppies?”
She blinked. “Well, I hadn’t thought about that. I have a cat, you know, and he really doesn’t like dogs much. I think one tried to eat him when he was younger. He’s got scars everywhere and even dogs barking on television upsets him.”
He frowned. “But you came to see the puppies …?”
She showed him her drawing pad. “I came to sketch the puppies,” she corrected, “for the children’s book I’m writing.”
“Someday she’s going to be famous, and we can all say we knew her back when,” Lisa teased. “I’ll have coffee ready when you’re done, Sara. I made a pound cake, too.”
“Thanks,” Sara called after her.
Lisa waved as she took the baby back into the house.
Harley tied his horse to the corral fence and walked into the dim confines of the barn with Sara. In a stall filled with fresh hay were five puppies and Bob the Collie. She was nursing the babies. In the stall beside hers was Puppy Dog, Lisa’s dog, no longer a puppy. He looked exactly like Tom Walker’s dog, Moose.
“A girl dog named Bob,” Sara mused.
“Boss said if Johnny Cash could have a boy named ‘Sue,’ he could have a girl dog named Bob.”
“She’s so pretty,” Sara said. “And the puppies are just precious!”
“Three males, two females,” he said. “Tom’s got first choice, since they’re Moose’s grandkids.” He shook his head. “He’s taking Moose’s loss hard. He loved that old dog, even though he was a disaster in the house.”
“Moose saved Tom’s daughter from a rattler,” Sara reminded him. “He was a real hero.”
“You want a chair?” he asked.
“This old stool will do fine. Thanks anyway.” She pulled up the rickety stool, opened her pad and took her pencils out of her hip pocket.
“Will it make you nervous if I watch?”
She grinned up at him. “Of course not.”
He lolled against the stall wall and folded his arms, concentrating on the way her hand flew over the page, the pencil quickly bringing the puppies to life on the off-white sheet. “You’re really good,” he said, surprised.
“Only thing I was ever good at in school,” she murmured while she drew. She was also noting the pattern of colors on the pups and shading her drawing to match. Then she wrote down the colors, so she wouldn’t forget them when she started doing the illustrations for her book in pastels.
“I can fi
x anything mechanical,” he said, “but I can’t draw a straight line.”
“We all have our talents, Harley,” she said. “It wouldn’t do for all of us to be good at the same thing.”
“No, it wouldn’t, I guess.”
She sketched some more in a personable silence.
“I wanted to ask you in the bookstore, but we got interrupted,” he began. “There’s going to be a concert at the high school this Saturday. They’re hosting a performance by the San Antonio Symphony Orchestra. I wondered if, well, if you’d like to go. With me,” he added.
She looked up, her soft eyes smiling. “Well, yes, I would,” she said. “I’d thought about it, because they’re doing Debussy, and he’s my favorite composer. But I didn’t have the nerve to go by myself.”
He chuckled, encouraged. “Then it’s a date. We could leave earlier and have supper at the Chinese place. If you like Chinese?”
“I love it. Thanks.”
“Then I’ll pick you up about five on Saturday. Okay?”
She smiled at him. He was really nice. “Okay.”
He glanced out of the barn at his horse, which was getting restless. “I’d better get back out to the pasture. We’re dipping cattle and the vet’s checking them over. I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Thanks, Harley.”
“Thank you.”
She watched him walk away. He was good-looking, local and pleasant to be around. What a difference from that complaining, bad-tempered rancher who hadn’t even sympathized with her when she’d almost drowned delivering his stupid books!
Now why had she thought about Jared Cameron? She forced herself to concentrate on the puppies.
Harley picked her up at five on Saturday in his aged, but clean, red pickup truck. He was wearing a suit, and he looked pretty good. Sara wore a simple black dress with her mother’s pearls and scuffed black high-heeled shoes that she hoped wouldn’t be noticed. She draped a lacy black mantilla around her shoulders.
“You look very nice,” Harley said. “I figure there will be people there in jeans and shorts, but I always feel you should dress up to go to a fancy concert.”
“So do I,” she agreed. “At least it isn’t raining,” she added.
“I wish it would,” he replied. “That nice shower we got last Saturday is long gone, and the crops are suffering. We’re still in drought conditions.”
“Don’t mention that shower,” she muttered. “I was out in it, sliding all over Jeff Bridges Road in my VW, bogged up to my knees in mud, just to deliver Jared Cameron’s books!”
He glanced at her. “Why didn’t he go to the store and get them himself?”
“He’s very busy.”
He burst out laughing. “Hell! Everyone’s very busy. He could spare thirty minutes to drive into town. God knows, he’s got half a dozen cars. That big fella who works for him is something of a mechanic in his spare time. He keeps the fleet on the road.”
“What sort of cars?” she asked curiously.
“There’s a sixties Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow, a thirties Studebaker and several assorted sports cars, mostly classics. He collects old cars and refurbishes them.”
“He arrived at our store in a truck,” she said flatly.
“From time to time that big fella wearing fancy suits drives him around.”
“Do you know where he came from?”
Harley shook his head. “Somebody said he was from Montana, but I’m not sure. He came here for a funeral about eight months ago. Nobody can remember whose.”
“A relative, you think?”
He shrugged. “It was at one of the old country churches. Mount Hebron Baptist, I think.”
“That’s where I go to church,” she said, frowning. “Grandad’s buried there. But I don’t remember reading about any funeral in the bulletin for out-of-town people.”
“It was a private service, they said. Just ashes, not even a coffin.”
She pursed her lips and whistled softly. “I wouldn’t like to be burned.”
“I would,” he said, grinning at her. “A true Viking’s funeral. Nothing wrong with that. Then they can put you in a nice-looking urn and set you on the mantel above the fireplace. Nice and neat. No upkeep.”
She laughed. “Harley, you’re terrible!”
“Yes, but I do have saving graces. I can whistle and carry a tune. Oh, and I can gather eggs. Just ask the boss’s wife!”
They had a nice meal at the local Chinese restaurant and then Harley drove them to the high school. There were a lot of people on hand for the rare big city musical talent. Both Ballengers and their wives and teenaged kids, and a few of the Tremaynes and two Hart brothers and their families.
Harley caught Sara’s arm gently to help her up onto the sidewalk from the parking lot, and then let his fingers accidentally catch in hers. She didn’t object. She’d always liked Harley. It was nice, to have a man find her attractive, even if it was just in a friendly way.
He was smiling down at her when they almost collided with a man in line. The man, nicely dressed in a suit and a wide-brimmed top-of-the-line John B. Stetson cowboy hat, turned his head back toward them and green eyes glared belligerently.
“Sorry, Mr. Cameron,” Harley said at once.
Jared Cameron gave them both a speaking glance and turned his attention back to the line, which was rapidly moving inside. When he was out of earshot, Sara muttered, “He ran into us. You didn’t have to apologize.”
He chuckled. “It isn’t the place for a skirmish, you know,” he teased.
She grimaced. “Sorry, Harley. I don’t like him, that’s all. He’s too full of himself.”
“He’s just bought that huge ranch,” he reminded her. “He must live on a higher level than most of us. I guess he thinks he’s above normal courtesies.”
She only nodded. She hadn’t liked the antagonism in the tall man’s eyes when he’d looked at Harley.
They got their tickets and found seats as far away from Jared Cameron as Sara could possibly manage. Then she lost herself in the beautiful musical landscapes created by the themes of Claude Debussy. Harley seemed to enjoy the concert as much as she did. It was nice to have something in common.
On the way out, they noticed Jared Cameron speaking earnestly with Police Chief Cash Grier, who’d shown up just after the concert began and stood at the back of the room. Sara wondered what they were talking about. But it was none of her business.
It was ten o’clock when Harley dropped her off at her home. She smiled up at him. “Thanks, Harley. I had a really nice time.”
“So did I. Want to go to a movie next Friday?”
Her heart jumped pleasantly. He liked her! She beamed. “Yes. I would.”
He chuckled. “That’s great!”
He hesitated. So did she. Her experience of men was extremely limited. Her upbringing had been strict and unrelenting on the issue of morals. Her past wasn’t widely known around Jacobsville, but her reputation was rock-solid. It was why she hadn’t dated much. Harley knew that. But it didn’t seem to bother him overmuch. After a minute’s deliberation, he bent and brushed his mouth briefly, softly over hers. “Good night, Sara.”
She smiled. “Good night, Harley.”
He jumped back into the truck, waved and took off down the driveway,
She watched the truck disappear into the distance, frowning as she considered that brief kiss. It hadn’t touched her. She liked Harley. She’d have loved having a steady boyfriend, just for the novelty of the thing. But she hadn’t felt anything when he kissed her. Maybe you just had to work up to those feelings, she told herself as she unlocked her door and went inside. It was early days in their relationship. They had plenty of time to experiment.
It was the week after the concert before her nemesis placed another order. This time he did it on the telephone, and to Dee, who got to the telephone first early Monday morning.
“What a selection,” Dee exclaimed when she hung up. She read down the list, shaking h
er head. “Greek and Roman writers of the classics, some science fiction, two books on drug interdiction and two on South American politics. Oh, and one on independent contractors. Mercenaries.”
“Maybe he’s thinking of starting a war,” Sara offered. “In some other country, of course.” She pursed her lips and her eyes twinkled. “Maybe he’s anxious to skip town because he’s so fascinated by me!”
Dee looked at her over her glasses. “Excuse me?”
“It’s just a theory I’m working on,” she said facetiously. “I mean, I’m growing into a femme fatale. Harley Fowler can’t resist me. What if my fatal charm has worked its magic on Mr. Cameron and he’s running scared? He might feel a need to escape before he gets addicted to me!”
“Sara, do you feel all right?”
Sara just grinned. “I never felt better.”
“If you say so. I’ll get these ordered.” She glanced at Sara. “He wants you to take them out to him on Saturday.”
Sara grimaced. “He just likes ruining my weekends.”
“He hardly knows you, dear. I’m sure it’s not that.”
Sara didn’t answer her.
On Thursday, Harley phoned with bad news. “I have to fly to Denver on business for the boss, and I’ll be gone a week or more,” he said miserably. “So we can’t go to the movies on Friday.”
“That’s all right, Harley,” she assured him. “There will be a movie left when you get back that we can go see. Honest.”
He laughed. “You make everything so easy, Sara.”
“You have a safe trip.”
“I’ll do my best. Take care.”
“You, too.”
She hung up and wondered idly why Harley had to go out of town just before they went on another date. It was as if fate was working against her. She’d looked forward to it, too. Now all she had to anticipate was delivering books to the ogre. It wasn’t a happy thought. Not at all.
Well, she told herself, it could always be worse. She could be dating HIM—the ogre.
Three
Sara took the ogre’s books home with her on Friday, just as she had the last time, so that she didn’t have to go to town. At least it wasn’t pouring rain when she went out to her car early Saturday morning to make the drive to the White Horse Ranch.
