“Good job.” Chase grinned. “Want to try the revolver, Annie Oakley?”
She laid Old Bess back on the table, carefully keeping the muzzle pointed toward the bleak, empty fields beyond the house. Beside it was an evil-looking black pistol that seemed square and modern and cruel, and an old-fashioned six-gun, the kind Clint Eastwood carried in those old spaghetti Westerns.
“Revolver?”
He picked up the six-gun and showed her how to tip out the cylinder and load bullets into the chambers.
“Two hands.” He slapped it closed and raised it toward the target to demonstrate. “Pretty much the same deal. Let your breath out, shoot.”
He showed her how to cock it and she shot low and wide, barely hitting the target.
“Keep your wrists stiff,” Cody said. “You’re letting the muzzle drop.”
She tried again and gave a vintage cheerleader hop, kick, and handclap after a bullet tore into the bull’s-eye.
“I feel like Clint Eastwood.”
“You don’t look much like him. But here, this’ll help.” Chase grabbed a leather belt from the bench. It had slots for cartridges along the back and a leather holster. He came up behind her and wrapped it around her hips, trying to clasp the buckle slightly off-center, his hands fumbling at the sensitive spot where her hip bone dipped and swelled into the curve of her belly. She could feel his breath warm on her neck and she tilted her head back to press her cheek to his. He froze, his arms around her, his body pressed against her back.
“Chase doesn’t think you feel like Clint Eastwood at all,” Cody said.
Damn, she’d forgotten they had guests.
Apparently Chase had too. He stepped back so quickly, he would have dropped the belt in the dirt if Lacey hadn’t grabbed it. She slipped the tongue into the buckle, feeling embarrassment heat her face, but Chase recovered quickly, grinning.
“No,” he said. “She doesn’t feel like Clint. He’s kind of bony.”
The four of them laughed, and the air moved again, the tree by the deck rustling in the breeze. She felt like the world had paused, maybe even spun a little bit backward, and then resumed its trip through space again, spinning like always, with no one but herself and Chase knowing it had stopped.
Although Cody seemed to know. He cast a teasing glance her way, and she felt her face flush. She might as well be wearing the handprint of shame again. Looking down, she pretended to adjust the belt. It was a little big and hung low on her hips.
“Now you’re tough,” Chase said.
“Wonder Woman.” Cody grinned. “The Wild West version.”
She laughed. Something about the other couple relaxed her. They got along so well, their camaraderie so easy and real, it was almost contagious. They seemed to help Chase relax too; his lips were tilted into a slight smile, and he didn’t seem so stiff and distant. It made her realize how serious he was, how rarely he smiled.
“Try again.” He gestured toward the target.
She shoved the gun in the holster and stepped forward, savoring the slight swagger the gun belt put in her walk. Having a gun on her hip really did make her feel tough. All she needed was a half-smoked cigar and a serape.
Channeling Clint, she jerked the gun from the holster and shot, and while she would have lost the draw to a genuine high-noon opponent, the tree with the target on it didn’t stand a chance. One more bullet hole joined the tight grouping around the bull’s-eye, and she shot again, and again, and again, emptying the six cylinders and feeling a rush of triumph and power and strength. The target was her old life. Her old habits. Her fear and her neediness and her paralyzing weakness.
“Whoa,” Cody said as the dust cleared. “Don’t mess with Lacey.”
“That’s right.” She shoved the gun back in the holster and wished she had a cowboy hat to tilt down over one eye. “Don’t mess with me.”
Chapter 30
An hour later Lacey stared into the open refrigerator, wondering what the hell cowboys ate. She wanted to do something for Chase in return for the shooting lessons, but making a nice dinner with nothing but beer and stale bread was going to be a challenge.
She swung open the freezer. So that was where he kept the real food. She carefully peeled back the aluminum foil on two disposable trays, revealing something that looked suspiciously like homemade lasagna. Tupperware containers appeared to contain beef stew, macaroni and cheese, and some kind of noodle casserole—probably tuna.
She flicked on the oven and pulled out one of the lasagna trays. That would hit the spot—homey and satisfying. Trent had liked it when she made glamorous food—chicken piccata, prime steaks rubbed with pepper and spices, elaborate pasta dishes with artichoke hearts and exotic cheese—but she’d never really cared about that stuff. Making it took up the long dull middle of her idle days, but everything had tasted the same when she ate it across the table from Trent.
The door opened behind her, and she whirled, one hand hovering near her hip.
“Whoa,” Chase said. “Easy there.”
She flushed. “Sorry. I was—I was cooking dinner.”
“With a gun on your hip? What are you going to do, shoot a rabbit to eat?”
“No.” She flushed. “It’s not loaded. I just—it feels good to wear it.” She looked down at the lasagna. “I thought I’d heat this up. Who made you all this stuff? Pam?”
“No. I did.” He was indignant. “What, you think men can’t cook? I can do it, Lace. You’re a guest.”
“Oh.” She tried to picture Trent in the kitchen, whipping up a meal. She couldn’t even picture him opening a beer. She’d always done that for him. “I’m not a guest, though. I told you, I’m earning my keep. But I guess since it’s all frozen, I figured some woman was feeding you. Pam, maybe.”
“Nope. I take care of myself.” He unhooked a length of cloth from the pegs behind the door and ducked his head into what turned out to be an apron, knotting it around his waist. It was red-and-white checked and made him look like a denim-clad, muscular picnic table. She turned away and hoped he wouldn’t notice her shoulders shaking as she suppressed a giggle.
“And Galt,” he said, oblivious to the picture he presented. “We need to bring him some of this.”
“Galt?”
“Old guy next door.”
“Oh. The one you wanted Pam to look after.”
“Yeah, somehow she turned that around.”
The oven beeped, and he shoved the pan inside, setting the timer for thirty minutes. “We’ll take the cover off for the last half,” he said.
She stood against the counter feeling useless. He had all this under control. He didn’t need an employee. Didn’t need a cook or a housewife.
Housekeeper. He probably did need a wife, but he needed one who could work on the range as well as in the kitchen. She’d gone a long way toward conquering her fear of the horses, but she was no cowgirl and probably never would be.
“It was nice to see Pam and Cody,” she said.
Chase nodded. He had a stack of mail in his hand and was sorting through the envelopes, tossing most of them onto the table. Two or three that looked like bills remained in his lap.
“Cody seems like a nice guy. Funny.”
“Yeah. Sometimes he’s a little too funny.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’m never going to live down that episode in the creek.”
“You aren’t? I was the one with the handprint on her—well, you know. You’re probably Cody’s hero for pawing me up, and I’m probably the town slut now.”
“No, we all know who that is.”
She laughed, picturing Krystal in her short skirt and sky-high heels. Chase moved to the refrigerator and got out a beer, handing one to her as well.
“Seriously, Cody wouldn’t say anything. He’s a friend.”
They sat side by side on the picnic bench facing the fields, resting their elbows on the table behind them. Lacey stretched her legs out and crossed her booted feet at the ankles, downing a swig of beer as t
he wind kicked up and made the long grass shimmer in the fading sunlight. She felt oddly comfortable despite the alien setting. She was used to decks with elegant, cushioned patio furniture, with fire pits burning sweet-scented logs of cherry or apple as glasses clinked and conversation hummed. Instead, the place was silent except for a chorus of crickets and the whisper of the wind.
The silence seemed to draw Chase out, overcoming his usual reticence. “When I came here to Grady, I figured it was Pam and me against the world. But then Cody came to town. He’s a good guy, and he takes good care of Pam.”
“What did he do before he moved here?”
“Cooked somewhere. He doesn’t talk much about it. I think he’s had a hard life.”
“He looks like it, with the tattoos and stuff. I’m surprised Pam trusts him around Annie.”
“Looks can be deceiving. He’s done a lot for Pam. She had a tough time as a single mom, and he’s really there for her. I think the guy has a rescue complex. He’s always helping strangers, doing things for people. I mean, you saw how fast he came out and helped us with the truck. I’d trust that guy with my life.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It might sound corny, but he kind of restored my faith in human nature. After what happened back home, I figured everybody had an agenda, but he’s just… just good.”
“This is what they call a bromance, isn’t it?”
Chase flushed. “No, I just—he’s a good friend, that’s all.” He stood abruptly. He obviously wasn’t comfortable talking about his feelings, and the mention of bromance had put a halt to his confessional mood. “We need to get this over to Galt.”
***
Lacey wasn’t sure she dared step into Galt’s trailer. For one thing, the place looked like it was about to fall down. For another, the man looked anything but welcoming. He swung the door open, gave them a beady-eyed glare, and turned away to stomp into the kitchen. Lowering himself into a chair at the head of an old-fashioned Formica dinette table, he squinted at Lacey.
“Who’s this?”
He sounded so hostile she wanted to drop the Tupperware salad bowl she was carrying and hightail it out of there, but she didn’t want Chase to think she was scared of grumpy old men along with everything else. She stepped up and put out her hand. “Lacey Br—Keene.”
She needed to start using her maiden name. Forging a new identity.
“I’m helping Chase with the ranch. Nice to meet you.”
Galt continued to give her the stink eye. He didn’t make a move to shake her hand, but she refused to back down.
“Nice to meet you,” she repeated.
He reluctantly slid his dry, papery hand into hers and shook, giving her a skeptical up-and-down assessment. “Lacey Brruh-keene, huh? You don’t look much like a ranch hand.”
“And I’m not a very good one,” Lacey said. “But I’m trying.”
Galt was hauling stuff out of the grocery bag. Chase had wrapped the hot pan in towels and set it on the bottom, topping it with a Ziploc bag of dinner rolls from the café along with paper plates and plastic flatware. It was like a very elaborate picnic. Too bad he’d taken off the apron.
Once everything was on the table, their less-than-gracious host made a vague gesture toward the food. “Eat.”
He tucked into the food like he was starving, shoveling alternating forkfuls of pasta and salad into his mouth. Chase followed suit, eating in a barely more civilized fashion. Lacey looked from one to the other, then shrugged and served herself some dinner.
“So,” she said brightly. “You sold Chase his land.”
Galt scowled. “Bastard.”
Maybe that wasn’t the best topic of conversation. Maybe something less personal would be better. She cleared her throat. “Nice weather we’re having.”
“Need rain.”
“I suppose we do.”
It wasn’t until Lacey started to clear the table that she managed to lure Galt into conversation. “That’s a handsome kid.” She nodded toward a picture on the wall. It was a typical school photo of a dark-haired boy grinning self-consciously against a blue background.
“My son,” Galt said. “He died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Lacey wondered why Chase wasn’t making any effort to rescue her from her disastrous conversations with his neighbor. He was worse than Galt, scraping plates into the sink and tossing them into the garbage can without a word.
“He should’ve had this place,” Galt said. “Caldwell’s place too.”
“I’m sorry. You must miss him.”
Chase tugged the nearly full garbage bag out of the plastic trash bin and carried it to the door, tying the top as he went and stepping out into the darkening day, presumably to take it to the trash.
“Hard to miss him when he was never around,” Galt said. “Liked fast cars better than farming. That’s what kilt him.” He snorted. Lacey wasn’t sure if it was a snort of disdain or an effort to keep tears at bay. “Was a job, getting him to do any chores around this place. He hated it.”
“Oh. Chase loves farming. He appreciates the land, I can tell you that.”
“Bob would’ve appreciated it after a while,” Galt said. “He would’ve come around if he hadn’t died. Wanted to be a mechanic, though. Wanted to go to school for it. I couldn’t spare him. No time for fancy educatin’ when you got a farm to keep.”
Lacey felt a sudden ache in her heart for the lonely old man. No doubt he’d been a difficult father. Some of his taciturn manner might be from losing his son, but the hard-set lines of his face told her his negativity was a long-standing habit. Still, the moisture in his eyes proved he’d loved the boy he lost.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“I’m over it.” Galt hobbled into the living room and lowered himself into a worn recliner, picking up a remote. “It’s time for my show.” He snorted again, and this time it was obvious he was holding back emotion. “You done talkin’ now?”
Lacey reached out and touched his arm, just a quick pat. She wondered how long it had been since the old man had touched anyone, or had anyone touch him. He seemed so alone, living on this isolated patch of ground with nothing but his grief to keep him company.
“I’m done,” she said. “But maybe I’ll see you again.”
Chapter 31
Chase didn’t have much to say on the brief ride back to the ranch, and he headed out to the barn as soon as they got home, muttering something about feeding the horses and waving Lacey away when she offered to help. She slumped her shoulders and headed for the house, feeling useless and defeated.
“Maybe I’ll go for a walk.”
She wandered through the house, feeling like an intruder, and stepped out onto the back deck. Twilight had just started to settle over the landscape, and she’d noticed there wasn’t a light in sight—just acres of empty prairie as far as she could see. After the upheaval of the past week, it looked peaceful and serene—a good place to think and plan.
She stood at the edge of the deck, unsure which way to turn. How did you take a walk over a landscape so featureless? To just start walking seemed foolish—like taking off across a trackless desert without a destination in mind.
There were a few trees in the distance, silhouetted against the silver sky. They weren’t as far as the ones she and Chase had tried and failed to reach on horseback, and there were only a few—so it wasn’t likely they’d harbor any bears or wolves or Wild West outlaws.
She paced away from the house, swinging her arms resolutely. She’d tried the suburban sport of walking for exercise once, getting together with her sometime lunch partners to cruise through the neighborhood with exaggerated strides and swinging arms. Speed walking was supposed to keep your figure trim and your cardiovascular numbers in the “healthy” range, but she’d come to the conclusion that it also made you look and feel like an idiot.
She lengthened her stride, figuring no one was looking and she might as well get some exercise, but it didn’t take long
to figure out that kind of walking didn’t work here. The prairie was dotted with sagebrush and yucca, making it impossible to walk in a straight line. The only way to get anywhere was to mosey, tracing a crooked, meandering path through the spiky flora.
As she left the golden light from the house behind, the world seemed to grow even more hushed. Looking up, she saw the sky speckled with stars, some hard and bright, some faint and far away. She’d seen the same stars from Tennessee, but they’d been lost in the lights from town, a dim constant she’d taken for granted. Here in the darkness of the high plains, they demanded attention, creating a landscape of their own in the deep night sky.
Craning her neck, she stumbled backward and arched her back, almost tipping over in her effort to take in the entire display. She wanted to see the whole sky, to savor the sense of being surrounded with nothing and everything, time and timelessness.
These were the same stars that shined on Tennessee, the same stars that shined on the world long before she was born. They’d shine after she was gone, too, distant and unchanging, unaffected by her life or anyone else’s. She felt a lightness, as if a burden had been lifted. She may have wasted her life, but what good could she have done? She could make things better for those around her—she should do that—but in the long run, her petty problems made no difference. She lowered herself to the ground, crossing her legs yoga-style, her eyes never leaving the sky. She just wanted to enjoy the show.
***
Chase headed for the barn with a purposeful stride. This was his favorite time of day—the time when the sun sank below the horizon and he could wrap up his day with the animals, settling them in their stalls, feeding them, making sure everything was finished and finalized and ready to start again in the morning.
Catching the horses in the evening wasn’t a problem. Captain and Sheba practically ran for the barn, knowing their daily ration of sweet feed was coming. Jimbo was slower, trusting in the routine, knowing hurry wouldn’t help things move any faster.
After measuring out the feed, Chase clipped the wire from a fresh bale of hay and shook the rich alfalfa into the feeding troughs. He sat back, enjoying the sounds and scents of everyday life—the rhythmic munching of the horses, the rustle of their big bodies shifting in their stalls, the clean, crisp smell of hay mixed with the musk of animals. Feeding time always gave him a sense of plenty, a feeling that he had what he needed in life.
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