by Arlene James
She nodded.
“I always knew you’d make good,” he said, smiling. “You still in Dallas?”
“Yes. I manage a hotel there.”
His gaze raked over the car again. “Big, fancy hotel, I imagine.”
“You could say that. I, uh, I understand you’re head coach now.”
“Athletic director,” he corrected proudly.
She put on a smile. “Ah. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. How’s your dad? Heard he’s been ill.”
She nodded. “Undergoing chemotherapy.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it.”
“I’ll tell him you asked about him.”
Lifting her arms, she swept her hair back with both hands, trying not to fidget beneath his stare.
“Is that an engagement ring I see, or have you taken to wearing a house on your finger?” he quipped.
Feeling rather smug about it, Ann straightened the cushion-cut diamond. “I am engaged, as a matter of fact.”
“Congratulations. Dallas boy?”
“Not a boy,” Ann said pointedly, “and not from Dallas, at least not originally. He’s actually from New Hampshire, though he’s moved around a lot. Right now he’s filling in for me while I’m here helping out.”
“So you’re coworkers, then.”
“Not exactly. He used to be my boss. Now he’s upper management in another area of the company.”
“So when you’re married you’ll be living where?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” she admitted. “Jordan is working that out with the company now.”
“Won’t be in War Bonnet, though, will it?”
“No. It won’t be in War Bonnet.”
Jack nodded. “Well, don’t be a stranger.”
The fuel pump clicked off. Ann turned away with a sense of satisfaction mingled with relief, saying, “I’ll try not to. I really need to get going now.”
He pushed away from the truck. “Important doings, huh?”
“Boot shopping.”
“Ah. Where you headed?”
“Duncan, I suppose.” Ann replaced the cap on the neck of the gas tank.
“Try the Western wear store on 81,” he advised.
“Okay.”
“Good seeing you,” he said, wandering back toward his vehicle.
Smiling, Ann climbed into the car, started up the engine and drove away, thinking how odd it was that the man who had so impacted her life would never know how he had changed things for her. Had she not overheard that conversation that day, she might well have finished school, come back to War Bonnet and...what? She’d had some vague notion of taking over the ranch at some point, but other than that...
For some reason, Dean Pryor’s face sprang up before her mind’s eye, so real in that instant that she gasped.
Heart pounding, she shook her head. Dean Paul Pryor was nothing to her. He could never be anything to her. Why, he didn’t even compare to Jordan.
She told herself that was because Jordan existed on an entirely different plane than the men in War Bonnet. He was suave, polished, always expertly groomed. She’d never seen him in anything other than a classically tailored suit. Jordan’s idea of casual wear was a suit without a tie, but even then he tended to favor silk T-shirts in place of his usual handmade dress shirts. She wondered if he even owned a pair of jeans. He must. They’d been friends for years, and she’d seen photos of him swimming and skiing. Surely he didn’t wade up out of the ocean or come down off the slopes only to relax in a nice three-piece, Italian wool suit. It was just that most of their interactions had taken place in more formal surroundings.
Truthfully, Ann didn’t have much of a life outside the hotel. Being on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week put a damper on a girl’s social life. That was why she and Jordan had become friends in the first place; she just didn’t have a lot of other options.
When Jordan had returned to Dallas to temporarily take over for her during her leave of absence so she could help her father through this health challenge, Jordan had immediately confessed that he’d formed feelings for her when he’d been her boss that had gone beyond friendship. He’d declared that he meant to sweep her off her feet, and then he’d done just that. In the three weeks they’d had to bring him up to speed on the current operations of the hotel before she’d left for Oklahoma, they’d become engaged.
Strangely, however, Jordan, Dallas and the hotel no longer seemed quite real. Instead, Dean Pryor, War Bonnet and the Straight Arrow were her current reality. Surely it was natural, then, to compare Jordan to Dean.
And yet, she could not bring herself to do it. She simply refused to compare her fiancé to Dean Pryor in any way. She didn’t even want to know why.
* * *
“Yep, those are boots, all right,” Dean pronounced, staring down at Ann’s feet on Friday morning. He was very glad that he’d kept his sunglasses on after she’d driven up and gotten out of the truck, for he feared that she’d have read in his eyes exactly what he thought of those pink-and-pearl-white, pointed-toe monstrosities.
Apparently he didn’t cover his opinion up well enough, because she brought her hands to her shapely hips and demanded, “What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. “They’ll protect your toes out here just fine.”
She frowned at the rounded toes of his scuffed, brown leather boots then tilted her head, obviously comparing her own footwear with his. Her boots were designed for riding, with toes so sharp that they almost curled upward at the tips. She had clearly chosen them based on color and style rather than function, but he wouldn’t embarrass her by saying so. Unfortunately, Cam wasn’t that circumspect.
One of the longtime hands at Straight Arrow Ranch, Cam had evidently known Ann from childhood. How else could he have gotten away with calling her pet names?
“You always did like fancy duds, Freckles,” Cam declared, strolling up to the harvester where Dean and Ann stood talking. “Oo-ee! You bought them boots right outta the window of the Western wear store up there in Duncan, didn’t you? Why, them things been there nigh on thirty years, I reckon.” He grinned at Dean, shaking his head. “Just goes to show that something’ll come back in style if you wait long enough, don’t it?”
Dean kept his jaw clamped and rubbed his nose, while Ann turned red. She lifted her chin and seemed about to turn on her heel when Donovan ran up behind her. He just naturally threw his arms around her thighs and hugged her, startling a high, shocked yip out of her. To Donovan, anyone he saw more than twice was a close, personal friend.
“Hello!” he sang, swinging around her body as if she were a maypole, a long-legged maypole wearing hideous boots.
She recovered quickly, smiled and smoothed a hand across Donovan’s back. “Hello. Where’s your dog?”
For an answer, Donovan put his head back and yelled, “Digger!” The dog bolted from somewhere to the boy’s side. “Here he is.”
“That’s one fine dog,” Cam declared enviously. “Show her what he can do.”
Thinking that it might take her mind off the boots and Donovan’s unorthodox greeting, Dean complied. He put Digger through a series of tricks then nodded to Donovan.
“Ready?” Donovan fell to his knees. “Digger, protect!” Dean commanded.
Instantly the dog knocked the boy to the ground and stood over him with all four legs, growling, teeth bared, while Donovan lay still beneath the animal.
“Digger, safe!” Dean said.
The dog moved to sit beside the boy, its tongue lolling happily from its mouth. Donovan hugged and petted the dog, crooning softly to it.
“That’s amazing,” Ann said.
“Wish I had me a dog like that,” Cam said, not for the first time. “You
ought to think about training dogs for a living, Dean.”
Dean chuckled. “Not much call for that around here, I imagine.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Ann said. “Lots of local farmers and ranchers use herding dogs. They might be interested in the kind of protective training Digger has.”
Dean shrugged. “You can’t train just the dog. You have to train the owner, too.”
Donovan got up, and Dean went to dust him off, but Ann reached him before Dean did.
“How does your mama manage your laundry?” she asked, ruffling his hair.
“Don’t got a mama,” Donovan announced baldly. “Grandma does my laundry.”
“And a chore it is, too,” Dean said quickly, whacking dirt from Donovan’s bottom. “Run and get the water jug now. We’ve got work to do.”
Donovan nodded, but he stood looking up at Ann for a second longer. “I like your boots,” he said before taking off with Digger on his heels.
“Thank you,” she called after him, turning a wry smile on Dean. He had to clear his throat and swallow to keep from laughing as he turned toward the cab of the harvester.
Cam said, “That reminds me. I need to check the water in the east range.” He ambled off toward the four-wheeler that Rex had recently purchased.
Dean traded his cowboy hat for the ball cap then turned toward the combine. To his surprise, he felt Ann’s hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to find her biting her lip.
“Um, obviously I could use some...guidance.”
Guidance. Somehow he thought this could be a momentous admission for Ann Jollett Billings. Letting go of the rails, he turned to face her.
“About?”
She looked down at her toes then up at him. “I’ve been away from the ranch for a long time. Obviously I don’t have a clue about what boots to buy.”
The grin he’d been trying to hold back since she’d first climbed out of her dad’s old truck broke free at last. “They sure saw you coming, didn’t they?”
She smacked him in the shoulder, which made him laugh. Then she laughed, too.
“They were in the window. I thought they were the latest style. I didn’t even look at anything else.”
“I hope they were cheap, at least.”
“I don’t know.” She told him what she’d paid, and he nodded.
“Cheap enough.” He considered a moment and made a decision. “I’ve got to take Donovan shopping for school supplies tomorrow. If you want to come along, we’ll see about getting you into a proper pair of boots.”
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”
“Donovan would love it if you came,” Dean pointed out, “especially as Digger will have to stay home.” He shook his head. “The truth is, I’m not sure how he’s going to manage school without Digger. Donovan was eighteen months old when we got that dog. I’m having to find ways to wean them apart.”
“I see. Well, if you’re sure.”
“I’ll work till noon,” he told her. “Then we’d planned to grab lunch in town and go shopping after that. Sound okay to you?”
To his surprise, she nodded. “Sounds fine. Thanks. I’ll be ready.”
“Saturday it is,” he told her, turning away again. He climbed up into the cab and tried not to be too obvious about watching her walk back to her truck.
Something about the way a woman walked in a pair of jeans and boots, even ugly boots, made a man sit up and take notice. Like he hadn’t noticed before this. To his disgust, he’d noticed when she’d worn a softball uniform and cleats. Not that it mattered. The woman was engaged to be married, after all, and on her way back to Dallas and her hotshot career as soon as her dad could do without her.
Sighing, Dean straightened his sunglasses as his son ran toward him, hauling the heavy water jug by its handle. He reached down a hand for the water jug as Donovan shoved it toward him. He stashed the jug in a corner then helped Donovan scramble up into the cab of the harvester before following him and settling into the operator’s seat.
Donovan leaned against his back and said straight into his ear, “She sure is pretty, ain’t she, Dad?”
He meant Ann, of course. Donovan had been playing pint-size matchmaker since Ann had literally caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. For the past year or more, since he’d come to understand what going to school really meant, Donovan had gone on the lookout for a mom. Dean figured it was as much concern about him being on his own during the time Donovan would be in school as it was the boy’s natural desire for a mother. The boy didn’t realize that most husbands and wives spent relatively little time together and that almost no fathers were blessed with the almost constant companionship of their children.
Dean mentally sorted through a number of possible replies, everything from correcting Donovan’s grammar to playing dumb. In the end he chose casual honesty.
“She’s pretty.”
“And you like red hair, don’cha?”
“I do. But you realize that she doesn’t actually live here, right?”
“Huh?”
“She’s just visiting, son. Before long she’ll go on back to where she came from and stay there.”
“Huh. Is it a long ways off?”
“Yep. Afraid so.”
Only a few hours away by car. Worlds away by every other measure.
But then that had always been the way with him and Ann Billings.
Donovan couldn’t know that, of course.
Dean hoped that he never would.
Chapter Four
Jordan laughed when Ann told him about her boot-shopping experience, but not for the same reason that Dean had laughed.
“Why bother?” he asked during their phone conversation that evening. “You’re only going to be there a few weeks. It’s a foolish waste of money and time.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you could see the fields here. I can’t wear my good shoes in this red dirt. They’ll be ruined!”
“I suppose you have a point,” Jordan grudgingly conceded. “I don’t understand why the hired help can’t handle things there, though. You have an important job here, and your family ought to realize that.”
“Nothing is more important than my father’s health, Jordan,” she pointed out, “and the ranch hands work the livestock. They know little about the crops, especially now that Dad and Rex are moving into organic production.”
“And what do you know about it?” he demanded.
“Only what I’ve been told,” she admitted, “but someone has to give the orders, Jordan. I’m needed here. At least until Rex returns or Dad gets better. I thought you understood that.”
He made a gusting sound. Then he said, “I guess I just miss you. We didn’t have much time together before your brother’s wedding pushed everything forward.”
“The wedding didn’t push things forward that much,” she replied lightly before changing the subject. “Speaking of weddings, I’ve been thinking about a date for ours.”
“Oh, I have, too,” Jordan said briskly. “A date opened up here at the hotel for the last Saturday of July, and I think we should take it.”
Ann bolted upright on the leather sofa in the living room of the ranch house. “The end of July! But that’s...” She quickly did the mental math, torn between elation and panic. “That’s eleven days away!”
“Eleven days and a year,” he corrected, chortling. “Surely you didn’t think I meant this year? You said you wanted a traditional wedding, after all. That takes time.”
Ann blinked, feeling suddenly deflated. “Right. Of course. How silly of me.” She slumped back onto the sofa, frowning.
Her brother, Rex, and Callie had waited only a matter of days to marry. She’d thought their wedding a paltry thing compared to Rex’s first one, but she coul
dn’t deny that she’d never before seen the kind of joy on her brother’s face that she saw when he looked at Callie. She knew that he regretted the failure of his first marriage, and she thanked God that he’d been given a second chance with Callie.
“There’s always the possibility that the Copley-Mains wedding will be rescheduled and we’ll have to pick another date,” Jordan said. “I’m told that Samantha Copley changes her mind every other day.”
“Oh,” Ann mumbled. “Yes. I expect she’ll change her mind in the middle of the ceremony.”
“Well, we’ll take the date anyway, and if she changes her mind again we’ll adjust,” he said lightly before changing the subject to business.
They spent the next hour talking about hotel issues before someone called Jordan away to handle something unexpected. Something unexpected was always coming up. That was why the manager lived on-site. Ann had tried to maintain a separate residence at first but had quickly realized the futility of it.
She went to bed that night feeling uneasy, though she couldn’t say why. She and Jordan were a good match. She loved him, and Jordan was eager to marry her. Wasn’t he?
Of course he was! He’d made that abundantly clear. She smiled, telling herself that she was going to dream about her wedding.
Instead, she dreamed about a dog performing tricks and protecting a freckle-faced little redhead on command. And the tall, blond, blue-eyed trainer who so obviously devoted himself to that little redhead. She woke in the morning both dreading and looking forward to the shopping trip to come.
No doubt, Callie would have offered to make lunch for Dean and Donovan, but Ann hadn’t had much experience in the kitchen. She could open a can, build a passable sandwich and operate the microwave, but she’d followed a recipe only a few times in her life, with mixed results. Meri was more domestic, having spent more time with their mother while Ann had hero-worshipped their older brother and done her best to compete with him.
Nine years her senior, Rex had always been patient with her—to a point, and Ann had always pushed to keep up with or even surpass her big brother. Only later did she realize how unattractive men found women who could and did compete with them. No matter how often she prayed that God would help her suppress her masculine traits, no matter how hard she tried to be more feminine, she just couldn’t seem to overcome these undesirable tendencies. Still, she felt compelled to try.
