As they started away, Sloan glanced at Tracy and asked, “Calf OK?”
Tracy nodded, smiling. Tracy Kingsley was the local vet and worked for both Shelly and Sloan. While Tracy had a small clinic on her property and did tend to dogs and cats, her specialty was horses. Sloan had been elated when she had moved to the valley about ten years ago, since he bred and raised very, very expensive American paint horses. Until Tracy's advent, the nearest big animal vet had been, at the least, over ninety minutes away. When you had a mare foaling and a problem arose, there wasn't a moment to waste—having a vet in the valley had been a godsend as far as Sloan was concerned.
Tracy wasn't fond of cows—and made no bones about it—but since she was a vet and had a living to make, she had quite a few cattle ranchers as clients, Shelly and Nick among them. Tracy had been one of the first “ne?” people Shelly had met when she had returned to the valley and had liked the other woman on the spot. In the ensuing months they had become good friends.
It was a great party. The food was plentiful and there were just enough differences among the guests to make the conversation interesting and the evening lively. Of course, everyone was happy with Roman's return and Pagan provided a magnet to the men, which gave the women a moment or two to speculate about the newcomer.
“God. She's gorgeous?” said M.J. for perhaps the tenth time that evening. Sitting on the hearth, a plate full of nibbles in front of her, she looked at Pagan's lovely face and sighed. “Guess I might as well wear sackcloth and ashes as long as she's in the valley. No one's going to be looking in my direction.”
“Oh, come on,” said Roxanne. “You've got a lot going for you. You're cute as a button and you know it. Don't tell me that the men don't like those big brown eyes of yours and that mop of blond hair.” She cocked a brow. “And you've got curves—something I'd kill for.”
M.J.'s mouth fell open. “You're kidding, right?”
“Nope. Trust me, being tall and slim has its disadvantages.”
“She's right, you know,” offered Tracy. “I'm five-nine and I remember what it was like to be the tallest girl … in the school.” She grinned at M.J. “I'd have hated you in high school—you'd have been the cute little cheerleader all the guys on the football team would have gone after. Tall skinny girls like me didn't stand a chance.”
M.J. made a face. “I never got a chance to be a cheerleader—Shelly and I went to a private girls' school, remember.” She glanced over to where Pagan was standing surrounded by the' Courtland twins, Ross, and Nick and sighed heavily and looked glum—as glum as someone with her lively gamine face could.
Shelly laughed—she and M.J. had been friends practically since birth and she knew that look. “Come on, M.J. If you'd wanted one of those guys, you'd have done something about it months, years ago. Don't tell me you're going to act like a dog in a manger?”
M.J. gave that infectious little giggle of hers.
“You're right. It's hard to get excited about men you've known all your life.”
“Besides, I thought, like me, you were off men,” commented Sam, sitting on the floor beside M.J.
M.J. and Sam were both divorced. Both divorces had become final in 1999 and both divorces had been painful. Married for less than four years, Sam thought she had been lucky that she'd found out what a scum-bag her husband had been before they'd had children. M.J., on the other hand, married for over ten years and with two young sons, was grateful every day for her two children. She shared joint custody with their father, a highway patrolman, and treasured every moment she was able to spend with the boys. While Sam had remained in the Novato area after her divorce and raised champion miniature schnauzers—Pandora was one of hers—M.J. had returned to the valley and since her family owned the largest grocery store in the valley, she had found a job ready-made for her.
Ilka, wearing an icy blue silk shirt and tailored dark blue slacks, was sitting like a small fey cat on a footstool across from M.J. “I don't think you really have anything to worry about with Pagan,” Ilka said thoughtfully. “First of all, she's only here for a visit, and second of all, she seems friendly and nice.”
“I saw you two chatting away earlier,” said Roxanne. “What was that about?”
“Oh, just polite talk, the weather, the differences between here and New Orleans. But she seemed genuine, maybe even a little shy, and not at all like a man-killer.” She looked over to Pagan. “In fact, I'll bet, she'd be delighted if one of us rescued her about now.”
“Think so?” asked M.J. doubtfully.
Ilka nodded. “I know I would—wouldn't you? New girl in town, all the guys rushing you and the other women staying off in a corner all cozy by themselves to talk about you. Pagan's no dummy, she knows we're talking about her.”
A collective pang of guilt went through the group and they all looked over in Pagan's direction.
“Ilka's right,” Roxanne said with surprise. “Pagan does seem a bit beleaguered. I'll go rescue her.”
“Wait, I'll go with you,” said M.J., jumping to her feet.
“And me,” chimed in Sam. “Us women have got to stick together.”
The men never knew what hit them. One minute they were clustered around Pagan and the next she was whisked right out from underneath their noses and hustled away to the female group by the fire. None of them were brave enough to try to wrest her away.
Making room for Pagan next to her on the hearth, Shelly said, “We thought you'd like a break from your adoring public.”
“Are western men always so kind and charming?” Pagan asked in a warm brown sugar drawl, a twinkle in those incredibly hued eyes of hers. “Now I thought that southern men had all the moves down, but those guys. …”
“Pretty slick, huh?” asked M.J., grinning.
Accepting a glass of wine from Ilka, Pagan nodded. “Indeed yes. My mama warned me about Yankees, but she never breathed a word about westerners. Whew.”
She smiled at M.J., Sam, and Roxanne. “Thank you so much for inviting me to join you.”
Naturally they all pestered her with questions. How long would she be visiting? About two weeks—depended upon Roman. Where exactly did she live? New Orleans. What did she do? Computer programmer.
At that M.J.'s ears perked up. “I don't suppose you'd like to make it a working holiday and maybe help me out in the store? We put in a new computer system this fall and it's about to drive me around the bend.”
?“Sure,” Pagan said easily. “I wouldn't mind a bit.” She grimaced. “I'll confess it—I'm a computer nerd and I get all twitchy and weird if I don't get my hands on a computer every few days.”
That brought out protests, but the conversation moved on, the collective opinion being that while Pagan was definitely a stunner, she was intelligent, too, and didn't take herself or her looks very seriously. And while a definitive decision couldn't be made on a half hour or so of conversation, the group decided that so far Pagan fitted right in.
M.J. looked around the room, a puzzled expression on her face. “Where's Mingo and Danny? I don't see them anywhere.”
“Mingo had a hot date with a woman in Santa Rosa and Danny's on patrol tonight,” Shelly replied. “I asked Cleo to come, but she only looked smug and said she already had plans.”
“Really? You think she and Hank are finally getting serious?”
“With Cleo you never know,” Roxanne said, grinning. “And since she's been married five times, nothing would surprise me.”
“And Bobba? What was his excuse?” M.J. asked quietly, her brown eyes troubled.
M.J., Shelly, Danny, and Bobba had been best friends practically from birth. Their families had been friends and as small children they had always been in one another's company. The bonds forged in thoselong-ago days still held, but Bobba seemed to be drifting away.
Shelly sighed. “I asked, but his wife informed me that they had already made plans to attend some gala event in San Francisco.”
“Bobba's going to hate that,” r
emarked Ilka. “Bess should know that he'd have preferred being here than hanging around with her friends and family.”
M.J. looked fierce. “Bess doesn't care what Bobba wants. Haven't you ever listened to her? Everything is about her and for her and she's been doing everything she can to keep him away from his own friends and family. They spend every free moment with her family and her friends—and as for seeing any of Bobba's friends, why, they're always just so busy. And Bobba, stupid cluck, thinks she's just wonderful.”
“Well, she is his wife,” Elm said gently. “Most men do tend to think their wives are wonderful.”
M.J. glared at her. “Don't remind me. And what he ever saw in her but a pretty face is beyond me.”
Tongue in cheek, Shelly murmured, “She has culture, don't forget.”
Intrigued, Roxanne asked, “Culture?”
Shelly nodded. “Um-hmm. And, of course, as she informed me the first time I met her—Oak Valley has absolutely none. Not a speck of culture. According to her, the valley is a dreadful place and just as soon as her daddy arranges it, Bobba is going to be offered a real job in San Rafael, where they can attend just all sorts of cultural events.”
“And Bobba, the sweet blockhead, will take the damn job for her and be miserable,” M.J. said mournfully. “He loves the valley. It'll kill him to leave, but for her, he'll do it.”
“You can't live someone else's life for them,” Pagan offered gently, her eyes kind. “Maybe making his wife happy means more to him than his own happiness.”
M.J. and Shelly looked at each and sighed heavily.
“You're probably right,” M.J. admitted. “It's just that we've known him for so long. …”
“And you can't stand his wife,” Roxanne murmured, a slight smile curving her mouth.
“You're right,” M.J. said glumly. “We can't.”
The conversation became more general and a few minutes later the women were talking about the Super Bowl playoffs, everyone having their favorites. Except for Pagan who naturally wanted the Saints to make it and Shelly and Roxanne being die-hard Raiders fans, everyone else was rooting for the Forty-Niners.
“You've got it all wrong,” said a male voice. “My money's on the Broncos.”
Almost as one the women looked up at Acey. Blue eyes brimming with laughter, white hair gleaming silver in the light, he wriggled his handsome handlebar mustaches. “I'd hate to take your money, but if you're gonna bet on them other teams, so be it. Broncos it is.”
There was a mutual booing and hooting at Acey's words, but he only grinned and took a seat in the only empty chair near the fire. Looking at Shelly, he said, “Nice party. Glad you and Sloan thought of it.”
Maria walked up and, taking the place Shelly offered her, sat down on the hearth. She looked at Acey and snorted. “Any time there's apple pie in the offing is a nice party for you.”
Acey appeared thoughtful. A sly smile on his wrinkled face, he murmured, “But only if it's one of yours.”
“One of whose what?” asked Sloan, dragging a couple chairs up for himself and his wife.
“Maria's apple pies,” replied Sam, smiling up at her eldest brother.
“Not dessert, already,” said Jason as he and the other men invaded the area. “I still haven't sampled everything on the table yet.”
They all found places around the fire, some of the men sprawling on the floor, others drawing up odd chairs as Sloan had done. Full of good food, warm and comfortable, everyone was in a relaxed, lazy mood. The conversation jumped around as they told tales on each other, or expressed concerns about the economy and how it would affect livestock production and life in the valley. A moment later it would veer off into a different direction, focusing on Roman and Pagan, then about Morgan's real estate business, how many foals Sloan expected in the spring, was Nick and Shelly's cattle operation doing OK, and then back to telling outrageous stories about each other. There was the easy camaraderie of people who had known one another a long time. And liked each other.
Sloan got up and grabbed a couple pieces of oak firewood from the front deck. “Brrrr,” he said as he came back inside. “Man, it's cold out there.” He tossed the wood on the fire and reseated himself next to Shelly. “Glad you're all staying the night—it's still snowing and accumulating out there.”
“Yeah, but you're making us sleep in the barn,” teased Nick. “How come you get to stay in here with all the women, while we're banished to a freezing barn?”
Sloan smiled sleepily. “My house, my rules. Besides, the barn is heated and you know it. You won't freeze.”
“Yeah, but I might damage my delicate skin,” drawled Jason, green eyes gleaming.
“Jason's right,” said Ross, grinning. “Putting us in the barn just isn't fair. Why, who knows, we might get chapped lips or something.”
“I knew a guy had terrible chapped lips once,” said Acey. “Worst case I ever saw in my entire life.”
Shelly rolled her eyes. “And you're going to tell us about him, aren't you?”
“If you'd like me to.”
Sloan chuckled. “Please, we can hardly wait.”
“Well, it happened this way,” began Acey. He looked around to make certain he had everyone's attention. “This was back in the old days, you understand, before we had all these fancy lip balms and, uchavailable today. And being as how we all worked out in the weather, rain or shine, chapped lips could be a problem. Anyway, I was working for the old Bar T then and I'd gone into town to get me a beer and a sandwich for lunch. Wasn't a bad day for January, sun was out, so I was sitting out on the front porch of the old hotel with a couple of other guys when we see this old cowpuncher ride up on his horse. We all said hello and watched as he got off his horse and tied him at the rail.” He stopped and looked around at his attentive listeners. “We still had hitching rails in town in them days.”
“When was this?” Nick drawled, smiling. “In the prehistoric age?”
“Nick?” scolded his mother. “You let Acey tell his story.”
Acey beamed at Maria. “Thank you. Well, any-ways, as I was saying, this old cowboy got off his horse and tied him to the hitching rail. And then right before our very eyes he did the most amazing thing I've ever seen. He walked around to the back of his horse, lifted the animal's tail, and stuck his arm half up …” He glanced at the women and hesitated. “Well, you know where he stuck his arm up. And danged, if he didn't take what he'd just pulled out of the back end of that horse and wipe it on his lips.”
There was a chorus of ughs and eewws, from the women.
“You're making that up,” accused Roxanne.
“Nope. I ain't. I saw it with my own eyes. Fellow wiped horseshi-, er, horse manure right across his lips.”
“Why?” demanded Roxanne suspiciously.
“You know I asked him that very question,” Acey replied earnestly. “I said, 'What'd you do that for?' and he said that he had a bad case of chapped lips. Well, naturally I was plumb curious so I asked him if it worked. He admitted as how he didn't know if it helped his lips or not … but that it sure kept him from licking 'em.”
There was a burst of laughter and smiling. Roxanne shook her finger at Acey. “You're an evil man, Acey Babbitt.”
“Got ya, didn't I?” Acey chortled, his blue eyes dancing with glee.
“Bull's-eye,” replied Jeb, still chuckling.
They spent the time waiting for midnight, laughing and talking, telling more stories on each other. As midnight rang out, there was a chorus of “Happy New Years,” hugs were exchanged, and Sloan offered a toast welcoming in the New Year.
As their glasses were lowered, Shelly stood up and stepped to Nick's side. They stood side by side with clasped hands, their resemblance suddenly very marked. Shelly glanced over at Sloan and he nodded encouragingly. Nick looked at his mother. Maria sighed and slowly nodded. Acey came to sit by her, his gnarled hand covering hers. She smiled gratefully at him.
Shelly cleared her throat. “Uh, we have an
an nouncement to make. We thought since it was a New Year that we'd start it out with a bang.”
She had everyone's attention and somewhat nervously, she said, “As you all know there have long been rumors that my brother Josh was Nick's father. We decided that tonight would be a good time to set those rumors to rest. We invited you here, first of all because you're our friends, and second, because we wanted you to know the truth and to help us make it public.”
Shelly took a deep breath. “Josh, at his wish, was cremated, so we had no way of obtaining any of his DNA to prove or disprove that Nick was Josh's son. Last summer, determined to settle the matter once and for all, Roman, Nick, and I had our DNA samples taken. Mine alone would have been enough to prove a relationship between Nick and me. But I felt we needed a bit more—Roman had volunteered to give his DNA and we'd had all of our samples taken when I decided to have my father's body disinterred to try to get a sample of his DNA from his remains.” She smiled faintly. “Fortunately Dad didn't believe in embalming and despite the odds, we were able to obtain a good sample.”
Nick swallowed. His face was pale and he was holding on so tight to Shelly that his hand nearly crushed hers. He'd waited years for this moment and now that it was at hand, he was almost overwhelmed and anxious. Did he really want to lay his past bare? Have people looking at him? At his mother? Whispering about the two of them behind their backs? Once Shelly made her announcement, there would be no more secrets and … no turning back.
Sensing his turmoil, Stetty squeezed ins baud and smiled at him and that smile, so warm and affectionate, calmed him.
She glanced back at (be intent group gathered around ihem. “It took a while to get the results and when they arrived, they weren't what we expected. Wc were stunned, hardly able to believe what those DNA samples revealed. But even though they didn't prove what we expected, they were wonderful.” She looked at Nick, her eyes full of love. “I'd like to introduce you,” she said softly as she turned back to the group.
“not to my nephew as every one though, but to my brother, Nick Rios.”
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