“This is High Ridge Durango, from High Ridge Kennel,” Tony said. “He’s one year old.”
“He’s ours?”
“He’s yours. We just doubled the size of the goat herd with the kidding, and I figured it was time.”
The dog watched her with keen eyes, his sensitive ears flicking and quivering. She itched to pet him, hug him, roll around with him and give him belly rubs, but he was a working dog and she had to start their relationship off right.
“Durango, come.”
He trotted over, closing the space smoothly, with minimum lifting of the feet, all essential in a border collie gait.
But one essential thing was missing.
“Where’s his tail?” she asked—like it had been misplaced, like Tony had forgotten it somewhere, somehow. Which was exactly how it felt. A tail was a vital part of the overall border collie package—a long lovely plumy tail, hooked at the end like a shepherd’s crook, held low when the dog was working, held high in play, sweeping from side to side in polite wags. All Durango had was a stump, barely enough to wag.
Tony put his hands in his pockets. “Um, yeah, about that. He’s a good dog, good genetics and aptitude, but...he had an accident. Not that the breeders were negligent, but, you know, stuff happens. The kennel property backs up to a cattle ranch, and Durango slipped through the fence one day when he was a puppy, and a Hereford stepped on his tail. And the long and short of it is, they had to dock his tail. They said it shouldn’t affect his performance, but it did affect his price. That’s why he’s full-grown and hadn’t found a home yet. It’s also how I was able to afford a dog from High Ridge. He’s a bargain dog.”
A bargain dog.
Well, that was a valid consideration. Between buying the Angora herd and putting up all the new fencing and outbuildings, the Reyeses weren’t exactly flush with cash. But was that really the motive here? Dalia was the frugal one. Tony was extravagant, especially when it came to buying things for his wife. Maybe price wasn’t the only reason he’d decided on this dog.
Tony shuffled his feet. “Is...is that okay?”
She sank her hands into the silky fur of Durango’s ruff; she rubbed his throat, his ears. “It’s perfect. He’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
He grinned. “You’re gonna have a great time teaching him, I know. He’s had some preliminary training, but there’s plenty left for him to learn, and he’ll learn it from you, with our herd, on our ranch.”
She took Durango through some commands. He obeyed perfectly, eagerly, never taking his eyes off her.
“Look at that,” Tony said. “He knows he works for you even though he just met you. I told him so when I picked him out. I said, ‘You’re gonna be Dalia’s dog. You know that, right?’ And he looked at me and wagged his stump tail, like he did know.”
“He’ll work for you, too.”
“Nah, not really. I’m just the hired man. You’re the foreman.”
She kissed him.
“Thank you. Now I have something for you, too.”
“Is it a firepit?”
She reached behind the back cushion of her chair and took out a package not much bigger than a deck of cards. “What do you think?”
Durango settled down by Dalia’s chair. She scratched behind his ears. Tony unwrapped the tissue paper to reveal a onesie with a Texas map.
He froze. His head was lowered so she couldn’t see his face, just that ridiculously good head of hair. Then he looked up, eyes round.
“Is this...” He cleared his throat. “Just to be clear, is this a down-the-road kind of thing?”
“About eight months down the road.”
“Are you serious? How is that possible?”
“Uh...”
“You know what I mean. We just started trying. And you said we had, like, a fifty-fifty chance of conceiving in the first year without birth control. That’s what you said.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I conceived.”
She was getting a little concerned. He looked so stunned.
Then he made a dive at her, gathered her up in a clumsy hug and said, “Good job!”
“Thanks! I can’t take all the credit.”
“Man, we got to get in gear. So much to do and just eight months to do it. I’m gonna get the Reyes family cradle from my grandparents’ house. They never actually gave it to my dad, because it’s a family heirloom from Spain and they were afraid he’d sell it for cash. But me and Alex both slept in it whenever we visited, when we were babies.”
Dalia took the dishes inside while Tony cleaned the grill. Then they took their usual evening walk around the place, stopping to put the chickens in their coop for the night. Durango went along. He left the chickens alone—turned his head away like he was deliberately shunning them—and eyed the goats with professional interest. Tomorrow Dalia would start working with him.
The heat of the day had gone, leaving a lovely twilit coolness. It felt natural to come back to the house by way of the front porch. Calypso was curled up in the porch swing, fast asleep. She was getting a little old for the rigors of barn cat life. Dalia might just make a house cat of her soon. A skinny gray tabby watched Calypso from the porch rail, as if he’d like to join her on the swing but didn’t think he’d be welcome. He was a new arrival at La Escarpa and hadn’t quite found his place yet.
But I have, Dalia thought.
* * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Catching Mr. Right by Carol Ross.
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Catching Mr. Right
by Carol Ross
CHAPTER ONE
THE KID COULDN’T be more than ten or eleven years old, Seth James decided. He watched the kid’s skillful maneuvering of the well-used bass boat toward the shady cypress cove. Seth had a pretty good view from his seat on the opposite bank of the channel just up from where it spilled into the flat water of Louisiana’s picturesque Lake Belle Rose.
Skinny and long-limbed, the kid wore faded coveralls, and a bucket hat shielded his face from the rays of the afternoon sun. Standing on the bow with the easy confidence of a practiced angler, he simultaneously worked the electric motor’s foot controls and readied the fishing rod he held in his hands.
Open-faced reel, Seth noted, as the boat slowed. That alone suggested a measure of skill. A notion the kid proceeded to prove with a smooth flick of the wrist, casting in among the trees. The lure sailed smoothly through the air, sliding perfectly into place under a thatch of low hanging branches with a quiet plop. Tipping the rod up and to the left, he reeled in and cast again and again in rapid succession, each time placing the lure a little to the right of the previous attempt. And then, on maybe the fifth cast...
Bam!
The line went taut, the rod bowing as a fish hit the lure and bolted. He reeled, steady and smooth, keeping the line nice and tight. The fish fought, jumping and showing itself to be a good-sized catch. Calmly, like he’d done it a million times, he smoothly landed the large-mouth bass. Seth felt himself grinning with equal parts of admiration and envy. A distinctive feeling, which his own lifetime of angling experience had convinced him only this sport generated.
Working quickly and efficiently, the kid slid a thumb inside the fish’s mouth to grip its bottom lip, and then removed the hook. Holding the fish vertically to prevent any harm, he lowered to his knees and produced a portable scale, clipped it in place, took the weight, and then snapped a photo with a cell phone. Then he leaned over and, with gentle hands, released the fish back into the water.
When Seth had pulled into Bayou Doré RV & Campground Resort, he’d immediately
spotted the sign reading Lake Belle Rose 32nd Annual Junior Fishing Derby. The number of parked vehicles with empty boat trailers suggested it was a popular event. The registration office was unlocked, but no one was inside. A note on the counter instructed visitors to head toward the dock, “where someone will be with you shortly.” He’d found the dock easily enough, but it, too, was devoid of people. Spotting a pair of empty Adirondack chairs several yards away and shaded by a patch of trees, he’d wandered over and taken a seat.
Minutes later, boy and boat had motored around the corner, and up the mouth of the channel where he’d proceeded with his unintentional bass master tutorial. Seeing how Seth had arrived in the state only hours before, it felt like the perfect introduction. Especially since he knew he was early and had some time to kill. He was glad for the opportunity to get his bearings and soak in the beauty of the lush surroundings.
The warm air felt pleasantly heavy. Tiny insects flitted and buzzed around him. To his left, trees and thick vegetation provided shade from the heat of the waning sun’s late spring rays. Some of the trees he could identify like tupelo, willow and, of course, the giant cypress with its scarf-like strands of Spanish moss swaying gently in the breeze. Bushes, flowers, vines, he wasn’t as confident about, but they all mingled together in an extremely pleasing way. The landscape couldn’t get much different than his home on the southern Alaska coast.
And that was okay with him. He’d traveled to plenty of other states and countries, and so long as fishing was the common language, he got along just fine. He had no doubt that the reps from Romeo Reels would see that about him, too, once they arrived. Upon being notified about their flight delay, Seth had decided to rent a vehicle and find his own way to this idyllic Louisiana outpost.
As one of three finalists shortlisted for a spot on Romeo Reels’ pro staff, this was the next step. A very big step. Not only did the contract guarantee a position as a sponsored angler, but it also included the coveted title as the fishing gear and tackle company’s spokesperson, their “star ambassador.” Seth had every intention of being the new face of Romeo Reels.
Even though this junket felt like a bit of a respite, these last few weeks would be intense. Romeo wanted to see each of the final competitors out in the field, interacting with other anglers and the public in a setting different than they were used to. For the next few days, he and two representatives from Romeo Reels would be fishing with fellow finalist Vic Thibodeaux.
Next, Vic would head to Minnesota to fish with the other finalist Henry Foster. Seth would then host Henry in Alaska. When the individual trips were completed, the three finalists would be flown to Maritown, Florida, for the Pro Plus Fishing & Outdoor Expo, one of the largest fishing shows in the world. There, they’d present workshops, participate in demos, interviews, events, and meet with Romeo Reels executives and members of the spokesperson selection committee.
Seth, focus still on the water, watched as the kid suddenly turned and squinted toward the shoreline. Two things occurred then; he realized that the boy was actually a girl, and said girl went wide-eyed as her gaze latched onto his. Grimacing, she set the pole to one side and removed something from her pocket. A pair of clippers he realized when she snipped the lure from the end of the line and tucked it into her pocket. The move made Seth smile again because he knew she was stowing it out of sight of fellow derby contestants. He would have done the same thing. Settling at the helm once more, she nudged the throttle and motored straight toward the dock where she hopped off the boat and hastily secured it to the dock with an expert cleat hitch.
“Hello, there,” she called with a wave, every trace of the grimace now buried beneath her pleasing accent and friendly smile. Slender with long legs, she strode across the wooden planks in a deliberate, graceful manner that reminded him of his sister and fellow triplet Iris.
When she reached the end of the dock, she jogged over to stand before him. “Can I help you, sir?”
Both taken with and taken aback by her professional demeanor, Seth muttered, “Oh, uh, I don’t...know. Maybe. Do you work here?”
“Yes, sir, I sure do. My family owns this place. Are you here for the derby? Or checking in as a guest?” She removed the sun-faded cap from her head, and now he could see her hair twisted into a bun low on the back of her head. Pausing to take this all in, Seth noticed that her sense of style was more reminiscent of himself and his sister Hazel, who comprised the final third of his sibling trio. The coveralls she wore were faded and knee worn, and her dingy tennis shoes sported mismatched laces. One had a hole in the toe. Slung from one shoulder was a tattered and stained fishing vest, the pockets bulging with bait and tackle. He owned a nearly identical vest, albeit in a much larger size, currently packed in his suitcase.
“No. And yes. But aren’t you competing in the derby? I don’t want to keep you.” Seth gestured at the water, recalling how competitive he’d been at her age. Who was he kidding? He was still that competitive when it came to fishing.
Valiantly fighting a scowl, she answered, “No, sir, I am not.”
“But I just saw you land that monster bass. Well done, by the way. I know people who’ve fished their whole lives who couldn’t make those casts.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t even try to stop the grin that erupted across her face. “Biggest one of the derby, by far.”
“I thought you just said you weren’t competing?” How else would she know that if she wasn’t? Offshore, Seth noticed an airboat cruising in their direction.
The sound must have reached her, too, because she glanced over her shoulder. When she faced him again, a staid expression was back in place, and she answered with a cagey, “Yeah, I’m not.”
“Can I ask why?”
Nostrils flaring slightly, her mouth formed a tight, flat line. The topic obviously irritated her, but she was trying to suppress it. Sighing, she looked down and nudged the ground with her toe. From the worn hole in her sneaker, it looked like a habit she might often employ in times of stressful interrogation. Yet her answer was spoken with straight-up diplomacy that Seth could only admire. “My mama says I have an unfair advantage.”
“I see.” Seth knew the feeling. Knew it well. And disagreed on principle. It reminded him of the time he’d covertly entered a local junior fishing derby after his dad told him he shouldn’t. Ultimately, the win had been worth the admonishment he’d received after his dad found out. “Because you’re so much better than other kids your age?”
“Yes.” Nibbling on her lip, she seemed to be struggling not to say more.
“How is it your fault that other kids choose to spend their time engaged in any activity that isn’t fishing? You’re not complaining because they’re better at some video game or have a longer snapstreak than you do, am I right?”
“Exactly!” She cried, throwing up her hands. “Put down your stupid phone and go get your fishing pole for crying out loud! I’m not stopping you.”
They laughed together.
“Spinnerbait?” he asked, tipping his chin toward the lake.
Grinning slyly, she nodded and threw a sidelong glance at the water. “Mmm-hmm. Need something flashy today. Water’s still a little murky on account of the rain we had last week.” Not, Seth noted, offering up the brand, type, size or color of the lure. A true angler and a kindred spirit.
They were chatting about all things bass related—lures, water conditions, weather, the spring spawn—when the airboat pulled up to the dock. Peripherally, Seth saw a brown-haired tallish woman exit the vessel and tie up next to the bass boat.
He was too intent on the mini-Seth standing before him to observe anything further. Not only was the girl entertaining, she was also a wealth of angling information. Information that could prove vital to him in the following days. The woman headed their way, and, sensing she was about to interrupt the conversation, he realized he hadn’t introduced himself.
&nbs
p; Reaching out a hand, he said, “By the way, my name is Seth, Seth James.”
Still smiling, she said, “It’s real nice to meet you, Mr. James. I’m Scarlett.”
“Please, call me Seth.”
“I’m not sure if Mama or my grandmas will like that, but I’ll give it a try.”
As he’d suspected, the woman approached and asked, “What won’t we like, Scarlett?”
“If she calls me by my first name,” Seth answered for her, finally looking at the woman. And for the first time since he’d stepped foot in Louisiana, he was admiring something more beautiful than the scenery. Like her daughter, the woman was slender with long limbs and narrow shoulders. An effect that made her seem taller than she was, he realized, as she stood next to Scarlett. Her brown hair was a shade or two lighter than her daughter’s and tinged with more red. Although, that could have been because more of hers was glistening in the sunlight, piled as it was up on top of her head. They had matching green eyes, too, and hers were sparkling with affection when they settled on Scarlett.
He wondered if she liked to fish as much as her daughter. What would that be like, he wondered, to be with a woman who liked to fish as much as he did? Or was there a husband in the picture? Scarlett had said her family owned the place, so maybe this woman’s husband was Vic Thibodeaux? Probably not a good idea to admire the wife of the man with whom he’d soon be fishing with—and competing against.
“That does feel a bit familiar,” the woman said good-naturedly.
Tilting her head, Scarlett nudged her eyebrows upward in a lighthearted I-told-you-so expression.
“You can ask Mémé what she thinks if you don’t like my answer?” Scarlett’s mom suggested.
Scarlett groaned. “Very funny. I already know what she’ll say. She won’t even let me call Mr. Landry by his first name, and I’ve known him since birth.”
Coming Home to Texas--A Clean Romance Page 22
