by Kaki Warner
“He’s headstrong, Raney. And playful. He could hurt you without intending to. I worry, is all.”
She forced a laugh, not sure if she should be insulted or not. Did he really think her that incompetent? “Worried about Rosco, or me?”
“Rosco, of course. If he hurts you, your mother will sell him, and I’ll be out of a job.” His crooked smile belied his words.
“You keep second-guessing me, you’ll be out of a job anyway.”
He had no response to that.
They walked in silence, then she said, “I’ve already got an overprotective mother, Dalton. I don’t need another.”
He chuckled. That same low rumbling sound she’d heard on the phone. It sent a tingle into her chest. “I’m definitely not thinking of you like a mother would. But I don’t have to be your mother to want you to be safe.”
Raney kept walking, thoughts bouncing through her head. No one ever worried about her—except Mama—but that was her job. That Dalton was worrying made her wonder again if he was truly concerned about her, or afraid she’d mess up Rosco’s training. If so, he had a point. The colt’s antics today proved he wasn’t taking her seriously.
“You may be right,” she admitted.
“I am?”
“I know. I find it as hard to believe as you do.” She softened the barbed words with a smile. “But Rosco does respond better to you than me. It would probably be best if I stayed out of his training.”
“It wasn’t the horse I was worried about, sweetheart.”
Unable to ignore that, she stopped and looked up at him. “Sweetheart?”
“Too much? I never know.”
“Are you putting a move on me, Dalton Cardwell?”
“I think so.”
She had to laugh. “You’re not sure?”
“It’s been a long time. I’m out of practice.”
“You said it wasn’t a good idea.”
“It’s not.”
“So why are you doing it?”
“I’m an optimist.” He tipped his head toward the back of the house. “I think you’re being summoned. She looks upset.”
Raney looked over to see her mother waving from the veranda steps. Definitely upset.
Raney quickened her pace, Dalton right behind her. “What’s wrong?” she called as they crossed the yard.
“It’s Joss.”
Raney almost missed a step. “Is she okay? Is the baby all right?”
“I think so. She didn’t say.”
“Then what did she say?” They were all on the veranda now, crowded in a tight knot, not sure where to go or what to do. “Mama, tell me what happened.”
“They dumped her, that’s what happened. The poor thing.” Raising her hands in exasperation, Mama turned to Dalton. “I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. Those musicians she runs with are no better than traveling carny folk, after all.”
“Who?” Dalton asked.
“Dumped her why?” Raney almost shook her mother to keep her on track.
“Lord knows. It seems there was some hoopla over I don’t know what, and they kicked her off Crystal’s bus. Right there in Waco, of all places. Can you imagine doing that to a pregnant woman?”
“What were they doing in Waco?”
Mama waved a hand in dismissal of such a silly question. “They weren’t in Waco. They were driving through it on their way to Dallas. There’s a big music festival up by Arlington. Joss was supposed to be one of the backup singers for Crystal, but something happened, she didn’t say what, and now she’s been abandoned in some Walmart parking lot with no money or clothes and no way to charge her cell phone.”
“She’s naked?” Even Joss wouldn’t run around naked in a parking lot.
“Of course not, Raney! Good Lord! But she left all her clean clothes on the bus, and she never carries any cash. Does Walmart take debit cards?”
Raney put a hand over her racing heart and let out a deep breath. “Only about a thousand of them. And they have food and clothes and an entire baby section, plus they’re open twenty-four hours.”
“I don’t know if she’s ever been to Walmart. The nearest one to the ranch is two hours away, and she mostly shops online.”
“I’m sure she has. Millions of people shop at Walmart every day and live to tell the tale. She’ll be fine.”
“You’d better hurry, then. Take my car. It rides easier than your truck and won’t jostle the baby as much.” Mama turned toward the hallway.
“What? Wait!” Raney made a grab for her arm. “You expect me to make a six-hundred-mile round-trip just to pick up Joss and bring her home? What’s wrong with her own car?”
“It’s still in Houston.”
“A bus, then.”
“Don’t be silly.”
Raney slumped onto the ottoman. Of course Joss wouldn’t take a bus. That would probably entail a dozen stops, a bus change, and a layover in Dallas, likely turning a nine-hour round-trip into a twelve-hour one-way trip. Besides, Whitcombs didn’t ride buses, unless, of course, they belonged to nearly semifamous country-western singers. There was no train service, and Rough Creek didn’t have a long enough runway for any plane bigger than a puddle jumper, which don’t fly at night anyway.
She was so screwed.
“I’ll be glad to go get her, ma’am,” a deep voice said.
Dalton! She’d forgotten he was there and was so relieved she almost raced into the kitchen to get the keys to Mama’s Expedition. Then she realized that wouldn’t work, either. She doubted Joss would accept a ride from an ex-con, especially one she probably didn’t remember and if she did, definitely wouldn’t recognize now that he’d gotten so . . . big. Assuming Mama would ask him to make the trip.
Which she did by pretending not to. “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that, Dalton.”
But it’s okay to ask your daughter? What the hell?
“It’s after three, ma’am,” Dalton said over Raney’s head like she wasn’t there. “Even if she left now, Raney wouldn’t get back before one in the morning. That’s a long, hard drive at night. At least let me go with her to keep her awake.”
Raney gaped from one to the other. Did he really think Mama would allow a man convicted of vehicular manslaughter to play chauffer to her daughters, one of whom was pregnant and a dimwit, besides?
Apparently so. Mama pretended to give it some thought, then looked to her daughter—the unnatural, expendable one who had bailed out Joss a thousand times over the years and seemed destined to do it again. “What do you think, Raney?”
Raney thought it was a colossally stupid idea. The guy already had one notch on his steering wheel. Was Mama willing to risk two more?
“I promise I’ll be careful,” Dalton said, before Raney could answer. “And if it would make you feel any better, ma’am, I won’t do any driving. I’ll just ride along to make sure they’re safe.”
He was good. No doubt about it. He fairly reeked of sincerity.
But then, he did have that protective streak. So maybe he truly was sincere. She almost laughed at the notion.
“Dalton, you’re a godsend.” Mama all but gave him a hug. “I’ll admit, I would feel better if you were there to watch over them.”
I own a Glock, Raney started to remind her. I don’t need to be watched over.
But Mama was already in planning mode. “I’ll go put together sandwiches and snacks for the road. Raney, you have time for a quick shower. I don’t want my car smelling like horses. Dalton, if you’re not driving, there’s a longneck in the cabinet over there. Thirty minutes, Raney,” she called back as she left the veranda.
Raney waited until Mama disappeared into the kitchen, then glared at Dalton. “You must be the dumbest man in Texas.”
His wide grin hinted at mischief and improper thoughts. “You think so?”
“Raney, Raney.” He gave a weary sigh and shook his head. “You’ve got to quit slamming the door in my face before I even get a chance to knock. It’s kind of discouraging.”
“I’m bringing my Glock.”
“Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart.”
* * *
* * *
Forty-two minutes later, they pulled out of the main gate, Raney, with no makeup and wet hair, and Dalton, still nursing his lukewarm beer.
“I never thought you’d be the one driving on our first date,” Dalton said as they settled into a mile-eating pace.
“This isn’t a date.”
“Road trip, then.”
She glanced over. He had racked the seat back as far as it would go and still had to spread his knees to keep from jamming them against the glove box. Maybe she should have driven her crew cab truck. It was roomier up front, had four doors, and a full backseat. But if she had, Joss would have insisted on sitting shotgun because of her tendency to car sickness, and Dalton would have had even less leg room in back than he did now. Would have served him right.
“This isn’t a date or a road trip,” she said, slowing for the turn outside of Gunther. “It’s a rescue mission. That’s all.”
When she stopped at the light, he opened his door, poured the rest of his warm beer on the ground, then closed the door.
Raney watched him look around for a place to put the empty bottle. “You’ll have to eat that. Mama doesn’t allow trash in her car.”
He looked at her like he might consider it. Or worse, toss it out.
“There are eight cup holders in this car,” she told him. “Pick one.”
He chose the one on the door by his foot.
When the light changed, she turned right and headed south on US 83, which put the lowering sun at Dalton’s window. Then in front. Then back in his window as the road followed a winding wagon trail laid down a hundred years ago. Instant oven. She turned up the AC, set the cruise for seven miles over the speed limit, and settled back for the ninety-five-mile run to Abilene. “Tell me about Texas Tech.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m bored. And because I thought about going there.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I got busy and kept putting it off. Then Daddy died and I got really busy. What’s it like?”
“Big, crowded, noisy. Lots of drinking and partying, like most Texas universities. But it did have a decent football team.”
“I heard you went there for two years.”
“Me and thirty thousand other shitkickers and goat ropers.”
She shot him a quick smile. “Which were you?”
“I never roped a goat, but I’ve kicked plenty of shit.”
“It’s always important to be good at something, I suppose.”
He turned his head toward her. The low sun slanted across his face for a moment and made his eyes glow like green fire. His grin had the devil in it. “What are you good at, Raney? Or better yet, what are you not good at?”
She shifted in the seat, uncomfortable with the question. “Lots of stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Dancing, for one. I’m a klutz. I only got through cheerleading by endless practice. I can’t cook, either. And I’d rather have a root canal than go to a jazz concert.”
He chuckled. “I bet you put that on all the Internet dating sites, just to chase men off.”
“Would it work? I’ll have to try it next time a guy makes a pass.”
“You get a lot of passes, do you?”
“Lately, I have.”
There wasn’t much traffic until they neared Abilene. The gas gauge showed under half a tank and they still had 180 miles to go, plus, she needed a pit stop. She found a relatively new convenience store with gas pumps just before the turn onto Interstate 20 and pulled in. While Dalton pumped the gas, she went in to pay, use the restroom, and grab a couple of cups of coffee.
Dalton was sitting in the car, munching on an energy bar when she came out. He must have made a pit stop, too.
“We spill, we die,” she warned him when she handed him his cup.
“Then I’ll make sure I spill it on myself.”
“That’d be best.”
As soon as she turned onto I-20 east, she reset the cruise to eighty-eight for the drive to the Highway 6 turnoff. Behind them in the west, the sun sank lower, perching like a giant, lit-up plastic pumpkin on the edge of the horizon. Within minutes it was gone, leaving behind a fading wash of oranges and reds and wispy purple clouds.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Dalton said, head bent to study the sky behind them in the big sideview mirror. “I sure missed Texas sunsets in prison.”
“They don’t have sunsets in Huntsville?”
“Not where I could see them.”
Raney debated for a minute then blurted out, “Can I ask you a question?”
His smile faded. His attention shifted to the road ahead. “As long as it’s not about my tour in Iraq or my time in prison.”
“It isn’t.” Not really. “Why did you waive a trial?”
He hesitated so long, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then in short, clipped tones, he said, “I did what I thought was right, Raney. I was at fault. Maybe Jim Bob was, too. I don’t know. Considering the price he paid, I figure I got off easy.”
“But—”
His head whipped toward her, green eyes flashing. “Do you know the maximum sentence for vehicular manslaughter? Twenty years. That’s what the county commissioner wanted and he has a lot of influence in this county. So, I took a plea and paid the fine.”
“But everybody knows Jim Bob was a drinker. You might have gotten off.”
“Might have.” He gave a bitter laugh. “And what would a trial have cost my family? No, they’d been through enough and I just wanted it over with. We all did. And now I’m done talking about it.”
Chastened, Raney said no more and focused on the traffic around her.
A few minutes later, he said, “Now I’ll ask you a question. Are you mad at Joss because she’s pregnant or because she’s Joss?”
“Who said I was mad at Joss?”
He gave her a look.
“Okay. Maybe both. She never takes anything seriously and refuses to follow even the simplest rules. I’ve had to cover for her over and over, but she still won’t grow up and take responsibility. And now she’s going to be a mother? How’s that going to work?” Raney knew she was ranting, but it felt good to vent a little.
“Why would she take responsibility if you’re always around to cover for her?”
“What are you, my shrink?” She’d heard that lecture from Len, and a couple of times from Mama. But what else could she do? Joss was her little sister and it was Raney’s job to watch over her. When they were younger, it had mostly been fun. But once Joss hit puberty and discovered boys, it got a lot harder.
“Is she going to keep the baby?”
She glared over at him. “Of course she is! In fact, she’s very excited about it—her. She was coming home next week to start fixing up the nursery.”
“Sounds pretty responsible to me.”
Raney refrained from backhanding him. Everyone always stuck up for Joss. Or made excuses for her. Or wondered why her party-pooper sister was constantly trying to rein her in. “I should have guessed you’d take her side.” She tried not to sound too resentful.
“Why?”
“Because you’re a guy. And guys drop like stones at Joss’s feet.”
“I didn’t.”
“You were too skinny.”
He grinned and spread his hands as if to show off his broad, sturdy frame that was anything but skinny. “Well, I’m not anymore. Think she’ll like me now?”
> “Oh, I’m sure of it.” And that was what concerned Raney most of all.
They didn’t talk again until she turned off the interstate onto State Highway 6, a winding two-lane dotted with small towns already buttoned up for the night even though the sun had barely gone down.
“You’ve been driving for over two and a half hours,” Dalton said. “If you want, I can take us on into Waco. I’m familiar with the route and promise I’ll drive safe.”
She saw he was serious and realized how hard it must be for someone as capable as he was to take a backseat and let others do for him. “Sure,” she said, and hoped she was doing the right thing. “I’ll look for a pullout. We can take a break and see about those sandwiches Mama packed in the cooler.”
“Thanks.”
“Best wait until you see what she made. She’s partial to mashed cucumber.”
“No, I meant thanks for trusting me to drive.”
Raney nodded. But it wasn’t really his driving she distrusted. It was everything else. Especially the way she was starting to enjoy being around him.
They found a pullout a mile up the road that had an overflowing garbage can and a picnic table under a stand of elms. No water, so hopefully no mosquitoes.
Dalton brought over the cooler while Raney scouted for snakes and dead things as best she could in the fading light. Finding neither, she sat across from him at the warped table and ate triangular ham sandwiches, chips, bottled tea, and Maria’s homemade pecan pie. It was a lovely evening.
As she watched the first stars blink on in the eastern sky, Raney thought this was the best non–first date she had ever been on.
Until Dalton went to put their garbage in the trash can.
CHAPTER 8
The can hadn’t been emptied in days. Even from twenty feet away, Raney could smell it. Decaying apricots, maybe. Apple cores. Something fruity. She didn’t think wasps were normally that active at night in spring, but as soon as Dalton lifted the lid, hundreds of yellow jackets swarmed out.
And they were pissed.
“Shit!” He dropped the lid and their bag of trash and started running, arms waving madly as the yellow jackets dive-bombed him from every direction.
