by Jeannie Watt
Raising bucking bulls was one way to stay in the bull-riding business, but it required both property and an infusion of cash. Trace had saved a goodly amount of money—more than the average bull rider—because he’d heeded his mother’s warning to put something away for the unexpected. He was a believer in the unexpected, because nothing in his life had turned out as expected—but he hadn’t saved enough to buy property and animals. That would involve a loan and settling into a business, staying in one locale, and he didn’t know if he wanted to do that.
He didn’t know if he could do that.
Even now the siren call of the road seemed louder every day. He was antsy and edgy and didn’t feel at all himself. Twice last night he’d reached for the phone to call Grady and tell him that he’d need to pull up stakes. Both times he stopped because he was really in an ideal situation—he had a place to work out and there was a practice pen available. He just needed to tamp down this rising sense of panic and get on with preparing for his comeback.
The door opened and Cody walked in, slapping his hat against his leg to shake the water off. He nodded at Trace, who nodded back. The kid had given him a gruff apology the first afternoon Trace had shown up at the practice arena and, after that, things had been okay between them. In fact, during the weeks that they’d hung together, Trace found that he liked the kid. Cody had talent, but too many responsibilities at his family ranch to seriously pursue bull riding. He still practiced diligently and rode in as many events as he could afford to travel to. It was hard not to appreciate his dedication to the sport.
Cody came to lean on the rails next to him, silently watching the last junior bull’s training run. “Going to ride today?”
“I wish.” Trace was glad to be with his own kind, but he was also envious of his own kind. He wanted to ride in the worst way.
“How much longer until you get your release?”
“I hope to ride in an event at the end of May. I have the entry.” He also had an appointment in a week with a doctor in Bozeman who was in communication with his Oklahoma surgeon.
“I see that Grady’s doing really well,” Cody said. “Did you see the video of his ride last night?”
“Yep.” His friend was sitting at number twelve in the standings and was hoping to break into the top ten.
“Seen Annie lately?” Cody continued casually. Almost too casually.
“Once or twice.”
Cody shot him a sideways look. “I owe her an apology for what I did in the bar that night. I was drunker than I should have been and pretty much made an ass of myself.”
“It happens.”
“Are you two, like, seeing each other?”
“Nope.” Trace cocked his head to look at the kid sideways. “She’s busy being a mom and I’m not going to interfere with that.” He gave the kid a stern look. “You probably shouldn’t, either.”
“Wouldn’t matter if I wanted to.” Cody kicked the rail in front of him with the toe of his dusty boot, making Trace wonder what had finally woken the kid up to the truth.
“Probably not,” he agreed mildly.
Cody gave him a crooked smile. “Some of the guys are going out tonight after practice. New place we need to check out. Want to come?”
“Going to make an ass of yourself?”
“Probably.”
Trace grinned. “I wouldn’t mind a night out.”
* * *
“YOU HAVE FUN at your party,” Katie said as Annie dropped the girls at Emily’s house Saturday morning. Just as Annie had predicted, they’d bounced back fast from their illness last Sunday and only missed one day of school that week.
“Tell Granny happy birthday and that we wish we were there,” Kristen added, sounding only a little pouty. To them a birthday party with no kids was no party at all.
“I’ll do that,” Annie said with a laugh, giving hugs to each girl. “Tomorrow we’ll work on the costumes, okay?” The girls had indeed been cast as butterflies, along with thirteen other first-and second-graders. Their relief at not being squirrels had been almost palpable.
“We can draw pictures of what we want to make!” Kristen said.
“As long as it looks like a scarf, great.” Annie had found twelve scarves at the local thrift store during her lunch and Granny had donated three more, giving her the basic materials she needed to turn little kids into winged insects. A little glitter, some pipe cleaners and headbands. Yes. She had this.
She had started the day with a burst of energy, even taking time to mop the kitchen floor before loading the girls into the car, but by the time she reached the store, she felt oddly light-headed. The light-headedness became a dull ache as the day progressed, and when it was time to close the store and head to the party at five o’clock, Annie wanted nothing more than to pick up her girls and go home. For Granny’s sake she soldiered on.
When they arrived at the brand-new bar and restaurant at the south end of town, the place was already crowded. Danielle pointed to an open door at the opposite side of the room and she and Annie wound their way through the throng of people to the banquet room.
“Glad we didn’t start this party at seven, like Mom wanted,” Danielle murmured. Annie nodded. The reason they had it at five o’clock was because due to pregnancy, Danielle conked out around eight every night. “Oh, look! Doesn’t Granny look great?”
“She really does. Hope I look that good at eighty.”
Dorothy Perry was dressed in an elegant black cocktail dress, and when she caught sight of Danielle and Annie she crossed the room to hug them both.
“Happy birthday, Dorothy,” Annie said. “You look wonderful.”
“Not a day over seventy-five, right?”
“You look younger than that.” Danielle beamed at her grandmother and hugged her again.
“Your mom outdid herself,” Annie murmured to Danielle as the guest of honor went to greet two of Danielle’s cousins. There were balloons and streamers and a three-layer cake. In the corner a mobile bar was set up so that the guests didn’t have to go to the bar proper to get their drinks, which was just as well, because it was getting loud and rowdy out there. Danielle’s mother closed the door to their private room after a noisy group settled at a table nearby. Just before the door swung shut, Annie heard Shelly Hensley’s distinctive voice rise above the ruckus.
Excellent.
Annie turned down champagne and instead nursed a glass of ice water as she made small talk with Perry friends and family, happy to be part of the tightly knit group, yet also wishing she were at home. Where it was quiet. The party noise was getting to her, making her head throb, and if Dorothy didn’t blow out her candles soon, she was going to have to make her excuses and go home while she still could. Her headache wasn’t getting worse, though, so she persevered, making small talk until a server set a plate of deviled eggs on the table behind her and her stomach clenched as the smell hit her nostrils.
“I’ve got to go,” she whispered to Danielle.
Instantly her friend was ready to drive her home.
“No,” Annie said. “I’m not that far gone, but I want to get the girls and get home before I am.”
“Text me when you get home.”
Annie smiled, even though it hurt. “I will.” She made her way to the door, wincing as she opened it and the noise washed over her. She’d only gone a couple of feet when someone pushed their way in front of her, barring her path.
Shelly. Drunk Shelly. Her least favorite kind of Shelly.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Helpful.”
Annie pulled in a breath, barely noticing the crowd around her. She wasn’t going to engage Shelly, but she didn’t know how she was going to get around her, either. When she stepped sideways, the woman smirked and mirrored her movement.
Annie raised weary eyes and said
simply. “Get out of my way, Shelly, or I may just throw up on your shoes.”
They were open-toed shoes, high heeled and glittery, and something in Annie’s expression must have told Shelly that she wasn’t kidding—not one little bit—so the woman quickly stepped aside, an expression of extreme distaste on her face, as several of her cronies laughed.
“Drunk at six o’clock,” Shelly said with a curl of her lips.
“Yeah,” Annie said as she headed for the door. “What would it be like?”
There was more laughter and then Annie stepped out of the bar and let the heavy door swing shut behind her. Cool air washed over her, making her feel less foggy-headed, but she still needed to get her girls and get home. Fast. Because she had the feeling that whatever this was, it was going to get worse before it got better—just as it had when her girls had caught it.
“You do not look healthy,” Emily said a few minutes later as Katie and Kristen put on their coats. “Do you want me to keep the girls for you overnight?”
“No. We’ll be fine once we get home.” She’d just gone shopping so there was plenty of easy food to eat and all she needed was a little rest.
“If you say so. But give a call if you need anything at all.”
Annie nodded and rolled up the window as the girls got into their seats.
“You’re sick, Mom?”
“Just a little,” Annie said. “I’ll take a nap when we get home and you guys can watch TV. Okay?”
“Don’t worry,” Katie said. “We’ll take real good care of you. We’ll make Jell-O and everything.”
“No,” Annie said automatically. “Don’t make Jell-O.” Heaven forbid. “I’ll be happy with cold orange juice. Or maybe a Popsicle.”
“Popsicles helped me,” Katie said reassuringly.
In her girls’ world, there wasn’t much that a Popsicle couldn’t cure. She wished things were that easy in her world.
* * *
WHEN TRACE, CODY, Bill Hennessey and the rest of the bull-riding crew arrived at the new bar that the boys had wanted to check out, it was ridiculously crowded. And apparently there was a party in the back, too. Trace had just worked his way through the crowd to reach the far end of the bar when he heard a voice that made the muscles in his neck go tight.
Shelly.
She either didn’t see him or didn’t recognize him, so Trace pulled his hat down a little lower to keep from having another confrontation with the woman.
“I’ll take care of the drinks,” Cody said. He raised a hand to hail the cute server then made his way through the crowd to intercept her.
“Ah, the vigor of youth,” Bill murmured and Trace smiled. A few minutes later Cody was back. “Brianne will get to us as soon as she can.” He gave a small laugh. “I guess Shelly confronted Annie a few minutes ago and Annie threatened to throw up on her shoes. Brianne hates Shelly, you know. I guess it was pretty funny.”
“Annie’s here?” Trace cast a quick look around the crowded room but didn’t spot her anywhere.
“Gone. Shelly let her pass. Puke is such an awesome weapon.”
Cody seemed to think it was pretty funny, but Trace didn’t see the humor—other than the fact that Shelly had apparently backed down. She didn’t seem as obnoxious as she had in the Shamrock, but Trace still kept his hat low as he leaned on the bar, listening to the younger guys. Bill leaned silently beside him.
“Getting too old for crowded bars,” he finally said.
Trace shook his head. “I must be getting old, too.” Although, truthfully, he’d never liked crowded bars. Quiet places where he could enjoy his drink and some decent conversation were more his speed.
“Want to leave this place to the younger crowd?”
“Yeah. I need to go check on a friend.”
“I kind of thought you might.”
Trace didn’t know what to expect when he knocked lightly on Annie’s back door twenty minutes later. It was very possible that the girls wouldn’t let him in due to the stranger-danger factor, but when they peeked from the side window and saw that it was him, they opened right up.
“Hi, Mr. D’laney,” Kristen said. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard your mom wasn’t feeling too well and I thought I’d see if you guys were all right.”
“We’re fine,” Katie assured him. “We just got home.” She pointed at their coats, which were draped over the backs of the kitchen chairs.
“Is your mom in bed?”
The girls shook their heads in unison. “Uh-uh. Watching TV.”
Well, it wasn’t as if he could just walk away without telling her he’d stopped by. That would be weird, so he said, “Maybe I could say hello before I go.”
Katie took his hand in her much smaller one and led him to the living room where Annie was sound asleep on the sofa, her soft brown hair hiding her face.
“Okay, guys. Your mom isn’t feeling too good, so let’s let her have a little rest.”
“I think she’s already asleep,” Katie said.
“And we aren’t guys,” Kristen said. “We’re girls.”
“Are you sure?”
The girls burst into laughter. “You know we’re girls.”
“Yeah, I do. I call everyone guys,” Trace said in a lower voice so they wouldn’t wake Annie, who was indeed passed out. “Even girls.” He thought about covering her with the afghan draped over the arm of the easy chair, but didn’t want to risk waking her. Instead he turned and headed into the kitchen. As he expected, the girls followed close behind.
Annie’s kitchen was neat, like the rest of the house, and full of warmth and color. Now that he had a moment to study the room, he saw that her use of bright paint and cheerful decorations made it easy to overlook the fact that the appliances were ancient or that the windows needed caulking. It looked like Annie was about to tackle that, however, since there were two industrial-sized tubes of caulking on the counter near the toaster.
“Mom said we can’t touch those,” Kristen said.
“Yeah. She’s right.” Trace imagined that if the girls managed to get the caulking into the gun, they could create an awesome mess. Grady had told him stories about his nieces, so Trace had an inkling of what he was dealing with here—adventurous girls with lots of energy and ideas. “Have you guys eaten yet?”
“We ate at Emily’s,” Katie said. “Right after the other kids left with their moms.”
“But we’re kind of hungry now,” Kristen said. “Do you know how to cook? Uncle Grady used to cook when he was here. He cooked lots of stuff in the Crock-Pot.”
“He writes us postcards from where he is,” Katie announced. “We each get one.”
“That’s cool,” Trace said with a smile, admiring the bounce from Grady cooking to writing postcards.
“Maybe we can cook in the Crock-Pot,” Kristen said hopefully.
“I think that might take too long.”
“’Sides,” Katie said in a authoritative voice, “Mom doesn’t let us use plug-in things.”
“Then we’ll leave the Crock-Pot to your mom. What do you guys like to eat?”
“What we like best is mac and cheese,” Katie announced before dashing to the pantry and coming back with two boxes. “One for us and one for you.”
Trace hadn’t planned on eating there but quickly changed his mind. The longer he stayed, the more downtime Annie would get.
“Do you really want that kind of mac and cheese or the real kind?” Because Trace hated boxed mac and cheese. It’d been one of the few things they could afford to eat when his mom was sick and he’d be quite happy if he never saw an orangish-yellow elbow noodle again in his life.
“The real kind? You can make the real kind?”
“If you have macaroni noodles and cheese, I can.”<
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“We have lots of macaroni.”
“We paint it and make necklaces.”
“Do you have any unpainted macaroni?”
The girls laughed. “Yes, silly. We have bags and bags.” Kristen went to the pantry again and came back with salad macaroni, which Trace could see would make better necklaces than the elbow variety, since the hollow noodles were shorter and barely curved.
“Is that the only kind you have?”
The girls nodded in unison. “Cool. Now we have to be real quiet while your mom sleeps. Katie, can you show me where your pots and pans are? And Kristen, can you find the cheese? Let’s see if we have enough.”
Oh, yeah. There was enough. Apparently Annie liked cheese. There wasn’t much milk, though. He went to the pantry and found a great stash of canned goods, including evaporated milk. Until he’d started hanging out at the McClure Ranch, he’d had no idea that the stuff even existed, but Josie had taught him not only of its existence, but how to use it. On a ranch where the big shopping trip happened once a month, there were certain staples that couldn’t be depended on, like fresh milk, so the ranch had had huge stores of canned goods...kind of like Annie did.
With a lot of enthusiastic help, Trace made a white sauce and boiled the macaroni. He gave each girl a small piece of cheese to grate, while he cut the rest into cubes, which he put in the white sauce to melt. Josie had taught him to take the pan off the heat so that the cheese didn’t separate.
He missed Josie and Ernest, the time he’d spent with them, the things he’d learned. He went to the fridge and pulled out the bottle of mustard. The reaction from the girls was instantaneous.
“Ewww!”
“No mustard!” Kristen made another horrified face.
“Just a teaspoon.”
Katie’s mouth flattened.
“It’s the secret ingredient in all good mac and cheese.” Two little noses wrinkled. “The thing is, when you mix mustard with cheese, it tastes way different than when it’s on a hot dog.” The girls gave him another dubious look and he put the mustard back in the fridge. It was their dinner, after all. So what if the mac and cheese was minus the zing of mustard?