Shelly's chin came up. “I'm home for good, Acey—I told you that. I'm not going back to New Orleans. And as for being in it for the long haul, you bet your bony ass, I am. So will you help me?”
“Well, hell, girl, I was wondering when you were gonna get around to asking me. Nick's all fired up about it, says you two are partnering up. Have to tell you, I was beginning to feel downright left out.”
Delight washed through her at his words. She'd never doubted that Acey would help her, but it was great to have him confirm it. She did have some concerns though, and bending toward him, she asked, “What about your own herd? Besides, aren't you supposed to be retired? Seems to me when I was going over Josh's papers, I saw that both you and Maria are receiving income from an annuity my father set up years ago as a retirement plan.”
“Yep. I know. Josh insisted I take it when I turned sixty-five, but dammit, Shelly, retirement is for sissies. What the hell would I do all day? Cattle and horses are my life—there ain't nothing I'd rather do.” He grinned. “ 'Cept, of course, chase wimmen.”
Shelly rolled her eyes. “What about your cattle?” she persisted.
“Ah, hell, honey, they're just a bunch of ornery range cows I keep for amusement—cutting, roping and such. Been thinking about selling 'em off and leasing the pasture to my next-door neighbor.”
“Acey, I'll be honest, I can't afford to pay you a big salary. Josh left things in a mess, and maybe a dollar above minimum is about as much as I can pay you.”
He looked insulted and for a moment Shelly feared that he'd stomp out of the room. Touchy old devil, she thought affectionately. Proud, too.
“I'm already getting a pension from Granger Cattle Company,” he growled. “If you want to pay me more, I won't argue with you, but why don't we settle on me moving permanent into this here apartment. You'll have to let me use your washer and dryer for my clothes, and I'll have to build a kennel for my dogs. I've got a cat I like, and there's my horses, but you let me move in and I'll only charge you three bucks an hour for any work I do.”
Shelly considered arguing with him about the money, but the look on his face told her she'd better leave it alone. Having Acey living on the ranch wasn't a problem at all, in fact, it sounded like a good idea to her. She frowned. “But what about your house?”
“I can rent it. Got a fellow's been after me for months—city type—wants a long-term lease. I like my house, but it'll be there when I decide climbing the stairs to this place is getting too hard.” He grinned at her. “Figure that'll happen about the time I get too old to notice a pretty girl.”
“That'll never happen,” Shelly said with a laugh.
“So, we got a deal?”
“You betcha!”
The next days flew by. Acey became the self-appointed foreman of the small operation, and Shelly found herself, at his orders, rising before dawn and meeting him in the kitchen for breakfast. The first morning she'd staggered downstairs and found him at her table eating the scrambled eggs and ham Maria had cooked, she asked grumpily, “It's bad enough I have to get up while it's still dark outside, but did I agree to this? I mean feeding you, too?” Acey studied her sleep-rumpled features, a hint of smile lurking under that big white handlebar mustache. “As I recollect, you never were a morning person. Looks like you haven't changed—still cranky and crabby when you first get out of bed. As for feeding me…seems sort of foolish, for me to gulp down some coffee and toast, all alone in my place in the barn when there's company and Maria's fine cooking just a few steps away. Of course, if you don't want me to…”
Shelly had snagged herself a mug of coffee and after taking the first ambrosia-like sip had grinned at him. “Shut up, Acey. You know you're welcome.”
He grinned back at her. “Yep. Just like I figured.” He shot her a teasing glance. “Can't say you're at your best when you first wake up, but never figured you'd deny me a meal.”
That morning meeting worked out very well, and Shelly was surprised she hadn't thought of it. Lingering over the remnants of Maria's cooking, with the occasional tart comment from Maria, who had returned to her normal self, and joined now and then by Nick, they had a chance to discuss the progress or lack of it every morning before the day's work began. She looked forward to those morning meetings, liking the homey feeling of the kitchen, the scent of bacon or ham and coffee lingering in the air, the give-and-take of exchanging ideas with the others, the strong sensation of having really returned home. Josh might be gone, but the mornings with Acey, Maria, and Nick gave her a sense of having a family.
Acey might tease and joke, but he was no gentle taskmaster. The work was hard, backbreaking, and physical—tearing out old fencing, mainly around the barn, and replacing it with strong, new material. The cattle chute had to be completely rebuilt, as well as new holding pens and, on the back side of the barn, a feeding area, complete with shelter and manger. On Acey's advice, Shelly had hired a couple of young men in the valley who were skilled in that kind of work, but she still did her share of lugging material to and fro and digging fence posts and stretching fence. Nick was there as often as he could be, and Shelly was thankful for the added power of his young muscles.
By the time the Mother's Day weekend rolled around, a week and a half later, Granger Cattle Company seemed to be almost a reality. The cattle from Texas were on their way and scheduled to arrive on Monday. Acey had moved lock, stock, and barrel into the apartment. A good-size kennel holding his three cow dogs had been constructed at the side of the barn; his horses occupied three of the eight stalls in the barn, and his truck and trailer had taken up residence next to the kennel. His cat, Mouser, a bright calico, was proving her worth, rustling around in the barn and grounds looking for prey, when she wasn't winding around someone's feet expecting a pat on the back. Shelly liked Mouser, she just wished the cat would stop presenting her with little gifts consisting of dead mice and gophers. Ugh.
They'd worked straight through last weekend without stopping, but Acey had declared they all needed a break and dismissed everyone about four the previous afternoon, declaring they'd best be back at eight o'clock sharp on Monday. Despite not having to get up at the crack of dawn this morning, to her astonishment, Shelly had found herself rolling out of bed, not too much after 6:00 A.M. Putting off her shower, she'd thrown water in her face, brushed her teeth, and, after dragging on an old flowered wrapper, wandered downstairs. Maria had weekends off, and the kitchen seemed lonesome without her bustling around. The cof-feemaker had been left set up, and a few minutes later, the fragrance of fresh coffee filled the air.
Sipping her coffee, Shelly wandered outside, her feet automatically taking her to the barn. She prowled around the barn, viewing the results. She was walking stiffly this morn-ing—and had been for the past week. She ached in places she hadn't known could ache, and she had discovered muscles she'd forgotten she had. A couple of Tylenol had become a nightly ritual, but it was worth every twinge, every creak, and every ache when she looked at what had been accomplished so rapidly.
The once-dilapidated cattle chute bristled with new lumber, and the long manger was finished, only the roofing of the cover of the feeder area yet to be completed. Stout new fencing had sprouted up all around, and several tons of early grass hay had been delivered and, covered with big blue tarps in case of a late rain, was waiting to be stacked in the barn. She grimaced. Monday's first chore.
There was so much more to be done, Shelly thought with a sigh, more fencing, more sorting pens, a new bull pen, although Beau seemed perfectly happy in his current quarters, and before the cattle could be turned loose they'd have to rebuild all the broken-down fences. First on the best pasture, then farther afield as time and the operation allowed. Acey had been right—it was going to be a long haul, a long, hard, tough haul. But even knowing what lay in front of her, her joyous feeling of satisfaction couldn't be tamped down—there was still a ton of work to do, but the most immediate needs seemed to be taken care of—she hoped.
&nbs
p; Smiling, she grabbed a flake of alfalfa and walked over to Beau's pen. At her approach, he let out a bellow of welcome and trotted right up to the fence. She threw him the flake and even reached through the rail and gave his glossy black hide a pat. He was an Angus bull, it was true, but he had become such a pet during the past weeks that Shelly didn't fear him—at least, as long as she was on this side of the fence and he was on the other. She watched him toss the flake around and laughed at his antics. Thank God they had Beau. There was some concern about his fertility, but no one doubted that they'd get at least one calf crop from him. But they had to get that one crop from him. It was vital and could make the difference to whether Granger Cattle Company reestablished itself…or not.
Acey ambled out of the barn, looking spiffy in a red-and-blue-plaid shirt, a scarlet bandanna tied rakishly around his throat, and new dark blue jeans, a smart crease running down the length of the legs. His black boots gleamed, and he was wearing his best hat—a black Stetson with wide scarlet hatband.
“Jesus, girl,” he exclaimed when he took in her attire. “Don't tell me that's what you're wearing for the parade?”
“Parade?” Shelly asked, her expression blank. “What parade?”
“Now you ain't been gone that long—you can't have forgotten this is the Mother's Day weekend and the FFA Field Day. Parade. Junior Rodeo. Dance. Remember?”
“Oh, wow. I did forget,” she confessed, wondering how that had happened. How could she have forgotten one of the most important social functions in the valley? Even M.J. had mentioned it, but with everything else on her mind, the Mother's Day events had gone completely out of her head.
St. Galen's hosted three big community events a year. The Mother's Day FFA Field Day was the first, followed on the first weekend in August by the Blackberry Harvest and ending with the Labor Day Rodeo. To outsiders, it all might look rinky-dink and small-time, but in the valley each event was eagerly planned and looked forward to by the entire community. Relatives and friends who lived all over the state planned their vacations and trips home around those dates, and those weekends would find the valley flooded with smiling, laughing visitors reestablishing bonds of friendship and family. If St. Galen's had a social season, it started with the Mother's Day weekend and culminated with attendance at the Oak Valley Rodeo on the Labor Day weekend. The only other busy time was deer season, and for the week before it opened, the highway into the valley would see a steady stream of pickup trucks and campers, mostly strangers, passing through on their way to the Mendocino National Forest. The hunters did provide increased business, and their arrival was happily greeted by the merchants each fall.
“Jesus, Shelly! Forget the FFA Field Day?” Acey shook his head. “You've been away too long, my girl. Now go get prettied up—I'm taking you and Maria to the Cowboy Breakfast at the Masonic Hall.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You won't want to miss it—think that red-haired widow I've been seeing is one of the cooks this year. You and Maria can check her out—see if I'm getting in over my head. I've got the day all planned. Breakfast, parade, rodeo, and then the dance.”
Shelly smiled, shaking her head. “Gee, I didn't know you were also my social secretary.”
“Somebody's got to be, girl. Left to your own devices, you'd never find a man. You ain't getting any younger, you know. Time's a passing. You don't want to end up a lonely old maid, do you?”
Shelly made a face. “Acey…”
“Now don't start. Been thinking a lot about you, woman alone and all that stuff. I know it's old-fashioned and don't fit with all the newfangled Women's Lib crap, but I'm telling you straight: You need a man. Not just any man, even I know that. You need a good man, one with strong ties to the valley. But he's got to be flexible. Got to understand that you're an independent woman with a mind of your own.” He grinned. “Someone like me—only younger. Lot younger. And maybe more handsome, but that'd be hard to imagine.”
Shelly snorted. “Acey, I appreciate your concern, but trust me on this—if I wanted a man, I could find one.”
He glared at her. “Then why haven't you? Fine-looking young heifer like you. You ought to be married, but to the right man. I worry, girl. I worry that some slick-talking dude's going to slide into town and sweep you off your feet while you're all vulnerable and such. Like I said, you need a man, but it's got to be a man who can be trusted to do right by you.”
“And I suppose you've found this paragon for me?” she said through gritted teeth.
Acey grinned like a cherub. “Yep. He's meeting us for breakfast. Sloan Ballinger.”
Chapter Ten
Shelly wasn't certain how it happened, in fact she'd been certain that she'd grow old and gray before she stepped one foot off the place in order to meet with Sloan Ballinger, but forty-five minutes later, she was riding with Acey and Maria on their way to the Cowboy Breakfast. Acey had let her say her piece, then he had looked at her, and asked simply, “You want everyone in town to think you're afraid of meeting him? The fact that he's joining us for breakfast isn't a big secret. Lots of people be interested in how that turns out. Want 'em to think you're a coward?”
“Damn you! I'm no coward. And I'm sure as hell not afraid of Sloan Ballinger.”
“Couldn't prove it by me,” Acey drawled. “I can only think of one reason you're acting all skittish and such.” He looked thoughtful. “Probably what everyone else will think, too. Including Sloan.”
She'd thrown him a furious glance. “Has anyone ever told you that you are an interfering, manipulative, old devil?”
Acey rubbed the side of his jaw. “Now as I think on it, Sloan said something about me being a meddling old bastard.” He grinned at her. “Sloan's not as polite as you are.”
Shelly choked back a laugh. “You're impossible,” she said as she started toward the house. “And yes, I'll go with you to the damned breakfast. Can't have the whole town think that there was ever a Granger who backed down from a meeting with a Ballinger. Let me get showered and dressed, then I'll be ready.”
“Take your time, I've got to hook up the trailer and load my horse—I'm riding in the parade with the Oak Valley Riding Club. Part of the color guard.”
Once they reached town, they detoured down Main Street, where Acey left his trailer alongside several others owned by various members of the Oak Valley Riding Club. The street was crowded with vehicles, horses, dogs, and people of all ages getting ready for the parade. There were a couple of homemade floats, some members of the fledgling high school band, a half dozen feathered Indian dancers and an interestingly arrayed contingent from the St. Galen's Women's Club. It was their fond wish that they represented blackberries, promoting the Blackberry Harvest held in August, but in their purple tights and interestingly lumpy costumes, green, leaf-shaped hats on their heads, they looked more like grapes to Shelly. Ripe grapes, plump and fully packed. More participants were arriving by the minute, and it took Acey a bit to break free of the swelling ranks.
All too soon for Shelly's liking, they were parking near the Masonic Hall and exiting the truck. Nervously, she smoothed down her black jeans. They were made of a butter-soft suede and fit her like a glove. A tight glove. She had paired the jeans with a long-sleeved emerald green shirt that intensified the green of her eyes. The material flowed snugly over her breasts before disappearing into the waistband of her jeans, where a narrow black belt with a Black Hills gold buckle emphasized her small waist and slender hips. The shirt was open at the neck and a green-and-black-checked silk scarf was tied jauntily around her throat, gold earrings winked through her cloud of tawny hair, and she wore a pair of black Justin Ropers on her feet. City meets cowboy country, she thought wryly as she followed Acey and Maria into the pink cinder-block building that housed the Masonic Hall.
They entered the large room set aside for the Cowboy Breakfast. Portable tables and metal folding chairs had been set up; syrup, butter pats, salt, and pepper were set in the middle of each table. About two dozen people were scattered around the
tables, laughing, talking, and eating. It was a large room with a utilitarian beige vinyl floor, and was capable of holding ten times as many people as were present without overcrowding. A row of high, narrow windows in the opposite wall allowed plenty of natural light. In one corner, near the serving window at the far end of the room, there was a table holding a pair of coffee urns; Coffeemate, packets of sugar, styrofoam cups, paper napkins, and plastic spoons lay nearby. Looking over the waist-high counter of the wide serving window, she could see several local people bustling around in the small kitchen as they cooked the usual fare: pancakes, scrambled eggs, and link sausages.
Shelly had told herself that she'd dressed so carefully with the knowledge that she'd be meeting people she hadn't seen in years, and it was for them that she had taken such great pains with her makeup and clothing. The moment Sloan uncurled his long length from behind the table where he'd been waiting for them, and their eyes met, she knew she'd deluded herself. There had been nothing public-spirited behind her actions. She'd dressed for one man and one man alone. Sloan Ballinger. Dressed deliberately and provocatively to remind him of all that he had thrown away seventeen years ago. Eat your heart out, you two-timing bastard.
There was an electric silence as their eyes met and clashed. Acey and Maria were standing right beside her, but she knew that the charged atmosphere had nothing to do with the presence of the others. Her heart was banging like a steam hammer, and her pulse was racing as she and Sloan stared at each other, the air between them seeming to crackle and hiss with sexual energy. For a split second, everyone stopped what they were doing to take in the scene of Ballinger confronting Granger, then the moment passed and Sloan was smiling and crossing the room to greet them and everyone went back to what they had been doing before their arrival.
They exchanged greetings, Sloan shaking Acey's hand and dropping a kiss on Maria's cheek. Shelly steeled herself to act casually, but when Sloan moved in front of her and smiled down at her, her mind went blank. The warmth of his big body hit her first, then the scent that she had always considered uniquely his tangled in her nostrils. The next second, his hands were on her shoulders, and his mouth was taking hers.
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