Spring at Saddle Run

by Delores Fossen

  “I dreamed about you, too,” he said. He stopped, and the muscles in his jaw flexed and tensed. “I don’t want to dream about you.”

  Joe hadn’t said that last part in anger. More like frustration. Millie totally got that.

  Groaning, Joe made a quick glance back at Dara. She was still laughing and talking with her friends. However, the Donnelly boy had moved a little closer to her, and he gave Dara a little hip bump.

  “I’ll be back,” Joe snarled.

  Millie didn’t try to stop him. She needed a moment to kick-start her breathing. Needed another moment to tamp down the fantasies that’d started to traipse through her head. Fantasies about a man who would muck up her life in so many ways. However, she did feel sorry for Dara and hoped the girl wasn’t going to be embarrassed by what her father was about to do.

  But Joe didn’t get a chance to do any embarrassing.

  He was halfway between Millie and Dara when he got intercepted by a man who came out of the café. Elmer Tasker, who owned the ranch next to Joe’s. Elmer immediately took Joe by the arm and started talking just as Dara waved goodbye to her friends and hurried past her dad and back to the table. She dropped down and started gobbling up some of the nachos.

  Dara looked back at her dad much as he’d done to her. “It’s about that white calf,” she said. “It’s cute and all, but it messes up the bloodline stuff.” She watched them a moment longer, maybe to see if the chat was going to get heated. It didn’t. So, Dara turned back to her dinner.

  “I’m still working on my bucket list,” Dara said in between bites.

  “I wondered about that. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind about helping me.”

  Actually, Millie had been hoping that Dara would change her mind. She hated to outright refuse the girl’s help. It might hurt her feelings. But Millie also hadn’t wanted Dara to have to relive painful memories.

  “Nope,” Dara assured her. “I’m still on board for it.” She checked her dad again, but this time Millie thought it was because Dara was making sure he wasn’t nearby. He wasn’t. Dara leaned in and lowered her voice. “In fact, I’ll do all the research for you and even write up the report.”

  Stunned, Millie stared at her. And stared. Part of her wanted to dump this on Dara, but she couldn’t. This wasn’t about duty, either. This was about not wanting Dara to have to deal with any truth she might learn.

  “But there’s a catch,” Dara continued. “I have something else I want you to do. Not for me. For him,” she said, glancing at her father.

  Millie just kept on staring.

  “I see the way he looks at you,” Dara said. “He likes you, and he hasn’t looked at any other woman like that since Mom.”

  Millie finally quit staring and started shaking her head. “Your dad doesn’t like me,” she argued.

  Except there was that whole I don’t want to dream about you. Good grief. Were Joe and she giving off some kind of sex vibe that even his young daughter had picked up on?

  “He does,” Dara insisted. “I think he likes you a whole lot. So, here’s the deal.” She leaned in. “Make him better. Try to make my dad happy again.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  JOE HAD NEARLY made it to his truck when he saw the car turn into his driveway. Well, it was sort of a car.

  The vintage VW had been painted to resemble a turtle. A goofy cartoon one that was no doubt meant to be funny. Like the car’s owner, Alma Parkman, the current president of the Last Ride Society. Since Alma had recently started performing as a stand-up comic, Joe supposed this was her way of advertising her quirky sense of humor.

  Grinning and carrying a small cooler, Alma got out and walked to him. “Fried chicken,” she said, tipping her head to the cooler. “Mac and cheese. And there are even some double fudge brownies in there.”

  Joe didn’t groan, something he wanted to do because he knew the sentiment behind this delivery. Alma was trying to soothe the grieving widower. It was especially uncomfortable since Alma’s maiden name was Dayton, and she was Royce’s paternal aunt. Of course, it was next to impossible not to run into a Dayton, Granger or Parkman in or around Last Ride.

  “Thanks,” Joe said, taking the cooler from her. “It’ll save Dara and me from cooking.”

  Alma was all sympathy when she combed her faded blue eyes over him. “I’m glad to help in any way.” She looked at the keys he had in his hand. “I guess you’re heading somewhere?”

  “I’ve got some errands to do in town.” And he was already running late. Dara would be out of school soon, and even though she had a ride, Joe wanted to be home when she got there.

  Alma nodded. “I won’t keep you, then. I just wanted to apologize for what happened with the drawing. I didn’t come out sooner because...well, because I wanted to give you a little time to get over the initial shock.”

  It’d been nearly two weeks since the drawing so the initial was definitely gone. The shock, not so much. It wasn’t just the shock, either, of Millie drawing Ella’s name but the fact that this Last Ride deal had inserted Millie into his mind and dreams. Before the drawing, he had tried not to think about her and her husband and had mostly succeeded.

  Mostly.

  But now it definitely wasn’t her husband’s face in Joe’s thoughts. It was Millie’s, and those thoughts didn’t have squat to do with the drawing. Nope. This was all about the kick in the gut stirrings he was getting for Millie. That’s why Joe had put off going into town. He hadn’t wanted to run into her again the way they had at O’Riley’s.

  He was glad, too, that Dara had backed off on helping Millie with the research. At least Joe thought she had. Dara hadn’t said anything to him about it, and he hadn’t brought it up. This was definitely a situation of letting sleeping dogs lie.

  “I wanted you to know that I’ve proposed a change to the drawing,” Alma went on. “I don’t think we should add anyone recently deceased to the drawing. Maybe wait five years before their name goes in the bowl.”

  Joe was reasonably sure five years wasn’t going to fix what he was feeling. Every mention and every memory of Ella had the potential to tap into his grief. But it also had the equal potential of tapping into the image of that receipt he kept in the recliner in his man-shed. A pregnancy test. Yeah, that wasn’t going away anytime soon. Neither was the fact that Ella had died pressed against another man.

  “I’m not sure the society will approve the changes,” Alma continued a moment later, “but it might help people who find themselves in your position.”

  Joe doubted his situation would be duplicated, but you never knew. “Thanks,” he said, figuring that was a blanket answer to everything Alma had just said.

  She nodded, hesitated, and it seemed as if the woman changed her mind as to what she’d been about to say. Alma turned toward her turtle car but then changed her mind about that, too.

  “Look,” she said, the dread and apology all over her face. “I know this drawing has upset a lot of people. You, Millie, Laurie Jean, Asher...” Her voice trailed off. “That’s why I called Millie and told her I’d do the research. She thanked me but said no, that she could manage. She can manage because she feels it’s the right thing to do, but I’m worried about her.”

  Joe suspected a lot of people were worried about Millie, but this seemed to go a little deeper than the usual concern. “Is she okay?” he wondered.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing. I mean because I know you two have been, uh, talking lately.”

  Hell. This was about what he’d said to Asher. Joe hoped this taught him a lesson about losing his temper and talking. “Millie and I aren’t talking,” he assured her, adding some inflection to that last word. “But if the opportunity comes up, I’ll make sure she’s okay.” He purposely checked his watch. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  “Of course.” There was still some hesitation in Alma’
s voice, but she hurried away.

  Joe called out another thanks for the food, and he put the cooler on the floorboard of his truck. The food would keep, and he didn’t want to take the time to go back inside and put it away.

  He took the long way to Main Street so he could avoid going by Millie’s shop. It wasn’t complete BS when he’d told Alma he’d make sure Millie was all right if the opportunity presented itself. But he didn’t intend to multiply the chances of that happening by being anywhere near where he thought Millie might be. That included Once Upon a Time, O’Riley’s or the cemetery where Royce was buried.

  Joe went by the post office to mail a contract to a buyer he had for some of his stock. Not the white calves. He was still figuring out how to handle that, but he was riding fence every day now to make sure none of the Charolais bulls had broken through. After Joe’s conversation with his neighbor, Elmer was doing the same. Short of rigging his bulls with condoms, Joe didn’t think there was much else he could do.

  He hit the feedstore next and then the town’s only florist, Petal Pusher, to grab some flowers that Dara would want to put on Ella’s grave. Daisies. Joe wasn’t sure if Petal Pusher’s owner, Tommy Ellison, kept them in stock because they were cheap or if it was because Joe kept buying them.

  Joe was heading back to his truck when he spotted the woman coming toward the florist. Not Millie. But this was someone else he hadn’t expected, and didn’t especially want, to see. Janice Barth.

  Ella’s mother.

  Janice didn’t just walk on past him, but he suspected that’s what she wanted to do. It didn’t matter that Joe had fathered Janice’s one and only grandchild and had married her one and only child. Janice had never approved of him, his bloodlines or his choice of career. Which was fine. Joe had never approved of Janice and her snobby ways. Ways that she thankfully hadn’t even tried to pass on to her daughter or to Dara. Probably because the woman knew Joe wouldn’t have tolerated it.

  “Joe,” she greeted in that ice-queen tone of hers.

  As usual, there wasn’t a strand of her short gray hair out of place. Ditto for her dress, which was also gray. It looked expensive and modest. Like the woman wearing it.

  It occurred to Joe that Janice had a lot in common with Laurie Jean. Old money and appearances. However, where Laurie Jean was a bundle of emotion and simmering temper, Janice had none of that. She didn’t send flaming eyeball arrows at someone who offended her sensibilities. Janice froze them with those gunmetal eyes that were both cold and flat.

  “I didn’t know you were coming into town today,” he said.

  Nothing unusual about that. Janice rarely informed Dara or him when she’d be in Last Ride, but he knew from talk that the woman made the drive from her home in San Antonio at least once a month.

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” Janice explained. “There were some things I needed to tell Ella.” Her voice quivered a little, but he saw Janice steel herself. “I was going to take some flowers to her grave. I’m guessing those are for her?”

  He nodded and left it at that. No need to spell out that he wasn’t the one who actually took the flowers to Ella. But Janice probably already knew that. The woman seemed to know plenty about grieving and remembering the dead, and she did have the occasional phone conversations with Dara.

  “Good,” Janice concluded. “Ella will love them.” Her eyes stayed level and flat as she glanced around as if checking to make sure no one was trying to nose in on their conversation. There were a couple of people milling about, which might have been why Janice lowered her voice. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for Dara to visit Millie Dayton.”

  Of course, Janice knew who Millie was. Or rather knew her name. Knew that Millie’s husband had died in the car with Ella. Janice had never once offered an opinion on why she thought the pair had been together. It was possible she knew though. Ella and Janice hadn’t been close, but maybe Ella had confided in her. If that had indeed happened, Joe figured Janice would carry that confidence to the grave.

  Joe sighed when he remembered that Janice was obviously still waiting for him to respond to her comment. “Dara’s not visiting Millie. We ran into Millie at O’Riley’s—”

  “I just saw Dara go into Once Upon a Time, and I know Millie owns it,” Janice interrupted. “Unless the girl’s taken an interest in antiques or local art, then why else would she go in there?”

  Joe did a mental double take, but he tried not to show any of that surprise on his face. No need to let Janice see that he didn’t approve of Dara visiting Millie since it would only lead to one of Janice’s cool lectures about keeping better tabs on the girl. And she’d used the words tabs and the girl. Sometimes, Joe wanted to tell the woman to shove her icy comments, but she was still Dara’s grandmother so he would cut her some slack.

  Plenty of slack.

  However, it was time that he did try to sort some things out with Dara, and that started with finding out why she’d gone to see Millie. Because Janice was right—he doubted his daughter was in Once Upon a Time for anything the store might have for sale. Plus, now that school was out, she was supposed to be on her way home.

  Joe said his goodbye to Janice, put the flowers in his truck and walked up the block to Millie’s shop. True to its name, Once Upon a Time had a history. It was one of the original Victorian homes built in Last Ride. A fussy two-story design with a steep multifaceted roof and lots of white trim on the yellow exterior. There were even two towers, one round and another an octagon shape, and in the center perched a fairly large gargoyle. It was covered in a light green patina and reading a book. Apparently, the person who’d put it there had been aiming for scary whimsy.

  He stopped outside the large bay window to peer in and try to spot Dara, but Joe immediately stepped back when he came face-to-face with someone peering back at him. Someone lifting a huge statue of a black bird. It wasn’t Millie. This was a guy with a bunch of piercings in his eyebrow. One of Millie’s customers or employees, no doubt.

  The pierced guy gave Joe a cheery grin and set down the bird in the window display that he was decorating. Or redecorating. Judging from the stuff on the floor behind him, he was replacing an Edgar Allan Poe display with a spring picnic. All done with antiques and such.

  “Come on in,” the guy said. “We’re open.”

  They were indeed. When Joe looked past the man, he saw at least a half dozen customers milling around. The cashier was ringing up a sale.

  A bell jingled when he opened the stained-glass door and stepped in. Not an ordinary bell sound but more like a wind-chime sound that had come from a bronze fairy with tiny dangling stars.

  Joe had never been inside but wondered if Ella had. Probably. He immediately saw several things she would have liked. A glass ball paperweight that caught the light and sent out a rainbow of colors and the tiny porcelain bluebird beside it. The room with the paintings and sculptures from local artists would have drawn her right in, too.

  Joe didn’t go into the art room though. He moved through the main part of the shop, looking for Millie or Dara. He didn’t see either of them, but he did hear someone talking toward the back so he headed there.

  “If there’s anything I can help you with, just let me know,” the clerk behind the checkout counter called out to him.

  Joe grunted in response and kept walking. He finally spotted Dara. She was in an office. Well, it was sort of an office, anyway. It looked more like something from a movie set.

  Harry Potter, he realized.

  There was a desk with ornate carvings in the center of the room, and it was flanked by dark wood bookcases and stairs that curved up to the higher shelves. An arched window stretched out floor to ceiling in the center of those stairs and bookcases. The glass had a dark golden tint to it, probably to keep out the blistering light that would no doubt come pouring through in the morning.

  Dara was standin
g in front of that desk with her back to him, and even though he couldn’t see Millie because of Dara, he heard her voice.

  “You want a makeover at the mall in San Antonio,” Millie said.

  What the heck? This wasn’t about tombstone research. Confused, Joe moved closer and to the side so he would have a better view of both of them. Millie was reading from a piece of paper.

  “A free makeover,” Dara qualified. “Because I’m not sure I want to spend my babysitting money on makeup. I just want to know what I’d look like when it’s done the right way.”

  Millie looked up at her. “I could tell you that you don’t need makeup, that you’re very pretty without it, but I remember being told that when I was your age, and I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted shiny pink lip gloss, smears of blue eyeliner and hair like Britney Spears.”

  “Did you get it?” Dara asked.

  “No,” Millie said on a sigh.

  “You could get all those things now,” his daughter pointed out.

  Millie smiled a little, shook her head. “I missed the window for that particular opportunity.” Her attention went back to the paper, and it occurred to Joe that he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. He should let Dara and Millie know he was there.

  But his feet sort of froze in place when Millie continued. Ditto for his mouth. Joe definitely didn’t speak up.

  “You want some new bras,” Millie said, obviously voicing what she’d just read. “A pretty one with maybe some lace and panties to match. You want to shop for those things at a store in the mall called Sassy Silk.”

  Well, shit. He just kept on listening.

  “Yes,” Dara confirmed. Her voice had some shyness in it now. “I ordered the one I’m wearing online, but it doesn’t fit right. I need to try one on to get the right size, and I don’t want to buy it around here. People might get the wrong idea.”