A blur came at her, then his lips pressed against hers. Right there in front of God and all her family, at her daddy’s funeral, he was kissing her. For a heartbeat, she kissed him back, then jerked away and swung hard.

  Her open hand connected square on his cheek. Seemed to shock him almost as much as her. Hopefully, it hurt his face more than her palm. She never expected it to sting her hand so badly, but he deserved it.

  Shouldn’t be stealing a kiss, wasn’t right.

  She jerked upright in bed. The dream lingered, hadn’t ever taken such a turn before; before it always focused on the loss of her father, not her friend. She woke with no tears this time and minus the usual heartache of her daddy dying so young.

  Instead, the night vision left her a crystal clear realization: exactly what she needed to do. She rolled out of bed and filled the too-little coffee pot with water from the mini-sink’s faucet.

  A shower didn’t change her mind, nor did packing or a trip downstairs for breakfast. Her resolve flickered a bit as she stood in front of the door across the hall from her room. She smiled.

  “Well, my bags are packed, and I am ready to go. Indeed, I am standing here outside their door, and I really do hate to wake them up to say goodbye.”

  She rapped one knuckle three times. “I am not leaving on a jet plane, though, and I need my money.” Her mind made up, she tapped twice more on the door. Shortly, it cracked open. Her friend’s face appeared.

  “Morning, Mare.” She glanced at the suitcases. “You packed already? Thought we weren’t pulling out ’til after lunch.”

  “Yes, that’s correct, well, for y’all. Brad in there? I need to talk with him.”

  “Sure, give us a second.” The door closed then after better than sixty of the requested ticks of the clock, the portal swung open. “Come on in.”

  The mess startled her, but oh well, not everyone had been raised by a mother and grandmother who were bona fide clean freaks.

  The guitar man finger-combed his hair. “Hey, how’s our song bird this fine morning? Have a sit down. Got us that new tune you’ve been working on?”

  She emptied one of two clothes-covered chairs at the small table, dumping its contents onto the floor. “I’m fine, and no. This won’t take long. How’d you know I was working on a song?”

  “Aren’t you always?” He waved her off. “What can we do for you?”

  “I’m going home. Sorry, but I need to. I’d like whatever money I’ve got coming.”

  “Home? No way, Mary Esther. We’re booked in Atlanta, bus leaves at one.”

  “I know, and I hear you, Brad, but I am going home.”

  “Dallas or Denver?”

  “Neither. Going all the way home. To Clarksville.”

  Bev twisted her hair up and clipped it on top of her head. “Why, Mare, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, everything. I came to the realization this morning. I need a break. Being on the road… It isn’t… Let’s just say it isn’t what I expected.”

  “But –”

  “No. I’ve got to go, and I’m leaving. Now. This morning. You know all the songs as well as me, Bev. Take the lead.” She faced Brad. “She can do it. Let’s talk dollars. Where do we stand?”

  The band’s leader alternated between bullying and begging, but in the end handed over fifteen hundred cash with a promise of full accounting from his CPA for the last eighteen months. She’d been singing and writing songs for the band.

  Hopefully, he’d be a man of his word.

  “Is this all over Rich being married?”

  “You knew?” She looked from Brad to his wife. He stared back, but Bev averted her eyes. How could they not tell her?

  “He’s a friend; you two made a cute couple.”

  She glared at him. “You’re worse than that idiot. Why in the world didn’t you tell me, or better still, tell him to leave me alone?” She faced Bev. “And you? You knew, too?”

  “He’s getting a divorce.”

  Mary Esther backed toward the door. “Whatever.” She put her hand on the knob then all the good times, all the folks who’d been moved by their music flooded her soul. “God bless you guys, and please do have the accountant contact me.”

  “I will, God bless you, too.”

  ✞♥♫♪ •*•♪♫✞

  Five hundred and seven miles south and west, Samuel Levi Baylor woke seven mornings later having dreamed about the same horrible day as Mary Esther had the week before. He rubbed his cheek. Still stung after twenty years.

  The handprint had long vanished, but not the aching in his heart. He hadn’t even got to tell her goodbye. Her mother left that same afternoon for Big D.

  He showered, shaved, and geared up.

  Bless the Lord, his last day at the Cross Arrow. He loved working cows, but stringing hot wire did not ring his bell. Too much like work. His dad always said work was work, but far as Samuel figured, not a reason in the world it couldn’t or shouldn’t be fun, too.

  Lord knew he needed the money.

  Well, some might argue buying that registered Angus bull he wanted couldn’t be classified as a need. Sure would improve his herd though.

  He took care of all his chores and still beat everyone to the bottoms along Langford Creek. Though he understood the purpose of putting farmland behind the electric fence, sure couldn’t understand farming prime pastureland.

  To his way of thinking, sod busting proved the bigger gamble over breeding prime stock. He’d seen it way more than once. Some new guy buying up a big block of Red River County, thinking he knew how to bring in a harvest.

  A few actually succeeded turning a profit; the majority cashed in on their insurance. What always got him, they kept coming down here thinking they could do it like they did up north; much wiser to follow the locals’ leads.

  He chuckled at the memory of that one guy who thought he could make no-till work on the prairie’s black dirt.

  Finally, the foreman backed everyone up then flipped on the solar charger. For half a heartbeat, it seemed stuck then the needle jumped all the way to the green.

  “Looks like we’re good to go, boys. That does it for this section.” He nodded toward the hill where the headquarters sat nestled between the two giant feed silos and the oversized hay barns.

  Words of approval mixed with a bit of rabblerousing worked its way around. Hats were removed then settled back, brows mopped.

  “Come get your money then, hombres.” The man looked at Samuel. “You Bible thumpers can come on, too.”

  He ignored the jab. He’d been knowing the old cowboy for years, and truth be told, the man professed to be a Christian himself, but of the more sedate variety.

  Once he collected his wages, with a promise of a call when the dozer man had the next block ready, he marched to his grandfather’s old truck. Guess it belonged to him now, since PawPaw passed, but Samuel couldn’t….

  Never got in it without thinking of him.

  Then like he’d gone brain dead, he turned left instead of going the long way. Oh well, turning around would be too much trouble, so he kept going. Mercy, he’d just dreamed about her.

  Going by her old house shouldn’t trigger another nightmare. Either way, he had the salve that could soothe his soul.

  ✞♥♫♪ •*•♪♫✞

  Mary Esther fished in the bottom of her heavy purse looking for the house key. She balanced the bag on her knee, hopping once to keep her balance. The old door opened with the first bit of weight against it. She stepped inside.

  Instead of her mother standing over the stove and her dad sitting in his chair, only cobwebs greeted her. It smelled musty. An old wooden chair with a blue vinyl padded seat and a strip across the back brought a smile.

  She remembered when her father brought that dining set home from the Goodwill store in Paris. She couldn’t have been more than seven or eight then. Why did that one get left? She liked those chairs.

  But then her grandmother had all her own furniture. Mary Esther didn’t even get to have her own bed go to Dallas with her. Took her weeks to get used to that hard one she slept on at Mimi Lady’s.

  She poked and prodded the old farmhouse she’d grown up in. It seemed sound enough, but a hole in the floor of her parents’ old room took her back. A rabbit scurried past in its escape.

  “Oh, Lord, am I crazy for even thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Before any answer came from above or her heart, the deep-throated rumble of an old truck drew her around, then tires crushing gravel quickened her pulse. She ran to the kitchen and split the old blinds’ slats.

  A faded blue truck filled the drive just beyond the carport. She knew that old truck. No. It couldn’t be. Twenty years ago—had it been that long?—No…please, God, don’t let it be so.

  The front door banged against the living room wall. Daddy never did replace that stopper. “Hello? Whoever you are, you’re trespassing here.” The male voice sounded somewhat familiar, but surely PawPaw wasn’t still alive. Could he be?

  She started trying to do the math in her head, but that was useless. She marched around to the breezeway between the kitchen and living room. The interloper headed down the hall toward the back.

  “Pray tell, how does one trespass her own property?”

  The guy turned toward her and stared. “Mary Esther? Is that you? Really you?” A big old grin almost cracked his face right in two.

  The twelve-year-old boy who drove that same truck to her daddy’s funeral stood over six feet tall, a full grown man decked out in jeans, blue long-sleeved work shirt, and scuffed boots, but she’d know him anywhere.

  He gawked. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s me. How in the world have you been, Samuel? How’d you know I was in town?”

  “Well, I’ll be. Blessed. I’ve been blessed, but I didn’t have any idea. None. What are you doing here? Slumming?”

  She refused to take the bait. “I’ll have you to know I’m moving back. Just now I was trying decide if the old girl is worth fixing up.”

  “Really? What? You’re not singing anymore?”

  “Of course, I am. No way will I ever stop singing, you goof, but I can sing in Clarksville same as in Dallas. I quit the band though. I’m sick of the road. If you could call it that.”

  He nodded and looked around. “So what do you think?”

  That he didn’t offer to give her a hello hug was just wrong, but she didn’t say anything about it. “I don’t know, but what about you? Are you married? How’s your grandfather? Y’all still living in English?”

  He laughed a melodious bass that begged for a harmony. The boy’s promise had bloomed.

  “Same old girl, except you got famous.”

  “Oh, not so much.”

  “PawPaw—thanks for asking—went home three years ago, and no, I haven’t found a lady who would have me, and yes, I’m still in English. I’ve doubled its size though, got me a right nice block of black land.”

  “What are you doing? Farming?”

  “Heavens no. Still trying to make a cowboy.”

  She nodded. The old timers and cow punchers all told the same story. Not a one of them ever made it, but they were all still trying.

  “Okay, now that we’ve caught up, what do you think about my house? Is she worth moving? I was thinking of setting her back in the woods a bit, in front of that deep pool daddy dug. You remember it? Should I bulldoze her or find me a carpenter and fix her up?”

  “Of course I remember that pool, and you have found your carpenter. Me. If you want, I’ll have a look see.”

  She studied him as he inspected her childhood home, in and around, up in the attic then even under. “Some damage, but not too bad. Nice-sized beehive in the northeast corner of the attic, but we can smoke them out, no problem.”

  “Think she’d hold together getting moved…? Is she worth the effort?”

  “The house is sound. Shouldn’t give you any trouble. You serious about needing help?”

  “I sure am, definitely. Want the job?” She grinned and was a twelve-year-old again. “But don’t smoke out those bees. Let’s find someone to move ‘em, I’ve always wanted a hive.”

  “Know just the man, librarian’s husband.”

  Chapter Tw o ✞♥♫♪

  Why was she doing this? Had his first love blown into town with a wild hare to fix up the old place and then she’d be gone again? Samuel shrugged. What did he have to lose? “Am I doing it by myself, or can I get some more hands in here?”

  “What do you need?”

  “Labor for sure. I don’t know yet, I’ll need to move her first. The rest depends on how much remodel you want. I can give you a better idea then. I can do most of it myself, but if you’re after speed, I’ll need a crew.”

  “What kind of labor?”

  “Someone who can swing a sledge, a shagger –”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Someone to haul whatever needs to be lugged around.”

  “Oh. What else to get started?”

  “Guess we need to talk money, carpentry pays more than ranch day work.”

  “Oh, I fully suspected it would.”

  For the next few minutes, she sparred with him over how much and exactly when he’d collect his pay, almost like being ten again and playing monopoly with her and her mother. He’d always give her the best side of the negotiations—well, after she insisted.

  He couldn’t remember a more fun time. Those three weeks he spent at her house…the best ever.

  She stuck her hand out. “Deal then?” Then sucked it back. “Oh wait, you added found. What is that exactly?”

  “That means you bring dinner. Old time ranch hand talk.”

  “Okay.” Grinning, she reached back out toward him. “Deal?”

  He studied her fingers, a third again longer than he remembered but just as lovely, long and slender with painted nails. Sure hoped he wasn’t making a big mistake. “What about my labor?”

  “You’re looking at her.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “Well, sure I am. The more I can do, the less it’ll cost me.”

  “You do have enough money, right?”

  “I’ve got a dab, been saving for a while. Plus there’s more on the way if the accountants play fair.”

  He stuck his hand out and grasped hers. Sparks raced from her palm all the way to his heart, as though nothing had changed, but she didn’t seem to feel a thing. How could she still do that to him after so long a time?

  “Deal, but promise me if the dollars run low, I get notice. A week would be nice.”

  “Of course, when can you start?”

  “Tomorrow soon enough?” He kept hold of her hand and gave a slight compulsory shake at every question.

  A tsunami washed over him, the urge to kiss those lips. But he’d been there and wanted no part of getting slapped again, or worse, her running away from him again.

  “Yes, sir, what time?”

  “I’ve got chores first thing every morning. How does six-thirty sound?”

  “Like the middle of the night, but I can be here.”

  “Where you bunkin’?”

  “The Old Courthouse B & B. What do you want for lunch?”

  “I don’t care, but here in the valley, the noon meal is still called dinner.”

  “Right, I’ve been gone too long.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  He released her hand, even though he didn’t want to. Holding on any longer would have been weird. Did he detect a hint of something or was it only because he wanted to? Probably not, though.

  Why would a big time Christian singer be interested in a nobody country cowboy she used to know?

  Besides, now she was his boss, not that she hadn’t always been the boss of him.

  ✞♥♫♪ •*•♪♫✞

  Mary Esther watched him drive away. Mercy, Lord, why was he acting like that? Did he hate her? And that nasty remark about slumming. Why would he say such a thing? What could that be all about?

  Her hand—the one he’d held—of its own accord rose to her nose, and she inhaled. She’d forgotten how good he smelled.

  And six-thirty? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been up at six-thirty ante meridian. Had the man turned into some kind of sadist? Why didn’t she tell him no way? They could start at nine just as easy—what was she thinking?

  Or at least eight-thirty, any more reasonable, civilized time of the morning suited her better.

  Meant getting up at four, ugh. Well, he could forget her doing anything but the basics. She chuckled to herself.

  Wasn’t like he didn’t know what she looked like in the mornings. What a deal her dad and Samuel’s grandfather worked out, her best friend staying with them while they teamed a load to Alaska.

  Best three weeks ever. He did her chores, all she had to do was tag along for the fun of it. He’d start all kind of games to play, even with her mother. While he hated staying in her pinkie pink room, she got to sleep with Mama and they’d talked late into the nights.

  Mary Esther wandered back to her old doorway. The walls still wore her preteen passion for magenta. She smiled, reminiscing, and stepped on down the hall to her parents’ room. Oh, Lord, how she still missed him.

  Why did he have to leave so early? His death changed her life so much. He would never have let Mom haul her off to Irving. Had she stayed put, would she have a house full of babies by now?

  Yeah, right, and be miserable dreaming about a life on the road? She retreated to her car, took one last look at the old place, then headed to town. Turning at the square, she wove her way to the Old Courthouse B&B, her temporary home.

  Once she and Samuel got the old girl livable, that would save her a chunk, even with getting the monthly, no breakfast rate.

  The next morning—or rather in the middle of the night—when her alarm clock so rudely interrupted her deep sleep, she slapped at it, rolled over, and snuggled down. But in no time the loud devil squawked again.

  Barely crawling out of bed, she leaned toward the offensive machine and squinted to focus on the angry red numbers glaring at her: five-fifty-five. What? Three fives, God’s number for grace.

 

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