Grady reached for the cord to turn on the overhead light as he stepped onto the stone floor.
Shelves of home canning and dry goods lined both sides of the rock-walled space. At the far wall, a couple of old bureaus stood on either side of the hot water heater, and Grady crossed to them, opening drawers until he found one loaded with string, coils of wire and a few basic hand tools. An ancient bottle of wood glue lay on its side.
He started back up the creaky stairs with the bottle. Another project he’d tackle before he left.
After gluing the peg back in place and checking to see if the others needed reinforcing, Grady opened the fridge and pulled out a beer, then put it back and closed the door again. His stomach was still in a knot, and beer wasn’t going to change that. Hammering might, though, so he changed into his work clothes. He planned to head over to Hennessey’s ranch to take a look at the practice bulls later that afternoon, but he had time to knock some of the damaged wood off the frame of the barn before he left.
His sister had really had an odd run of luck over the past few months. The company where she’d worked for five years folded, and while she’d found a part-time job, she still hadn’t found a full-time position that paid well enough to support her small family. The cows she’d hoped to sell to tide her over had come down with an ailment that required quarantine, and then, to top things off, a freak tornado had torn through the area, knocking down hundred-year-old trees and damaging only two buildings in the entire valley—Annie’s garage and small barn. That was when his sister had started to crumble, and Grady knew he had to come home.
He and Annie owned the place outright and hadn’t insured the buildings for replacement value, so he was the one doing the rebuilding and watching the girls while Annie went to work part-time at the library. He had a feeling that babysitting was going to be more of a workout than riding practice bulls. The girls took after him, it seemed. Lots of energy and lots of ideas.
Despite his dark mood, he smiled as he grabbed his work gloves. He didn’t want to see his nieces become bull riders—too much risk—but he was going to see to it that they got a proper foundation in whatever they chose to funnel all that energy into. Annie and the girls were all he had right now, and he was going to make certain their lives were good.
* * *
DANIELLE GATHERED UP delicate floral teacups—she’d gotten out the good china for her wedding gown summit—and carefully hand-washed them while Lex studied the photos on the table. The five women had not come to a consensus as to which wedding dress could best be altered for the ceremony, and Lex wasn’t certain they ever would.
“The 1980s is out.” She pushed the photo aside.
“Agreed,” Danielle said with feeling.
“Which one do you like?” Lex asked. Danielle had spent most of the meeting pointing out the merits of each dress and trying not to hurt feelings, so Lex had no idea what she was really thinking. Danielle excelled at tact.
“I like Great-granny’s, but she’s smaller than me and I don’t think it’ll work.” Great-granny’s was the best of the group. Designed in the mid-1940s, when fabric rationing had still been in effect, it was made of heavy satin, with a narrow skirt, a sweetheart neckline and broad shoulders that could be altered fairly easily. Or so Danielle said. Lex knew little about sewing.
“Which leaves mid-1960s.” Lex shrugged. “It’s not a bad dress.” It had a waistline and full skirt. Lots of lace and satin...but it wasn’t the right kind of dress for Danielle, who was toned and leggy and needed a simpler body-skimming dress.
Danielle wiped her hands on an embroidered towel. “How am I going to tell them that I want my own gown?”
“By taking a deep breath and blurting out the words?”
Danielle nodded and sat at the table, idly picking up the photo of the 1980s dress. “Mom was beautiful, even if the shoulders on this dress make her look as if she’s about to go out for a pass.”
“I see no way you could alter this dress and have any of it left.”
“Pretty much I would rip the sleeves off.”
“And the butt ruffle?”
“Definitely out.” Danielle set down a photo and met Lex’s gaze. “Who was at the door earlier?”
There was no sense hedging. “Grady.”
“I thought so. I recognized the sound of the truck. Did he tell you what he wanted?”
“To see you. Sorry if I overstepped by sending him on his way. I didn’t want to upset anyone.”
“No. I’m glad you did.” An unreadable look flickered across Danielle’s face, followed by a sigh. “I guess I need to see him before he hits the road again.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I did break up with him over the phone.” And she’d made the right choice, but that hadn’t kept her from feeling bad for weeks afterward. He’d chosen rodeo over her. Hard to forgive that, but Danielle was the forgiving sort. Far more so than Lex.
“You owe him nothing.”
“I know,” Danielle said simply.
There was a lot more Lex wanted to say on the subject, but why? When push came to shove, it wasn’t her business—even though she never wanted to see Danielle that unhappy again. Ever.
“I need to get home,” she said. “The menagerie will be hungry.” She stood and picked up her rhinestone-studded leather bag—one of the top sellers at their Western-themed store, Annie Get Your Gun. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
They met every Wednesday to discuss business, drink tea and share any gossip that Danielle picked up from her grandmother, who owned the building where their boutique was located. But all the gossip had already been passed along during the wedding dress summit, so the meeting would be all business tomorrow.
“Great. I’m looking forward to some nonwedding talk.”
“That works for me.” Lex gave the photos one last look, then met Danielle’s eyes. “Be strong.” She was talking about both wedding gowns and ex-fiancés.
“Always.”
Lex certainly hoped so.
Lex tried not to worry about Danielle on the drive home, but the Owen Farm was halfway between her place and Danielle’s, so it was hard not to worry when she drove by and caught sight of Grady’s truck parked behind the wind-damaged barn. He’d been driving that same truck since high school—not that he’d been home to drive it even once during the past two years. It was as if after Danielle had given him his walking orders, he’d given up on Gavin, Montana, and the people there.
She pulled into her long driveway, smiled as the horses, knowing that they were about to be fed, cantered across the pasture. She loved her ranch, hated that she was now on it alone. But it wasn’t being alone that bothered her—it was the fact that her father was never coming back that ruined her. It’d been just her and her dad for so long that it was still hard to accept that he wasn’t there.
During the school year, when he’d been on the bull-riding circuit fighting bulls, doing his best to keep a half-ton animal from stomping the cowboy that had just ridden him, she’d often stayed with Danielle’s family. After Lex hit high school, she became the farm-sitter during the school year. When summer came, she’d traveled with her dad. By necessity, the father-daughter trips had become fewer and farther between after she’d gotten her first real job, but as luck would have it, she had been there for the final trip. The one when he’d died in the arena—not from a bull injury,