Noah reflected. Did he know anyone like that? Nope. He sighed, and cracked the top on his can of beer, his second. He was sitting on the darkened veranda and just about to go in because the mosquitoes had finally found him when he saw the lights of Jesse’s pickup coming slowly down the long grade that led to the ranch. He glanced at his watch. Nearly nine. His collie dog jumped up and barked twice, as she always did when she heard Jesse’s truck. Jesse’s stray howled in the distance. This was the wild dog his brother had found a year before at the side of the highway, injured, and had befriended and half-tamed. No one else on the ranch could get near it. Champ, Jesse called the animal, although he and Carl never called it anything but Jesse’s stray.
That settled it. His brother was back, presumably with the fiancée.
Where did that put Noah? He wasn’t sure. He raised his beer and took his feet down from the railing where he’d been resting them, sitting tipped back on the old rocker. His boots made a solid thump on the wooden deck of the veranda. He could hardly saunter on down and introduce himself to the happy pair this evening.
He’d better leave it until Jesse brought her over, maybe tomorrow. Should he do anything in particular for the new couple? Social-wise? Invite a few neighbors? Barbecue? Too early for that; the bugs would kill them. He’d have to get the house cleaned up, which was a drag. Noah was no social animal; the thought of a party, dinner or otherwise, paralyzed him. Maybe he could ask someone else to handle it for him. Who? Donna Beaton? He’d dated her a while back but they’d split amicably months ago. Donna would do it, though, if he asked her. It was the kind of thing Donna was good at.
But he’d sure hate for any notion to get out that he and Donna were an item again. Because they weren’t. He’d backed off with Donna when he realized there was no future to their relationship. Not that either of them wanted any future together, nor did he want a long-term relationship without marriage. First thing you knew, a fellow could end up with all the obligations and none of the perks. He didn’t want to be married, though. Still, at his age—he was pushing thirty-five—it was getting to be a real nuisance wining and dining a lady as a preliminary to getting into her bed once in a while. Then, if the lady was the sensitive type, there was all that trouble extricating yourself from a relationship you knew was a dead end without hurting her feelings.
Damn. Noah sighed again. Maybe Jesse had it figured out, after all. Sow plenty of wild oats, then settle down and start harvesting some of the crop.
He saw the lights go on in his brother’s house and heard his dogs barking an enthusiastic welcome. He could mostly hear Stella, the little terrier-heeler cross, his brother’s favorite. He glanced over to Brandis’s trailer, which they’d gotten ready for Abby Steen, midway between his house and his brother’s. The windows were dark; the fridge was stocked; there were brand-new sheets on the bed. Jesse’d seen to it, at Noah’s suggestion. Noah hadn’t checked. It was none of his business. He just hoped the fridge held more than Big Rock lager and frozen pizza.
He stood abruptly, draining his beer, and walked into the house. He turned on the hall light, then flicked it off again and climbed the stairs to his bedroom in the dark. Cold and alone, in a bed that probably hadn’t been made properly since—when? Since Challa had left? Noah had had a one-time experience with a live-in lover in his mid-twenties. Finally Challa had gotten fed up with his dithering—should they get married, shouldn’t they?—and gone home. She was married now to a man from her reserve, a Stoney, and had two kids, last he’d heard. They lived west of Pincher Creek; her man was foreman at one of the big ranches down there. He hoped she was happy.
Oh well, cold and alone or not, he’d do what he usually did—read for a while, maybe, then try and get some sleep. He was meeting a man in town tomorrow, early, around eight o’clock at the Chickadee Café, someone who might do some custom seeding for him next month. He had an interview with the banker, as well, his regular twice-a-year talk. Then there was this business of Jesse and his bride-to-be.
He’d better ask them to dinner, at least. Someone had to take charge of the social niceties, and he was pretty sure his brother wasn’t going to do it.
“SAY, NOAH! Lookee here—”
Noah poured himself another cup of coffee from the counter machine without turning around. He recognized the voice—Wilf van Rijn. One of the dairy farmers just northeast of town. Leisurely, Noah picked up a fresh blueberry muffin from the plate near the coffee machine and nodded to Tina, the waitress behind the counter. She’d put it on his bill.
“Yeah?” He finally turned.
Wilf held up the newspaper he was reading, the Calgary Herald, a big grin on his face. He shook the paper. “Right here in the classifieds. A wife for you. City gal.”
A couple of the other men glanced up and chuckled. A few slid their eyes toward Noah, who was walking back to the booth he’d chosen. The fellow he was meeting this morning was late. It was already quarter past.
Noah smiled. It was a never-ending joke. Some of the local farmers had decided it was time he got married. Perhaps it was true what they said, that misery liked company. Two of the men’s wives were enjoying dalliances around the district—one with a hydro lineman and one with the vet’s assistant. It wasn’t exactly a secret; it was also none of his business.
“So, what you got there, Wilf?” he asked good-humoredly. He’d considered mentioning Jesse’s upcoming nuptials to take the spotlight off himself, but thought better of it. Now was not the time. He hadn’t even met the bride-to-be yet When he’d driven past the trailer this morning, he’d noticed the blinds were shut. That was a good sign. It meant she was sleeping in her own bed—although why the hell he should care about that now, he didn’t know. At least it indicated Jesse had taken him seriously when he’d warned about the gossip there’d be, which was some consolation in this whole mess.
“Listen to this—‘wanted, long-term partner, nonsmoker’—that’d be you, Noah—” Van Rijn glanced up, grinning, then returned to the newspaper column “—‘social drinker, enjoys dancing and going for walks in the country’—” The whole room erupted in a roar of male laughter.
“‘Loves Shania Twain and Garth Brooks’—” Another hoot. Noah smiled.
“‘Likes to cuddle on long winter nights.’ Oh, that’s good. ‘GWF’—say, what’s that mean? ‘G-W-F’?” Van Rijn glanced up, a puzzled expression on his broad good-natured face.
“Means she ain’t looking for no man, Wilf,” someone offered. The room erupted in laughter again.
“Well, he-ell,” the farmer finished ruefully, folding up the paper and setting it on the table in front of him. “It said ‘partner.’ Don’t say I didn’t try, Noah. I’m lookin’ out for your marital interests, like always....” He winked at the others and they all smiled and returned to their coffee mugs and plates of fried eggs and potatoes.
As did Noah. “Thanks, Wilf. I appreciate your interest—say. there’s Millard now.” The man he was meeting was just approaching the outer door.
Five minutes later, he was deep in conversation with Gene Millard, the operator he hoped to hire for some custom seeding next month, and the café banter was forgotten. It wasn’t as though that was the first time he’d been through that particular conversation. He got a version of it whenever he showed up in town early for coffee, about the time all the other farmers were having a café breakfast before starting their business in town.
WHEN NOAH GOT HOME, he noticed that Jesse’s pickup wasn’t in his driveway and there was no sign of activity at his bungalow, beyond the usual barking dogs. The blinds on the trailer were up.
It was after one o’clock. Maybe the lovebirds had gone out for lunch somewhere. Like Noah, Jesse wasn’t the world’s best cook.
Noah parked in his usual spot beside his house and got out, stretching first and then bending