One of the longtime hands at Straight Arrow Ranch, Cam had evidently known Ann from childhood. How else could he have gotten away with calling her pet names?
“You always did like fancy duds, Freckles,” Cam declared, strolling up to the harvester where Dean and Ann stood talking. “Oo-ee! You bought them boots right outta the window of the Western wear store up there in Duncan, didn’t you? Why, them things been there nigh on thirty years, I reckon.” He grinned at Dean, shaking his head. “Just goes to show that something’ll come back in style if you wait long enough, don’t it?”
Dean kept his jaw clamped and rubbed his nose, while Ann turned red. She lifted her chin and seemed about to turn on her heel when Donovan ran up behind her. He just naturally threw his arms around her thighs and hugged her, startling a high, shocked yip out of her. To Donovan, anyone he saw more than twice was a close, personal friend.
“Hello!” he sang, swinging around her body as if she were a maypole, a long-legged maypole wearing hideous boots.
She recovered quickly, smiled and smoothed a hand across Donovan’s back. “Hello. Where’s your dog?”
For an answer, Donovan put his head back and yelled, “Digger!” The dog bolted from somewhere to the boy’s side. “Here he is.”
“That’s one fine dog,” Cam declared enviously. “Show her what he can do.”
Thinking that it might take her mind off the boots and Donovan’s unorthodox greeting, Dean complied. He put Digger through a series of tricks then nodded to Donovan.
“Ready?” Donovan fell to his knees. “Digger, protect!” Dean commanded.
Instantly the dog knocked the boy to the ground and stood over him with all four legs, growling, teeth bared, while Donovan lay still beneath the animal.
“Digger, safe!” Dean said.
The dog moved to sit beside the boy, its tongue lolling happily from its mouth. Donovan hugged and petted the dog, crooning softly to it.
“That’s amazing,” Ann said.
“Wish I had me a dog like that,” Cam said, not for the first time. “You ought to think about training dogs for a living, Dean.”
Dean chuckled. “Not much call for that around here, I imagine.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Ann said. “Lots of local farmers and ranchers use herding dogs. They might be interested in the kind of protective training Digger has.”
Dean shrugged. “You can’t train just the dog. You have to train the owner, too.”
Donovan got up, and Dean went to dust him off, but Ann reached him before Dean did.
“How does your mama manage your laundry?” she asked, ruffling his hair.
“Don’t got a mama,” Donovan announced baldly. “Grandma does my laundry.”
“And a chore it is, too,” Dean said quickly, whacking dirt from Donovan’s bottom. “Run and get the water jug now. We’ve got work to do.”
Donovan nodded, but he stood looking up at Ann for a second longer. “I like your boots,” he said before taking off with Digger on his heels.
“Thank you,” she called after him, turning a wry smile on Dean. He had to clear his throat and swallow to keep from laughing as he turned toward the cab of the harvester.
Cam said, “That reminds me. I need to check the water in the east range.” He ambled off toward the four-wheeler that Rex had recently purchased.
Dean traded his cowboy hat for the ball cap then turned toward the combine. To his surprise, he felt Ann’s hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to find her biting her lip.
“Um, obviously I could use some...guidance.”
Guidance. Somehow he thought this could be a momentous admission for Ann Jollett Billings. Letting go of the rails, he turned to face her.
“About?”
She looked down at her toes then up at him. “I’ve been away from the ranch for a long time. Obviously I don’t have a clue about what boots to buy.”
The grin he’d been trying to hold back since she’d first climbed out of her dad’s old truck broke free at last. “They sure saw you coming, didn’t they?”
She smacked him in the shoulder, which made him laugh. Then she laughed, too.
“They were in the window. I thought they were the latest style. I didn’t even look at anything else.”
“I hope they were cheap, at least.”
“I don’t know.” She told him what she’d paid, and he nodded.
“Cheap enough.” He considered a moment and made a decision. “I’ve got to take Donovan shopping for school supplies tomorrow. If you want to come along, we’ll see about getting you into a proper pair of boots.”
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”
“Donovan would love it if you came,” Dean pointed out, “especially as Digger will have to stay home.” He shook his head. “The truth is, I’m not sure how he’s going to manage school without Digger. Donovan was eighteen months old when we got that dog. I’m having to find ways to wean them apart.”
“I see. Well, if you’re sure.”
“I’ll work till noon,” he told her. “Then we’d planned to grab lunch in town and go shopping after that. Sound okay to you?”
To his surprise, she nodded. “Sounds fine. Thanks. I’ll be ready.”
“Saturday it is,” he told her, turning away again. He climbed up into the cab and tried not to be too obvious about watching her walk back to her truck.
Something about the way a woman walked in a pair of jeans and boots, even ugly boots, made a man sit up and take notice. Like he hadn’t noticed before this. To his disgust, he’d noticed when she’d worn a softball uniform and cleats. Not that it mattered. The woman was engaged to be married, after all, and on her way back to Dallas and her hotshot career as soon as her dad could do without her.
Sighing, Dean straightened his sunglasses as his son ran toward him, hauling the heavy water jug by its handle. He reached down a hand for the water jug as Donovan shoved it toward him. He stashed the jug in a corner then helped Donovan scramble up into the cab of the harvester before following him and settling into the operator’s seat.
Donovan leaned against his back and said straight into his ear, “She sure is pretty, ain’t she, Dad?”
He meant Ann, of course. Donovan had been playing pint-size matchmaker since Ann had literally caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. For the past year or more, since he’d come to understand what going to school really meant, Donovan had gone on the lookout for a mom. Dean figured it was as much concern about him being on his own during the time Donovan would be in school as it was the boy’s natural desire for a mother. The boy didn’t realize that most husbands and wives spent relatively little time together and that almost no fathers were blessed with the almost constant companionship of their children.
Dean mentally sorted through a number of possible replies, everything from correcting Donovan’s grammar to playing dumb. In the end he chose casual honesty.
“She’s pretty.”
“And you like red hair, don’cha?”
“I do. But you realize that she doesn’t actually live here, right?”
“Huh?”
“She’s just visiting, son. Before long she’ll go on back to where she came from and stay there.”
“Huh. Is it a long ways off?”
“Yep.