Wanted!. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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Liebovitz has done some fine work. Her portrait of John Lennon and Yoko Ono is outstanding.”
“I’m not in that class, Ms. Simms.”
Mary Lou chuckled. “It’s Miss Simms, and I’m proud of it. Never could see the point in marrying a man, although I’ve had my share of lovers. Couldn’t have kids—lousy plumbing—so why tie myself down to a husband?”
“Sounds right to me.” When Dominique had researched her trip to Wyoming she’d learned that it was the first state to give women the vote, and if Mary Lou was typical of the female population, Dominique could see why.
“Enough discussion,” Mary Lou said. “My beef stew and corn bread aren’t getting any better while we stand around yakking. I’ll go make sure there’s something left, but I’ll ask you not to dawdle getting to the dining room.” She bustled back down the hallway.
“I’ll be there with bells on,” Dominique called out after her.
Nick lowered his voice as the two of them followed in Mary Lou’s wake. “Now that’s the kind of response I was looking for.”
“Let me put it this way. Mary Lou’s beef stew and corn bread is a whole lot safer option than spending an evening on the dance floor with you.”
NICK’S MOTHER HAD designed the large dining room twenty years ago when the kitchen’s plank table became too small to hold the family and all the ranch hands for the midday meal. Breakfast and dinner were served to the hands in the bunkhouse, while the family ate in a smaller, more intimate dining room, but Last Chance tradition dictated that everyone get together for lunch. Grandpa Archie had declared it was the best way to find out how the day was going for everyone.
The dining room was located at the far end of the left wing and had windows on three sides. Nick didn’t often really look at it, but today, because of Dominique, he tried to see it as she would. He had to believe she’d like the arrangement.
Instead of one long trestle table, Sarah Chance had chosen four round wooden tables, each of which sat eight people. The ranch averaged a dozen employees, so the room was seldom filled, but it could be when horse buyers were in town.
Today about half the seats were empty. Nick chose a different table from the one Dominique picked, but positioned himself where he could watch her. If he’d been concerned about whether she’d feel comfortable walking into a roomful of men, he shouldn’t have worried. She acted as if she sat down with ranch hands every day of the week.
Then he realized she’d have to be good at talking to strangers, both men and women. She took portraits for a living. Part of the photographer’s skill lay in getting the subject to relax.
Nick wondered if she’d be inspired to take pictures of any of the other cowboys in the room. He didn’t want her to do that, which was ungenerous on his part. She had the right to take as many pictures of cowboys as she wanted, and create a one-woman show with those photos in her bedroom back in Indianapolis if she liked.
He needed to accept her decision to have nothing more to do with him. But he couldn’t help thinking that if Jack hadn’t interrupted them, she might not be as jumpy about getting together. Nick could have eased her into the situation rather than have Jack be the black cloud raining on their parade.
Speaking of Jack, Nick didn’t see him in the dining room. But Emmett Sterling, the fifty-something ranch foreman, happened to be sitting at the same table as Nick. Nick unfolded his cloth napkin, a dining room staple Mary Lou insisted on, and glanced at him. “Where’s Jack?”
Emmett, whose salt-and-pepper hair, craggy features and solid build marked him as a man to be reckoned with, put down his spoon and picked up his coffee mug. “Ate fast and left. Said something about checking on Calamity Jane.”
That was damned irritating news. “I checked her this morning. I give her at least another two or three days.” He didn’t appreciate Jack’s behavior.
By announcing that he was going to see about the pregnant mare, Jack was implying Nick wasn’t doing his job. Calamity Jane was Nick’s responsibility and he was on top of it. She wasn’t due for another week and had shown no signs of giving birth in the next twenty-four hours.
“Jack was just looking for an excuse to head for the barn,” Emmett said. “He doesn’t like hanging around during lunch.”
“He used to.” Nick glanced up to thank Mary Lou for putting a steaming bowl of stew in front of him.
“Are we talking about Jack?” Mary Lou plopped another basket of corn bread muffins on the table. “That boy isn’t eating right and he acts like somebody shoved pinto beans up his nose.”
“Or shoved them somewhere else,” Emmett said with an evil grin. “Believe me, I’ve had the urge a time or two. What are we going to do about him, Nick?”
Nick glanced around at the expectant faces of the men at the table. “Damned if I know. Get him laid?” His response got the reaction he’d hoped for. Everybody had a good laugh, and most likely forgot their grievances against Jack, at least temporarily.
Emmett picked up a muffin and broke it in half. “Good luck with that. I think Jack’s taken himself permanently off the market.”
Nick thought so, too. His brother had been in town playing bedroom games with his girlfriend the day their father died. Although he had agreed to help their dad pick up a filly from a neighboring ranch, he’d begged off, claiming that a storm was coming and they should wait until the end of the week.
Their stubborn dad, who hadn’t much liked Jack’s girlfriend in the first place, had driven off to fetch the filly by himself. The storm had hit, making the roads slick.
Ironically, the filly, a brown-and-white paint named Bertha Mae, had survived the crash. Nick had doctored her minor wounds but nobody had ridden her since the accident.
Emmett leaned toward Nick. “Who’s that good-looking woman you’re keeping tabs on?”
And here Nick had thought he’d been subtle about it. “Her name’s Dominique Jeffries. She’s a photographer from Indianapolis. The Bunk and Grub ran out of room.”
Emmett stroked his graying mustache. “Have you ever noticed that whenever the Bunk and Grub is overbooked, we always get the good-looking women over here? I can’t remember ever getting a guy, or a couple, or a family with kids.”
Nick had to agree that was true. “Maybe it’s just easier to relocate a single person, and if you think about it, Pam doesn’t get many single guys at the Bunk and Grub. I’ll bet she has mostly couples and single women. If I were her, I’d move the singles to an alternate location before I’d move a couple, although I suppose that’s some sort of discrimination.”
“Your explanation is perfectly logical,” Emmett said. “But my gut’s telling me that Pam’s trying to fix up those ladies with a cowpoke. Or fix up the cowboys with a tourist. I guess it could be either. Or both.”
“I think it’s pure coincidence.” Nick took another bite of stew.
“Think what you want.” Emmett helped himself to more cornbread. “Oh, and by the way, that Jeffries woman is spending as much time checking you out as you’ve spent checking her out. I think you need to ask her to dinner.”
Nick had known Emmett all his life, so there was no point in trying to maintain his manly rep with the guy. “I did ask her,” he said. “She turned me down.”
“And now she’s looking at you as if you’re the last piece of chocolate in the box. If I were you, I’d ask her again.”
Nick shook his head. “I made my offer. The next move is strictly up to her.” Swallowing another mouthful of stew, he decided to abandon the field. Let her come and find him if she’d changed her mind.
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