Rodeo Father. Mary Sullivan
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she shopped for next week’s groceries. In the produce section, she found marked-down overripe bananas that would make an excellent bread.
She picked up fruits and vegetables on special and root vegetables in season.
A huge bag of lentils was on sale. Good source of protein. She bypassed the expensive sugary cereals and instant oatmeal to pick up a bag of rolled oats. By the time she finished, she had an economical, nourishing menu planned for the weekend and coming week for herself and her daughter.
Maybe I should get a small steak to share with Tori. Her mother was always on her case about eating meat for the baby, and Tori was a growing girl who needed protein.
She perused the packages, but the prices worried her. She picked up one minuscule steak, shuffling along the counter to see if there was a better deal, until she ran smack dab into a hard body.
She looked up.
Travis Read. Here. In the grocery store.
Good grief. Was her heart going to do somersaults every time she met him? Or bumped into him? Literally.
He grasped one of her upper arms to steady her, his big palm warm even through Davey’s thick old jacket.
“I’m sorry!” Her heart thumped at just the sight of him let alone the touch of those long fingers. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Rachel’s skin seemed to constrict until it was a size too small for her body.
“No problem,” he said. “No harm done.”
The thick honey of his deep voice flowed along her nerves. Her pulse skittered a foolish teenage girl’s dance in her mature woman’s body.
Travis had a great mouth, finely shaped with a firm outline. How would his lips feel on hers? Would his kiss be more refined than Davey’s had been? Her husband’s kisses had been long on enthusiasm and short on finesse. She had a feeling Travis loved on a whole different level.
Get a grip, Rach.
“You okay?” Travis asked. He glanced down.
Too late, she remembered she’d opened her jacket when she’d entered the store. Her shirt wasn’t maternity and didn’t fit properly. Only the top three buttons were done up, and the bottom of the shirt splayed over her big belly.
Her nicer maternity jeans were hung up at home, waiting for her to put them on for work.
The pants she had on now, a pair she’d bought secondhand, were already worn out from her first pregnancy. The belly panel was stretched to the max, showing white flecks where the elastic had broken.
Good grief.
The silence went on too long. “You made it to the Double U?”
“Yeah. Made it there just fine.”
A dark shadow painted his strong jawline. He smelled of citrus. His body generated heat.
She stepped away.
Come down to earth, she scolded herself.
She dropped the one barely there steak she’d picked up onto her discounted vegetables and lentils. His basket held seven steaks. Seven!
Her economic situation had never embarrassed her in the past. Frustrated her? Oh, yeah. But caused her shame? No. It had merely been a fact of her life. It disconcerted her now, though.
Neither of them had said anything for a while. Their silence fell into truly awkward, uncomfortable territory.
“Don’t forget to add some vegetables,” she blurted.
Cripes, small talk had never stressed her out before. She could usually talk the paint off a barn door, yet here she stood with her mouth gone as dry as a popcorn fart.
Travis sidled away from her, hefting the basket with a rueful kick up of one side of his mouth. “Yeah, guess I’ll grab a few potatoes.”
“And greens.” Brilliant conversation, Rach.
He grimaced. “Maybe.”
She managed a reasonable facsimile of a grin. “Which means you won’t.”
His sweet fraction of a shy smile made a brief appearance.
He doffed his hat and left. “See you ’round town, Rachel.”
She watched him stride away.
The phrase salt of the earth came to mind. Travis Read would fit in well in Rodeo, maybe better than she did. After all, she wasn’t much of a cowgirl. She didn’t ride horses, and she didn’t live on a ranch.
She loved Montana, though, and loved her town with all of her heart. Rachel adored its basic, varied, salt-of-the-earth residents. She was working her fingers to the bone on next summer’s fair to keep the town alive and make it prosperous again.
Tamping down her wayward daydreams, she paid for her purchases.
At home, she poured a glass of OJ, taking it and an oatmeal muffin outside to soak up the rays of what might be one of the last good days of autumn.
She sat on the porch step—porch being a generous term for the slice of tilting wood and two steps hammered together under the front door of her mom’s trailer.
Sunlight flooding the valley reflected off the tarnished white wood siding of the Victorian across the road.
Rachel sighed. She missed Abigail Montgomery, her elderly friend. Her death, days after Davey’s, had been devastating. Worst time of her life.
She’d lost too much six months ago. Thoughts of her big, irrepressible Davey... Whew! Those could still bring her to her knees.
She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked. She missed him every night.
She’d already cried a river for him, and for Abigail, but she had a life to live and children to raise. She needed her good spirits to help shoulder her burdens.
Veering away from her grief before it brought on tears, she concentrated on the Victorian.
Her every-second-of-the-day dream about owning that house perked her up, rerouting her thoughts away from devastating memories.
To everyone else in Rodeo, the aging home looked like a run-down romantic anomaly in the Western landscape, but to Rachel it was perfect.
But then, romantic notions and daydreams had always been her downfall, hadn’t they?
Davey had never known about this particular dream. She’d wanted to surprise him with a fait accompli. Look, honey, I bought us a house.
Any day now it would be hers. She hadn’t heard even a whisper about whether Abigail’s British relatives were going to put it up for sale, but why wouldn’t they?
It was useless to them.
She’d scrimped and saved until she had just shy of five thousand dollars in change and small bills hidden in her closet.
Dumb spot to keep her money, but she and Davey had had a joint bank account. Had he known about this money, he would have siphoned off every spare cent for his motorcycle passion...or for treating his friends to beer every Friday night...or for chewing through money like it was cereal.
Davey had had those great big hands that could love her with enthusiasm, but they were a pair of sieves where money was concerned.
She should roll the change and count the money soon and get it into the bank. Later. Right now she needed these moments of rest.
The pretty trills of a horned lark on Abigail’s land floated across to her on the late-October breeze.
No one else in town would want that house.
There was no way there would be a speck of competition. It needed work.
It would be hers. It could have been hers a lot sooner had she married someone more practical.