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“I have never seen anything so ridiculous in my whole life,” Deenie stated.
The three cowboys favored her with a baleful stare. She plopped into a chair and stared at the TV screen, where it was Greg Norman’s turn to putt. “Now, there’s a man who probably knows what to do with his putter,” she said to the room at large.
Bailey turned and gave Deenie her most disgusted frown. “Deenie, could you please make yourself useful and bring me some ice? Since you’re acquainted with the kitchen?”
This she directed his way, Michael noticed with displeasure. “I’ll get it,” he said quickly, not wanting Bailey to think he was helpless the way her father had been. “You stay right there,” he said to Deenie.
“I’ll wait for you, Michael,” she murmured with a sweet smile for Bailey’s sake.
He couldn’t be bothered with that silly remark. Fred was clearly in pain, so he hurried off to do Bailey’s bidding. When he returned, she had the putter unplugged, Fred’s foot elevated against an ottoman, and she was peering up his ankle into the cup.
“Maybe I should take a look,” Michael offered.
“No!” Fred cried. “Don’t let him, Bailey! He’ll leave my toes in there!”
“Michael!” Bailey’s glance was stern. “I can handle this! You’re just making matters worse, upsetting poor Fred.”
“I—” He held out the ice in a plastic container. He’d been trying to assist her, and already she thought he was a lost cause. Poor Fred, indeed. He was milking Bailey’s warmth and sunshine like a professional con man.
“What a crybaby!” Deenie leaned back in the chair and curled her legs underneath her. “I’ve fallen off horses and not cried as loud as you are.”
“Maybe it’s because once you had that lobotomy, you lost all feeling,” someone muttered under his or her breath.
“Who said that?” Michael demanded. He couldn’t tell, but he didn’t think it had been Bailey. Her eyes were amazingly serene and innocent. “There’s no reason for rudeness.”
Bailey sighed. “Michael, maybe you could take Deenie to the kitchen and get her a glass of tea. I think Fred could relax more if his every move wasn’t being scrutinized. I’ll have him out of this raccoon trap in a jiff.”
She really did think he was helpless. And in his own house! “All right,” Michael said, defeated. “Deenie, let’s head back to the kitchen.”
“Gladly.” She shot Bailey a pleased smile as she exited the room.
Bailey patted Fred’s cheek when they were gone. “You nearly got yourself in big trouble.”
“I know.” His lips were pinched with pain. “I’m not the kindest person when I don’t feel good. I broke my arm once when the old man was alive, and as he was taking me to the hospital, I told him what a sorry-ass, son of—”
“I get your drift.” Bailey smiled at him. “I’m not myself when I don’t feel good, either. Most people aren’t.”
“Is he going to have to go to the hospital?” Curly asked worriedly. “He doesn’t like it much when he goes. Doesn’t care for women in white—nurses or brides.”
“No.” Gingerly, she put her fingers into the cup and felt where Fred’s toes were obstructed.
“We tried poking tongs in there, but he hollered something fierce and my fingers are too durn big,” Chili said sorrowfully. “We knew you could probably do the trick.”
“And this once, I can.” Gently, she released Fred’s toes and slid the device off, revealing red and angry marks on his skin. “You’d better keep your foot up for a while.”
He scooched to a chair and heaved himself in it. Curly propped a pillow underneath his friend’s foot. “Shoo! I thought I was going to lose a toe! Bless you, Miss Bailey.”
“You’re welcome, Fred.” She got to her feet. “I’d better get home. If you don’t mind, Chili, I think I’ll go out the front door instead of the kitchen door.”
“I’d rather myself,” he agreed. “She’s an alligator!”
Bailey laughed but hurt all the more for knowing that Michael must like the Rodeo Queen if he was eating her pie, from her fork, no less. “You fellows be careful. Good night.”
“Good night!” Curly and Fred called.
Chili opened the front door, motioning her through before he closed it behind them.
“You don’t have to walk me home, Chili.”
“I’d never let a lady make her way in the dark alone.”
“All right.” She tried not to think of all the times she’d slid out of Michael’s bed before dawn—before the children awakened and looked for her, before anyone might see her truck and before he’d need to get up to tend his chores. Michael had never once offered to even walk her down the stairs. “Chili, do you think he likes her?” she asked, unable to help herself.
“Nope. I think he likes you,” he said eagerly, obviously comfortable in a Dear Abby role, “if he could just figure out how to tell ya, I just know he would.”
“Why do you think so?” Bailey’s heart beat faster with hope.
“I dunno. Just a funny feeling I had that Michael thought pretty much of you.”
“He didn’t like Fred’s lobotomy remark.” Michael had taken up for Deenie fast.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t like rudeness for much of any reason. Michael believes his every emotion should be kept under lock and key. ’Course, most folks can’t live that way.”
She sure couldn’t! She felt like she might blow up from the thought of Deenie putting her lips where she’d put her fork—Michael’s mouth. But he was right. Just because Deenie was being a pain didn’t mean anyone else should follow her lead. She wished she were better at being like Michael. Maybe she wouldn’t be hurting so much right now. Fred had only given voice to the very thoughts Bailey had been guilty of thinking about Deenie.
So she took Chili’s assurance that Michael liked her as comfort, even though she didn’t believe it wholeheartedly. Michael had never had her over in the light of day.
“The question is, do you like him?”
She felt the cowboy’s cagey gaze on her face. If she wasn’t careful, she might reveal more than she should—and she didn’t want her secret sprung on Michael until she had a chance to tell him herself. “I…I don’t know. I’m not sure he’s looking for anyone to like him,” she replied carefully.
“He’s not good at romance, Bailey. Women are not Michael’s specialty.”
“You could have fooled me!” Bailey shot back.
“Oh, don’t let Deenie stir your pot. She’s a mantrap. Mind you, he’s going to be long in figuring out how to tell you how he feels, if he ever does,” Chili stated. “You’ll have to be mighty patient, more patient than a saint, Bailey. Michael won’t let his feelings just spew out of him like a valve letting off. But given enough time, you just might win the day. That is, if you want him.”
Oh, I do. Bailey closed her eyes. She’d been patient for six months, all her life, really, hoping Michael would learn to love her. Say the words she wanted to hear.
She’d simply run out of time.
DEENIE AND MICHAEL watched Chili help Bailey over the wooden cross-timber fence that separated the two properties. Bailey barely made it over before the youngest Dixons met her, jumping around her like anxious puppies. The cries of greeting to their big sister could be heard by anyone within a ten-mile radius.
“That place is the Indigent Ranch,” Deenie said scornfully. “The county ought to condemn that house. Why don’t the Dixons move if they can’t take care of the place? I don’t believe they’ve ever fixed a shingle on the dump the hundred years it’s been barely standing. Really, Michael, it’s such an eyesore next to your lovely home.”
She glanced at her rhinestone-covered blue jean jacket, which sparkled and flashed in the light, like her teeth and blond hair. Deenie was all-over perfection, a showgirl.
Michael wistfully thought about Bailey’s warmth and caring. If the two women’s lives were reversed, Bailey would be thinking about how she could do something to help Deenie, not put her down because of her lack of money. But Deenie had always been attracted to that which counted on the surface, which looked great on the outside. He supposed most folks were. Which made Bailey all the more special. He admired her for taking on the responsibilities of a brother who wasn’t cut out for being head of a family and for shouldering the burden of overseeing such a large household. It had to be harder than anything he was doing, Michael thought with some discomfort.
“Go easy on Bailey, Deenie. She’s had it rough since her mom and dad died.”
“She’s had it rough all her life.” Deenie shook her head. “I feel sorry for her. But you’ve got to admit, Michael, Bailey brings a lot of her misery on herself.”
He frowned. “How’s that?”
“Well, she’d have a man by now if she’d do something with herself!” Deenie exclaimed. “Then she wouldn’t be living hand to mouth like side-of-the-road trash, would she?”
“I don’t think Bailey’s the type of woman who would look around for a man to solve her problems.”
“I didn’t say that, Michael, I said she’d have one by now and all her problems would be solved!” Deenie looked at him like he was nuts. “Bailey’s too stubborn to try, though. I told her in high school if she’d put that straggly blond hair up on her head, or even cut a few inches off of it, it would look so much nicer around her face. Give her a little glamour. Do you know what she told me?”
Michael couldn’t wait to hear. “What?”
“That she liked her hair just fine!” Deenie was outraged. “Have you ever heard the like? Who wants hair hanging down to their waist and flat as a price tag at Neiman Marcus? It’s all fine for high school, but she’s got to be nearly twenty-six now, and she still won’t do anything with herself.”
Michael suppressed the smile that leaped to his lips. Deenie probably spent more in a month on hair spray and lipstick than Bailey spent all year on food. Truth was, he liked Bailey’s clean skin and long, soft hair. It teased the top of her fanny when she was naked, it framed her face when she was asleep, far more glamorous than Deenie’s hard-packed big hair, which probably wouldn’t even move on a pillow. As for glamour, well, Bailey looked like she belonged in a Victoria’s Secret photo shoot, as far as he was concerned.
“Now the length of her dress was better tonight, short and fashionable,” Deenie continued, “but the only reason it was so short was because it was shrunk. It’s been washed a thousand times. That was the same navy dress her mother used to wear to pick the kids up from school. Only now it’s powder blue from fading.”
“Deenie,” Michael said abruptly, “you ought to set your sights on Gunner King.”
“Gunner!” Deenie stared at him. “Why, hon?” She ran her gaze over his shoulders hungrily. “He’s not nearly as sexy as you are.”
“Got a lot more money,” Michael stated ever so casually. He didn’t know if that was true, but a glance outside the window revealed Chili on his way over the fence. If he could send Deenie packing, he might have time to pick the cowboys’ brains about Bailey.
“More money?” Deenie echoed. “How do you know?”
“Oh, his father made a killing in some oil well down south before he died.” Michael shrugged. “Heard they made so much money on it that they were thinking about buying a winter home in Rio.” He paused as Deenie’s eyes dilated. “Of course, that wouldn’t do Gunner any good now. No fun to vacation alone.”
“Rio!” Deenie exclaimed. “Oh, my goodness, would you look at the time? I’d better be going.” She snatched up her pie, examining it carefully. “It doesn’t look like somebody took a bite out of it,” she said under her breath. “It just looks like the crust caved in a little.” Turning toward the door, she gave Michael her best Rodeo Queen smile. “Call me sometime, sugar.”
She was gone in a flash of expensive perfume. Michael shuddered. It was almost cruel to sic Deenie on his rival, but Gunner no doubt would somehow return the favor one day.
“Two of a kind,” he muttered. Striding down the long hall toward the enormous TV room, he saw Chili and Curly helping Fred to his feet.
“I’ll drive him home,” Michael said. “He doesn’t need to be walking down to the bungalow.”
“Thanks, Michael.” Chili glanced at him. “Where’s the wasp?”
“What wasp?”
“The skinny, stinging female with her feelers out.” Chili shot him a disgruntled look.
“Oh, Deenie. Gone off to build her nest somewhere else, I hope.” Michael moved the two cowboys aside and put his arm under Fred’s for support. “Slow and careful, Fred.”
He fit his pace to the older man’s. “Are you sure you don’t want me to run you down to the quack shack? Maybe you ought to have a doc look at it.”
There was some swelling of Fred’s toes, but the cowboy gamely shook his head. “Nope. Bailey didn’t mention I oughta go, so I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Maybe Bailey isn’t a doctor.”
“Maybe Bailey’s just as good as that quack in town,” Fred shot back. “She’s been coping with kiddie emergencies since she was old enough to help Polly out.”
It was a bit of a raw spot with Michael. When his mother left, the cowboys began slinking over to Polly’s whenever they had something that needed more tending than they could handle. Polly Dixon had a never-ending supply of ointment, bandages, good humor and compassion. “Doc Watson’s a fine doctor. And Deenie was right. You’re crybabies,” he said, helping Fred into the truck bed. “You just want your ouchies kissed.”
“Damn right,” Fred shot back, “and if you was smart, son, you’d let Bailey kiss yours.”
The cowboys murmured their agreement. Michael hesitated. Then he decided he didn’t want to know whatever was going around in their white-thatched heads. “You fellows don’t have enough to do,” he said crustily. “Tomorrow I want you to check every inch of the fence and make sure it’s secure.” He gave them all a baleful glare. “Particularly the area around the Dixon pond. I don’t want any of my cattle getting mixed in with Gunner’s or getting spooked by the Dixon sheep.”
The large pond was the only valuable thing the Dixons owned. It lay in a liquid, undulating circle at the top of their property. It was the only nearby water source, and both Sherman King and Michael Wade Senior had eyed it for their cattle. Because Elijah said he couldn’t trust either of the feuding ranchers to behave like gentlemen, he’d allowed them both the use of it, but insisted that they each run a separate fence divider through the portion he allotted them. Therefore the pond was evenly split three ways. He charged the ranchers a yearly fee for the use, a pittance compared to what they’d pay to have city water pumped in. Elijah had said it was worth using the clear, clean water to cool off the hotheads living on either side of him.
Then old Elijah had got him a few sheep, which stared at the big-horned beasts on either side of them but otherwise paid no attention. The hands said Elijah was so bone-idle he kept the sheep so he wouldn’t have to mow his yard. Indeed, the sheep did keep the grass short clear up to the porch. Michael suspected the old man had been less lazy than a peacekeeping dreamer. Sheep were quiet and gentle, and the Dixon children played with them as if they were dogs. Everybody was happy.
Except his employees right now. They stared at him accusingly.
“Every inch,” he reiterated. “I don’t need any more reasons for you to be running to the Dixon house.”
They were silent.
“Of course, if you like it over there so much, if you’ve become so shiftless that you need a woman constantly fussing over you, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to take you in.” He knew he was being cruel, but the comment about letting Bailey kiss his hurts had stung—worse than Deenie’s waspiness.
“Hardheaded sourpuss like his old man,” one of them whispered.
“No, I’m not.” Michael straightened indignantly.
“You are! And the minute that rhinestone cowgirl gets her hooks in ya, she’s going to put us out!” Fred cried.
“Neither Deenie nor Bailey is going to become part of the Wade household,” Michael stated with a firm edge to his tone. “If that’s what’s got you all riled up, let me be the first to assure you that you are going nowhere, and I am not headed to the altar.”
They frowned but said no more. Michael nodded and moved to get into the truck cab.
“Michael,” Chili called.
He paused. “Yes?”
“Did you know Gunner’s offered Bailey a secretarial position at his place?”
Michael’s mouth instantly dried out. Her short, faded skirt appeared in his mind, and all that smooth skin, which shouldn’t have been exposed to such cold weather.
Gunner’s stately home would be very warm inside.
The cowboys stared at him, their eyes bugging and curious in the darkness as they sat in the truck bed. He forced himself to shrug.
“Everybody’s gotta do what they gotta do,” he said noncomittally.
But his heart was hammering inside him like a town pep rally parade drum. Not a date, then! Gunner was too smart for that—Bailey had rarely dated anyone. Employing Bailey was even more insidious than just asking her out, which she most likely would have refused. She needed money, and Gunner had given her a way to get it without costing her pride.
It was very slick.
