When he’d said “Amen” at the end of the very short grace, Shiloh kissed him on the cheek.
In that moment, Bonnie began to doubt whether she really wanted to sell the ranch and travel or if she wanted what her sisters both had, roots and someone to love them.
“We don’t have room for everyone to sit down in the house, but we’ve set up a couple of long tables out in the backyard,” Shiloh said. “The silverware and napkins are already out there.”
“Man, this looks good,” Cooper said.
“Smells good too. I haven’t had anything but sandwiches for two days.” Rusty stepped forward, picked up a plate, and began to load it.
Bonnie shot a mean look across the table at him, but his eyes were on the food and the evil glare was wasted. Fixing her own plate, she wondered if he’d missed coming to the ranch house to eat with her as much as she’d missed having him there.
How on earth Rusty got behind her was a mystery, but suddenly, he was there, and he whispered softly in her ear, “We need to talk, don’t you think?”
His warm breath on the soft part of her neck sent shivers down her spine. “You’re not taking those dogs away from their home,” she said. “They were raised on the ranch, and they’d be miserable anywhere else. I’ll stay right there and never leave before you take them away. I won’t even sell it until they’ve all passed away, and then I’m going to bury them right on top of Ezra. That way he’ll have all three of his wives in the same grave with him.”
“Let’s talk about all of this tomorrow.” Rusty set his plate down on the first table they came to.
“Where and when?” she asked.
“Neutral place,” he answered. “In the barn at six o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.” With a curt nod, she walked on past him and sat down at the second table with Abby Joy, Cooper, and a handful of hired hands.
“What was that all about?” Abby Joy whispered.
“Just setting up a meeting so we can talk,” Bonnie answered.
“You’ve got a job right here anytime you want to move,” Abby Joy said. “Just promise me you won’t get a wild hair and leave the canyon. Sisters should stick together, and besides, this baby”—she laid her hand on her bulging stomach—“needs his aunts. I don’t know a blessed thing about babies, so I’ll need all the help I can get too.”
Bonnie made up her mind right then and there to stick around until the dogs had all died, and so that she could be an aunt to Abby Joy’s baby. Bonnie missed having family in her life, so she couldn’t very well deny her little niece the same. “I promise.”
She glanced over at the other table, where Shiloh and Waylon were sitting with the rest of the hired hands. Her mind went back to that first day when Cooper had told them that they’d need more than one napkin because the chicken was greasy. She had been glad that her two older half-sisters weren’t bashful when it came to food. On first impression, Shiloh had seemed pretty prissy, and the older sister was without a doubt a force to be reckoned with, but when they all three gathered around in the kitchen that cold day, all three of them hadn’t had any qualms about food.
Abby Joy bumped her on the arm. “What are you thinkin’ about? You’ve hardly touched your barbecue, and I know you like it a lot.”
“I’ve been thinkin’ about our first day together a lot lately,” she answered.
“You mean at Ezra’s funeral?” Cooper asked. “I couldn’t believe that all three of you showed up looking like you did at his graveside service.”
“Oh?” Abby Joy raised an eyebrow.
“Think about it,” Cooper chuckled. “You looked like you’d just come out of a war zone in all that camouflage and your combat boots. Shiloh, over there”—he nodded her way—“looked like she’d just left a rodeo, and I wasn’t sure if you were a biker or a punk rocker, Bonnie.”
“I couldn’t believe those two were my sisters, either.” Bonnie giggled. “I figured that Abby Joy was like Ezra, and Shiloh had to take after her mother, and that neither of them would last two days on a ranch. Shiloh would be afraid she’d break a fingernail, and Abby Joy would be…”
“I’d be what?” Abby Joy asked.
“Bored to tears on a ranch after the life you’d led in the military,” Bonnie finished. “I didn’t even know Ezra, but from what Mama told me when she was drinking too much and bitchin’ about him, I figured you were the most like him.”
“Hey, now, I’m the least like Ezra of all of us,” Abby Joy declared.
Suddenly Bonnie had that antsy feeling that she only got when someone was staring at her. She glanced over at the other table and locked eyes with Rusty. She wished that she could fall into those sexy green eyes all the way to the bottom of his soul and find out what his real feelings were. Waylon nudged him with a shoulder, and he looked away just about the same time Abby Joy poked her on the arm with her forefinger.
“You don’t have a smart-ass remark about me being the least like Ezra?” Abby Joy asked.
“Nope, but I’ve got a question for Cooper. You liked Ezra, right?”
Cooper nodded. “He was an eccentric old codger, but he was smart as a whip when it came to ranchin’. All of us around these parts could depend on him for advice—other than when it came to women.”
“Guess that answers my question fairly well,” Bonnie said. “Thanks.”
Cooper’s head bobbed in a quick nod, and then he changed the subject. “These beans are great. What’s your secret?”
“A tablespoon of mustard,” Bonnie answered. “It cuts the sweet of the brown sugar and ketchup.”
And a little argument is good for a relationship, like mustard is good for beans. Her mother’s voice popped into her head. It cuts all that sweetness of flirting and sex. Every couple has to endure a few tests to see if the relationship will withstand the long journey.
That just might be the smartest advice you have ever given me, Mama, Bonnie thought. Why don’t you apply it to your own relationships?
Chapter Seven
Bonnie was sitting on a bale of hay in the corner of the barn, ready for their talk, when Rusty arrived. Several strands of blond hair had escaped from her ponytail and were stuck to her sweaty face. Pieces of hay were still stuck to her clothing from hauling bales from the field to the barn all day. With no one else to help, and refusing to work together, they’d each loaded their own truck bed full, driven it to the barn, and then unloaded and stacked it there. They’d gotten in what they’d baled the day before, and tomorrow, they’d move to another field and start cutting what was ready there.
“Why didn’t Ezra ever get the machinery to make those big round bales?” She removed her work gloves and laid them beside her.
“He was old school.” Rusty sat down on the running board of her truck. “He said that ranchers wasted enough hay to make half a dozen small bales with what they lost on every one they left out in the weather. I think that once we were set up the waste would be worth it in the long run because we’d save a ton of money in the summer.” When Ezra was alive, Rusty wouldn’t have doubted anything the old man said.