Rancher at Risk. Barbara Daille White

      Ryan laughed.

      “Aw, you don’t know old,” said Tony from his stool beside the mare he was grooming. By the look of him, he was pushing eighty.

      “Well, I do know I’m ready to head for home.” Caleb looked at Ryan. “You remember we’re having dinner tomorrow?”

      “It’s number one on my list.”

      “Good. Tess and Nate are looking forward to seeing you again—”

      Lianne had said the same about them.

      “—and the ladies are eager to meet you.”

      “Are they?” How much had Caleb told them of his situation?

      “Yeah.” Caleb looked over at Tony. “Roselynn—Tess’s mom—is a real Georgia peach. Roselynn’s sister...” He grinned. “Let’s just call Ellamae a chili pepper.”

      “She hot tempered?”

      “No, she just likes to spice thing up.”

      Tony chuckled. “My kinda woman. I gotta meet her.”

      “I’m sure you will one of these days. She’s bound to show up here to check things out.”

      After a couple of other reminders for Ryan’s mental list, Caleb said his farewells. From the barn doorway, Ryan watched him head in the direction of the corral, where he had left his truck.

      The back door of the ranch house opened, and Lianne stepped onto the porch. She called Caleb’s name, then hurried across the yard to him, her blond hair streaming in the sun.

      She moved like a thoroughbred. He’d noticed those long slim racehorse legs of hers right away. Well, after he’d gotten past the angry glare in her blue eyes.

      Tony had come up to stand beside him. He gave an appreciative whistle. “Whoo. Speaking of women. She’s a sight to behold, ain’t she?”

      Ryan shrugged. He’d looked at women, even all through his marriage—hell, he was a red-blooded male. But he hadn’t often bothered to look twice.

      He did want to work well with the men here. “She’s not bad.”

      “Not bad?” Tony chuckled. “Boy, you must need glasses more than I do. I can’t hardly see the print in the newspaper anymore, but my long distance never lets me down. Even from here, I can tell she’s easy on the eyes.”

      He had to agree.

      They watched her leave Caleb beside the corral and make her way back to the house.

      “Mmm-mmm,” Tony murmured. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her yet, but I’m looking forward to that. Maybe I’ll go chat her up sometime.” His grin turned his face into a mass of wrinkles. “Like while you’re off having your Sunday dinner with the folks.”

      “She’s going, too.”

      Tony’s face fell. “Well, dang. Now I’m disappointed Caleb didn’t invite me along.”

      You can take my place.

      A sentence Ryan surely wished he could say aloud.

      Supper at the Whistlestop Inn might be all in a night’s pleasure for the boss, but it was going to be work for him. A command performance at the least, if not a test to see how he could handle himself. So far Caleb hadn’t put him in as manager. He hadn’t said anything about his job.

      When it came to aging, neither Caleb nor Tony knew the true meaning of the word.

      He was the one getting old, fast.

      * * *

      RYAN MADE SHORT work of his shower and didn’t waste any time getting dressed. Back in his room, halfway through straightening his cuffs, he stilled. It had been over a year since he’d dressed for a night out.

      Only a week later, he had worn a plain long-sleeved white shirt like this one...with his dark suit....

      One quick tug popped the snaps running down his chest. He pulled his arms free of the sleeves and shoved the shirt into his duffel bag. Whatever T-shirt he grabbed from the drawer would have to do.

      At the dresser, he couldn’t keep from looking at the picture frame pressed neatly against the beveled edge of the mirror. Safe. Secure. Still facedown.

      He ran his comb through his damp hair, tucked the comb into his jeans pocket and left the bedroom. Maybe left the bad memories behind long enough to face the uncomfortable evening waiting ahead.

      Halfway down the stairs, he jerked to a halt.

      Lianne sat on the couch in the living room, her blond hair trailing down to the cell phone in her hands, her thumbs a blur as they flew over the keys. They’d gotten through the day without seeing each other, except to haggle over the shower.

      She’d dressed up for the occasion. Flat red sandals, a brightly flowered skirt and a red blouse that was all fluffy and soft with lace edging.

      The kind of thing Jan used to like.

      Would the damn memories ever stop?

      He couldn’t speak, could only clear his throat, trying to get the woman’s attention. Trying to get them moving and out of there so he could focus on the road and the drive into town and forget everything else.

      She didn’t look up or, as far as he could see, miss a beat from her texting. Ignoring him. No surprise.

      He continued to the bottom of the stairs, wishing the quiet would last. Knowing with her around he didn’t have a chance.

      She slid her phone into a small red bag and stood. “All set?” he asked.

      He held open the front door and then followed her out to the yard.

      “We can go in my car,” she announced. She stopped and looked back at him, her hand on the driver’s door of the Camry.

      He shook his head. “I’ll drive.”

      “I have a license, you know.”

      “I’m sure you do.” He jerked his thumb toward his truck. “I need to gas up.” As he turned away, he tried to lighten the statement. “Since I don’t know where anything is, how about you ride shotgun.”

      “What?”

      After a deep breath, he turned back. “Ride shotgun,” he repeated. “It means—”

      “I know what it means.”

      And she hated the idea. This was one heck of a spot Caleb had put him in....

      He’d put himself in.

      He winced. “Listen, I don’t like the situation any more than you do. But there’s no getting around it now. Unless you want to take Caleb up on his suggestion to stay at the Whistlestop.” She lowered her head slightly to stare at him, reminding him of a headstrong mare he’d once known. “Okay, then. We’ll be sharing quarters. And we can agree to disagree, if that’s what you want. But things might run a whole lot smoother if we didn’t argue every time we opened our mouths.”

      “I wasn’t arguing with you,” she snapped.

      His turn. He stared her down.

      “I didn’t mean to yell.” Now she kept her voice so soft and low, he could barely make out the words. “But I wasn’t arguing. I just couldn’t see what you said.”

      He frowned.

      Her face froze. Slowly, her eyes widened. “I don’t believe it. You don’t know, do you?” She shook her head in wonder. “You haven’t figured it out yet.”

      “Figured what out?”

      “I’m deaf.”

      He opened his mouth and snapped his jaw closed again.

      She