The Way We Wed. Pat Warren

out those signals.

      Maybe he’d try getting her alone after dinner tonight, ask her to go for a walk, get to know her. Checking the time, Jeff saw that it was nearing six. He went back to the bathroom and took pains getting ready, combing his thick blond hair just so, choosing pressed chinos and a navy shirt, loafers instead of cowboy boots.

      Patting shaving lotion on his face, he studied his image and spoke to the mirror. “That’s as good as it gets, folks,” then smiled at his flight of fancy. Was Tish causing him to talk to himself? he wondered as he grabbed his leather jacket and left his room.

      She was already in the dining room, seated at Slim’s table for six as usual. Reggie Miller, a fortyish agent who thought of himself as God’s gift to women, was regaling two female agents and Tish with tales of his days as a lumberjack in the Pacific Northwest as Jeff took the last chair after filling his plate at the buffet table. There were greetings all around, though Reggie barely stopped in his recitation to nod toward him.

      Apparently Reggie’s story had been quite funny since there was hearty laughter when he finished. Jeff concentrated on his food with occasional glances at Tish, biding his time.

      “I heard about what you did at the branding,” Slim said in a quiet aside to Jeff. “I guess you loosened a couple of Mac’s teeth.” The normally taciturn manager grinned. “Wish I’d have seen that.”

      “It’s about time someone punched out his lights,” Marge Collins on the other side of Jeff commented. “But I’d watch my back, Jeff. He’s a mean one.”

      “I think Jeff can handle himself,” Tish said softly, her eyes on him.

      “Then again, could’ve been a lucky punch,” Reggie said, anxious to turn the attention back to himself. “I did some boxing awhile back. That old one-two punch comes from street fighting, right, sonny?” he asked, his cool gaze on Jeff.

      Every time he’d been around Reggie, the man had called him sonny even though he knew his name. It was a subtle put-down, but Jeff wasn’t about to rise to the bait tonight. One fight a day was more than enough. “Call it what you want, it worked.”

      Reggie couldn’t think of a clever comeback, so he changed the subject to the ride up into the high country scheduled for the next day to deliver salt to the cows in the far pasture. “We could go together, Tish. It’s real pretty up there this time of year.”

      Jeff heard her say something noncommittal before he turned to answer a question Slim had asked. The conversation shifted to other topics as they finished their meal. Finally, Reggie left the table to get his dessert and Jeff saw his chance. Sliding back his chair, he rose and walked around the table to Tish’s side.

      “It’s a nice night,” he began, standing behind her chair, inhaling the fresh scent of her hair. “I was wondering if you’d like to go for a walk.”

      “I’d like to, Jeff, but…”

      “But she’s promised to take me on in a game of chess,” Reggie said as he returned with a generous slice of pie. “I don’t suppose you play, eh, sonny?”

      For the second time that day, Jeff wanted to hit a man, and he wasn’t very happy about it. “Some other time then,” he said more curtly than he’d intended, and left the dining room.

      He needed fresh air, Jeff decided, to be outside where he could walk off his anger and this pent-up energy. Detouring through the kitchen, he stopped to praise Elsa’s barbecued brisket while he snitched a couple of small carrots and apples. He stuffed them in the pockets of his jacket, gave the cook a quick hug and escaped.

      Finally outdoors, he stood on the back porch, breathing in the fresh mountain air. He walked out toward the barns, then stopped, closed his eyes and listened. Here, away from the people and buildings, it was so different. The world was alive with sound—the muted gurgle of water rushing over stones in the nearby creek, the flutter of wings as a night bird flew by, crickets singing and small, furry creatures darting about in the underbrush. A distant owl sent up a protest as Jeff slapped at a mosquito.

      He slipped on his jacket and strolled. From the barns came the sounds of a horse whinnying, probably a stallion picking up the scent of a mare.

      Walking briskly, he headed for the stables, circling the entire structure before going inside. The horses were housed in a long aluminum building with stalls on either side and cement flooring on the center aisle plus overhead track lighting, now on dim as Jeff pushed open the sliding door. Thoroughly modern, all of Red Rock’s barns were electronically monitored by the ranch manager or his assistant so that it wasn’t necessary to have a person on hand to check on the animals at night. But the ranchers often wandered in to inspect their mounts or to tend to a sick cow or newborn calf.

      Tonight, the horse stable appeared to be empty of humans, Jeff noted as he strolled down the center aisle. As he passed the stalls, he noticed ears twitch as the horses turned their big heads toward him, acknowledging his presence. One or two snuffle-guffed or snorted and from the far end came a short whinny. The combined scent of leather and animal hide wasn’t altogether unpleasant, he thought as he sauntered along, whispering a soft greeting to this one and that.

      Snowflake, a two-year-old spirited white mare he’d ridden yesterday, bobbed her big head at him, inviting attention. “Okay, girl,” he said softly, “I see you.” He caressed her nose as she nuzzled him, sniffing out the treats in his pocket. Laughing, he gave her one of the carrots and walked on.

      He spoke to a few more mares, reading their names from the metal plate attached to each stall door. Pausing at Belladonna’s stall, he greeted the big chestnut. “She gave you quite a workout again, eh, girl? Yeah, I saw you both and you looked like you were loving it.” He stroked her nose while the mare poked her way around toward his pocket. Funny how horses could ferret out a treat in moments.

      “Has she been down here to see you tonight, Bella?” Jeff asked as he gave her an apple. “Or is she playing chess with that creep, all the while thinking of me?” He chuckled at that thought as he watched the mare’s big teeth make quick work of the apple. “Yeah, right.” With a last pat, he moved on down, heading for the males at the far end.

      Domino, the black stallion he’d ridden earlier today, was restlessly pawing the floor of his stall. He let out a sharp whinny when he spotted Jeff and shook his proud head, ruffling his thick mane. “Yeah, I know how you feel, boy.”

      Jeff wandered closer and saw the big horse settle down as he gave him an apple, though he was sure food wasn’t the stallion’s biggest problem. His back to the section he’d come from, he leaned on the door of the empty stall next to Domino’s. “Got a girlfriend down there you’d like a little time with?” he asked the stallion, male to male. “Is she playing hard to get?” Domino bobbed his big head as if in answer to his question. “Females! They’re like that, aren’t they, boy?”

      Finished with the apple, Domino stuck his head over the half door, looking for more treats, able to smell them. “Greedy, aren’t you?” But Jeff gave him a carrot nonetheless.

      Sighing, he gazed out the high window on the far wall, seeing the stars filling the night sky. “Not a good night to be alone, right, Domino?”

      He shook his head, trying to figure things out. “All I wanted was to take a walk with her. Was that so much to ask? If I was smart, I’d walk away and forget her. But I keep seeing those big eyes, how the corners crinkled up when she poked fun at herself the other night, the way they warmed when she talked about liking Dad. Her skin is so soft, you know, and her hair makes a man want to bury his fingers in it. Then there’s her mouth and, well, hell! There’s just something about Tish Buckner that—”

      Jeff heard a sound behind him and swung around.

      She was standing on the opposite side two stalls down, one elbow propped on the door. She was wearing black slacks and a white silk blouse. She’d slipped on a rust-colored suede jacket against the desert night’s chill. Even in the dim light, he could see those steady brown eyes watching him, her expression unreadable.