McKettrick's Pride. Linda Lael Miller

       “Yes,” Rance answered, wondering what the hell his rig had to do with the price of rice in China.

       “Well,” she replied pertly, “if you drove a reasonable vehicle, instead of that enormous gas-hog, you would have seen me coming and the whole non-incident could have been avoided!”

       Rance was so taken aback by her audacity that he laughed, but it was a short, gruff sound that made the dog growl again.

       She blinked again, but then she stuck out a slender hand, startling him as much as she had by almost running him down. “Echo Wells,” she said.

       “What?”

       “My name?” she prompted.

       Rance took her hand. It felt cool and soft. The dog snarled and strained at the seat belt.

       “Hush, Avalon,” said Echo Wells. “We’re in no danger. Are we—Mr....?”

       “McKettrick,” he supplied belatedly, holding on to her hand a moment longer than absolutely necessary. “Rance McKettrick.”

       She smiled suddenly, and Rance felt ambushed, as though he’d been dazzled by a sun-struck mirror popping up out of nowhere.

       “No harm done,” she said.

       Rance wasn’t so sure of that. He felt oddly shaken. Maybe she had run over him, with all four wheels, and he’d somehow survived and gotten to his feet in some kind of altered state. “What kind of name is Echo Wells?” he heard himself ask.

       The smile faded, and it was something of a relief to Rance. The flash was still pulsing at the edges of his vision, but his knees felt a little steadier.

       “What kind of name is Rance McKettrick?” she shot back.

       Avalon bared her teeth and snarled again.

       “What’s with the dog?” Rance asked, mildly insulted. “I’ve always gotten along just fine with animals.”

       “You did come on a bit strong,” said the redoubtable Ms. Wells. “Dogs are sensitive to energy fields, you know. And yours, if you don’t mind my saying so, is a mess.”

       “I guess almost getting killed does that to a person,” Rance said, after a moment or two of baffled recovery. “Messes up their—energy field, I mean.”

       Echo’s cheeks went even pinker. The effect was similar to the smile, and Rance stubbornly resisted an impulse to back up a step or two. “Are you making fun of me, Mr. McKettrick?”

       “No,” he said, glancing at the crystal swinging from her rearview mirror. “But if you’re into energy fields, then you’re probably looking for Sedona, not Indian Rock.”

       She reached over, still staring defiantly into Rance’s face through the open car window, and gave the dog a few reassuring strokes with her right hand. Momentarily, Rance wished he could sprout fur, so she’d touch him like that. A practical man, he quickly shook off the fanciful thought.

       “Would you mind moving?” Echo asked, with acidic sweetness. “It’s been a long drive, and I’d like to get out of the car.”

       Wondering what he was doing carrying on this conversation in the first place, Rance retreated.

       Echo Wells opened the car door, unbuckled her seat belt and swung two shapely legs out to stand. The top of her head came just shy of his chin, and that skimpy little pink-and-white sundress of hers was about a size-nothing. Instead of the high-heeled shoes he’d have expected with an outfit like that, she was wearing pink high-top sneakers with gold ribbons for laces.

       Smiling dreamily, as though Rance had turned transparent and she could see right through him to the feed-and-grain across the street, she drew a deep breath and expelled it from the diaphragm.

       Rance frowned. He took up his share of space, and he wasn’t used to being invisible—especially to women.

       “Welcome to Indian Rock,” he said, mainly to get her attention. His tone could have been a mite on the grudging side.

       She went around to the sidewalk, opened the door on the other side, and let the mutt out. Avalon—silly name for a dog, just the kind of airy-fairy thing he’d expect from somebody with a crystal on her mirror, wearing pink high-tops and driving a car to match—pranced straight over and squatted next to his truck tire.

       He glowered at the dog.

       The dog obviously didn’t give a rip what he thought. If she’d had a pecker, her look said, she would have lifted a leg against his shiny black paint job, or maybe christened the running board.

       Echo Wells came back to her car, got her handbag, which was roughly the equivalent of a piece of carry-on luggage, and fished inside for a key. Then she pranced right over and stuck that key in the lock of the door of the empty shop next to Cora’s place.

       Rance was jarred. This was the new owner?

       He realized he’d been expecting someone different. Someone like Cora, maybe. But definitely not this woman.

       “Most folks drive to one of the big chain stores in Flagstaff for their books,” Rance called, and considered biting off his tongue. Since it still came in handy once in a while, he pressed it to the roof of his mouth instead.

       “Do they?” Echo chimed, sounding merrily unconcerned. Then she and the dog went inside, and she shut the door, hard.

       Rance had half a mind to storm in there after her and tell her a thing or two, but since he couldn’t imagine what those things would be, he stood on the sidewalk instead.

       Before he could turn away, the door of Cora’s shop sprang open and his daughters barreled out. Both of them were dark-haired, like he was, but they had Julie’s green eyes.

       It had been a full year after Julie’s accident before he could look into those eyes without flinching on the inside. Still happened, sometimes.

       “We almost forgot to say goodbye!” Rianna, the youngest, lisped, clinging to his right leg with both arms. She would be seven on Saturday.

       Maeve, tall for ten, clutched him around the middle.

       His heart softened into one big bruise, and his eyes stung a little. He embraced the girls and bent to kiss them both on top of the head.

       “I’ll be back in a few days,” he said.

       They let go of him, stepped back, craning their necks to look up at his face. Their expressions were solemnly skeptical.

       “Unless you decide to go someplace else after you leave San Antonio,” Maeve said sagely, folding her arms.

       Rianna’s attention had already shifted to the pink Volkswagen. She approached and touched one fender with reverence, as though it were an enchanted coach, drawn by six white horses, instead of a car.

       “It’s like a Barbie car,” she said wondrously. “Only bigger.”

       Maeve rolled her eyes. The young sophisticate.

       “Yeah,” Rance agreed, though he didn’t have the faintest idea what a Barbie car was.

       The door of the soon-to-be-bookstore opened again, and Rance heard bells ring. He was confused, until he remembered the little brass tinkler Cora had hung above the entrance to the Curl and Twirl, so she’d know when a customer came in. Echo’s shop must have one, too.

       Echo stood in the gap, leaning one bare and delectable shoulder against the splintery framework and smiling at the girls. “Hi,” she said, taking in both Rianna and Maeve in the sweeping, sparkling approval of her glance, and leaving Rance firmly outside the she-circle. “My name is Echo. What’s yours?”

       “Echo,” Rianna sighed, spellbound.

       “You made that up,” Maeve accused, being the proverbial chip off the old block, but she sounded intrigued, just the same.