Date with a Cowboy. Diana Palmer

crops. One day, the agricultural community might be grateful, if there was ever a wholesale dying out of the genetically modified plants.

      “Well, you’re deep in thought, aren’t you?” Dee teased as she walked in the door the following Wednesday, just before noon.

      Sara blinked, startled by her boss’s appearance. “Sorry,” she said, laughing. “I was thinking about corn.”

      Dee stared at her. “OOOOOkay,” she drawled.

      “No, I’m not going mad,” Sara chuckled. “I read an article in this farm life magazine.” She showed it to the older woman. “It’s about the high prices corn is going to get this year.”

      Dee shook her head. “I don’t know what the smaller ranchers are going to do,” she said. “Gas prices are so high that it’s hard to afford enough fuel to run tractors and trucks, and now they’ll have to hope the hay crop is good or they’ll have to sell off cattle before winter rather than having to feed them stored corn.” She sighed. “I expect even the Ballengers will be feeling a pinch, with their feedlot.”

      “It must be tough, having your livelihood depend on the weather,” she remarked.

      “Yes, it is. I grew up on a little truck farm north of here,” Dee told her. “One year, we had a drought so bad that everything we grew died. Dad had to borrow on the next year’s profits to buy seed and fertilizer.” She shook her head. “Finally he couldn’t deal with the uncertainty anymore. He got a job fixing engines at one of the car dealerships.”

      “It’s so bad, you know—floods in the Midwest and drought here and in the Southeast. Too much water or not enough. They need to build aqueducts like the Romans did and share that water with places that need it.”

      “Not a bad idea, but who’d pay for it?”

      Sara laughed. “I don’t guess anybody could. But it was a nice thought.”

      Dee checked her watch. “You’d better get a move on, before we get swamped with customers and you’re late leaving.”

      “I’ll do that. Thanks, Dee.”

      The older woman smiled. “Good luck with those drawings.”

      Lisa Parks had blond hair and a sweet smile. She was carrying Gil, her eighteen-month-old toddler, when she came to the door to let Sara in. The baby had brownish colored hair and his eyes were green, like his father’s. He was wearing a two-piece sailor suit.

      “Doesn’t he look cute!” Sara enthused over the little boy, while Lisa beamed.

      “Our pride and joy,” Lisa murmured, kissing the child on his soft nose. “Come in.”

      Sara stepped into the cool confines of the house. It had been a bachelor house for years, but Lisa’s feminine touches made it into a home.

      “Want coffee before you start?” Lisa asked, shifting Gil on her hip while he chanted happy noises.

      “After, if you don’t mind,” came the smiling reply. “I always try to avoid work if it’s at all possible.”

      “Don’t we all? I’ve got the puppies out in the barn.” She led the way down the back steps, pausing at the sound of a horse approaching. Gil was still making happy baby sounds, cradled on his mother’s hip.

      Harley Fowler was just riding into the yard. He spotted Sara with Lisa and smiled hugely. “Hi, Sara.”

      “Hello, Harley. How’s the Spanish coming along?”

      He glanced at Lisa, who grinned at him. He shrugged. “Well, I guess I’m learning some. But Juan is a better teacher than any book.”

      “How’s your jaw?” Sara asked with twinkling eyes.

      He fingered it. “Much better.” He smiled back.

      “Uh oh, Mama,” Gil said, frowning. “Uh oh.” He squirmed.

      “Uh oh means somebody needs a diaper change,” Lisa laughed. She glanced at Harley and, sensing something, concealed a smile. “Harley, if you’ve got a minute, would you mind showing Sara the pups while I change Gil? We’re working on potty training, but it’s early days yet,” she added on a laugh.

      Harley beamed. “I’d be happy to!” He climbed down gracefully out of the saddle and held the reins, waiting for Sara. “Are you going to adopt one of the puppies?”

      She blinked. “Well, I hadn’t thought about that. I have a cat, you know, and he really doesn’t like dogs much. I think one tried to eat him when he was younger. He’s got scars everywhere and even dogs barking on television upsets him.”

      He frowned. “But you came to see the puppies …?”

      She showed him her drawing pad. “I came to sketch the puppies,” she corrected, “for the children’s book I’m writing.”

      “Someday she’s going to be famous, and we can all say we knew her back when,” Lisa teased. “I’ll have coffee ready when you’re done, Sara. I made a pound cake, too.”

      “Thanks,” Sara called after her.

      Lisa waved as she took the baby back into the house.

      Harley tied his horse to the corral fence and walked into the dim confines of the barn with Sara. In a stall filled with fresh hay were five puppies and Bob the Collie. She was nursing the babies. In the stall beside hers was Puppy Dog, Lisa’s dog, no longer a puppy. He looked exactly like Tom Walker’s dog, Moose.

      “A girl dog named Bob,” Sara mused.

      “Boss said if Johnny Cash could have a boy named ‘Sue,’ he could have a girl dog named Bob.”

      “She’s so pretty,” Sara said. “And the puppies are just precious!”

      “Three males, two females,” he said. “Tom’s got first choice, since they’re Moose’s grandkids.” He shook his head. “He’s taking Moose’s loss hard. He loved that old dog, even though he was a disaster in the house.”

      “Moose saved Tom’s daughter from a rattler,” Sara reminded him. “He was a real hero.”

      “You want a chair?” he asked.

      “This old stool will do fine. Thanks anyway.” She pulled up the rickety stool, opened her pad and took her pencils out of her hip pocket.

      “Will it make you nervous if I watch?”

      She grinned up at him. “Of course not.”

      He lolled against the stall wall and folded his arms, concentrating on the way her hand flew over the page, the pencil quickly bringing the puppies to life on the off-white sheet. “You’re really good,” he said, surprised.

      “Only thing I was ever good at in school,” she murmured while she drew. She was also noting the pattern of colors on the pups and shading her drawing to match. Then she wrote down the colors, so she wouldn’t forget them when she started doing the illustrations for her book in pastels.

      “I can fix anything mechanical,” he said, “but I can’t draw a straight line.”

      “We all have our talents, Harley,” she said. “It wouldn’t do for all of us to be good at the same thing.”

      “No, it wouldn’t, I guess.”

      She sketched some more in a personable silence.

      “I wanted to ask you in the bookstore, but we got interrupted,” he began. “There’s going to be a concert at the high school this Saturday. They’re hosting a performance by the San Antonio Symphony Orchestra. I wondered if, well, if you’d like to go. With me,” he added.

      She looked up, her soft eyes smiling. “Well, yes, I would,” she said. “I’d thought about it, because they’re doing Debussy, and he’s my favorite composer. But I didn’t