“I know that. I want to. You still look a tad pale.”
Embarrassed by the reminder, she acquiesced with a nod. “All right.”
He motioned for her to follow him, then headed toward the kitchen, leading her through it and out the back door. A newer-model, teal-colored pickup was parked in the shade of a tall, leafy tree.
Nat let out a sharp, short whistle as he strode toward the vehicle. Seconds later, two black-and- white dogs came racing across the barnyard and jumped into the truck bed. “Hey, girls.” He reached over the side of the truck and patted their heads. To Shayla, he said, “Meet Bonny and Coira.”
‘They’re beautiful. What kind are they?”
“Border collies. Smartest cow dog there is, far as I’m concerned.”
Her earlier questions—the ones that had brought her to Paradise Ranch—came rushing back. Nat had answered a couple of them without her even asking. He raised Herefords and his dogs were border collies. Now she wanted to know more.
“So, could a couple of dogs like these two help a man round up a herd of cows?” She stroked Bonny’s head as she spoke. “Even at night in the dark?”
“Piece of cake.”
“I’d love to see them work sometime.”
“You’ll have plenty of opportunity for that this summer.” He moved around the truck to the passenger side and opened the door for her.
When was the last time a man had done something like that? Not counting her dad or her brothers. Not that they did it very often, either. To them, she was the capable, dependable daughter and sister, used to taking care of others rather than being taken care of herself.
As Nat helped her into the pickup, she thought about her last serious relationship. Gordon Sampson was a nice man with pleasant good looks. Gordon, a coworker of her dad’s, and his family had joined the Vincent clan for Fourth of July picnics and Christmas parties often through the years. After Dee Sampson deserted her husband and their two children, running off to Europe with another man, Gordon came to the Vincent house more and more often, talking for hours with Shayla’s mom and dad, seeking advice and comfort.
And then one day he asked Shayla out on a date. At first she’d been flattered. She’d never had an abundance of beaux. Not as a teenager in school nor as an adult. She wasn’t tall or beautiful or any of the other things men seemed to like in a woman. So she agreed to go out with him. But after several months of dating, it became obvious that Gordon wasn’t looking for a woman whom he could love but for a surrogate mother for his children. He needed a nanny, not a life partner.
“I’ve already helped raise six brothers and sisters,” she’d told him the last time they were together. “I’m not taking on any more. I want a life of my own.”
Her mother recently wrote that Gordon had married again, a lovely young woman in her twenties who was already pregnant with their first child.
More power to her.
After starting the truck, Nat glanced at Shayla. She was deep in thought, and it was apparent those thoughts weren’t pleasant ones. A tiny frown drew her brows together, furrowing her forehead. Her blue eyes were clouded, troubled. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, something he’d seen her do several times since they first met.
She intrigued him, he realized as he drove out of the yard and toward the highway. He supposed that was because she was unlike anyone he’d known before. Most of the folks in this valley had lived there for many years. They were ranchers and cowboys or they worked for the highway department or forest service or they owned small businesses in town. They knew their neighbors’ names and the names of their kids and grandkids. And more often than not, they knew what others liked for breakfast and the last time someone had a cold or the flu. A few lived in remote shacks farther up in the mountains, along old logging roads, their closest neighbors being mule deer, elk, bears, mountain lions and bobcats.
Shayla Vincent, on the other hand, was a city girl. She didn’t have enough sense to know a colt from a filly, let alone enough to recognize the danger of strolling into a paddock with a cantankerous old bull. She didn’t belong here, and she wouldn’t last.
Even folks who did belong didn’t always last.
He’d learned that the hard way.
Chapter 3
The redbrick community Christian church at the corner of Main and Second was well attended on that beautiful summer day. Prior to the start of the Sunday service, members of the congregation gathered on the sidewalk, enjoying the fresh morning breeze while visiting with their friends, discussing the price of feed, the new tractor Owen Overstreet bought last week and the gossip saying the youngest Paulson girl had left on the bus for New York City night before last, hoping to make a name for herself on Broadway.
Standing with a group of men on the Main Street side of the church, Nat saw Shayla climbing the steps to the entrance. She wore a sleeveless dress, butter-yellow in color, that whispered in a soft fall of fabric around her calves. Her hair was braided, the end caught with a satin bow. In her arms she carried a Bible.
He was a little surprised to see her at church, perhaps because she hadn’t come to services since moving to the valley.
He watched as she was welcomed by the pastor’s wife, Geneve Barnett. The two women shook hands while exchanging a few words of introduction. Then Shayla moved through the open doorway, disappearing from view.
Nat excused himself from those around him and made his way inside, curious for another glimpse of his neighbor. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust from the bright daylight outside to the softer light of the sanctuary. After they did, he scanned the room until he found her. She’d taken a seat in the back pew beneath the balcony, a spot that blanketed her in shadows.
On purpose, he suspected.
She was an outsider from a big city. She had to feel out of place and maybe even a little bit lonely. Of course it wasn’t his place to worry about her. She was an adult. She could make friends without his help.
And yet something propelled him forward and into that back pew.
“Morning, Shayla,” he said as he removed his hat.
The instant their gazes met, she smiled. “Good morning, Nat.”
“Nice to see you in church.”
“Nice to be here.”
“How are you today?”
“Do you mean, am I going to faint again?” She laughed softly, a pretty, almost musical sound. “I think I’m over that particular malady.”
That wasn’t what he’d meant, but he liked that she could laugh at herself.
“Good,” he replied. “No more fainting.” He sat down beside her, placing his Stetson on the floor beneath the pew.
Her eyes widened a fraction, revealing her surprise that he was joining her.
He didn’t figure she was any more surprised than he was. He hadn’t sat anyplace in this church except the third row, piano side, since he was a kid. That had been the O’Connell pew for more than sixty years, first for his grandparents, then for his parents and finally for Nat.
And Joanne, too, before she died.
It had been ten years since he sat in the O’Connell pew with his wife by his side, many years longer since there were kids there, whispering and getting dirty looks from their mother. That wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out, but that’s the way it was.