Roz Denny Fox - Mom's The Word

“Maybe. Gold fever, huh? So you think he was hunting gold?”

“I haven’t a clue. I just used that as an example.”

Dillon dug in his shirt pocket and pulled out a toothpick, which he stuck between his teeth. Modern cowboys, especially those who’d once smoked, had switched from tobacco to mint- or cinnamon-dipped toothpicks. Jake had never picked up the smoking habit. Dillon had, but quit at Eden’s request. But during serious talks, he sometimes reverted to it. He shifted the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other as he gazed toward the granite hills under discussion. “If communing with nature is all the yearly trek was to O’Dell, you gotta wonder why a woman snapped up the claim the minute the old guy cashed in his chips.”

“I don’t know when he died. She just said he had. Don’t tell me you’re getting gold fever, Dillon.” Jake sounded amused. “Strikes were never plentiful in this neck of the woods. The Blue Cameo is so remote, nuggets would have to be lying on top of the ground for anyone to convert the ore to cash. Hauling anything out of here over dirt roads takes money and guts.”

“It’s not so far to hook up with Interstate 19. No one’s ever found reason to lay out the money to improve the road, but that doesn’t mean no one would if they turned up something worth big bucks.”

“I’d have to see it to believe it. It’s not that I think a woman is less capable than a man of hacking into a ripe vein by accident. But I am skeptical of that woman being Hayley Ryan. If you could’ve seen her poring over elementary mineral and gem books, you’d agree. Plus, she’s a flyweight.” He shook his head. “I think if we wait a while, she’ll eventually give up and go home.”

“She might reach that conclusion faster, Jake, if you didn’t supply her with fresh produce. My produce,” Dillon reminded him.

“I know, I know. But if that was Eden camped there, would you turn your back and walk away, big brother?”

A sudden light dawned in Dillon’s eyes. “Are you saying you’ve fallen for this stranger?”

“No!” Jake protested. A bit too fast and much too vociferously. “We were raised to look out for women. So get off my back. You’d do the same—don’t deny it.”

Dillon gazed at his brother narrowly. The staring match lasted only seconds. Dillon capitulated with a shrug. “Then we’ll leave it at that. What’s your count of strays? I turned 1,010 head onto our leased grassland. Nine hundred and thirty to open range near Pena Blanca Lake. And twice as many near Hank and Yank’s dry spring. By my figuring, we’re down roughly five or six hundred head from the number Dad gave me.”

“I can account for roughly half of that in little knots of two or three strays. The missing might have merged with John Westin’s herd. I’ll ride past his spread and ask if he’s seen any of our brand mixed with his.”

Dillon gave his brother a playful nudge in the ribs. “This eagerness to volunteer to ride miles out of your way wouldn’t have anything to do with Ginalyn Westin, would it? Like, give you a chance to ask her to the fall harvest dance?”

“And have Gordy White punch my lights out? Do I look like a man with a death wish?”

“Gordy’s got no claim on Gina. If he did she’d be wearing his ring. But you’re so obtuse maybe you haven’t seen how the heir to the J & B pants after you, old son.”

“You won’t catch me in the stampede to her doorstep. John and Bonnie have spoiled her rotten. Can you really see me licking John’s boots and jumping through his hoops until he gets damn good and ready to hand over the ranch to his daughter? Her husband will always be a flunky. No, thank you.”

“Who mentioned marriage? I only asked if you were inviting her to the dance.”

Jake shot Dillon a quelling glance. “Yeah? So sue me for reading between the lines.”

Dillon laughed. “I’ll concede Gina isn’t your type. Hey, how about taking this Ryan woman? That way you can find out what she’s really up to.”

Jake shook his hand. “Oh, did I forget to say it’s Mrs. Ryan?”

“I’m afraid you left out that crucial fact. Okay, I’ll quit hassling you on that score. Too bad. Okay, go on. Ride out to the J & B. See if John can add to our steer count. You and I will touch base again on Saturday at the ranch. Until then, stay out of trouble.”

The brothers slapped each other on the back, saddled up and rode their separate ways. On the dusty ride to the J & B, Jake couldn’t seem to forget the idea of asking Hayley Ryan to the dance. But hell, it was still four months away. He was betting she’d be long gone and only a sweet memory by Labor Day.

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