Cathy Thacker - Lone Star Valentine

Clint moved back to give him room to work. “I need some volunteers for the pony rides at the chili festival. I saw you’re judging on Friday and Saturday evenings, but the kiddie stuff is all being held Saturday morning.”

Given Lily’s decision to stay as far away from him as possible, at least when it came to any physical encounters, Gannon figured the busier he was, the better. It would help him avoid temptation.

Not that this situation would go on for long. As soon as he wrapped up the sale of the Triple M Ranch land to the development company, he would be headed back to Fort Worth. There, his demanding work as partner in a top-notch law firm would not leave room for much else.

And wasn’t that ironic.

In law school, Lily had been all work and no play.

Now she was ready to kick back and enjoy more out of life in the small town where they’d both grown up.

Whereas he was focused only on success, to the elimination of most everything else that was distracting—and pleasurable.

Who would have figured...?

Realizing his friend was still waiting for his answer, he opened the stall doors. “Count me in.”

“Thanks.” Clint accepted the reins on a mare, then followed Gannon and the other two horses out of the barn to the pasture.

It was a nice February morning. Temperature in the low fifties, sunny, not a cloud in the sky. The kind of day that could make Gannon wish he still lived in the country. Or at least had enough time off to enjoy the great weather, and wide-open Texas ranch land.

They unhooked the reins and stepped back to let the horses move freely about. A chestnut, speckled white and inky black, they were all a beautiful sight.

“Heard you’re going to sell to Rex Carter,” Clint continued.

Gannon pumped water into the troughs. “The land, maybe—depending on how much he offers and what he plans to do with it. Not the house. My mom is set on keeping that and at least one hundred of the five hundred acres surrounding it.” But the rest of the land was his to sell.

Clint studied the unkempt condition of the ranch land, along with the even more overgrown property to the south. “Think you’ll regret it somewhere down the line?”

Gannon turned to the man who’d ridden the junior rodeo circuit with him when they were teens, then gone on to become a champion in the adult circuit while Gannon had quit competing altogether and went on to college and law school. “Are we talking about you now—or me?” he ribbed.

Clint’s demeanor grew remorseful. “I wish I had held on to the place when my four sisters and I inherited it ten years ago instead of selling it to city folk who let the entire ranch go to seed. And then have to use all my savings and negotiate like the dickens to buy it back.”

Gannon slapped him on the shoulder, aware they all had their regrets. His own was chiefly Lily. “Well, it’s yours now.” And Gannon was happy for his pal.

Clint helped Gannon put out some feed. Then eventually asked, “What about your horses? Are you planning to keep them or are you going to sell them, too?”

That was a tricky question. Gannon exhaled. “I hate to—these three have been part of our family since I was a kid. But on the other hand, although they’re being well cared for, they’re not being exercised enough. But if you’re interested...?”

Clint shrugged. “I could board them for you, if you like. Free of charge—if you’ll let me use them in some of the riding and roping lessons I’m planning to give. That way they’d still be yours, and you could still ride them whenever you did come back home.”

It was the perfect solution to yet another problem of downsizing. So why was he hesitating? Why was he once again yearning to saddle up and ride whenever he wanted and thinking about how his life had been in simpler times? He had made his decision about where his future lay. Hadn’t he? Was okay with the hefty price extracted from working 24/7?

Clint looked at him.

“Let me mull it over,” Gannon said.

In the distance, another vehicle turned into the lane and sped toward the ranch house.

“Expecting someone?” Clint asked.

Gannon caught sight of the satellite dish affixed to the top of the white-and-blue van and swore. Just what he did not need.

He wondered if Lily had her hands full, too.

* * *

“YOU HAVE TO get that statue out of the town square,” Marybeth Simmons declared. “Sooner, rather than later!”

Lily looked at the delegation of fifteen community leaders standing on her front porch. Farther down the block, a vehicle came to a halt; a door opened and closed. But from where she was standing, Lily could not see who it was.

Deciding to concentrate on those already there, she lifted a calming hand. “Look, I know it wasn’t what we all expected. But I think we ought to give it a chance, maybe—”

Rex Carter interjected angrily, “The entire dedication ceremony, complete with fire, is on YouTube! It’s had twenty thousand hits so far! And that’s just in one twenty-four hour period.”

“It’s made our whole town—not to mention the chili festival—out to be a joke!” Sonny Sanderson added. Which was a problem for him and his family, because he’d been hoping his barbecue restaurant would sell a lot of food at the event if attendance was even moderately high. Now that might all be for naught—for all the restaurateurs and food vendors planning to take part.

A familiar low male voice joined in. “It gets even more interesting. A Dallas TV station news crew is interviewing my mother as we speak.”

Everyone moved to make way for Gannon Montgomery. He’d thrown a leather jacket over his usual shirt and jeans. With a black Stetson slanted across his brow, he looked sexier than ever.

“Sorry,” Oscar Gentry, another retired teacher said. “No disrespect meant for your mother, son.”

“But we don’t want to see her or her art ridiculed, and the way things are going,” Yvonne Gentry, another retired teacher, kindly concurred, “Harriett will be made out to be a laughingstock.”

Lily—who’d had no time to pull on a coat herself before meeting with the crowd—searched desperately for a solution. “Maybe if we put up a framed explanation beside it, letting people know it’s part sculpture and part performance art—”

Around her, everyone paused, exchanged looks, slowly shook their heads. “It’s got to be moved to a less conspicuous place than the town square,” Miss Mim insisted.

Emmett Briscoe, oilman and art collector extraordinaire, joined them on the front porch of Lily’s Craftsman. Nearing seventy, he was still a big, robust, handsome bear of a man. As well as a community and state leader. “Why not put it at the fairgrounds?” he said. “Where the chili cook-off and festival is going to be held? We can put it behind glass in the exhibition hall, along with the explanation that Lily suggested. And then decide what to do with it once the festival is over.”

“Given all the publicity we’ve already had, festival-goers are going to expect to see it.” Lily looked at Gannon for support. “We may as well capitalize on that.”

Rex Carter scoffed. “How much money is it going to cost to move it?”

“Since it’s just from one place to another, and is only the one sculpture, I’m sure it won’t be much,” Lily said. At least she hoped that was the case.

More grumbling followed.

“Give me until Monday afternoon to come up with a definite plan,” Lily urged.

Marybeth Simmons, the leader of the local PTA, huffed, “Well, see that you keep us informed. All our organizations are relying on the money we hope to raise Valentine’s Day weekend to fund our projects for the rest of the year.”