Chapter Four
At eleven twelve Wednesday morning, I checked the float valve on the nearest water trough and looked down the ranch road for the fourth time.
The cattle crowded the fence in the hard late-morning sun, tails swatting at flies while dry grass rustled beneath their hooves. Beyond them, limestone rises broke through the pasture, pale against the cedar and live oaks.
My phone buzzed in my shirt pocket.
SHAY: I’m leaving now. I told the office I’m gone for the afternoon, and I’m turning off my phone before Daddy invents an emergency.
I read the message twice.
Tuesday night had ended with her taillights disappearing toward town and her promise to text when she left at eleven.
TITUS: Drive safe. The front gate’s open.
Her reply appeared as I started to pocket the phone.
SHAY: That hardly seems like the complete ranch experience.
TITUS: You can earn your gate-opening privileges later.
SHAY: Generous of you.
I slid the phone away.
The entrance gate stood propped open beyond the cattle guard, exactly where I’d left it after the morning feed run. I went back to the trough, lifted the metal cover, and checked the valve again even though the water level hadn’t changed in the last three minutes.
Ten minutes later, sunlight flashed across a windshield at the far bend.
Shay’s dark SUV came down the pale ranch road, passing through the open gate without slowing.
I set my wrench on the fence post and walked to meet her.
She parked beside my truck and climbed out wearing faded jeans, brown work boots, and a lightweight yellow shirt fitted close to her curves.
Her dark-brown hair was secured in a braid that fell between her shoulder blades.
Sunglasses covered her eyes until she pushed them onto her head and looked across the pasture.
The ranch wasn’t large enough to impress anyone accustomed to Luttrell oil money.
The low limestone house sat beneath live oaks, with the barn, pens, and equipment sheds arranged for work rather than appearance.
Fences divided the dry pasture beyond them.
Cattle moved toward the nearest strip of shade while cicadas rattled from the trees.
Shay smiled at me.
That was enough to improve the view.
“You left the gate open,” she said.
“I promised lunch, a water check, and possibly a gate. I didn’t promise the first gate.”
“Your advertising was misleading.”
“I’ll issue a correction.”
She came around the SUV. Her warm brown eyes caught amber in the sunlight, and her smile softened.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
I stopped in front of her. “You came.”
“I said I would.”
“I know.”
Shay studied my face. “You weren’t sure.”
“I wasn’t sure what would be waiting when you went back to the office.”
“A stack of correspondence, three calendar changes, and Daddy asking why I’d worn jeans.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I had personal plans after eleven.”
“He accepted that?”
“He heard it. Acceptance is an advanced skill.”
I laughed and reached for her. Shay stepped into me halfway through the movement.
Her arms slid around my neck, and I kissed her under the open sky with cattle shifting behind the fence and sweat gathering at my collar. She tasted like coffee and mint.
When I lifted my head, her cheeks were flushed.
“That was a better greeting,” she said.
“I thought so.”
She kept one palm on my chest. “I didn’t ask permission.”
“To come here?”
“To leave. I told the front desk I was taking the afternoon, turned off my phone, and walked out before Daddy could decide I needed to stay.”
“You completed your work first.”
“Most of it.”
“That isn’t reckless.”
“It is in my family.”
Her expression brightened with private amusement.
“Number three?” I asked.
“Possibly.”
“You’ll need a stricter judge.”
“You’re the man who thought driving to my bungalow qualified as staying on the road to the ranch.”
“I eventually got there.”
“After several hours.”
“I didn’t hear you complain.”
She gave me a look that held more memory than disapproval.
“No,” Shay said. “You certainly didn’t.”
Every sound she’d made over the quartz counter came back at once.
I stepped back, or lunch wasn’t happening.
“You hungry?”
“I left before anyone could schedule a working lunch, so yes.”
I took her overnight bag from the back of the SUV as she reached for it.
Shay shut the hatch. “There’s one change of clothes in there.”
“You planning to stay?”
“I planned to stay for supper. The rest is backup.”
“Of course it is.”
“I learned yesterday that a man can keep two brisket sandwiches in his truck without warning. I’m protecting myself.”
I carried the bag toward the house. “From sandwiches?”
“From being unprepared.”
The shaded porch wrapped across the front of the ranch house. My boots struck worn boards that had been replaced one section at a time instead of all at once. Shay followed me through the front door and stopped inside the living room.
I didn’t have much decoration. A leather sofa faced the stone fireplace.
Two chairs sat near the front windows, and shelves held books, a few framed rodeo photographs, and the paperwork I hadn’t carried into the office.
The floors were old pine, scratched in places but solid.
The kitchen opened off the back of the room with a wide table beneath the windows.
Shay turned in a slow circle.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m looking.”
“At what?”
“How you live.”
“And?”
“You own more than one chair.”
“I entertain constantly.”
Her gaze landed on the second chair. “I can tell.”
I set her bag near the hallway. “Lunch is in the kitchen.”
“You made lunch?”
“I assembled it.”
“That’s less dangerous.”
I’d prepared roast-beef sandwiches with mustard and sliced tomatoes ahead of the morning water checks. A bowl of watermelon waited in the refrigerator beside a pitcher of iced tea.
Shay washed at the kitchen sink while I brought everything to the table. She ran cool water over her wrists, then dried them on the towel beside the stove.
“You keep your house clean,” she said.
“I live here.”
“Not every man with a house keeps it clean.”
“I also know where the cleaning supplies are.”
“Now you’re showing off.”
We sat across from each other. Sunlight passed through the live-oak branches and shifted over the table while the air-conditioning fought the midday heat.
Shay took a bite of her sandwich and closed her eyes briefly.
“Did you skip breakfast?” I asked.
“I had yogurt while rescheduling a committee call.”
“That isn’t breakfast.”
“It contains protein.”
“So does cattle feed.”
Her eyes opened. “That comparison won’t improve my appetite.”
“You’ve already eaten half the sandwich.”
She looked down. “Good point.”
I pushed the watermelon toward her and poured more tea into her glass.
“Thank you,” she said.
I looked at her a second longer than I meant to.
She glanced toward the hallway. “Do you always eat lunch here?”
“When work keeps me close. Otherwise, I eat in the truck or at the bar.”
“And supper?”
“Here, if I’m not at Sin & Tonic.”
“What happens at Sin & Tonic tonight?”
“Duane handles opening. I’ll check in later.”
“You don’t have to change your schedule for me.”
“I know.”
Shay held my gaze over the rim of her glass.
“You say that a lot,” she said.
“You tell me what I don’t have to do a lot.”
“I’m practicing reasonable expectations.”
“Is that on a spreadsheet?”
“It will be after today.”
I took another bite.
She set down her glass. “Were you always planning to run the ranch?”
“Yes.”
“And the bar happened because the building was available?”
“That was part of it.”
“What was the rest?”
I looked through the window toward the barn. “The ranch belonged to the family before it belonged to me. I wanted something I’d built without anyone calling it Calhoun inheritance.”
Shay’s expression changed, but she didn’t interrupt.
“The building had been empty for years,” I continued. “I bought it, repaired what needed repairing, and opened Sin & Tonic. We’ve had music for eight years without needing the mayor’s personal approval.”
“Daddy must admire your consistency.”
“He hides it well.”
She smiled, but her attention remained steady. “Does the ranch feel like yours?”
“It does now.”
“What changed?”
“I worked it long enough.”
Her fingers traced the condensation on her glass.
“I want that with the bungalow,” she said. “Not just the property. The work.”
“You’re getting there.”
“I am.”
I tried to stop her after lunch, but Shay carried the plates to the sink. I put the food away while she rinsed the glasses.
“You’re a guest,” I said.
“I ate here. I can rinse a plate.”
“That isn’t how being a guest works.”
“It is at my house.”
“This is my house.”
“And now your plates are clean.”
I dried them and placed them in the cabinet.
Shay glanced at me. “That was almost domestic.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret’s safe.”
I reached past her to set the towel down. Shay tipped her face toward mine. I kissed her once, then stepped away.
“We should check the water,” I said.
“Are we leaving because you’re responsible?”
“Yes.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“You haven’t seen the gate yet.”
She followed me outside.
We took my truck because the pasture roads were rutted and the low branches would’ve scratched her SUV. Shay climbed into the passenger seat, set her sunglasses over her eyes, and adjusted the vent toward her face.
The cab still held traces of leather, dust, and the coffee I’d finished at sunrise. A cooler of bottled water rested behind the seat beside a canvas tool bag and folded towels I’d put there that morning.
Shay noticed the towels.
“Planning ahead?” she asked.
“I occasionally have a good idea.”
“You’ve been waiting to use that.”
“Since yesterday.”
I started the truck and followed the dirt track away from the house.
The land opened beyond the pens. Dry grass reached the fence wires, broken by live oaks, cedar, and pale limestone shelves. Cattle lifted their heads as we passed, then returned to grazing.
Shay watched everything.
“Your father still works out here?” she asked.
“He handles what he wants to handle.”
“Daddy does the same.”
“Dad doesn’t run my schedule.”
“Does he try?”
“Not twice.”