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Darla turned narrowed eyes on her and again grasped Zane’s arm. “Oh, yes, the old maid sister. I heard about her last summer.”
Winifred blinked at her rudeness. “I am pleased to meet—”
“Come on, Zane. The reel is starting.” Darla pulled him away across the floor and pushed him into place just as the fiddles started up.
“Don’t waste much time, does she?” said a deep voice at her elbow. Winifred turned to face the gray-haired man with the yellow roses.
“Rooney Cloudman,” he reminded with a smile.
“Yes, I remember. How are you, Mr. Cloudman?”
“Make it just Rooney, why don’tcha? ‘Mister’ makes me nervous, like someone’s gonna arrest me for somethin’.”
Winifred couldn’t help laughing.
“Come on over and meet my Sarah, Miss Winifred. We’re gettin’ married come summer.” Rooney guided her to the sideline benches where a handsome older woman sat talking to a young boy.
“Sarah, this here’s Winifred Von Dannen, Celeste Dougherty’s sister.”
Sarah smiled. “Why, my stars, you’re the spitting image of her, ’cept you’re dark-haired and a mite more of a real beauty.”
Winifred gulped. More of a beauty? More than Cissy?
Surely the woman peering up at her had very poor eyesight.
“This here’s my grandson, Mark.” Sarah poked the adolescent boy in the ribs and he bolted to his feet.
“Ma’am.”
Rooney touched her elbow. “Care for some cider?”
“Why, yes, I would, thank you.”
“Hard or soft?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He means distilled or just apple juice,” Mark volunteered.
“Either,” Winifred replied. She had no idea what the difference was.
The boy bent toward his grandmother. “Gran, can I go see if Manette will dance with me?”
“Sure ya can. Be on your best behavior, now,” she said to his retreating back. Then Sarah patted the now empty space beside her.
“Set a spell with me, Winifred. I’ve got somethin’ to say.”
Winifred settled herself beside Sarah, but before she could ask what was on the older woman’s mind, she caught sight of Darla Bledsoe and Zane across the room. Darla hung on him as if she had wobbly shoes and extremely poor balance. A dart of something hot and sharp stung next to her heart.
“Ah,” Sarah said. “You’re seein’ what I see.”
“It’s really none of my business,” Winifred said quickly.
“Or mine, either,” Sarah huffed. “But I ask you, doesn’t that look like a fishhook bein’ dangled before that man?”
Winifred stifled a laugh just as Rooney returned and folded her hand around a cup of something. “It’s hard,” he said. “All outta soft.”
Winifred took a sip and gasped.
“Drink it slow-like,” he advised. “Now, Sarah, you promised to teach me the two-step, so come on.” He helped the older woman to her feet and guided her onto the dance floor.
Winifred gingerly sipped her cider and watched Zane. He caught her gaze from across the floor and rolled his eyes when Darla wasn’t looking. At that, she lifted her cup and downed a large swallow without choking.
Then she saw something she didn’t expect. Zane said something to Darla, and she hesitated, then twined her arms about his neck.
Well! And in public, too. What bad manners they had out here in the West.
But Zane lifted the clinging arms away, grasped Darla’s elbow and propelled her to a seat on the sidelines. With a curt nod, he left her and strode across the floor to Winifred.
Without a word he lifted the cup of cider from her hand and downed it in one gulp. He didn’t even blink.
“It’s hard,” she warned.
“Good.”
“Would you like—?”
“Yes,” he said. He marched off and in a few moments brought back her cup, filled to the brim, and another for himself.
“It’s hard,” he said.
“Are you referring to the cider?”
“I am not.” And then they both laughed.
Zane gulped from his cup. “It’s hard being a widower in a town with so many hungry young women,” he explained. “Darla is a widow, so I guess she’s extra-hungry. Husband was killed in a logging accident.”
Winifred sipped her cider in silence. For a winter night, and sitting so far from the woodstove in the corner, it was surprising how warm she felt.
