Slick shrugged and slipped the letter in his shirt pocket, then let out a whoop and kicked his horse. The other men followed suit, racing out of the barnyard, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.
It wasn’t long after that Teddy and Heath, along with their wives and Ana, came out of the big house, all dressed in their town finery, and climbed into the waiting carriage. Apparently they enjoyed a night on the town as well as the men, though he assumed their celebration would be a bit more subdued. Instead of a noisy saloon, he supposed they’d dine at a nice restaurant, perhaps take in a play or listen to music, if Serenity had an opera house. Or they might be going to visit Lucy. He doubted very much that they would sit at a felt-covered table and gamble.
Antonio and Hilde, he noticed, did not join them. Neither did Charley and Felicity. He didn’t see Evie, either, which was a good thing. She wasn’t heading into town. He supposed she was inside with the children, but maybe she’d come out later, sit on the patio and watch the sun set. And just maybe, she’d like some company when she did.
He saw Esteban and Catalina come out of the house a few moments later and head straight for the corral. They each carried saddle bags as well as burlap sacks. They mounted up and rode out in the opposite direction.
The barnyard grew quiet, except for an occasional meow from the cats wanting some attention, the clucking of the chickens with an occasional crow from Lucifer, who still didn’t know what time it was, and the soft sounds of the horses in the corral. He wandered toward the paddock and opened the gate. One at a time, he brought the horses into the barn, brushed them down, gave them their share of oats—a little extra for Goldie, as Heath requested—and settled them for the night.
Once that chore was done, he took a seat on the stump he used to chop wood. Flower jumped in his lap, her purrs quite loud as she rubbed her face against his. The dog wasn’t far either, lying in a patch of sunlight. The evening stretched out before him. He could go back into the barn and keep company with the horses. He hadn’t lied when he said he’d grown fond ofthem. Or he could settle in and finish reading one of the books he’d chosen from the bookshelf in the bunkhouse. Or he could pick up the sketch pad once more and try to capture Evie’s face just before he kissed her last night.
The object of his thoughts came out of the house, a tray in her hand, covered with a checkered napkin, and walked through her garden toward him. He stood as she drew closer, once again admiring her beauty, which wasn’t hard to do…he found himself doing that more often than not. She wore one of her favored split skirts, this one a light tan suede, pairing it with shiny black boots that reached the hem of the skirt and a plain white blouse. Her hair had been left loose—no bun at the back of her head or horse’s tail that swung back and forth as she walked—to curl in wild abandon around her shoulders. She looked very much like she had the night of the storm. His pulse quickened and warmth flooded him as blood rushed through his veins.
Color flamed on her cheeks as she handed him the tray. “I noticed everyone went into town, including Grub, which means you have no supper.”
“There’s enough in the ice box to cook something up, but I appreciate it.” Holding the tray from beneath with one hand, he removed the napkin and his mouth watered. A bowl brimming with a hearty beef stew and a thick slice of bread, already buttered, met his eyes. There was even a piece of chocolate cake and a tall glass of milk. “Thank you.”
He gestured to the makeshift chair he’d been sitting on. “Please.”
“Oh, no.” She leaned against the wall, her hands behind her back. “You sit. You need to eat.”
He studied her for a moment, then laid the tray on the stump and disappeared into the bunkhouse. He returned in a moment, bringing one of the kitchen chairs with him. He placed it beside the stump.
Evie gave him a quick smile, then sank into the chair, her gaze moving to the horizon.
He did the same, though his focus was more on her than the sunset. Still, the vibrant colors of the setting sun seemed to glow on her face. “The sunsets here are beautiful,” he said, before he took a big bite of the bread. The sweet creamy butter and the tartness of the sourdough hit his taste buds all at once and he nearly groaned at the combination.
“What?”
With bread in hand, he gestured toward the horizon and the myriad of colors streaking across the sky, a deep magenta being the predominant shade. “The sunsets. Are they always this beautiful?”
“Yes, I like to think so. This is my favorite time of day.”
“Mine as well.”
“Why didn’t you go into town?”
“Why didn’t you go into town?” They asked the question at the same time, which amused him.
“You first,” he said, watching the blush spread across her cheeks and loving the sight.
“There’s nothing in town I needed. Besides, I thought it was important that Ana go. She hasn’t been to see her family in a couple of weeks. You?”
“Didn’t see a reason.” He smiled at her, then said, “And I’d hoped, maybe, that you and I could spend some time together, get to know each other a little more. I learned a lot about you that night in the barn, but there’s still so much I don’t know.”
“But there are entertainments. A few saloons, where there’s music, the whiskey and beer flow freely, and a poker game or a fight is always ready to happen.” She lowered her voice to almost a whisper and tilted her head to the side, peering at him sideways. “A bawdy house or two.”
“Not interested.”
“Why aren’t you already married?” she blurted out.
The question caught him off guard. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer, so he took a spoonful of the stew and mulled it over as he chewed. Finally, he said, “I could ask the same of you.”
She smiled. “I asked you first.”
His gaze roamed her face, settling first on her eyes then on her mouth—her utterly kissable mouth—and the memory of the taste of her lips made responding almost impossible. He pulled in a breath, trying to control his thoughts. Finally, he shrugged. “Never found anyone willing to put up with my faults.”
“Your faults? Surely you don’t have that many.”
