Page 42 of The Wrangler and the Tenderfoot

Jennie took her time, read every label, asked about the ingredients and where the peppers were grown. She grilled the woman, and the woman gave as good as she got. By the time they were done, I’d bought three bottles, one for her, one for me, and one because I felt bad for the vendor. Easier than watching them go two more rounds over Scoville ratings.

She laughed when I paid. “You didn’t have to get that.”

“You weren’t going to let her go until she admitted you were right about the pH balance.”

Jennie grinned, crooked. “I was getting there.”

We drifted to the next tent. She grabbed a peach, paid the farmer, and bit into it, juice running down her wrist. She looked so happy for that half second that I almost forgot why we were here.

She wiped her chin and said, “Thank you. This is exactly what I needed.”

I shrugged. “I like it out here.”

She didn’t say more, but she moved closer, shoulder to mine.

At the far end of the line of tents, there was a woman browsing at the preserves table, silver hair pinned back, earrings that looked like they cost more than my pickup. She wore black jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, crisp even in the heat. Cordelia Coleman.

Jennie saw her next, and I watched two apex predators line each other up across a minefield of jam jars and folding tables. Cordelia’s smile didn’t change, but something behind her eyes flicked on, sharp and assessing. She moved over and greeted us both with that false ease. “My goodness,” she said, and it sounded like a compliment, but it was anything but, “how far your work takes you, Ms. Cardin.”

Jennie smiled. “Couldn’t miss the preserves, Mrs. Coleman.”

They shook hands, and that was that.

Cordelia turned to me. “Reid. I see you survived another drought.”

“Yes ma’am. You too.”

“I always do,” she said, and then she was back to Jennie, eyes full of laser focus. “What brings you this far north?” she asked.

“Everyone needs a day off now and then,” Jennie said.

“I hope the geology’s been more exciting than the last report we got from Ms. Beaumont. Heard it was slow going.”

“It picked up,” Jennie said. “More productive than I expected, actually.”

The words were warm, but the tension between them was thick enough to chew.

Cordelia said, “And what about your family, dear? Are they worried, with you being out here alone so long?”

Jennie didn’t blink. “I’m not really alone, ma’am. Lots of company out in Hollow Ridge.”

Cordelia gave a smile, not quite a sneer. “I imagine that’s true.”

They traded small talk, neither raising the bet, both waiting for the other to show a tell.

Cordelia changed tack. “You should try the peach preserves. They’re the best in the state.”

“Only if you help me pick a jar,” Jennie said.

Cordelia couldn’t refuse, not without giving ground. She picked a jar, and Jennie held it up to the light, reading the label.

She set the jar down and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Coleman. Always nice seeing you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Cordelia replied, looked at me and nodded, and then she was gone.

I waited until she was a hundred yards away, then said, “You didn’t need me for that.”

Jennie turned the jar in her hand, eyes still on the label. “No,” she said. “But it was nice to have you there.”