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“Who else?” Chase retorted.
Sloan turned to the steps, then paused to glance at Cat. “By some wild chance, if Tara should show up, whatever you do, don’t let her set foot in the house until I get back.”
A soft, understanding laugh preceded Cat’s answer. “Don’t worry. I won’t—not after the last time.”
“The last time?” Chase repeated, then remembered. “You mean that day when Sloan went off with Trey, and Tara arbitrarily ordered the workers to gut the bathroom.” He winked at Sloan. “Like I said, girl, we live and learn.”
“And I learned that lesson well,” she agreed, then waved to both of them and crossed to the steps.
Fifty yards from The Homestead, the attendant noise of the renovation receded to a faint murmur. But Sloan’s tension wasn’t so quick to fade. It remained, like a heavy anchor weighing her down. For the first time in her life, she looked around and failed to appreciate whatever view was before her, the warmth of the sun on her skin, or the mingling of scents in the air.
Her plan was to take an aimless stroll, but she traveled in a nearly straight line to the commissary. Stepping into the air-cooled building, she ran a disinterested glance over the merchandise.
As expected, she spotted a ranch hand on the hardware side and a woman browsing in the section with the boys’ jeans. More voices came from the back. She had never been to the commissary when someone wasn’t there.
Making small talk was the last thing Sloan felt like doing. So she chose a circuitous route to the video racks that would allow her to avoid the other shoppers. A step away from her destination, she was stopped by the sound of Trey’s voice.
“Hey, Sloan. What are you doing in here?” He came striding up, his dark eyes agleam with the pleasure of seeing her.
She struggled to match his easy smile. “I could ask you the same question.”
“I had to bring Hank Tobin to the dispensary. An old cow we’re doctoring let fly with a hoof and sliced open his leg. While he was getting it stitched, I decided to check on a part we ordered last week.” Trey swung an arm over the top of the video rack, his stance all loose and easy. “So, what’s your story?”
“I came to pick out a movie to watch tonight. Your grandpa wants something with John Wayne in it.” She drifted to the extensive selection of westerns available.
“Figures.” Trey grinned. “How’s the work going?”
“At a snail’s pace—as usual.” She tried to make a joke of it, but her tone of voice was much too grim.
His gaze sharpened on her. “Is there a problem?”
“Only one,” Sloan replied on a disgruntled note. “That we ever decided to do this in the first place.” She quickly held up a hand to stave off his expected response. “I know. You tried to warn me, but I wouldn’t listen. Well, now I wish I had.”
He cocked his head to one side, trying to get a better read on her expression. “What brought this on?”
Irritated and half-angry, mostly at herself, Sloan responded with biting mockery. “It couldn’t be that we’ve started the third week of work, and the rooms are still a mess. Not a single thing is finished.” She focused on the display, hot tears burning the back of her eyes, and added tightly, “I can just imagine what your family thinks of me.”
His expression went cool. “Has somebody said something to you about it?”
“No, they wouldn’t. But look at what I’ve done—the way I’ve disrupted their home and their lives. It isn’t likely to endear me to them.”
“It’s not that bad.” An amused tolerance was in the chiding look he gave her.
“Like you would know,” she taunted. “You aren’t there every day, all day long, with the dust and the noise, people coming in and out, up and down the stairs.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got a case of cabin fever.” Trey smiled in sympathy. “You need to get away for a day and have a change of scenery.”
“Wouldn’t that look great?” Sloan countered. “I take off and leave your grandfather and aunt to cope with the chaos I caused. Thank you, but I don’t think so.”
“It isn’t going to last forever, you know.” Trey was gentle in his reminder.
“Sometimes it feels like it,” she declared, then sighed. “Sorry. I guess I’m having my own little pity party. It’s just that”—she turned to him, earnest and intent—“I really wanted them to like me, and I’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”
“Last I heard, there wasn’t a deadline,” Trey reasoned. “It seems to me you have plenty of time to switch to the other one. And a rip-roaring, shoot-’em-up movie with John Wayne would be a good start. Between you and me”—he darted a quick look around them, then leaned close, as if sharing a secret—“The Searchers is his favorite.”
“Then that’s the one I’ll get.” She located it on the rack, paused, and glanced questioningly at Trey. “There isn’t a DVD version here?”
“Probably not,” he admitted and waited while Sloan removed the cassette case from the rack, then followed her to the rear counter.
