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“Yes.” Sloan tried to look happy about it.
“You’re lucky,” Jessy told her. “At least you have a few practical items here. You should have seen the store-full of toys, stuffed animals, and fancy outfits she sent when the twins were born.”
“I almost wish I could send some of it back,” Sloan murmured.
“It wouldn’t do you any good. She’d just send more. So just keep what you like and we’ll give the rest away.” There was a warm glint in her eyes. “That’s what I did.”
Just for a moment, Sloan felt as if she and her mother-in-law were co-conspirators. “So will I.”
In the end there were only a few items that Sloan chose not to keep, but she felt better knowing the choice had been hers and that she still had a few things to buy.
Naturally, Trey didn’t understand why she was giving away things that she’d have to go out and replace. In the end, he gave up trying to reason with her and told her to do what she wanted. Which Sloan had every intention of doing anyway.
Chapter Sixteen
Snow fell soft and steady out of a leaden sky. With no wind to scatter them, the flakes accumulated in layers, blanketing the Montana plains in a thick mantle and capping the trees’ barren branches in white.
In the hush that settled over the land, the hum and click of the gasoline pump dispensing fuel into the pickup’s tank seemed loud. Trey stood next to the truck, his gloved hands thrust deep in the pockets of his sheepskin-lined jacket, his shoulders hunched against December’s bite and his collar turned up. His warm breath created a steamy vapor that mixed with the smell of gasoline fumes.
Idly stamping his feet to keep the blood flowing to them, he made a visual sweep of the area. Lights gleamed from the windows of the houses where the married ranch hands lived. At first glance, he seemed to be the only one out and about, but there was another pickup parked in front of the commissary, a thick dusting of snow already coating its windshield.
The pump kicked off. For a moment there was absolute silence. Trey pulled his hands from his pockets, squeezed the nozzle’s lever to top off the tank, then set it back on its cradle and screwed on the gas cap.
Finished, he struck out for the commissary to sign the gas ticket. Johnny Taylor walked out the door, his down jacket unzipped, exposing his chest to the weather, ungloved hands holding a letter and the envelope it came in. Intent on reading it, Johnny was oblivious to the crunch of Trey’s approaching footsteps until he was nearly upon him.
“Trey.” Startled, Johnny came to a full stop. “I didn’t know you were out here.”
“Got a letter from Kelly, did you?” Trey guessed.
There was a touch of embarrassment in Johnny’s quick smile, but it couldn’t compete with the way the rest of his expression brightened. “Yeah. Looks like she can come home for the ranch Christmas party. She’s been working part-time to help with costs, but she’s got the weekend off. I told her if she did, I’d pick her up and drive her back.”
“That will cost you some gas money. Sounds like things are getting serious.”
Johnny dipped his head and pushed around some snow with the toe of his boot. “I been thinking about asking her to marry me. Not right away o’ course,” he added, hastily shooting a glance at Trey. “She’s got her heart set on becoming a nurse, so she has her schooling to finish first. But I figure it’ll be a good thing to have a nurse in the family.”
“Should cut down on the medical expense.”
But the teasing gibe didn’t register with Johnny. “That’s the way I looked at it, too.” Hesitating, he turned solemn. “This marrying business—it’s working out okay for you, isn’t it?”
“It couldn’t be better.” And Trey meant every word of it.
“Sloan being a photographer, sort of a working girl, and all, that isn’t causing any problems, is it?”
“She won’t be doing much of that with the baby coming.”
“I guess not,” Johnny conceded and angled toward his truck. “See you around.”
As he started to move away, Trey noticed the cassette tape that poked its head out of Johnny’s jacket pocket. “What’s that you got there? Don’t tell me you’re going to sit home on a Saturday night and watch a movie?”
“I gotta start saving my money.”
“I’ve never known you when you didn’t,” Trey retorted. “You probably got the first quarter the tooth fairy gave you.”
“Damn right I do.” But Johnny grinned when he said it, making light of his tightfisted ways.
Chuckling softly to himself, Trey headed into the commissary, signed the fuel ticket, came back out, and climbed into the pickup. Snow was still falling, and the windshield wipers slapped away the powdery flakes as he drove to The Homestead.
Tracks left by other feet made a path through the snow to the front steps and onto the porch. Trey followed them all the way to the wreath-clad door. Pausing on the mat, he knocked the worst of the snow from his boots, then turned the knob.
