Free Beautiful Dreamer with Bonus Material by Elizabeth Lowell

it before the grease sets,” he said, putting the sizzling beef in front of her.
    She prodded the steak with her fork. “Did you hear that?”
    “What?”
    “It mooed at me.”
    Mason started to say something indignant before he saw the laughter lurking in her eyes. He smiled unwillingly, ruffled her just-brushed hair, and went back to the stove.
    A low, sweetly rendered mooooo followed him.
    He turned back quickly. An angelic-looking Hope was cutting into her bloody steak with every appearance of satisfaction.
    “Mmmmmm,” she said, chewing slowly. “Mason, nobody can almost cook a steak like you.”
    Smiling, singing off-key, a pleased Mason fried his own beef. It took even less time than hers had.
    Soon the only sounds in the kitchen were those made by flatware against crockery plates, the occasional creak of old oak chairs when weight shifted forward or back on the seat, and the rapidly accelerating perk of the coffeepot as the liquid inside deepened in color and fragrance.
    When Hope could eat no more, she took pity on the patient Mason and told him about the agreement she and Rio had made.
    Mason listened quietly, nodded at the right moments, and smiled like a cat with feathers sticking out of its mouth. When Hope was finished talking, he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and pushed back from the table.
    “Well, better open the pipe to the water heater,” he said.
    She stared at him as though he had suggested frying one of the oak chairs for dessert. “What are you talking about?”
    “Don’t you want a bath, gal?”
    “Well, of course, but—”
    “Then don’t keep me here jawing with you when bathwater could be heating up,” he interrupted cheerfully.
    “Mason.” She spoke slowly, carefully, as though he was deaf or stupid or slightly crazy. “If I take a bath, there won’t be any drinking water for tomorrow.”
    “Sure there will. Whole damn truckload.”
    Her mouth dropped open and stayed that way.
    He snorted. “Look at you catching flies. What do you think Rio’s doing out there on an empty belly, gal? Pushing that bastard truck around in the dark for the hell of it?”
    Hope’s mouth closed a lot more slowly than it had opened. “Do you really think . . .” she began wistfully, longing for a bath with every aching muscle in her body.
    “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
    The noise of the old water truck rattling into the ranch yard sounded loud in the sudden silence.
    “Fast trip,” Mason said. “Takes strength. Rio has it and then some.”
    Hope was too astonished for words. She hurried out into the front yard.
    “Where do you want it?” Rio asked.
    “I— You didn’t have to do— Around back,” she managed finally.
    He looked past her into the night. Around back took in a lot of country, including the Perdidas cutting stars out of the clear night sky.
    Laughing, she stepped onto the truck’s running board and reached for the cab door. “I’ll take care of it. You must be starved. Go in and eat.”
    Rio simply stared at her. He wasn’t used to that kind of consideration from anyone, much less from a woman as tired as he knew Hope had to be. He smiled gently. “Thanks, but it won’t take long for me to eat. You go on in and rest.”
    “After the water is put away.”
    He didn’t argue. He knew how important every drop of water was to her. “Hang on.”
    She clung to the cab door as he eased the heavy truck around the house and up to a spot that had formerly been a lawn but now was little more than two tire tracks ground through a crust of dead grass. The pipe that had once brought water from the Hope had been cut and the stump threaded to allow the canvas hose to be coupled with it.
    One look at the setup told Rio that it would be another wrestling match. He climbed down out of the cab, ready to do battle again with stubborn brass couplings and water-heavy hose.
    Hope took a flashlight from the truck, bathing his hands in light while he coaxed the connection