Free Beautiful Dreamer with Bonus Material by Elizabeth Lowell Page A

between the water truck and the buried cistern that served the ranch house. Soon water fattened the hose and fell into the nearly empty tank. Muted thunder rose from beneath their feet.
    “How big is the tank?” he asked.
    “It will hold half a truckload. Go in and eat. I’ll watch over things out here.”
    He might have argued, but Mason stuck his head out of the back door and yelled, “Come and git it ’fore I feed it to the pigs.”
    “Do you have pigs?” Rio whispered to her.
    “No, but I haven’t had the heart to tell Mason.”
    “Too soft, huh?”
    “For some people.” Her smile was quick, but Rio caught its gleam. “Mason is one of them.”
    “Is Turner?” Rio asked, not knowing why.
    Hope gave him a level glance. “I’m not around Turner long enough for it to matter either way.”
    “Sorry. None of my business.”
    She shrugged. “Everybody in a hundred miles has made it their business at one time or another. Why should you be different?”
    He started to speak, then obviously thought better of it.
    “Go ahead,” she said with a sigh. “But please be original. Don’t tell me Turner is an untrustworthy son of a bitch, because I already know it. Don’t tell me that he’s filthy rich, because I don’t care.”
    “Is he crowding you?”
    Something buried in Rio’s voice, something dangerous, made Hope wish that it was light enough to see his expression clearly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
    “If that changes, let me know.”
    “You’ll have to get in line after Mason,” she said dryly.
    “It would be a pleasure.”
    Hope didn’t doubt that Rio meant every word. Obviously he and John Turner weren’t very friendly. It wasn’t surprising. Anyone with an ounce of self-respect had a hard time getting along with Turner.
    And Rio, despite his easy manner, had plenty of pride.
    “This here dinner of yours ain’t getting any hotter, Rio,” Mason called. “Gal, you git on back in here and set. That damn hose ain’t going nowheres and you know it.”
    Hope hesitated, then played the light once more over the coupling. It was tight. Barely any drops escaped. She went to the truck and put the flashlight back in its place.
    While Mason stood impatiently, Rio waited for her, then walked by her side toward the yellow light pouring out of the house. He said nothing to her, simply moved quietly, his long-sleeved shirt brushing against hers in a silent companionship that needed no words.
    For an instant Hope forgot that she was exhausted and that tomorrow would be worse, not better. An absurd feeling of well-being swept through her, as unexpected as Rio’s gentle smile. She wanted to laugh and hold her arms up to the brilliant stars and feel their billion bright possibilities cascading into her hands.
    Instead, she simply watched Rio from beneath her long lashes. Rio, the man who had made her remember all those bright possibilities.
    “Mason,” Rio said, holding out his hand, “it’s been a long time.”
    “Too long.” He took the younger man’s hand in his own gnarled grasp.
    Only Hope noticed the instant of hesitation when Rio saw Mason’s swollen knuckles. Then Rio shook hands firmly but very gently, sparing the older man’s arthritic hand.
    The feeling of warmth that had stolen through Hope increased, melting the ice that had come to her stomach when she admitted that her best well was rapidly going dry. Knowing that Rio cared enough about Mason to spare his pride made her certain that she had been right to trust Rio.
    “Judy sends her love,” Rio said, “and the kids want to know if you’ll be up for Thanksgiving. From the sound of it, they’re having a three-ring circus for dinner.”
    Mason’s glance slid to Hope, then away. “Maybe,” he said, promising nothing.
    Rio nodded, understanding that Mason wouldn’t leave Hope alone on the family holiday.
    She understood, too, and wanted to protest. Judy was Mason’s sister-in-law, the last connection he had to the dead wife he