Free Summer Winds by Austin, Andrews & Austin Page B

realized.
    “What are you thinking?” she asked in her invasive way, speaking to me as if we were long-time friends.
    “Nice shirt.”
    “Hard to find one to fit me. I usually have to buy in the men’s department. I did a lot of swimming in high school just to get out of the house and have something to do. Speaking of which, what time do you want me ready to go tonight for the festival?”
    “Starts at seven. But we don’t have to—”
    “Let’s get there early and stay late.” She flashed a big grin. “I’ve only been here a short time, but now I understand why cowboys wanted to go into town and get drunk and sleep with women. Not that I intend to do either.” She reddened, for the first time losing her cool and obviously embarrassed, which made me laugh. She quickly recovered. “But then who knows, I could . I hear strange things happen on the prairie.”
    “No fun being a sheep on a Saturday night.” I turned Mariah toward the house and nudged her forward. “We’ll leave at six thirty,”
    I shouted back over my shoulder, pleased I had made her laugh. I was nervous talking to her in an open field and wondered what in the world we’d say to one another tonight.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I’d been jittery all afternoon and stayed near the house, cleaning up, writing out bills, making phone calls, and behaving as if I thought I had to get everything in order because the world was about to change.
    When five o’clock rolled around, I was in my closet trying to figure out what to wear. I hadn’t been anywhere that required thought about attire in a long time. We’d probably be sitting on a riverbank so I looked through some dark jeans, none of which appeared pressed. The shirts suddenly seemed dowdy and the belts worn. I realized for the first time in years that I didn’t like a single piece of clothing in my closet and that I should have come to that conclusion weeks ago when I had time to correct the situation.
    After trying on three different outfits, I finally gave up and pulled a clean pair of blue jeans off the shelf with a khaki-colored starched shirt—the same kind of outfit I always wore. Spotting a wide Western belt with ornate leather tooling and a large brass buckle, I slipped that on, sprucing up the jeans. I grabbed a slightly battered pair of brown ostrich boots that matched the belt and checked myself out in the mirror. Acceptable, I thought.
    In the bathroom, I put on makeup, which I had to scrounge in drawers to find since I rarely wore it when working on the ranch. I should wear makeup more often. Makes me look ten years younger.
    Even as I thought it, I remembered how right after I married I quit wearing it because Johnny thought women should look “natural.”
    I heard boots in the living room and checked my watch: 6:15 p.m. I’ve been in the damned closet for over an hour? I’m one step away from behaving like a disco diva. But then I haven’t been out in ages, so why not spend a little time trying to look good.
    When I pushed the bedroom door open, Cash was standing in the middle of the living room and my heart flew into my throat.
    Black boots and tight black jeans with a red plaid shirt and a red bandana around her neck.
    “Do I look like I should be lying down under a pizza?” she asked, her face scrunched up nervously, and I laughed. “I bought it in town. Now I’m having remorse.”
    “You look very nice.”
    “I guess between dorky and sexy, ‘very nice’ is pretty safe.” I took in every piece of her, wanting to remember how she looked, how she stood, how she smiled. “Tell me I look better than ‘very nice.’”
    “You look better than very nice,” I said into the air as I headed for my truck and climbed in. I cranked the engine as Cash hurried to slide onto the seat beside me.
    “And what’s better than very nice?” she prodded, impishly.
    “Winning the lotto,” I replied.
    “You, by the way, look smashing.”
    “Thank you.” I kept my eyes on the road and