style="font-size:15px;"> “Doesn’t look like too much damage to your truck,” his dad said as he entered the kitchen.
“No. Mandy’s car got the worst of it.”
“How bad?” his mom asked.
“It’s crunched in the front. Probably the radiator is done for. Greg’s looking at it.”
Sloane snorted. “He’ll probably charge her a few dates to pay for it.”
Ben’s jaw clenched at the thought of Greg with his hands all over Mandy. What in the—
“Nah,” his youngest sister, Angel, said. “They already went out once. No spark.”
“Really?” his mom said. “Mandy’s such a pretty girl, and it’s about time Greg stopped flitting around like a butterfly and settled down.”
“Not everyone wants to get married and have two-point-five kids, Mom,” Adam said.
Their mom ruffled Adam’s thick, dark, wavy hair as she passed behind where he sat at the table. “They do when they find the right person. You’ll see.”
Ben disagreed in his mind but kept quiet. He’d never told anyone about his decision not to have a family. He knew it’d upset his mother especially, that she’d try to talk him out of it. Best just to avoid the topic altogether.
With the food on the table, they all settled into their places. All except Neil. Ben still hadn’t quite gotten used to his older brother no longer living under the same roof. He was pleased for Neil and Arden—they’d both been through a lot and deserved to be happy. It was just odd to be the oldest sibling at the dinner table now.
“Did you know the Websters’ place got subdivided?” he asked, steering the conversation away from settling down and producing heirs.
“I did hear that,” his dad said. “Seems as if it’d be a mighty big headache dealing with lots of deals instead of just one.”
“Mandy said they didn’t want to sell to anyone like Franklin Evans.” The man had thought the simple fact that he wanted the Rocking Heart was enough that Ben’s parents would just up and sell a ranch that had been in the family nearly a century. Ben still smiled every time he thought about how Arden had put the self-important jerk in his place.
His dad chuckled. “I always did like Tom Webster.”
“So Mandy bought part of it?” his mom asked, a little too much loaded curiosity in her tone.
“Yeah, couple of acres on the creek.”
“She got one of those tiny houses, didn’t she?” Sloane asked. “I saw them towing it through town some time back.”
“Yeah, not much bigger than our doghouse.”
“I think they’re fascinating,” Angel said.
“Not very practical, though.”
Angel shrugged. “Depends on what you’re looking for.”
“You sound like Mandy,” he said.
“That right?” There was no denying his mom’s curious tone.
Sloane elbowed him in the ribs, not hard but enough to draw his attention. “Now that she’s got Neil headed toward happily-ever-after, you know you’re next, right?”
“Never heard a rule that said marriages had to go in birth order. Maybe you’re next.” He glanced down the table. “You’d like to be the mother of the bride, wouldn’t you, Mom?”
This time the jab to the ribs was a bit more forceful.
“Indeed I would. And both of my girls will make beautiful brides.”
“I’m going to kill you in your sleep,” Sloane said under her breath to him.
He just smiled wide at her, grateful the conversation had veered away from him and Mandy. Not that there was a “him and Mandy.”
But after dinner, his thoughts kept straying to her as he headed to his workshop to log some progress on a saddle he was making for a rancher over in Kimble County who’d seen the feature Arden had written on his custom saddles in the Blue Falls Gazette.
He couldn’t stop thinking about how nice Mandy’s legs had looked below that flowered skirt. How many times had he seen Mandy Richardson in his life? Even spoken to her? Dozens. Hundreds, probably. Why today, of all days, was he suddenly attracted to her?
He’d just finished tacking a circle of leather to the top of the saddle’s horn when his phone rang. He tossed his hammer down on the workbench and pulled his phone from his back pocket. Greg Bozeman’s name stared up at him. Why was Greg calling him?
“Hey, what’s up?”
“You with Mandy?”
“No. I dropped her off at her place on the way home. Why?”
“I tried calling to talk to her about her car but got no answer. Thought you two might be together.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Nope. Try her again.”
“Can’t. Hot date tonight. Can you call and tell her it’s going to be a few days before I can get her car fixed?”
“There’s this thing now called voice mail.”
“It was full. Couldn’t leave a message.”
“Fine, I’ll tell her.”
“Thanks. Gotta run.” As the call ended, Ben couldn’t help but wonder who in the world Greg was going out with. He had to have run through every eligible female in the Hill Country by now. The dude was either very careful or very lucky that he didn’t have miniature versions of himself running over all of central Texas.
Ben shoved the phone back in his pocket and picked up a thick, circular piece of leather that would hide the nail heads. But as he made his way through the familiar successive steps—carving a groove around the top of the leather, punching holes around the edge for the stitching, and sewing the layers together—he couldn’t help wondering why Mandy hadn’t answered her phone. Maybe she’d simply gone to sleep early. Or turned off her phone because she was just done with her rotten day. Possibly drunk herself into a stupor. Oh, hell, what if she’d wandered outside and fallen off that little porch and broken something? Or toddled down to the creek and ended up drowning in, like, a teaspoon of water.
What could it hurt to give her a call to pass on Greg’s message? No, he wasn’t calling just to make sure his suddenly overactive imagination wasn’t correct and that she hadn’t managed to meet her undignified end.
The phone rang three times before she finally picked up, sounding out of breath.
“You okay?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Ben?”
“Yeah. What have you been doing, pushing your little house
