hid her and her rhinestone collar and leash. She sniffed and quickly got down to business. He’d brought along a bag and would throw away what he had to in the Dumpster. She sat down, tired out from the very short walk. She couldn’t be too long from delivery, he thought. He vaguely recollected one of their dogs having puppies as a kid, but he only remembered how cute they were, not the lead up or the process of them being born. He’d call his folks for advice. Maybe they would want a dog to go with them on their travels. Plus, they had a ton of friends. One or more of them might want a puppy.
He carried the dog back to the apartment, where he fed her and gave her clean water. Then he dialed his parents and left a message.
He took a beer from his fridge and sat in his tiny living room with his laptop open and the TV on the Bull Riding Network. He rubbed at his numb fingers, the ones the doctor told him might regain feeling or not. Sometimes he was sure they were better. Then he’d go to pick up a glass and drop it. Still, he’d retired. He’d refused to regret that it had been an “injury” that took him out, not that he’d told anyone that. When he’d said he was retiring because he wanted to go out on top, none of his friends had questioned him.
“Friends in Low Places” sang out from his phone. It was an old riding buddy who was watching the same competition on TV. They were both sitting this one out—Danny because he was retired and Frank because he’d reinjured his foot. Danny was on beer three when they said goodbye. He considered going to bed and taking Mama out for her final potty break before the long night. Maybe one more beer then bed? Good idea.
He finished his longneck and went to get himself another, liking this slightly floating feeling. He was completely relaxed, not worrying about the dog—who really needed a new name—about his town or about Clover. Dang it. Her taste and curves popped back into his mind, and he tried to focus on the TV.
By the time the contest and another beer were done, he was ready for bed. First he’d take the dog out one last time. He didn’t want any accidents. Dang, it was a pain having a dog in a second-floor apartment. Fortunately, because it was dark and late, he didn’t need to bundle her up and carry her down the stairs. He could lead her with her sparkly leash. He went down the steps, the floating feeling continuing as he stumbled over a stone or two. Definitely time for this cowboy to hit the hay. Mama did her business fast. Danny started back to the apartment.
He got to the bottom of the stairs and Mama scrabbled toward the top, pulling on the leash. Danny meant to let go but his numb fingers didn’t work as well as they should and she jerked on his arm as he stepped up, pulling him off balance. Danny face-planted on the stairs and saw stars. He cursed as the dog darted to the top and barked at him.
He lay sprawled on the stairs, glad no one was nearby. He needed to catch his breath and check for damage. Not much. More pride than anything. He pushed himself up and Mama barked.
“Jutht a minute.” What the hell? He used his tongue to explore the hole at the front of his mouth. Son of a— The fall had knocked out the fake tooth he’d gotten as a kid after a spectacular crash on his minibike. Great. Nothing he could do tonight. He walked slowly up the stairs, the pain from the fall and the throbbing in his mouth telling him tomorrow morning would not be fun. Hell. He was a bull rider. Retired bull rider. Still, he’d lived through worse.
“Inthide, Mama,” he said and opened the door. She scooted past him and sat on the floor, fluffy tail wagging, waiting for her treat and the leash to come off. “Proud of yourthelf?” The dog barked. Wait till she had to eat generic food because he had to spend all of his money on a new tooth.
Maybe Clover would buy some of the expensive brand she’d bought at Lem’s—but, no, he wasn’t asking her for anything. They’d been a summer-lovin’ teen thing. They were adults and she’d already messed with his plans, just like she had that summer. He wasn’t getting stupid over her again. He’d learned a lot since their time together. He wouldn’t be showing her exactly what he’d learned, though. At best they were Angel Crossing–style neighbors. At worst, they were businesspeople on opposite sides of the fence.
He gave Mama a treat, took an aspirin and lay down in his sagging bed that nearly filled the room. He really needed to move. As soon as he got more properties sold and had a little cash, he’d find his own place and redo it the way he wanted. What he had now was good enough. The bed dipped under Mama’s weight and she dug at the covers as he moved his legs to accommodate her. He shouldn’t let her on the bed, but he was too tired to make her get down.
“Don’t have puppyth,” he told her as he settled into his pillow, “pleathe.”
She sighed deeply and scooted to take up more of the bed.
* * *
CLOVER USED HER confident pageant walk to get her across the threshold and into Jim’s Tavern, the only bar in town. She wanted to check it out and determine if it was the kind of kitschy business that would appeal to the Rico Pueblo clientele. Her father had said he’d prefer buying up everything and starting over. Clover, however, had outlined an approach that would purchase properties and work with current business owners so VCW could best leverage its investment—that was what she’d told her father, anyway.
Few patrons glanced Clover’s way. Instead, they were glued to the stage and the two women laughing their way through a country duet. Neither could sing but they didn’t care. The crowd was with them, laughing along and clapping. Actually, most of the crowd was women... Not most. All of the patrons were women and there was a woman behind the bar. Now, this was interesting. Not what Clover had expected. That seemed to be the case again and again in Angel Crossing.
“Whoa! Clover,” said the tall light-haired woman with the karaoke microphone in her hand. “Come up here. You can sing a lot better than us. Sing that song you did when you were named Miss Steer Princess? ‘God Bless the USA.’”
Clover looked harder at the cowgirl who was motioning her forward and the short dark-haired woman beside her. Danny’s sisters. The two women had been on the road with their brother back when Clover had been the princess. She’d had an okay voice because her mother insisted she take lessons.
Lavonda chimed in, “Or you could sing ‘It’s Raining Men.’”
She’d sung that song during a rain delay at a rodeo. Of course Lavonda would remember that. Clover didn’t want to humiliate herself but she could go along with the suggestion to get a few brownie points from the women of Angel Crossing. She’d need allies. Clover walked with purpose and grace to the open area set aside for the singing.
“Whoop, whoop,” Jessie said. “This’ll be a treat.”
“Anything’s better than the two of you,” a woman heckled. Jessie and Lavonda laughed.
Clover smiled at the audience of women. They actually looked friendly.
“We cued up the song,” Lavonda said, her dark eyes and hair so different from her light-haired older sister’s. “Good to see you again.” Then the smaller woman leaned forward and whispered quietly, “Heard you’ve been visiting with Danny. What’s that about, huh?”
Clover just smiled. The speed at which gossip zipped through a small town shouldn’t be a surprise. Who needed newspapers or TV when there was such an efficient way to pass along information?
Jessie and Lavonda went back to their bar stools, and Clover sang. She’d forgotten how much fun it was to perform. She hammed it up for the audience and got talked into singing another two songs before giving up the mic. She was parched. The Leigh sisters motioned for her to join them. She wanted to say no, but there
