sold beef jerky, eggs and honey products. Annie’s booth overflowed with table flowers, which were big sellers. Win could see all the booths from where he sat eating dinner and enjoying the twang of a country trio’s rich harmonies.
This was Annie’s second season at the market and Jenny’s first. They worked well as a team. A few women patted Annie’s belly and lots of people welcomed Jenny home with hugs. She was beloved in the Red Valley.
Win knew the moment Jenny became aware of him. Every so often, she stared beyond the people milling at the booths, as if looking for something—or someone. Then suddenly she zeroed in, holding his gaze for a few seconds before helping her customer choose a bouquet from a huge bucket. The changes in her were subtle after that—her posture a little straighter, her smile a little brighter, her cheeks a little rosier. He swore he could even see her breath quicken.
Win stayed put, watching, satisfyingly pleased at her reaction. He finished his food, talked with a lot of people who stopped to say hello, but kept his gaze on Jenny. At seven o’clock, the country trio announced their last song. Win wished he could ask Jenny to dance. They’d never danced together.
As soon as the song ended, he moseyed over to the booth and offered to help take it down.
“Mitch will be here any second, but thanks,” Annie said. “I had the Kileys save some sausage sandwiches. I’m going to go get them.”
“Evenin’, Jen,” he said as Annie walked toward the food truck.
“Win.” She was gathering the empty five-gallon containers that had held the bouquets of flowers, then was pouring all the water into one bucket. They’d sold everything they’d brought.
“Want me to dump that?” he asked.
“Sure. Thanks.”
She had tipped the three tables on their sides and was folding the legs when he got back, and they stacked them then started on the canopy, even though Mitch had arrived, joining Annie.
“Son.”
Win froze for a second when he heard his father’s voice. “Hey, Dad. You remember Jenny Ryder?”
“’Course.”
“Hi, Mr. Morgan,” she said.
“Could I speak to you?” Shep Morgan asked his son.
“Kinda busy right now.”
“I can wait.” He wandered away, so he wouldn’t have to make small talk, Win figured.
Mitch backed the truck up, bringing it close. For the next few minutes Mitch, Win and Jenny loaded the supplies, not letting Annie lift anything. Knowing his father watched, Win didn’t make eye contact with Jenny for longer than a second at a time.
He and Mitch shook hands, then they drove off.
His good mood shattered, Win walked to where his father stood, leaning against a tree trunk in the now empty park.
“Consortin’ with the enemy, son?”
“In case you didn’t notice, Annie Ryder’s seven months pregnant. She shouldn’t be hefting stuff around.”
“You takin’ a liking to that gal?”
“I’ve come to respect Annie a lot, yes.”
“I meant the Ryder girl.”
“The Ryders may be your enemy, but they’re not mine. If you want to continue this line of interrogation, we can do it at home, Dad.” He turned his back on his father, not wanting anyone to observe them arguing in public. “Tomorrow.”
His father didn’t stop him, but Win figured he was pretty mad at him for walking away. Win was so accustomed to the perpetually angry man that it had little impact on him anymore. His father had never even given him a job title. Win couldn’t be called the foreman, because it would mean taking the job from the man who’d held that position for thirty years. The term herdsman was almost interchangeable with foreman, and Win could be called that, which would go a long way toward making him feel as if he had a real place at Morgan Ranch.
Shep wasn’t inclined to do that, either.
Life had been hard enough while Win had been growing up, but since his mother died, he and his father only butted heads, rarely agreeing on anything, especially when it came to updating their ranching practices to more modern ways. Win would like to go organic and humane like the Ryders, but it would mean a complete change in how they did business, and change wasn’t good for Shep Morgan.
Win wasn’t ready to go home. It was still light out, maybe an hour until sunset, so he headed to the grove of trees by the river, his and Jen’s secret place. He parked at the end of the dirt road, as close to the trees as he could, then he hiked to the river and sat on a boulder, remembering.
They’d been so young that summer. When he’d left for college she was fourteen, so there hadn’t been anything between them. He’d barely been aware of her, just catching glimpses of her at town events, but he hadn’t looked twice.
It was different when he’d finally come home for good. He’d spotted her the first day, having lunch at the diner with two girlfriends. Her laugh had gotten to him first as he sat at the counter eating a hamburger and fries. He could easily hear their conversation, which hopped from one subject to the next—boys and movie stars and an upcoming rodeo. Her friends were trying to talk her into competing for rodeo queen, but she wasn’t having it. He’d thought she could’ve won, hands down.
At one point she’d made eye contact, her smile wavering for a few seconds before she flashed him a sassy grin, tossing her long, auburn hair over her shoulders. As much as she appealed, he wasn’t about to get caught up in her spell, not even for just a flirtatious second. He’d concentrated on his burger again.
Then her girlfriends left and she strolled up to the counter and leaned an elbow near him.
“I’m so sorry about your mom, Win,” she said, as if they’d been old friends forever, her blue gaze meeting his directly.
Even though his mother had died on Christmas, it still felt new and raw. He’d kept a lid on his emotions for months, yet one sentence of sympathy from this teenager had his throat closing. “Thanks.”
She didn’t leave, didn’t even move. Finally she said, “Hey, you want to go to the river and talk?”
He had no interest in talking, but... “About what?”
She shrugged. “Whatever.”
“I won’t be your rebellion, little girl.”
She smiled, slow and sure, as if she knew how attracted he was, and that she could get him to turn somersaults just by asking. “I’m eighteen,” she said, “and all grown up, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Oh, he’d noticed all right. Most girls looked good in their Wranglers, but she took it up a notch. Her rear was round and high, her legs long. And the white T-shirt she wore clung to grown-up breasts.
She laid a hand on his arm. “I apologize, Win. I’m not trying to tease you.
