curtain into the large, spotless kitchen, Jolie waved at T-Bone, their cook, as she passed the grill and went back to the baking area. Ms. Jo, a compact little gal with short brown hair curled around her ears, worked the dough with a pie roller. Her alert hazel eyes locked onto Jolie as she entered the room.
“I know that look,” she quipped, rolling pin wagging at Jolie. “You met up with Morgan, didn’t you?”
Jolie gave a weary nod as it all settled down on her again. Keeping her energy up for the kids had been tough, and she was emotionally drained.
“By the looks of you, it didn’t go so well.” Pointing the rolling pin at the stool by the workstation, she demanded, “Sit down and talk to me.” Heading to the sink, she rinsed her hands under the faucet. “How did Morgan react to seeing you?”
Jolie made circles in a small pile of white flour that was on the counter. “He isn’t happy. At all.”
“What did you expect? Flowers? You did hand him back his ring before hitting the trail for parts unknown.”
“Gee, thanks for the support.”
“You know I love you, but I’m worryin’ you’re fixin’ to get yourself in some hot water.”
“I apologized and he didn’t take it well.” She didn’t go into the fainting episode. The last thing she wanted to talk about was the reaction she’d had to being in his arms.
Shrewd eyes held Jolie’s. “You hurt Morgan when you left. And then, on the rebound, that boy went and almost married Celia Simpson. And she left him right after the rehearsal.” Ms. Jo clucked her tongue. “I’d hate to see you lead Morgan down the wrong road again.”
“I would never do that. Besides, he can barely stand to look at me.”
“You know he’s one of my favorites, Jolie. Kind of reminds me a little of my Clovis. He’s got feelings that run real deep and it’ll take more than words to prove you’re sorry. But maybe working with those boys he loves so much will help.”
Jolie was glad Ms. Jo didn’t tell her it would be easy—they both knew it wouldn’t be. Ms. Jo pulled a pie out of the glass icebox. “How about you and me take a break and have us a piece of this lemon pie with some coffee?”
Jolie sat up at attention. “Do you even have to ask?” She wondered if pie would help erase the feel of Morgan’s arms around her. Her heart went erratic just thinking about how she’d felt snuggled against his heart....
“I think this situation is gonna need a bunch of prayers, too. For those boys’ sakes, we need you two on speaking terms. Y’all don’t have to make up and kiss or anything—goodness knows that would only lead things in the wrong direction. Just bury the hatchet and get it over with.”
“Easier said than done, I think.”
“In all honesty, this could be the best thing for Morgan.” Ms. Jo brightened. “Maybe it’ll help him move forward, find someone who’ll actually go through with marrying him. Seems such a waste for a cowboy of his caliber not to have someone to call his own.”
Jolie put a huge bite of lemon pie on her fork, breathed in the tangy scent and stuffed it in her mouth so she wouldn’t have to say anything.
Because even after all this time, the thought of Morgan and someone else made Jolie want to eat an entire case of pies.
* * *
“How you doing, Morg, my man?” Rowdy asked Sunday afternoon.
Rowdy, Morgan’s younger brother, ran the ranch’s cattle operation and they were sorting the steers for the mugging together. “My boots almost had blowouts when Dad told me what he’d done.”
“You think you had a blowout,” Morgan growled.
Rowdy, who always looked as if he was ready for a good time, with lips that turned up at the edges and eyes shot with mischief, looked as concerned as Morgan had ever seen him. “So how did it go? The boys about talked my ear off at lunch. They’re impressed, just in case you didn’t know that.”
“Thanks, I picked up on that all by myself when their jaws started dragging in the dirt. And Wes and Joseph started showing off their muscles.”
Rowdy’s lips twitched. “Should make for a good show tonight. But how are you?”
Morgan rested a boot on the bottom rung of the arena and studied the steers closely. “How do you think? I don’t have a choice but to deal with it.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Rowdy hiked a shoulder. “You don’t date, Morg. You act like you’re married to the school. You have unfinished business and it’s time to finish it, one way or the other.”
Morgan grunted and kept his mouth shut.
“Would you look at that?” Rowdy whistled over the bellowing of cattle. “Pest is lookin’ good.”
Morgan turned to see Jolie hopping from her Jeep.
“Yeah,” he snapped. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
Rowdy chuckled, crossed his arms and leaned back against the corral to watch Jolie. Morgan shot him a glare, not fond of that glint in his brother’s eyes.
“I thought you said you were all right,” Rowdy said.
“I’m not in the mood, Rowdy.”
“Touché. Don’t get me wrong, I’m on your side. You got a real raw deal, but maybe that was all she had to give you at the time. Like I said, this could be a good thing.”
“Maybe I don’t want to discuss this right now.”
Rowdy chuckled. “Like I said, touché. Got to go get myself a hug.” Pushing off the fence, he strode toward Jolie, who had stopped to talk to their dad. Tucker, the eldest of the McDermott boys, was the county sheriff. He’d been talking with Nana, and now they all headed Jolie’s way.
Morgan scrubbed his scratchy jaw—it had been a long night delivering a new foal, he hadn’t had much sleep and this morning he’d missed church. He was not in the mood for this.
“Hey, pest,” Rowdy drawled, using his pet name for Jolie. “You’re looking good, but a little on the thin side. You not eating out there, making all that money having your picture taken in that yellow banana of yours?”
“Rowdy!” Jolie exclaimed. Rowdy laid an arm across her shoulders and hugged her as if she was his long-lost friend.
“Jolie.” Tucker greeted her with a hug, too.
Morgan almost got lockjaw, grinding his molars watching, his dad grinning as though he’d just reunited the family.
Ten thousand acres of West Texas ranch lands suddenly didn’t feel big enough. This “reunion” was enough to make a man ride off into the sunset and never look back.
“Hey, Morgan.” Chet, one of the top hands, called from the cattle pens on the far side of the barn. “Got a sec?”
A
