by and let anyone hurt the young woman he cared about.
As he led Cutter to the corral, he watched as Cindy strode ahead to unlatch the gate. He couldn’t help noticing the natural sway to her gait, the nice curve of her hips.
Years ago, she’d been all knees and elbows.
But she’d sure grown into those jeans.
Dinner at the Tumbling T Ranch was the usual, no-fuss, no-muss fare. Ever since the old cowboy’s wife had passed on and kitchen duty had fallen on Tuck, he fixed easy meals that required very little time at the stove.
Tuck couldn’t cook a lick, but he was a whiz with a can opener, lunch meat and two slabs of bread.
“Can I get you some more beans?” Tuck asked.
“Nope. One helping is plenty for me.” As a teenager, Blake had gotten pretty sick of canned food, especially pork and beans, which had to be Tuck’s all-time favorite filler.
“How about you, Cindy Lou?” The gray-haired man lifted the pan from the stove, as though willing to carry it to the kitchen table and serve her.
“No, thanks, Grandpa. That bologna sandwich filled me up.”
After spooning a hefty third helping into his bowl, Tuck returned to the scarred oak table and took his seat. “It sure is good to have you home, boy.”
Blake grinned, his chest swelling just from sitting at the familiar kitchen table and knowing he was welcome anytime. “It’s nice being back.”
As a teenager, he’d been sent to live on the Tumbling T because his grandfather, who’d been Tuck’s old army buddy, had hoped the tough-as-leather cowboy could give Blake some direction. And after butting heads with Blake more than a time or two, Tuck had done just that.
“So what’s the latest town gossip?” Blake asked, knowing there was always something going on in nearby Blossom.
“Just the ruckus that’s brewing between the fair board and the Committee for Moral Behavior.”
“The Committee for Moral Behavior?” he asked. “What’s that?”
“A group of fussbudgets who don’t think people should have any fun,” Tuck said, digging into his bowl of beans. When he looked up, spoon held high and overflowing, he added, “But no one is going to tell me when and where I can drink. Or what I can spend my money on.”
“What have they got against the fair board?” Blake asked.
Tuck had his mouth full, so Cindy explained. “Two years ago, at the county fair, a gypsy fortune-teller told some of the townspeople they would strike it rich. Then, when a slick-talking shyster came to town, selling stock in a real-estate venture, a lot of folks blindly jumped in and lost more than their shirts in the phony land deal. So blaming the carnies as a bad element, the fair board decided not to allow the carnival people to set up their rides and games along the midway last year. Needless to say, attendance was way down.”
“And the fair was a complete bust,” Tuck added.
Blake imagined it would be. People from all the neighboring dry counties had flocked to the fair in the past, and not just because Blossom County was wet and the beer garden had been a big draw. The kids had a ton of fun at the carnival and along the midway. And they’d dragged their parents to the fair time and again.
“The county coffers are still suffering,” Cindy added.
“Aw heck,” Tuck said with a frown. “The fuss has gotten so big and out of hand that a body can’t step foot into Blossom without listening to the squabble. Everyone has been taking sides, and I swear a brawl is going to break out one of these days.”
Blake thought people ought to be held accountable for their own foolish business ventures. “What kind of nut would listen to the advice of a fortune-teller they met at a carnival?”
“Some folks don’t have the sense of a turkey gobbler,” Tuck said, as he scooted his chair away from the table, rubbed his belly and stood. “Well, I’m going to walk off my dinner, while I have a chat with Mary Ellen.”
Blake and Cindy watched the old man head for the service porch, take his hat from the peg by the door and go outside, Shep trotting along after him.
Cindy tore at the edge of the paper towel she’d used as a napkin and studied the closed back door. “It always makes me feel kind of sad when he does that. He sure must have loved my grandma something fierce.”
Blake nodded. The old man probably did miss his wife. But as a teenager, Blake had followed Tuck enough times to believe his real reason for the after-dinner walk was because the canned beans he consumed at all three meals played havoc with his digestive system.
But other than a crooked grin, Blake kept his thoughts to himself.
“Hey.” Cindy elbowed him. “Let’s put the dishes in the sink and let them soak while we have a bowl of rocky road ice cream.”
“Sure.” Blake never could turn down dessert, especially anything chocolate.
A few minutes later, they carried their bowls and spoons out to the back porch, where they took a seat and enjoyed the night sounds of crickets chirping and bullfrogs croaking down by the creek. Cutter nickered in the corral.
“It’s pretty tonight,” Cindy said as she studied the new moon that rested in a star-studded sky.
“It sure is. I’ve missed the Tumbling T. It’s great to be home.”
That was nice to know. Cindy liked the fact that Blake still considered the ranch his home, because the truth was, even if she couldn’t have him in a romantic sense, she appreciated his friendship. And right now, she looked forward to his expertise and getting his sage advice.
Shoot, who else could coach her about romance? After all, he’d had more experience than men twice his age. At least, that’s what she’d always suspected.
He’d had his pick of any of the girls at Sam Houston High. And from what she’d overheard, there’d been quite a few young ladies who’d been blessed with his kisses, if not a whole lot more.
Cindy had always felt a stab of envy when she thought about the girls he’d dated back then. But that was because she hadn’t had to do anything more than look in the mirror or check inside her bra to see that she couldn’t compete—at least not that way—with any of them. And even though she filled her bra a little better these days, she still couldn’t compete with the cutesy women, many of whom still wore their blouses too small and their pants too tight.
But all that was going to change, thanks to a new attitude and a tutor.
Blake took a big spoonful of rocky road, obviously enjoying the taste. Then he slid her a probing look. “What’s so special about Robby Bradshaw?”
Not a whole lot, she supposed. He was kind of sweet. And smart as all get-out. Of course, he was also the first guy who’d ever shown her any attention. Well, he was the first one whose attention actually interested her.
“It’s kind of hard to explain,” she said.
“Try
