“Yes, we do thank you,” Charlene added. “When we head home, I’m going to stop by the Chuckwagon Café and get barbeque to go.”
“I enjoyed it, too. Thanks.” Misty smiled at Trey, remembering the spicy taste when she’d licked the barbeque sauce from his lips. From his pleased expression, he remembered, too.
As Ruby started to pick up their trash and leftovers, a white streak of a cat leaped up on the table, grabbed a rib, and disappeared into the darkness.
“Temple!” Ruby scolded.
Trey laughed. “You know the best food is stolen food.”
Ruby joined his laughter. “You’re right. And don’t try to tell a cat any different.”
“If he gets sauce on his fur, he’ll be a red and white cat tomorrow.” Misty chuckled at the thought of that sight.
“Oh no, you’d never see a messy Temple,” Ruby said, “He wouldn’t allow his dignity to take such a blow in public.”
“Smart guy,” Trey said.
As everybody laughed, Misty looked out into the night for bright white fur, but she saw only darkness. She liked the idea of Temple enjoying his stolen treat. She glanced at Trey. Was he a stolen treat, one she couldn’t resist snatching for her own? She shook her head, knowing she had to get control of her thoughts and actions. She was here to do a job—an important job that paid her well and came first—that might mean putting off certain temptations, at least till the job was complete.
Ruby piled the remains of the barbeque dinners on the tray and added the empty beer cans. “Folks, I’ve got big doings tomorrow, so I’m headed to bed. Don’t let me spoil your fun if you want to stay out here.”
Trey stood and picked up the lanterns. “I need to go, too. Early morning. I’ve still got fence to fix.”
“I’m done, too.” Misty checked to make sure nothing had fallen under the table, picked up her wet towels, and then got to her feet.
“We’re ready to pack it in as well,” J.P. said. “We’re shopping tomorrow to see if we can find a cache of vintage owls.”
“They’re popular again, so collectors are asking for them,” Charlene explained.
“What type?” Misty asked.
“Anything. Everything. Ceramic. Plastic. Macramé.”
“Macramé?” Misty wondered out loud, finding it hard to imagine.
“Don’t ask.” Charlene shivered. “It was a seventies phenomenon. Back to the Earth type of thing. Everybody must have been making it. Necklaces. Bracelets. Wall hangings.”
“Beautiful work, for the most part,” J.P. said.
“If you like that kind of thing,” Charlene added.
“We found a windup owl about six inches tall yesterday. Late sixties. Its eyes go round and round in a psychedelic pattern.” J.P. laughed. “You’ve got to say ‘groovy’ when you look at it.”
Misty laughed as she accepted the wet towel Trey handed her. She was in a mellow mood as she walked with everyone back to the house. Out of the darkness, Temple leaped onto the walkway and led them with his tail held high.
When they entered the garden room, she started to follow the others and Temple inside the house. She felt a hand on her arm holding her back. Trey gestured with his head toward the front sliding doors.
“Good night,” he called.
Ruby picked up Temple and glanced back, smiling. “Now be good and don’t keep my guest up late. And Misty, just put those wet towels down on the tile. I’ll get them later.”
“Thanks,” she said as she set down the towels. “I’ll be right up.”
“See you tomorrow.” Charlene fluttered a hand at Misty. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
J.P. laughed as he put an arm around his wife’s waist. “Come on, honey, time’s a-wastin’.”
Misty waited till the others were inside and the door shut behind them before she turned to Trey with a shiver that had less to do with her damp clothes and more to do with the cowboy. “Don’t you have to be up early milking cows or something?”
He chuckled. “Feeding and watering steers. Mucking out horse stalls. Want to help?”
“Sounds like loads of fun, but I believe I’ll pass.”
“Over here.” He pointed at the wooden swing that hung on metal chains from the ceiling across from a softly glowing floor lamp between two plush chairs.
She sat down on a soft white cushion and looked up at him in inquiry. He eased down beside her, so close their thighs brushed together. They were both still damp. She felt the coolness of her capris contrast with the heat of his thigh against hers. He smelled like barbeque and the great outdoors, fresh, clean, and woodsy. The fabric of his jeans stretched taut across the muscles of his legs. She could see the veins on the backs of his hands and his thick, muscular wrists from handling animals. She swallowed hard. Every single thing about him put her nerve endings on alert.
He set the swing to moving back and forth. “I’ve always liked to swing. My grandparents had one on their front porch. For spooning, my grandpa used to say.”