“Yes, sir.”
Billy stopped walking when his gaze lit on Libby, and his face flushed pink.
“I…I didn’t know you had company. Saw the car but thought it might be Lonnie or something,” Billy stammered out.
“Billy McShane, this is Libby Brennan, a friend from high school. She’s come to help me out.”
“Hi, Libby.” Billy was in that awkward phase when parts of the body were in different stages of development. His limbs seemed too long, his hands too large, and his feet too small. With his blond hair cropped short, he looked ready to enroll in the military, if he was of age.
“Hi, Billy. Pleased to meet you.” Libby sent the boy a smile that only intensified that pink color on his young face.
“Where should I put this?” Billy asked, referring to the dish in his hands. “Mom sent this over. She said it’s pot roast, and we’re having it for dinner too, and it’s a good thing, because I’ve been smelling it all the way over here.”
“You didn’t carry that riding one of the horses, did you?” Chance asked. It had been a blessing that the McShanes were such good neighbors, there when you needed them. He liked Billy, who had that buckle-down work ethic common in ranch kids.
“The ATV,” he said. “It rode in a basket. Mom said to put it in your microwave for a few minutes in case it cooled off some.” Billy looked at the charred pieces of meat on their plates. “Course, she didn’t know you had someone to cook for you. What’s that on the plate?”
“That was some steak before I burned it on the grill,” Libby admitted.
Billy frowned, but he obviously had good enough manners not to comment further.
“I’ll put it right in the microwave. Now I know why Chance has one sitting right on his dresser,” Libby said, rising to take the dish from the boy’s hands. “Should I fetch another plate for you, Billy, so you can join us?”
“No, ma’am. I’m to head right home to have dinner with the family,” he said as if reciting what his mom had told him. “I’ve still got chores to finish.”
“How’s the riding coming?” Chance asked as Libby slid the dish into the microwave and set it to heat for a few minutes.
“Coming okay. Still having trouble with the mark out, though.”
“Takes time and practice, but once you get it, you won’t lose it. Kind of like riding a bike.”
“Are you taking up saddle bronc riding, Billy?” There was concern in Libby’s voice.
“Yes, ma’am. Chance has been helping me. Well, he was helping me, before…before the foot.”
“I can still help you. Soon as my ribs quit aching so I can get around better on those crutches, I’ll be down at Forrester’s to see you.”
“Forrester’s?” Libby asked.
“Local ranch. They let you ride some of their broncs for practice.”
“Is that really a good idea, now?”
Chance wasn’t going to answer that question.
“I best be going,” Billy said with a decided lack of enthusiasm. “Mom said I just have fifteen minutes. She wasn’t too pleased from last time.”
“Last time?” Libby questioned.
“Billy came over with dinner, and, well, we started watching rodeo tapes, and before we knew it, the phone was ringing and it was Billy’s mom. It had been over an hour since he left, and she was getting concerned. My fault,” Chance said. “Tell your Mom thank you, Billy. She’s been great, and I’ll be over myself as soon as I am able to thank her in person. Good news is that with Libby here now, she can take me off her list of concerns.”
“Can I still stop by, though? I mean, when I don’t have chores.”
“Of course you can. You know you are always welcome. We can go through some more tapes.”
Billy’s smile beamed. “Thanks, Chance. Nice meeting you, Libby.”
“Would you like to take a piece of fresh-baked apple pie with you? I’ve some in the kitchen.”
Chance wondered if he heard correctly. “You baked an apple pie?”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin up and stared him down like he’d underestimated her. Maybe he had, but he still had an urge to warn Billy. He quashed it.
Billy looked from the burnt steak to Libby. Clearly too well-mannered to refuse, Billy nodded yes.
“Great. Come with me to the kitchen, and I’ll get you some.”
“Be sure to thank your mom for me,” Chance said as Libby escorted Billy out of the bedroom.
He breathed in the meaty smell of the pot roast. Libby had made him an apple pie. The thought stirred up a strange longing. He wasn’t sure what it was or why it was there. He just wanted it to go away.
“Well, at least you’ll have a proper meal, thanks to Mrs. McShane,” Libby said as she entered the room. The microwave beeped.
“The McShanes are good people. And Billy is a good kid. Works hard, is disciplined. He seems to have a real knack for saddle bronc riding.”