Jase snorted. Rafe usually had that effect on women—he’d seen it before. Probably had to do with the redhead’s eyes, which were actually a little unnerving. His irises sparkled like they were composed of shards of multicolored glass.
Rafe gave her a lazy grin. “Thanks, honey.”
She blushed, stared at him one last time, and scurried back behind the counter.
Rafe took a healthy gulp of his coffee and looked across the table at Jase. “How’s it goin’? Still buyin’ and sellin’?”
Jase grinned. That lazy-talking cowpoke accent got him every time. “That’s my life.”
“Anythin’ local?”
“A few possibilities, but Ray Espinoza’s subdivision has made everyone all too aware of property values.”
“Yeah—taxes been goin’ up like crazy on account of all the activity in the area.”
“Sorta lost track of you in Dallas, Rafe. What happened?”
“I had to come home and take over the ranch. My dad passed on a while back.”
“Sorry about that, man.” His brow clouded. “You’re one of the McAllisters from C Bar M Ranch? What about the architecture?”
Rafe nodded and gave him an easy smile. “I keep my architecture iron in the fire too. Ol’ Ray’s hired me to design homes for the new section of Lynnwood, and Art Sawyer wants me to submit a plan to the city council to repurpose old Bosque Bend High as a city museum.”
“Think the museum idea will pan out?”
“Why not? You remember what Sawyer’s like. He’ll ride that cayuse till it drops.”
“How’s Beth like living in this area?”
Rafe’s smile vanished. “Beth died last New Year’s.” He glanced at the gold band on his left ring finger, and his face turned somber. “We’d been together since we were eighteen, then one day she’s gone. And it was so damn random—a stray shot from some cowboy across the road celebrating New Year’s Eve.”
Jase shuddered as a cold chill passed through him. What if something like that happened to Laurel, something he couldn’t control? What if the only time they had left was right now? He glanced at Rafe’s wedding ring. Maybe I should move up my timetable.
“The only thing that keeps me going is our little girl,” Rafe continued. “She’s about to turn two. Delilah won’t even remember her mother. I never thought—”
Rafe’s shirt pocket rang with “The Eyes of Texas.”
“That’s my brother. Must be trouble at the ranch.”
Jase finished off his coffee as Rafe exchanged a series of terse “yeps” and “nopes,” ending with, “That cow’s crazy. Leave her be till I get there.”
Rising from the table, Rafe handed him a card. “Gotta go now, but call me if you get any spare time, and I’ll take you out to my uncle’s honky-tonk for some good ribs and great music.”
Jase slipped the card in his pocket. If he stayed in town long enough, he’d take Rafe up on his invitation. Wonder if Laurel would like honky-tonk.
But in the meantime, he’d better hotfoot it over to Office Depot.
*
Twenty minutes later, he walked out of the store with his purchases under his arm and was immediately accosted by a snaggletoothed little girl about eight years old with her hair plaited in tight corn rows. The bright yellow sundress she had on reminded him of a dress Lolly had loved so much that she’d insisted on keeping it in her closet long after she’d outgrown it. Might be there still, for all he knew. Lolly did tend to hang on to things.
“Mister, you want to buy some cookies? We’re having a bake sale to raise money for new playground equipment for Westside Elementary.”
Westside Elementary? That was his old alma mater.
Going into the store, he’d noticed a card table set up against the storefront but hadn’t registered what it was for. Sure enough, taped to the front of the table was a hand-printed sign: SUMMER BAKE SALE, WESTSIDE PTA.
“I’m feeling really hungry for cookies,” he announced, walking over to look at the display. He had warm memories of the Westside PTA. Those kind women had fed and clothed him all through elementary school. He owed them.
The table was heavily laden with cakes, specialty breads, and bags of cookies. While one of the women behind the table made change for a customer, the other was keeping an anxious eye on their little salesperson. The child danced around him as he approached the table, pointing proudly at a pile of bags labeled oatmeal cookies.
“My mom made those. They’re real good.”
Jase smiled. “I’ll take two bags, and—let’s see—how about that marble pound cake too.”
The mothers thanked him profusely, especially when he gave them a hundred-dollar donation. It was the least he could do.
After stowing the Office Depot bags in the trunk of the car, he put the cookies and cake on the seat beside him. The cake, he’d take back to Laurel for dessert this evening, but the cookies, he’d unload on the first street beggar he saw. However, despite slowing down at every intersection and looking up and down the cross streets, he couldn’t spot anyone displaying a GOD BLESS sign. Bosque Bend must still be too small a town for panhandlers as of yet.