He leaned forward. “How?”
She let out a shallow breath. “He had a good friend who was in my art class. I’d seen him around town when he was visiting, and when he came to see the exhibit at our college, we started talking.” She smiled. “He wasn’t scared of Daddy. Just the same, I could never invite him to the house, and I had to make sure we were always in a crowd at college when I talked to him. Daddy was...not quite normal.”
He’d already figured that out. “Your sister is married, though?”
Randall must have told him that. “Yes. Just recently. Paul’s a senior agent with the FBI in San Antonio. He used to work for Daddy, long ago.” She stopped. She didn’t want to talk about her father or his fortune.
“What does your sister do?”
She smiled. “She’s an assistant district attorney in Jacobs County.”
“Didn’t you want to have a profession? Some way to earn a living?”
She didn’t want to talk about that, especially. “I hope to do that with my art, one day,” she said. She looked up into a faintly disappointed face. She knew he thought she had no ambition. It hurt. But she wasn’t telling him anything more about Graylings. Not yet. “That reminds me,” she said softly. “Is there a room I could use to paint in? I have paints and canvases coming. I don’t want to make a mess...”
“There’s a studio,” he said. “It belonged to...my father’s wife.” He never called her his mother. “She used it for painting. There’s a drop cloth in there, as well.”
“Thanks,” she told him. She wondered if Ren had loved his mother, before their sad parting. She’d have to ask Randall. She wouldn’t dare ask Ren. He was already fuming about something; perhaps a bad memory of the woman. She was certain that he wouldn’t have referred to his mother at all if she hadn’t asked the question about the studio.
He waved away the gratitude. His eyes went to the quick, efficient movement of her hands. “What are you making?”
“Hats,” she said with a smile. “I make dozens and give them away, to children I meet on the street, to old people in the waiting room when I have dentist appointments. I gave some to a woman who helps Mandy in the house, who works with an outreach program as a volunteer.” She hesitated. “I mostly do it when I’m watching television.”
“You make hats?” Delsey asked from the kitchen. She came into the living room, stirring something she was making in a bowl. “Could you make me one?” she asked. “I’m forever going in and out to take trash, and my head gets cold even when I put on a coat.”
“Sure. You can have this one when it’s finished.” She held it up. It was green and gold and tan.
“I like that!”
She laughed. “Thanks.”
“I’ll just finish getting this cake ready to go in the oven. Apple pound cake, Mr. Ren, with vanilla frosting.”
“Something to look forward to tonight,” he said, and smiled at her.
“It’ll be ready by then.” She went back into the kitchen.
“I thought you’d be squeamish,” Ren remarked as Merrie’s attention went back to the screen.
“I like cattle,” she said sheepishly. “I don’t know much about them. There are ranches all around the house where Sari and I grew up. Most of the people in Jacobs County either run cattle or work on ranches.”
“Sari?”
She laughed softly. “Her name is really Isabel, but only Paul calls her that. To the rest of us, she’s Sari.”
“Are you like her?”
“Oh, no,” she replied. “Sari’s redheaded and has really blue eyes. Mine are sort of a washed-out version of hers. And she’s very smart. She graduated in the top of her class from college and law school.”
He cocked his head and studied her. She was pretty and sweet. Smart? He didn’t care if a woman was smart or not. He liked Merrie. Even though he really didn’t want to.
He got to his feet, slapping his work gloves into his hand. “You can come back for spring roundup,” he mused. “I’ll take you out and you can see the process firsthand.”
“You’d do that for me?” she exclaimed, her face radiating joy. “Oh, I’d love to see it!”
He smiled faintly. “Okay.” He turned toward the kitchen. “Delsey, I’ll be back late tonight. Fred and I have to ride out to the line cabins and check on the men.”
“All right. It’s going to snow kittens and you’re already sniffling. Don’t stand out in the cold.”
“Stop worrying,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine,” she shot back. “You sound stuffed up.”
“I’m going now,” he replied. “See you later.”
“Okay. Go kill yourself and see if I care!” she called back.
He just laughed. He glanced at Merrie, tipped his hat and went out the door. It was really coming down outside. Snow seemed to come often in autumn here in Wyoming. Merrie wondered if the weather was always like that.