Cherokee Baby. Sheri WhiteFeather

frustrated breath. “Too long, considering what he did. Joe was thirty-nine, pushing forty when he hopped into the sack with his twenty-year-old secretary.”

      Bobby froze. His wife had been twenty when he’d met her, twenty-one when they’d married, twenty-two when she’d died.

      Julianne picked at her sandwich again, tearing it into small bites. “I know those kinds of age differences don’t bother some people. But it was quite a blow to my ego. Why is it that men get away with everything?” She ate a slice of the grilled chicken, casting the pita aside. “Can you imagine me sleeping with a twenty-year-old? It’s absurd.”

      Bobby frowned, recalling his attraction to Sharon. Their age difference had made their relationship more exciting in the beginning. And more painful at the end. “It is a double standard, I suppose.”

      “No kidding.” Julianne reached for her drink, took a small sip.

      When they both fell silent, the lull of the river intensified. The wind blew a warm breeze, and the sun shone, dappling the water with specks of gold.

      “I’m sorry.” She glanced down at her plate, at her torn sandwich. “I shouldn’t have vented my frustrations out on you.”

      “It’s okay.” At least now he understood why turning forty was such an issue with her.

      “It’s not okay. I feel like an idiot. Forcing you to listen to all that.”

      “Hey.” Giving in to the need to touch, he leaned forward and lifted her chin, encouraging her to look at him. “I don’t mind being your friend, Julianne.”

      She blinked, smiled. “You’re a good man, Bobby.”

      He pulled his hand back. “Michael says that to me, too.” But it felt different coming from her. It felt like even more of a lie.

      They finished their lunch and cleaned up, working quietly. Bobby squinted at the sky, at a hawk soaring above the trees.

      Julianne walked over to Caballero. “Is it a two-hour ride down the hill?”

      “We’re going down the same way we came up,” he said by way of an explanation.

      She made a face. “My butt’s going to be really sore later, isn’t it?”

      He checked out her cute little rear and nodded. Strange how she could make him emotional one minute and humor him the next. “I suspect. Some folks do complain about their butts afterward.”

      She heaved herself onto the gelding. “I guess this is nothing for a former rodeo cowboy. What event did you compete in?”

      He finished packing his horse. “Bareback.”

      “Is that where you get bucked around without a saddle?”

      Humored once again, he grinned. She was already favoring her rear, wriggling in her seat. “That’s about the size of it.”

      “And you deliberately chose that as your profession?”

      “I surely did.” He watched her grimace through another city-slicker wriggle. “You could schedule a massage later,” he suggested. “And soak in the whirlpool.”

      “Or I could tough it out like a true cowgirl.” She pushed her heels down, settling into her stirrups. “Will I see you tonight, Bobby? Maybe at dinner?”

      “I don’t think so. I’m going to turn in early. I’ve got some business in San Antonio over the next few days. I’ll probably be heading out before dawn.”

      “So when will I see you again?” she asked.

      “At your party,” he told her. “I won’t miss your birthday, Julianne.”

      “Are you going to bring someone?”

      He mounted his horse, tried to act casual. “No. I think I’ll go alone.”

      “I’m always alone.” When a strand of hair blew across her face, she shifted the reins to free her hand, to tuck the fiery locks behind her ear. “I haven’t dated since the divorce. It’s just not that easy.”

      He chose not to comment, not to admit that he knew how she felt.

      Side by side, they started across the grass, heading for the trail back to the barn. As a stream of silence ensued, a butterfly winged by, reminding Bobby of his borrowed time with Sharon, of summer days, colorful flowers and shattered dreams.

      “Maybe you could be my date for the party,” Julianne said.

      Bobby’s pulse quickened. Suddenly he ached for what she was offering. A romantic evening with a pretty lady. Flirtatious conversation. A sip of wine. A long, lingering kiss.

      He glanced her way and saw that she watched him with shy anticipation.

      “Sure, I could do that,” he said.

      What harm was there in being her date?

      In pretending, just for one night, that he was still the man he used to be.

      Four

      The Corral, a shabby-chic bar, presented sawdust floors, rustic oak tables, a collection of pool tables and a small bandstand. A trio of female singers belted out familiar country tunes as cocktail waitresses squeezed through the Saturday-night clientele, delivering drinks and ready smiles.

      Julianne sat at a crowded table, sipping a glass of wine and looking around. Kay and Mern had invited the other Elk Ridge Ranch guests and some of the staff to her party.

      Everyone was here, toasting her with well wishes. Everyone except Bobby, the man who’d promised not to miss her birthday.

      Disappointed, Julianne watched the door. Was he merely late? Or had he decided not to be her date, after all?

      Glancing across the room at the dance floor, she spotted Jim Robbins and his wife stomping and clapping to the music. Jim was the friendly fellow who’d startled her and Bobby on the porch that first day.

      Another couple, much younger and much hipper than Jim and his wife, laughed when they all missed the same line-dance step.

      She reached for her wine and glanced at the door again.

      And then she saw him.

      Bobby entered the bar, carrying a single white rose. She excused herself from the table and went to greet him.

      For a moment they just gazed at each other.