The Bull Rider's Son. Cathy McDavid

pink?” Who was this woman impersonating her sister and where had she hidden Liberty?

      “Weren’t you listening in the car on the way over?”

      No, she hadn’t been.

      “Might I suggest a pale rose instead?” the clerk said. “It’s perfect for August.”

      Rose had a better ring to it than pink.

      The clerk showed them to the racks holding bridesmaid dresses, arranged by style and color.

      “Oh, look at this one.” Her mother held up a tea-length creation trimmed with a delicate lace.

      Liberty rushed forward. “I love it!”

      Cassidy let out an expansive sigh.

      While Liberty waited, seated on a velveteen upholstered chair with a seashell-shaped back, the clerk fawned over her. Cassidy and her mother ventured into the dressing room, six rose-colored dresses held high so as not to drag on the floor.

      Sliding into the first one, Cassidy waited for her mother to zip her up. When that didn’t happen, she asked, “Something stuck?”

      “No.” Her mother sniffed.

      Cassidy turned around, holding the narrow straps of the dress to keep them from falling. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

      “I’m fine. Just a bit emotional.” Her mother’s smile wobbled. “It’s a big deal when your daughter marries.”

      Cassidy supposed it was. Feeling a little emotional herself, she patted her mother’s arm. “Hang in there, Mom.”

      “I thought you’d be the first.”

      Cassidy managed an awkward shrug, the dress still gaping in the back. “Hoyt and I never discussed the M word.”

      “You ever think what might have happened if you’d tracked him down sooner? Before he met his wife.”

      “Sure. In the beginning. But I doubt I would have married him.”

      “Because he liked to drink?”

      “Drink and drive. Let’s not forget that.”

      Growing up with an alcoholic father—former alcoholic, the rest of her family was quick to point out—Cassidy had little tolerance for people who imbibed to excess. She particularly had no tolerance for people who then got behind the wheel of a vehicle, as her father had the night he drove his truck into the well house with Cassidy in the front passenger seat.

      Finally, her mother zipped up the dress, enclosing Cassidy inside layers upon layers of rose taffeta. “Shane doesn’t drink.”

      “And why should that matter to me?”

      “I’ve seen him watching you.”

      Cassidy tugged on the sides of the dress, adjusting the fit. “He’s just curious is all. I did once date his brother.”

      “More than date him. You two had a ch—”

      “Mom, not here,” Cassidy said in a terse whisper.

      “It could explain Shane’s curiosity.”

      “You think he suspects?” Breathing became difficult. The dress’s snug bodice could be responsible. More likely it was her constant anxiety.

      “Or he likes you. In that way.”

      Cassidy’s anxiety increased.

      She stared at herself in the mirror, not quite seeing her reflection. What bothered her most wasn’t that Shane might like her. It was that she might like him back. Yes, in that way.

      Liberty hailed them from the dressing room entrance. “What’s taking so long, you two?”

      “Be right there.” Cassidy’s mother pushed open the double swinging doors after giving Cassidy a final inspection. “You’re stunning. No one could blame Shane.”

      Cassidy walked out to show her sister, a slight unsteadiness to her legs. She’d hardly reached the podium when her sister snapped a picture with her phone.

      No decisions were made. Liberty wanted to visit another shop or two first. Cassidy was admittedly relieved and glad when they pulled into the arena driveway two hours later. She alone had packages to unload, having made a haul for Benjie’s birthday at the party supply store.

      Leaving the bags on the kitchen table, she headed straight for the arena. School had let out thirty minutes ago, and the students participating in the afternoon riding program would arrive any second. While Liberty was in charge, Cassidy frequently helped with the advanced students.