he’d bend down and pick them up.
Which he did.
“Mournful?” Brody scoffed, a beat or two too late. “Not me.”
“You’re taken with Carolyn,” Davis said quietly, standing there with a froufrou dog in the crook of each elbow. “Nothing wrong with that. She’s a beauty, and a hand with a horse, too.”
Brody chuckled ruefully. Saying somebody was “a hand with a horse” was high praise, coming from a Creed—better than a good credit score or a character reference from a VIP. “Well,” he said, “I kind of messed things up with her.”
Davis put the little dogs down gently, and they scampered off, probably in search of Kim. Then the rough-and-tough cowboy pulled up a chair for himself and sat down, regarding Brody solemnly, but with a crook at the corner of his mouth.
“I’ve messed up with Kim more times than I care to recall,” Davis said, once he was settled. “And here we are, married thirty-five years as of next October.”
A companionable silence fell; they both sat listening to the fire in the stove for a while, thinking their own thoughts.
Brody’s throat tightened a little. “Did you and Kim ever regret not having kids of your own?” he asked, the words coming out rusty.
“We had kids,” Davis pointed out, with a smile. “You and Conner and Steven.”
“Of your own,” Brody persisted. Davis’s marriage to Steven’s mother hadn’t lasted.
Davis thought a moment, and there was a twinkle in his eyes when he replied. “We’d have liked to have had a girl,” he allowed. “But now that Melissa and Tricia have married into the family, why, Kim and I feel like we’ve got everything anybody could rightfully ask for.”
Brody stayed silent.
Davis reached out, laid a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, squeezed. “I know I’ve said it before,” he told Brody, “but it’s better than good to have you back home where you belong, boy. We all missed you something fierce.”
With that, the conversation appeared to be over.
Davis stood up and went to the stove to bank the fire.
Brody told Barney they’d better get on the road, stepped into the corridor outside the shop, then remembered what he’d come for and stuck his head back in.
“’Night, Davis,” he said.
His uncle nodded, smiled. “’Night,” he replied. “You drive carefully now, because we can’t spare you.”
Brody nodded back.
He didn’t run into Kim on his way out.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up at River’s Bend, near the unfinished barn, and parked the truck. He and Barney went inside to make sure Moonshine was settled for the night—he was—and headed for the cabin.
Brody flipped on the lights and went straight to his computer to log on.
While he was doing that, Barney drank loudly from his water bowl on the floor and then curled up on his dog-bed to catch up on his sleep.
Once he got online, Brody skipped his email—he often went days without checking it—and called up his favorite search engine instead.
Hunt-and-peck style, he typed Friendly Faces.
Something like ten thousand links came up.
He narrowed the search to dating services, blushing a little even though nobody was ever, by God, going to find out he’d stooped to such a lame-assed thing.
There it was, the website Carolyn evidently hoped would land her a husband.
Brody’s back teeth ground slightly; he released his jawbones by deliberate effort.
Finding her took some doing, but eventually, Brody came across Carolyn’s profile. She was calling herself Carol, he soon discovered.
For some reason, that made him feel a little better.
He decided to send her a message.
To do that, he had to sign up for the free trial membership, which was very much against his better judgment.
Having no stock alias to fall back on, as Carolyn evidently did, he used his own name. Since he didn’t keep pictures of himself on hand, he uploaded a snapshot of Moonshine instead.
That made him grin. According to Kim, no self-respecting woman would take up with a cowboy unless she’d seen his horse.
He completed the few remaining cybersteps, and the way was finally clear: he could send Carolyn a message.
Right off, Brody hit a wall. Now that he’d gone to all that trouble, he couldn’t think of a darn thing to say.
Feeling mildly beleaguered, he sighed, sat back in his chair, frowning at the screen as if something might materialize there if he concentrated hard enough.
Well, slick, he taunted himself silently, where’s all that smooth talk and country charm you’ve always relied on?
Brody sighed again. Rubbed his chin pensively.
This was ridiculous.
A simple howdy ought to do, even if there was some bad blood between him and Carolyn.
Only howdy wasn’t going to pack it.
“For a good time, call Brody” sprang to mind next, and was mercifully discarded.
He decided on Hope you feel better, and he was tapping that in when the instant message popped up.
Hello, stranger, Joleen wrote. What luck to catch you online—is there a blue moon or something? Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads-up—I’ll be back in Lonesome Bend in a few days.
Brody went still. And cold.
Joleen had hit the road weeks ago, swearing she’d stay away for good this time.
“Shit,” he muttered. Timing, like luck, was never so bad that it couldn’t get worse.
Hello? Joleen cyber-nudged.
Hi, he responded.
Joleen was faster on the draw, when it came to keyboards. I was hoping I could stay at your place. Mom and Dad have room, but they’re not too pleased with me these days.
Brody let out a ragged breath. Sorry, he wrote back, using only the tip of his right index finger. Quarters are too tight for a visitor.
Still mad over that little spat we had? Joleen inquired, adding a row of face icons with tears gushing from their eyes.
It isn’t that, Brody replied laboriously.
Joleen’s reply came like greased lightning. Are you dumping me, Brody Creed?
Brody sighed again, dug out his cell phone and speed-dialed Joleen’s number.
“Hello?” Joleen purred, like she couldn’t imagine who’d be calling little old her.
“I just think it’s time we called it quits,” Brody said, seeing no reason to bother with a preamble. “The sleeping-together thing, I mean.”
“So you are dumping me!” Joleen chimed. To her credit, she sounded cheerful, rather than hurt. One thing about Joleen—she was a good sport.
“Okay,” Brody said. “Have it your way.”
“If I had things my way,” Joleen immediately retorted, “we’d be married by now. With a bunch of kids.”
Brody closed his eyes. He could envision the kids all too clearly, but they were all dead ringers for Carolyn, not Joleen.
“We had a deal,” he reminded Joleen gruffly. “We agreed from the first that we wouldn’t get serious.”
Joleen