hands—tall, gangly Shorty and the young boy they called Nebraska—treated Emily with gentle forbearance, even though she was underfoot most of the time. Emily loved the horses, the garden Maria had helped her plant, even the horse trough, where she watched in fascination when the ranch animals drank and happily sailed willow-bark boats on the surface.
Gray set Emily on her feet, stood up and moved toward Clarissa. “The picnic is tomorrow in the center of town. You’ll come, won’t you?”
“N-no.”
“Like hell you’re not. Emily’s all excited. You can’t disappoint her.”
She went white as buttermilk. “Oh, but—I might run into Caleb Arness.”
“No, you won’t. Shorty says Arness is in jail for bein’ drunk and disorderly at the Golden Partridge.”
“But—”
“No buts, Clarissa. Arness is out of the way. I checked on it. There’ll just be a lot of town folks and ranchers and their families. And lots of children... Emily will like it.”
“I—I know.”
“You’re still afraid of Arness? He won’t bother you.”
“How do you know?”
Gray surveyed her pale face for a full minute. “Because he’s in jail, like I said.”
“Are you sure?”
“Heck, yes, I’m sure. The man’s always drunk too much. He spends most of his time in jail.”
In the end, in spite of her trepidation, Clarissa packed up the potato salad she’d made, dressed in her clean white shirtwaist and her blue-striped calico skirt, and borrowed one of Maria’s sun hats. All the way into town, riding beside Gray on the wagon bench, she found herself admiring the drifts of spring wildflowers covering the meadows—yellow desert parsley and red Indian paintbrush and fluffy white Queen Anne’s lace. Swaths of pink-headed wild buckwheat rippled in the wind and big yellow daisy bushes dotted the fields of new green grass.
This part of the day was quite pleasant, she admitted. The part she dreaded was making conversation with the townspeople. Strangers.
“Do you think Miss Serena will attend?”
“Serena?” Gray shook his head. “Nah. She’s got better things to do.”
Emily piped up from the wagon bed. “What’s better’n a picnic?”
“Makin’ money, I guess.”
“How can she do that on Sunday?”
Clarissa tipped her head away from him, but Gray saw that her cheeks had turned bright red. All he could see under her wide-brimmed sun hat was the tip of her nose and a bit of her chin. She didn’t say anything for so long he wondered if she’d gone to sleep.
“Mama?” Emily persisted, “how can she make money on a Sunday?”
Gray cleared his throat. “Let’s just say Miss Serena works, uh, long hours every day of the week, Sunday included.”
“Like you did when you saved your money in a sock?”
He had to work to keep from laughing. “Well, kinda.” He guided the wagon into town and straight down the main street until they reached the leafy, green town square. Ramon and Maria were just dismounting at the hitching rail, but the rest of his ranch hands were nowhere to be seen. He’d left Erasmus, the grizzled old stable hand, in charge, with his picnic supper on a plate and Gray’s shotgun. The man would probably enjoy the peace and quiet with all of them spending the day in town.
Gray braked, climbed down and reached up for Clarissa. Holy smokestacks, her waist was so tiny he didn’t see how she could eat much. And he could sure tell she wasn’t all laced up tight in a corset. Sensible woman.
The minute Emily’s feet touched the ground she raced away toward Maria. “Bet she can’t wait to take off her shoes and wriggle her toes in the grass,” Gray remarked.
“Or roll down a hill,” Clarissa added. “There aren’t any hills, are there?”
He lifted out the wicker picnic basket and grabbed an old quilt to sit on. “No hills,” he said. “But you can wriggle your toes in the grass if you want, Clarissa.”
“Certainly not!”
“I’ll spread out the blanket far enough away from the center of things that you won’t hear any of the long-winded speeches the mayor’s gonna make.”
“For that I am grateful, Gray. Why is it that the minute a man gets elected to an office he has to make speeches?”
“Dunno. Smoke River’s judge, Jericho Silver, doesn’t, and neither does the new sheriff. Two more close-mouthed men you’ll never meet.”
Clarissa settled onto the quilt next to the picnic basket, and after a moment Emily and Maria joined her. Gray wandered off for a game of horseshoes with Ramon and Nebraska, leaving Shorty with the women.
“Miss Clarissa sure is pretty,” Nebraska murmured to Gray. He let fly with a metal shoe that fell far short of the steel pole embedded in the ground.
“Oughtta keep your mind on the game, son.” Gray tossed a perfect ringer.
“You mean to tell me you never noticed?”
“Never,” Gray lied.
Ramon’s snort of laughter was loud enough to carry back to the picnic blanket. “Is a sin to lie, señor!” his foreman chided. He dropped his horseshoe on top of Gray’s.
“Loser has to deliver a package to Serena’s, a dress Clarissa is...donating,” Gray said to change the subject.
“You mean winner, don’tcha?” Nebraska quipped.
Gray shook his head. “Only if you’re young and green and new in town, kid.”
“Heck, boss, I am young and green.” He sent Gray a hopeful look.
“Si,” Ramon intoned, spitting on his second horseshow for luck. “But you not new in town.”
Gray slanted a look at Clarissa, sitting on the quilt with Maria. Looked like they were having a serious talk about something; Maria was leaning her head close to Clarissa, and Clarissa’s face looked like a cloud had settled over it. He’d give a fistful of silver dollars to know what was going on.
Emily sat between the two women, looking bored to death.
Late in the afternoon they devoured all of Clarissa’s potato salad, which tasted really good, and most of Maria’s fried chicken and Mexican chocolate cake, then lounged on the grass playing mumblety-peg and hide the nickel to keep Emily entertained. Maria leaned back against Ramon’s bent knees and they talked quietly in Spanish.
Clarissa gazed off in the distance, thinking about Anthony’s death and his child, who now called her Mama. The afternoon was “soft,” she decided. The warm air smelled of pine trees and the spring sunshine felt gentle on her face. A moment ago Maria had said that in time she would get used to life out here in the West, but she knew she wouldn’t. She began to think about her return to Boston. Funny that it didn’t bring the jolt of happiness it usually did.
Shorty and Nebraska started up a poker game, and after a few hands Gray joined in. “Playin’ for matches or pennies?”
“Playin’ for who’s gonna get breakfast duty at the bunkhouse tomorrow morning,” Shorty answered. “Ain’t gonna be me.” He grinned and dealt Gray in.
“Can I play?” Emily asked, her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Not unless you can count, Squirt.”