Big Bob pushed away from the doorframe. “Yeah. Let’s take a walk.”
The two ambled along in silence until they were well out of earshot from the men. Big Bob rested his hand on Rusty’s shoulder and directed him to a large rock where they both sat. After a few moments of silence, he spoke. “My wife means the world to me.”
Since that didn’t require an answer, Rusty waited for the man to continue.
“She has this arthritis thing that seems to be getting worse.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, then resettled the hat. “Doctor tells me the only thing to do for her is to move to Arizona Territory.”
Rusty’s heart jumped. Was Big Bob selling the place? Was he going to be out of a job? The man seemed to be gathering his thoughts, so he just waited.
Big Bob turned and looked at him. “You told me when we talked in Kansas that you wanted a spread of your own.”
Rusty nodded, his mouth dry. “Yes, sir. I sure do.”
“I like the way you do things. I know you haven’t been here long, but I can see the respect you’ve gained from the men, and the way things run real smooth.” He leaned his forearms on his knees, gazing at the ranch house, corral, and barn. Several men hung on the rail fence, watching the horse giving the cowboy a rough time.
Rusty waited as long as he could stand it, and then said, “What are you saying?”
Big Bob continued to stare straight ahead. “How would you like to buy into the ranch as my partner?”
Chapter Eight
Rachel had taken extra care with her appearance as she readied herself for the dance. Her rose gown was lovely, even if slightly outdated. She’d spruced it up a bit with lace trim on the hem of the skirt and the cuffs.
After dressing, she stared at herself in the mirror, surprised the dress still fit. She’d worn it for her wedding ten years past. With no reason to ever need another fancy dress, this was the only one she owned. With Amelia’s help, she’d put her hair up in a fancy topknot, with curls loose at her temples and neck. She pulled the finishing touch, her one good shawl—white linen shot through with silver threads—from her drawer and wrapped it around her shoulders. With a pinch to her cheeks for color, she left the bedroom to meet Rusty, waiting for her in the parlor.
After leaving last-minute instructions with Will and Amelia, who was still sulking over not being able to attend the dance, they left the house. Rusty helped Rachel into the borrowed buggy and jumped up on the seat. With a snap of the reins they pulled away from the ranch and were off to the Grange Hall.
She glanced at Rusty, chiding herself for the fluttering in her stomach. His hair still damp from his bath, the curls at his nape hung over the collar of his white shirt. He wore black trousers and a black string tie. The play of muscles under his shirt as he directed the horses made her squirm. What was wrong with her? Sure he was handsome, had always been, but for some reason she seemed more aware of him tonight.
His light scent of bay rum drifted to her, mixed with the end-of-summer flowers along the road. “I haven’t been to a dance since before Will was born.”
He flashed her a smile. “You and your husband weren’t high steppers?”
“Heavens, no. I doubt any more boring people than us ever walked the earth. I always enjoyed home life, and Billy—well—he worked hard, and wanted nothing more than to relax when he was home.”
“What type of work did Billy do?”
“He was a bank clerk.” She grinned at Rusty’s surprised look. “Yes, I know that’s not exactly hard work, but it seemed to wear him out.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. Hard work to Rusty had a whole different meaning.
A short time later they pulled up to the Grange Hall. Buggies, carriages and even one automobile sat in neat rows in front of the building. It seemed as though hundreds of lamps burned inside, casting an almost daylight glow from the windows, lighting the outside. Arm in arm, couples made their way from their vehicles to the Hall, chatting excitedly. It seemed everyone was dressed in their finest.
Rachel took Rusty’s offered arm. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t even know how often they have these dances. Do you know?”
“Lefty said about four or five times a year.”
The sounds of laughter and the hum of conversation greeted them as Rusty escorted her through the door, his warm hand placed firmly on her lower back. Three men stood on a raised platform at one end of the hall, tuning up their instruments. The excitement in the room was palpable. Rachel rolled her eyes as women embraced, acting as though they hadn’t seen each other in years, instead of last Sunday at church.
“I wonder if Ellie is here,” Rachel said as she went up on her tiptoes, stretching her neck to search the crowd.
“Ellie?”
She steadied herself on his arm. “My sister. She teaches at Guthrie High School.”
“You never talk about your family.”
Giving up on searching the crowd, she lowered her heels and turned to him. “I don’t, do I? I have two brothers and a sister. Hunter is a federal marshal—we don’t see him very often. Michael is a pharmacist and married. He and Heidi have a little baby girl, Madeline.”
The first notes of a lively country dance started up. Rusty tilted his head toward the dance floor since the noise of the crowd and the music made conversation impossible. Rachel pulled him close and spoke into his ear. “I haven’t danced in ages. Can we sit a few out, so I can just watch?”