Cowboy Strong - Carolyn Brown Page 0,128

hired hands. Her mind went back to that first day when Cooper had told them that they’d need more than one napkin because the chicken was greasy. She had been glad that her two older half-sisters weren’t bashful when it came to food. On first impression, Shiloh had seemed pretty prissy, and the older sister was without a doubt a force to be reckoned with, but when they all three gathered around in the kitchen that cold day, all three of them hadn’t had any qualms about food.

Abby Joy bumped her on the arm. “What are you thinkin’ about? You’ve hardly touched your barbecue, and I know you like it a lot.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about our first day together a lot lately,” she answered.

“You mean at Ezra’s funeral?” Cooper asked. “I couldn’t believe that all three of you showed up looking like you did at his graveside service.”

“Oh?” Abby Joy raised an eyebrow.

“Think about it,” Cooper chuckled. “You looked like you’d just come out of a war zone in all that camouflage and your combat boots. Shiloh, over there”—he nodded her way—“looked like she’d just left a rodeo, and I wasn’t sure if you were a biker or a punk rocker, Bonnie.”

“I couldn’t believe those two were my sisters, either.” Bonnie giggled. “I figured that Abby Joy was like Ezra, and Shiloh had to take after her mother, and that neither of them would last two days on a ranch. Shiloh would be afraid she’d break a fingernail, and Abby Joy would be…”

“I’d be what?” Abby Joy asked.

“Bored to tears on a ranch after the life you’d led in the military,” Bonnie finished. “I didn’t even know Ezra, but from what Mama told me when she was drinking too much and bitchin’ about him, I figured you were the most like him.”

“Hey, now, I’m the least like Ezra of all of us,” Abby Joy declared.

Suddenly Bonnie had that antsy feeling that she only got when someone was staring at her. She glanced over at the other table and locked eyes with Rusty. She wished that she could fall into those sexy green eyes all the way to the bottom of his soul and find out what his real feelings were. Waylon nudged him with a shoulder, and he looked away just about the same time Abby Joy poked her on the arm with her forefinger.

“You don’t have a smart-ass remark about me being the least like Ezra?” Abby Joy asked.

“Nope, but I’ve got a question for Cooper. You liked Ezra, right?”

Cooper nodded. “He was an eccentric old codger, but he was smart as a whip when it came to ranchin’. All of us around these parts could depend on him for advice—other than when it came to women.”

“Guess that answers my question fairly well,” Bonnie said. “Thanks.”

Cooper’s head bobbed in a quick nod, and then he changed the subject. “These beans are great. What’s your secret?”

“A tablespoon of mustard,” Bonnie answered. “It cuts the sweet of the brown sugar and ketchup.”

And a little argument is good for a relationship, like mustard is good for beans. Her mother’s voice popped into her head. It cuts all that sweetness of flirting and sex. Every couple has to endure a few tests to see if the relationship will withstand the long journey.

That just might be the smartest advice you have ever given me, Mama, Bonnie thought. Why don’t you apply it to your own relationships?

Chapter Seven

Bonnie was sitting on a bale of hay in the corner of the barn, ready for their talk, when Rusty arrived. Several strands of blond hair had escaped from her ponytail and were stuck to her sweaty face. Pieces of hay were still stuck to her clothing from hauling bales from the field to the barn all day. With no one else to help, and refusing to work together, they’d each loaded their own truck bed full, driven it to the barn, and then unloaded and stacked it there. They’d gotten in what they’d baled the day before, and tomorrow, they’d move to another field and start cutting what was ready there.

“Why didn’t Ezra ever get the machinery to make those big round bales?” She removed her work gloves and laid them beside her.

“He was old school.” Rusty sat down on the running board of her truck. “He said that ranchers wasted enough hay to make half a dozen small bales with what they lost on every one they left out in the weather. I think that once

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