At the bottom of the stairs, Clint stood chatting with Cassie. Like every ranch hand on the planet, the man wore jeans and boots and cotton shirts, flannel in the winter. Tonight, he had on boots, but these were unscuffed and polished, and a jacket and tie. What was commonly known as the Texas tuxedo. And boy did this man know how to wear it.
“Ready to face the den of teenagers?” His smile was slight, and his voice smooth as honey.
“As ready as I’m going to be.”
“Where’s Garret? Thought he was meeting us here to ride together.”
She shook her head. “He and Jackie left early. Said they’d meet us there.”
Clint nodded and to her surprise, extended his elbow to her. “Shall we?”
For some reason, it took longer than it should have to extend her hand and curl her fingers around his forearm. It was silly, really. The gesture meant nothing more than old-fashioned chivalry, like helping an old woman across the street. But still, it felt somehow very personal. Once they reached the truck, Clint opened the door for her, something he’d done more than once in the many months he’d worked on the ranch, and yet, just like the extended arm, this felt really different. Not awkward, not unpleasant, just, different—and nice.
The conversation in the truck went like any other chit-chat any other day. There was no mention of anything serious; not Ray, not Brooklyn, not the financial challenges, nothing.
“I had no idea you were so talented.” Clint kept his eyes on the road.
“Doesn’t take a lot of talent to paint a few fish and waves.”
“Depends on how you look at it. I could have painted the waves. There would have been one shade of blue and that would have been it. Maybe I would have painted one cutout a darker shade and another a lighter shade, but I promise you there would not be shadows, and white froth or anything else to make the waves look like we were standing on a beach in Galveston or Padre.”
She shrugged. “Art was a favorite class of mine in high school. Mrs. Halinan, now that woman had talent. Not the paint waves and fish kind but the sell your paintings in an art show kind of talent. If not for her patience, and instructions, and interest, my waves would have been plain just like yours.”
“I guess that explains the fish too.”
This time she chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say we can give Mrs. Halinan the credit for that too.”
“Did you help your kids with their art projects?” He stole a quick glance in her direction before returning his attention to the road ahead.
“Not really. With six kids, they usually helped each other. Charlie and I would help with math and science, but art wasn’t a big thing.” They arrived at the school and Clint pulled around to the teacher’s parking lot as Alice suggested. She really had enjoyed working on the gym yesterday. Maybe she should take up painting, not walls, but pictures, for a hobby. She shook her head at her own thoughts—who the heck had time for a hobby?
Clint met her on the passenger side of the truck. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“You’re shaking your head.”
“Oh.” She chuckled. “Don’t let that worry you. I spend a lot of my spare time talking myself out of all sorts of crazy ideas.”
This time he didn’t extend his arm, and to her surprise, she felt a bit… disappointed. Thankfully, the disappointment disappeared the minute she crossed the threshold into the old gym. She’d thought everything looked great when they’d left yesterday, but tonight, with the overhead lights off and only dim lights on the perimeter and colored lights directed and the floating fish and urchins hanging over head, the place looked magical. Maybe she would find some time to paint. Maybe.
“Holy cow. Did it look this good when we left last night?” Clint cast a quick glance from one end of the gym to the other. The place looked spectacular. Better than the movie they were trying to mimic. Though he had to do a double take at the attendees. Many of the girls seemed to have fallen out of the original movie, wearing form-fitting dresses with wide skirts that twirled when they danced.
Alice Sweet shook her head. “I think it’s just the magic of the night.”
She had a point. This place held the kind of magic you only saw in movies, and certainly not something he’d expected from a handful of high schoolers. Still. “You, Mrs. Sweet, are too humble. But I have to agree, there is some sort of magic in the air tonight. I hope these kids appreciate the hard work that you and the other kids put in.”
“And you,” she added.
He bobbed his head. “And me.”
“Martin did a good job with the spotlights,” Alice murmured beside him, a soft smile on her face. Colored lights played across the waves he’d cut, shadows lifting and falling like the ocean was breathing. Alice’s seahorses floated above, a little parade that made even the teachers smile when they looked up.
“He did,” Clint agreed, though his gaze was less on the decorations and more on Alice. He’d seen her covered in mud, paint, and hay. He’d seen her work until her back ached and her hands were raw. But this—this polished, graceful woman—was a side of her he’d not seen before. Not even during the last-minute receptions for a couple of her kids.
Music thumped, then slid into something old he remembered from his grandmother’s record collection. Garret appeared at their side. “I know this isn’t Mom’s first turn at chaperone, but just in case, what you need to look for is—”
Clint cut him off. “Unusual activity around the punch bowl, huddles in the corner, both of which can mean there’s liquor around, and, of course, the Noah’s Ark effect.”
