Devereux also apologized for the magazine employees’ behaviors and said a check would be in the mail to compensate Cash for his third of the contest expense. Cash assured him that wasn’t necessary, but Devereux insisted. Promising to stay in touch with each other, the call ended.
“Youarebig’n bad!” Tracy told Cash as the countryside rolled by. “You knocked Gerald out cold even before Dude bounced his head off the pavement. You’re seriously intimidating, Cash.”
“Thanks for the assist, Dude,” Cash said over his shoulder to Dude who was sitting behind them. Then to Tracy he said, “You never have to be afraid of me. You know that, right?”
“Yes, absolutely,” Tracy replied without hesitation. “Nor do I plan to give you a welt across your cheek.” She paused and then asked, “Would you feel better if I went back home tonight instead of to Triple C-East?”
“No.” Cash swung his head toward her. “I want you to stay with me.” He paused and added, “Unless you don’t want to. In that case, we’ll turn around and?—”
“No, I want to stick with the plans we made for the coming week,” she said and placed her hand on his thigh. “By the way, you never told me what you were thinking at dinner.”
“Good timing,” he said and closed his hand over her dainty one. “Last week you were part of the all-female contest winners’ dude ranch experience. During the week to come, in addition to interviewing the others”—he nodded to Triple C-West as they passed it— “I was thinking you’ll be able to observe our more usual dude ranch week on Triple C-East.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Tracy realized. “Thank you for making it possible.”
Cash asked, “What would you say about flying in the chopper with me next week?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Cash,” Tracy whispered as they passed Triple C-Central. She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Cash figured that might be her answer as they sped east along the highway toward his ranch. Dark now, the light from the full moon and the truck’s dashboard illuminated the concern on Tracy’s beautiful face. Cash soon turned left into his driveway and steered around to the rear of his house. With the guests gone, he parked near the back door.
“Because of what happened to your parents.”
“Yes,” Tracy admitted. “I’ve never flown.”
“In a helicopter?” he asked, and she shook her head no. “What about an airplane?” Again, she shook her head no.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked.
“No, of course not,” he said. “Not tonight, because it’s been a helluva day, but let’s make time to talk about flying in my helicopter,spitfire.”
“You’ll never change my mind,” she said as Dude rustled around in the back seat.
“Never say never, James Bond,” Cash teased her, referring to the hit film from the eighties. He wondered if Tracy knew the back story. In her line of work, she might.
“James Bond? Earlier, you said I’d make a terrible spy!” she joked in return. “Did you know that before playingJames Bond for the final time, Sean Connery declared he’d never play the role again? The movie title,Never Say Never Againwas in reference to his statement.”
Loving not only how smart Tracy was but how fast they bounced back from their differences, Cash nodded, laughed, and hopped out of the truck. He let Dude out on his side and the German shepherd trotted off to the adjacent field. They unpacked the truck, stowing Tracy’s bags and Dude’s food and bowls in the kitchen. Tracy went back outside and called for Dude. Cash went with her, and they waited. She called again and still nothing. Cash let out a loud whistle, like the one he’d used to call Captain the day he’d met Tracy, and Dude came barreling out of the shadows.
“And that’s how it’s done here on the ranch,” Cash said. Tracy put her lips together and no whistle was forthcoming. Dude skidded to a stop in front of them as she tried again. “So, we’ve got conquering the fear of flying and learning to whistle on the agenda.”
“Not tonight, because it’s been a helluva day—” Tracy smiled up at him— “but giving you a delightful massage is on my agenda, too, big’n bad.”
Cash pulled her into his arms and asked, “Promise?”
“You promised no moredrinking and drugs, Donna!” Winston blared into his cell phone, which Tammy Dalton thought was disconnected. “What good are you to me stuck in detox again? Up your nose, down your throat, or in your arm. Drugs and alcohol, the story of your life. I’m done with you.” He listened and replied, “I hate you too!”
Winston ended the conversation with his daughter, blocked her number, and turned off his phone. Walking toward the Dalton house, he heard Tammy banging on a window.
“Winston!” she called.
“What’s wrong now?” Winston asked, entering the house and locking the new double lock on the front door.
“It’s bad enough the old windows in this house no longer open,” Tammy replied, hobbling from the window to a chair. “Why did you cover them with tinfoil?”
“To keep the sun from waking you up early in the morning. So, you can take a nap in the afternoon,” Winston said. “But I don’t suppose you appreciate my effort on your behalf.”
