"Bo. Bo Gates. Emily and Kirk's son."
He blinks, and I can see the wheels turning. "You're the one staying with Pearl?"
"Was. I'm out at Falon Williams' place now. She bought the old Anderson ranch about a year ago."
I set down the last bale and realize I'm smiling. It happens every time I think of her. Just thinking about the house, everything we'd done to it, the way it doesn't even feel like the Anderson place anymore. It feels like hers. Mine too, a little.
Stan must see it on my face.
“Rick and Melodie’s girl?” he asks, eyeing me carefully.
“Yep, she’d done a great job with it.”
“Of course she has. That little girl has a heart of gold and a talent, too. Shame no one sees it,” he says, then shoos me away with a wave of his hand. Then, he heads for the barn.
"Love's wasted on the young," he grumbles, and disappears inside.
I stand there in the afternoon sun with an empty truck bed and a grin I can't quite shake.
Old man Stan has a soft spot for Falon. Hu, I didn’t realize she’d known him. How did she get on his good side? I didn’t even know he had one.
By the time I pull back down Falon's drive, it's closer to six-thirty rather than four as I’d planned.
Falon is coming in from the chicken coop, and Hank is wearing a brand-new set of shoes thanks to Milly.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, wiping dust off her jeans.
“Starving, I had to run out to Stan’s this afternoon. I swear he gets meaner with old age.”
“Stan isn’t mean. He’s sweet and makes the best oatmeal cookies,” she says, walking past me, Rowdy trotting beside her as she asked him if he wanted any bones. How did she get a man like Stan to make her cookies?
When I walk into the kitchen, I smile. “Lasagna,” I sigh.
“Stan called and said you forgot your tip.” How did she do that? That man is mean as hornets. I laugh.
“Are we eating in the kitchen, or in front of the TV?” Falon asks. I think about it for a second, then lean down and kiss her on the cheek. She smiles and does a little jig.
“Since I hauled hay, how about I shower, then we can do a movie night. I have got to see if that no-nose man dies.” Falon laughs.
“Race ya,” she says, darting upstairs.
“No fair, you live here,” I call after her, already on my way to the guest house.
By the time I finish and pull on a pair of shorts and a tee, I hear the television from the living room. Low volume. Something with an orchestra.
Falon’s on the couch, legs tucked under her, a throw blanket pulled up to her chin. Rowdy wedged between her feet and the armrest. He raises his head up when I come in, tail wagging.
"Hey," she says, shimmying over to make room, our plates already on the TV trays and the movie paused just as the WB symbol comes on screen. "You're late."
“I am not late; you cheated.”
“I didn’t cheat. You were slow.” She wrinkles her nose.
She lifts the edge of the blanket in invitation.
I sit next to her, and we eat the lasagna. We are about halfway through the movie when Harry calls for his broom and?—.
Falon pauses the movie.
