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Ruby’s eyebrows rose.

I carried my coffee to one of the little tables by the front window. Across the street, two men stood on ladders hanging a banner right over Main. Ruby followed me and pulled out a chair. I should’ve known changing seats wouldn’t change the subject.

“So what did you do?” she asked.

“I gave him some direction.”

“What kind of direction?”

“The normal kind.”

Ruby waited.

“I asked him to roll up his sleeves.”

Her mouth twitched.

“And take off his flannel.”

The twitch spread into a smile.

“And at one point, I may or may not have told him to take off his shirt.”

Ruby laughed loud enough that a woman looking at the jars of homemade apple butter near the register glanced over.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re saying plenty without opening your mouth.” That only made her laugh harder.

I stared out the window until she settled down, which didn’t stop my brain from replaying the whole thing.

Beau Jordan standing next to one of his Clydesdales, his shoulders so broad that the blue flannel pulled across his chest, his beard trimmed close. He looked like he’d walked right out of a calendar featuring the hottest cowboys in Montana.

And I’d kept going. Who did that?

“He could’ve corrected me,” I said.

Ruby dabbed a tissue under one eye. “He could’ve.”

“He chose not to.”

“That sounds like Beau.”

“So evidently he does have a sense of humor.”

“A dry one.” Ruby tucked the tissue into her pocket, still smiling. “You have to pay attention.”

“I noticed.”

“Are you sure that’s all you noticed, hon?”

The bell over the door saved me.

An older man walked in, tipped his chin up at Ruby, then looked my way. “Are you Linda’s niece?”

“I am.”