Return to Oak Valley (35 page)

Her chin went up. “I believe that I would have something to say about that. Now are you going to feed me or just keep me here making indecent proposals?”

Sloan laughed. “I'll feed you. And as for the other…” He grinned as he took her arm. “Let's just see how the evening goes, shall we?”

The drive to Ukiah took about an hour and a half, Sloan taking the curves with the ease and speed of someone familiar with every crook and angle of the road. Shelly had been worried more about the long drive to and from than the actual date, but Sloan put her at ease, introducing relatively safe topics—her plans for the cattle operation, his paint horse program, and even the saga of the rogue buffalo. By the time he pulled into the parking space in front of the Café on State Street, she was relaxed and looking forward to dinner.

The Café had not been in existence when she had left for New Orleans, and she was pleasantly surprised at the welcoming ambience of the place. The dining area was a big room with old-fashioned high ceilings and a soft blue-green plush carpet. Antique wooden cabinets scattered discreetly around the room displayed a colorful collection of old china, pottery, and crystal. Green linen napkins, a slender vase of fresh flowers, delicate columbine and ferns, and a white votive candle adorned each of the tables. A dark green tablecloth added a touch of elegance, and the soft lighting was inviting.

Once they were seated, a basket of warm yeast rolls and a glass dish of butter were placed before them. The menu was limited, but Shelly had no trouble deciding on the spicy chicken and cajun sausage in cream sauce over pasta. Sloan ordered something with shrimp that sounded almost as good. They both opted for the spring greens salad with the house honey-mustard vinaigrette—delicious. After checking with Shelly, Sloan selected a nice white Zinfandel from the Napa Valley to drink with their meal.

Ordering and eating filled in any awkward moments that may have arisen, but in fact, Shelly found Sloan's company easy to take—too easy. She shrugged that thought aside, unwilling to let suspicion and mistrust ruin what might be a new beginning. She hadn't forgotten the past, but enough doubts had been raised in her mind about Josh's character that she wasn't willing just to dismiss Sloan's implications about Josh's fine hand in what had happened that final night. But neither could she pretend that she wasn't suffering some guilt, feeling that she was being disloyal to Josh—and all the Grangers who had come before her. But was she? She didn't know the answer, and she settled back in her chair prepared to enjoy herself…for tonight.

To her surprise, conversation flowed effortlessly between them, but then it shouldn't have surprised her—they shared a common background and knew many of the same people, places. Sloan kept it light, and they spent most the meal catching up on each other's past. Shelly told him about her life in New Orleans, more of her hopes and dreams for the Granger Cattle Company, and Sloan spoke of his decision to leave the family development business and concentrate on raising champion reining-and-cutting paint horses. Whether by accident or design, they both skirted any mention of topics that might cause a rift in their evening.

They finished their meal, both passing reluctantly on the chocolate mousse torte offered for dessert.

“Too rich for me,” Shelly said with a laugh. “But I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee.”

“I'll have the same,” Sloan said.

Their coffee had just been served when Sloan, who was seated facing the doorway, said, “Uh-oh. We've been spot-ted—and by one of the worst gossips in St. Galen's. Brace yourself.”

Shelly shot him a curious glance, tensing a second later, when Reba Stanton's tinkling voice came to her ear. Damn. A little bit of Reba went a long way, and Wednesday hadn't been that long ago. Not nearly that long ago.

“Why, isn't this the most amazing sight I've ever seen,” exclaimed Reba as she swam up to their table, her pale blue eyes full of speculation. “A Granger and a Ballinger breaking bread together and not over each other's heads.”

Attractive in a slim-fitting black dress, her silvery blond hair swept up, and rhinestone earrings dangling from her ears, Reba smiled at them like the cat that ate the canary. “Oh, my, never say that I am interrupting a secret rendezvous?”

Innately polite, Sloan had stood up as she approached, and a second later found Reba in his arms as she greeted him effusively. Only by a quick turn of his head was he able to escape her kiss landing on his lips. Wiping away the smear of red lipstick he knew was at the corner of his mouth, he said, “Hello, to you, too, Reba. And as for the other, if we had wanted it to be secret, it certainly won't be for long, now will it?” He took a step backward, putting some distance between them.

Reba shook a finger at him and laughed. “Naughty, naughty.”

Reba had always rubbed Shelly the wrong way, but she had been genuinely startled at the surge of green-eyed jealousy that had flowed through her at the sight of the other woman in Sloan's arms. That Sloan looked like he wished to be anywhere else but in Reba's arms was the only thing that made her remember that she had been born a lady and that ladies did not leap up and scratch out the eyes of other women…at least not in public. Maybe she was imagining things? She didn't think so—there was something about the way Reba looked at Sloan—very much like a rattlesnake spying a plump rabbit—that made her uncomfortable. Had Reba grown tired of her perfectly nice husband and was now on the lookout for Number 2? Or was she just looking for a little action on the side and had decided that Sloan would suit her needs? If that was Reba's plan, it looked like the other woman was in for a fight. From what she could see, it appeared that Reba was the one sending the signals and that Sloan was desperately trying to duck the broadcast. She grinned. Poor Sloan. The price he paid for being irresistible.

Reba's husband walked up to his wife's side just then. Grinning down at Shelly, Bob Stanton said, “Hi kid. You're looking good. New Orleans must have agreed with you.”

“Bob!” Shelly cried, springing to her feet. She hugged him and said, “How great to see you. I'd heard you married Reba—congratulations.”

Bob Stanton had always been one of Shelly's favorite people. He was one of the good guys—always ready to lend a hand or a sympathetic ear to anybody; he was highly regarded in the community and very well liked by everyone, young and old alike. If she had her facts right, he was probably pushing fifty, and these days he was a successful cattleman, but Shelly remembered him as a sandy-haired stripling working for her father, and then later for Josh. He had shared many an orange Popsicle with her on hot summer days and hadn't been above squirting her unmercifully with the hose when she got pesky on those same hot afternoons. Bob wasn't exactly handsome, but his features were even and pleasant, laugh lines crinkling attractively at the corners of his hazel eyes, a ready smile on his wide mouth. The years had added a few pounds to his sturdy build, but he still looked fit and active.

“Well, now,” Bob drawled as he put Shelly from him and glanced her up and down. “If I'd a known that the snaggle-toothed kid who followed me around all those years ago was going to grow up into such a beautiful young lady, I might have been a bit nicer to her.”

They all laughed, and if Reba's laugh was a bit forced, no one paid any attention to it.

Sloan reached across, and he and Bob shook hands. “Nice to see you,” Sloan said. “Heard you got some good prices for your bulls at the Turlock sale last month.”

Bob nodded. “Sure did. Was a nice surprise after the way the cattle market has been the last few years. How's your folks doing?”

They spent an enjoyable time talking about cattle, Shelly's Angus venture, Sloan's luck with his horses, the lack of rain, and generally catching up with each other's news. Reba's expression became more and more bored and irritated with every passing moment. “Oh, that's enough!” she finally said. “I thought we came down here to get away from St. Galen's—and cattle and hay and horses.”

Bob grinned ruefully. “Guess we did, sweetheart. Sorry. Sloan's and my path hasn't crossed too much lately, and I haven't seen Shelly since she came back.” Putting his arm around Reba, he kissed her on the cheek. Looking back at the others, he said, “Since I was lucky enough to marry the prettiest girl in the valley, have to keep her happy.” He waved a hand at them. “Talk to you all again. Maybe we can meet for lunch or something?”

Shelly and Sloan both nodded and made affirmative noises.

“Call me a cat if you want, but he's much too nice for her,” Shelly muttered as soon as Bob and Reba were out of earshot.

“Won't get an argument out of me. No one, except maybe Reba and her family, was thrilled when she nabbed him. I thought Cleo was going to have a fit when she heard the news—she always had a soft spot for Bob and never cared much for Reba—which about sums up the general opinion in the valley.” Sloan grinned at her. “There's just no accounting for taste when it comes to love.”

Their check arrived just then, and, a few minutes later, they were walking out of the restaurant to Sloan's vehicle. A moment after that they were on their way back to St. Galen's.

Shelly had enjoyed herself—more than she had thought she would. She had worried unnecessarily, she thought dryly. So far they'd avoided controversial topics, and sex hadn't raised its disturbing head—yet. Sloan had been a perfect gentleman…of course, he would be when they were out in public, but what would happen when they reached her house and it was time to say good night? If Sloan took her in his arms and kissed her…Shelly swallowed, sudden heat swirling insidiously through her lower body. Desperately, she wrenched her thoughts away from thoughts of Sloan's hot mouth on hers, his hands striking fire wherever they touched her body. They'd had a pleasant evening, she reminded herself, and she didn't want to ruin it. As long as they both stayed on their best behavior everything would be fine. Yeah, right.

It had still been daylight when they had left the valley, but night had fallen while they were eating, and everything looked different as the Suburban sped through the darkness, the headlights spearing through the blackness—trees and brush took on fantastic shapes as the road rushed up to meet them.

There was less conversation on the way home than there had been on the drive out, but the silences that fell were comfortable. The sight of a deer caught in the beam of the lights would occasion a comment and once as they rounded a curve a fat black-and-white skunk waddled off to the side of the road, and they both laughed.

“So when are you going to meet Lowenthall?” Sloan asked a few minutes later.

“I don't know—probably not for a couple of weeks. I need to gather up a bunch of stuff first, and I'd like to finish the painting I'm on now before I see him.” She sighed. “Since I've been home, work has been the last thing on my mind.”

“You've had a lot to deal with—settling an estate, even a small one, is time-consuming—and then there's the sense of loss you feel.” He slanted her a glance. “I might not have the fondest memories of your brother, but I know that he meant the world to you.”

Shelly nodded. “He did—he practically raised me. I remember more of him than I do my father.” She sighed. “Up until a couple of months ago, I would have sworn that I knew everything there was to know about Josh…but sometimes I now wonder if I ever knew him. It's like the Josh I knew and the Josh who lived here were two different people.” To her astonishment, she found it easy to talk to Sloan about Josh. Maybe it was the intimacy of the vehicle, the blackness of the night pressing in, isolating them almost as if they were the only two people alive, that made the words come forth so easily.

“How do you mean?”

Relaxed, slumped comfortably in the seat, the slight buzz from the wine they'd had for dinner loosening her tongue, she told him about Scott, about the deposits, the gambling, Josh's pilfering of her trust.

Sloan whistled under his breath when she finished. “I'd heard rumors that Josh had dropped some big bundles at the Indian casinos, but I never suspected the extent of his gam-bling—or that Scott had gotten his hooks into him. Mostly Scott is an annoyance, but he's caused some people some serious trouble.” His eyes on the road, he asked lightly, “How bad is it?”

Shelly sat up and laughed. “Not as bad as it could be. I'm not in any danger of having to sell the ranch or hock the family valuables—yet. There's still enough money to act as a safety net, but between you and me and the gatepost, the great Granger fortune of legend and lore, which I should point out was never as great as local rumor, ain't no more.”

“Ah, and being a big, bad Ballinger I should now try to work that fact to my advantage, shouldn't I?”

She glanced at him, his strong features shadowed, his gaze straight ahead, his hands effortlessly guiding the heavy vehicle down the road. “Will you?” she asked curiously. “Take advantage of the situation?”

Sloan shot her a look. “Honey, if you really think you have to ask, you shouldn't have told me.”

Shelly bit her lip. “You're right, and though I know that Grangers are turning over in their grave, even with all the old family history between us, I trust you.” She glanced at him again. “Most of the time.”

He smiled. “I'll settle for that.”

The Suburban swooped down onto the valley floor, and Sloan stepped up the speed, the vehicle's lights slicing through the night, barbed-wire fences and electrical poles flashing by. They were about two miles from the center of town when they noticed that they were fast coming up on several flashing lights and flares.

Sloan slowed and as they came closer they could make out vehicles, a fire truck, the volunteer-operated ambulance and a sheriff's office Bronco, all with their red-and-blue lights blazing, and a white pickup truck and a small blue car. Flares were scattered up and down the highway, the car rested drunkenly in the ditch, the driver's side door open, its front end caved in by the carcass of a black cow. In the Suburban's headlights and the lights from the other vehicles, Shelly could see more bulky dark forms moving around and the silhouettes of a half dozen or so men trying to shoo the cattle off the road. Two or three other people stood at the rear of the open doors of the ambulance.