LITMIR.BIZ

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formed the windbreak on the north side of the yard. Mary could have followed her mother’s lead.

      But she didn’t.

      “Who’s they?“

      “People who don’t know what it takes to make a living off this land. They should just stay out of it. Take their damn programs and their so-called endangered.” He slapped the envelope against the letter. “There’s horses all over this country. Endangered my—” face red, jaw set, he swung his leg up, set the sole of his boot against the edge of the stool and gave a raging shove “—ass!”

      Everything flew across the porch—stool, bucket, ice, salt water, canister, pink and white slush.

      Mary gaped in horror. “You broke it. Grandma’s ice cream—”

      “It’s not broken,” Audrey said, seemingly unruffled. Mary questioned her mother’s cool with a look. “I can fix it,” Audrey assured her, just as she had the time her father had backed over her tricycle with his little Ford tractor. “Don’t worry. I can make more.”

      “Who the hell is this now?” Dan scowled up the mile-long dirt road that connected the ranch gate with the gravel driveway. A blue pickup pulling a two-horse trailer rumbled in their direction. Three pairs of eyes watched until the vehicle was parked and the driver emerged.

      Mary felt a funny little flutter in her chest.

      “It’s that damn Indian off the Tribal Council. He’s the one got them to take my lease land for those mustangs. Dog Track or some damn—”

      “Shut up, Dad.”

      “What?” It was his turn to be horrified. “What did you say to me?”

      “You heard me. Do you want to lose the rest of your leases?” She tuned in to the sound of the visitor’s footsteps, but she held her father’s full attention with a cold glare.

      “Looks like somebody spilled her milk.”

      “It was going to be ice cream.” Mentally Mary switched the light off in one room and turned it on in another as Logan mounted the porch steps. “Mother, have you met Logan Wolf Track? Logan, Audrey, my mother. You know my father.” Logan glanced at her on the way to shaking her mother’s hand, and she reminded him, “You know who he is.” With her boots covered in what would have been strawberry ice cream, she didn’t feel like saying the name.

      But Logan acknowledged him with a proffered hand. Then he turned to Mary. “Let’s go pick up our horse.” “Now?”

      “You signed us up. Sally says it’s first come, first served. You wanna ride over there with me, or do you have other—”

      “What horse?” her father demanded. “You’re not bringing any horses here.”

      “I’m sorry, Logan. My father’s a little cranky. He just received some news that didn’t sit well with him. We weren’t going to bring our horse here, anyway.

      Were we?”

      “Nope.” Logan glanced at the mess and gave a perfunctory smile. “Wild horses are real sensitive.”

      “You mean you’re really doing it?” Audrey rose from the glider. “You entered that contest? Are you a horse trainer, Mr. Wolf Track?”

      “Among other things,” he said.

      “Can you give me a minute to clean this up?” Mary moved to pick up the overturned stool, but Logan was closer, and he beat her to it. She got the bucket.

      “You go on, Mary. I’ll just hose off the porch.”

      Mary set the bucket on the stool and turned to give the stay signal. “You’re not hauling hose, Mother.”

      But Logan was already halfway down the steps. He’d spotted the hose rack, and he was wasting no time. He unlooped the hose, reached over the railing, handed Mary the nozzle and waited for her signal to turn on the water. Her parents watched silently as though they were the visitors. Maybe she and Logan were already a team. Together they made short work of the porch mess.

      “Come with us, Mother,” Mary offered after Logan turned off the water. She felt like a teenager about to head out on her first date. “We’re going to pick out our horse.”

      “Oh, no.” Audrey glanced at Dan, who scowled back at her. She smiled. Actually smiled. “I have so much to do. I’m still going to make ice cream if anyone’s interested.”

      “Damn right somebody’s interested,” Dan grumbled.

      “We can do that when I come back. You don’t need to be cranking.” Mary danced down the porch steps and met Logan at the bottom. “Do you like homemade ice cream?”

      “I didn’t know it came homemade.”

      “Give me a ride round trip, and I’ll treat you to a taste of heaven.” He looked at her as though her head had just turned into a hot fudge sundae. “I’m not kidding,” she said. “You’ll never go back to the ordinary stuff in a box.”

      “Haven’t even gotten much of that lately.” She choked back a laugh as he nodded toward his pickup. “Round trip it is.”

      She was an interesting woman, all right. Becoming more interesting by the minute. Logan hadn’t been around too many women when he was in the army. Just his luck. He could’ve used a lot more training in that department right about that time in his life. He’d been a skilled hunter and a Golden Gloves champion boxer when he’d enlisted, but he hadn’t known jack about women. He’d learned the hard way by getting married and turning in his combat boots without giving either move much thought. He’d been that hungry, and Tonya had been that hot.

      So here’s this woman offering him ice cream, and his face catches fire. Homemade, she says. What was that supposed to mean?

      He was too old to play games. What was that old saying? Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice.

      He had a history of taking a flirt too seriously.

      He’d gone for the hose. He knew what he was doing. Tonya had been older and wiser—well, smarter—and she’d been there and gone before he’d known what hit him. A lot of water had flowed under his bridge since then, and he knew how to stay cool. Water was the remedy for hot blood. Sweat, tears, time and the river flowing.

      And homemade ice cream was probably just something farmers whipped up when they didn’t want to spring for the real thing.

      They’d reached the highway, and he was thinking about filling the deafening silence with some country music.

      “He never changes.”

      Her voice startled him. It sounded small—like her mother’s, but not worn down. Mary’s was more like humiliated. The kid whose father wouldn’t quit yelling at the ref. Logan had never actually had a conversation with the man, but Tutan was the kind who made sure everyone knew who he was and acted like they should care. He couldn’t get it through his head that non-Indian ranchers didn’t call the shots on Indian land. Not anymore. So he’d come before the Council and made a few demands, most recently for reinstatement of the leases he’d lost to the Double D Wild Horse Sanctuary. The Council had given him due consideration—time to tell his side.

       He’d leased that land when nobody else wanted it.

      Logan would give him that. He’d been there first. Logan had laughed out loud.

       The Tribe owed him.

      Logan had called the question and moved to reaffirm the decision to lease the area known as Coyote Hills to the Drexlers and to honor their nonprofit status with a special rate.

      While the voice of a daughter embarrassed by her father’s behavior tore at Logan’s gut, he couldn’t judge another man on that score. He wasn’t in the habit of commenting on other people’s troubles,

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