She changed four times, not six, and she looked at her rear end every time. He was right—the low-riding jeans did make her butt look bigger than the ones that sat a little higher.

At five o’clock on the button, a loud, demanding knock sent her out of her room and across the floor. “Why didn’t you let him in? It’s cold out there,” she fussed at Sawyer.

“Ain’t my boyfriend or my roses. I don’t give a shit if he freezes and the roses have ice on them,” Sawyer mumbled as he flipped over so his back was to the room.

She slapped him on the shoulder when she passed by. “You are horrible.”

“Maybe so, but my soup is fine the way it is, and your butt looks almighty fantastic in them jeans. If you shoot a game of pool, at least the top of your thong underbritches won’t show. Have a good time. I’ll wait up for you.”

“Don’t bother. I know how to get inside. And right back at you on the good-time shit. We’ll compare notes when I get home.”

“Alone? Remember our pact.”

“Hush,” she hissed and then put on her best fake smile as she opened the door. “Hello, Tyrell. You are right on time.”

“One perfect red rose for one perfect red-haired beauty.” He held out a long-stemmed rose wrapped in cellophane. “Each time we go out, I will add a rose to the ones I bring you, but none will ever be as important as this one.”

“Why is that?”

“Because today is the first day of a perfect relationship that will last forever,” he said as he put the rose in her hands.

“Sawyer, I’m putting my rose on the table right inside the door. Will you please put it in water?”

One thumb shot up over the back of the sofa.

“Thank you, Sawyer. And thank you, Tyrell. It’s truly beautiful.”

“I see you already have your coat on and, darlin’, that rose can’t compare to your beauty. I’m going to be the envy of all the Gallaghers at the party tonight.” He crooked his arm, and she slipped hers through it.

Wild Horse Ranch’s setup was a lot like the one for River Bend. Different families had their own acreage, but the whole thing combined to make Wild Horse. It all bordered on Fiddle Creek. He drove down his lane and showed her where his long, low ranch house, with a sweeping porch around three sides, sat in a pecan copse before he took her to the main house.

There wasn’t a valet at the Gallagher place, and they were one of the last ones to arrive, so they had to walk from the truck to the house. He laced his fingers in hers and didn’t let go until they were inside the warm house. He helped her remove her coat and whistled under his breath, “Whew! Darlin’, you really are a knockout in that getup. You look like you should be modeling for a Western-wear company.”

She wore a black shirt with long, billowy sleeves caught up at the wrists with white pearl snaps on the cuffs. A gold scarf pendant with crossed six-guns over angel wings hung from the center of a black lace scarf, and a matching belt buckle cinched in a pair of black jeans.

“Well, thank you. I hope I’m not overdressed.”

“Honey, you could have worn a burlap bag with a rope around your waist, and I would have thought I’d brought the princess to the ball, but, wow,” he said.

“Well, look at you!” Betsy met them at the door into the oversized great room. “Tyrell, you lucky dog. I believe she’s gotten all dolled up for you. You did leave the pitcher of beer at home, I hope. I’m here to steal you away and introduce you to my grandmother, Naomi. Sorry, Tyrell.”

“I’ll be around to collect her in a few minutes, so don’t let Granny get started on her long stories,” Tyrell said.

Naomi Gallagher spun around on a bar stool and motioned toward Betsy. She was a short woman with delicate features, few wrinkles, and dark green eyes.

“I see where you get your red hair,” Jill said.

“Oh, yes, and my temper and my controlling nature. And my hang-on-like-a-bulldog-until-I-get-what-I-want attitude. It all comes from her. I bet you’ve got one like her in your woodpile.”

Jill nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Well, would you look at this? You grew up to be a beautiful woman, Jillian. I’m glad you’ve had the good sense not to dye your red hair. That speaks volumes to me,” Naomi said.

“Have we met?” Jill asked.

“When you were a little girl, Gladys brought you over here to Tyrell’s birthday party. Don’t you remember it? I believe you were about seven, and folks thought you and Betsy were sisters.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t. I remember visiting Aunt Gladys a few times before my dad died, but I don’t remember being here.”

“Oh, it wasn’t here. We had the party in the barn, and we had pony rides.”

“I remember that,” Betsy said. “You and Tyrell had an argument about the spotted pony.”

Jill gasped. “That was Tyrell?”

“Yes, it was. We’ll have to tell him that story later, but now you must sit down here. Bartender, darlin’, bring us two whiskeys. Jameson. Double shots and neat. Good Irish lasses don’t water down their whiskey,” Naomi said.

Jill hopped up on a bar stool. It had been a long time since she’d had a shot of Jameson, and she intended to savor every single drop of it.

“How’s Gladys? I don’t get over to the store much anymore. I only see her in church, and she’s lookin’ good. She’s not sick, is she?” Naomi asked. “That’s not why you came back to learn the business, I hope.”

“Aunt Gladys is fine, but I suppose you heard about Aunt Polly breaking her ankle.”

“I did. I’ll send over some flowers when she comes home,” Naomi said. “You girls excuse me. One of my grandsons is over there, motioning for me. I’ll have to see what he needs.”

“How’s the new calf?” Betsy asked.

It was on the tip of Jill’s tongue to ask what calf she was talking about, but then she remembered how Sawyer had gotten free from her clutches.

“I haven’t seen it yet, but I bet it’s a beauty. Don’t you just love them when they’re little guys and they like to romp and play?” Jill said.

The bartender set a whiskey in front of her, and a frosted mug of beer before Betsy. Jill raised one eyebrow, and Betsy shrugged. “I like Jack Daniel’s, but today is a beer day.”

Jill took the first sip, and Tyrell propped a hip on the stool right beside her. He pointed at the Coors handle, and the bartender nodded. His arm went around Jill’s shoulders, and he leaned in to whisper, “Thank you for drinking that. Granny’s going to love you for it. The rest of us hate Irish whiskey.”

“It’s the best,” she said softly.

“I heard that you were out at the gate when the fracas went down this afternoon,” Betsy whispered. “I don’t expect, after a first date like that with Quaid, you’ll be going back for more, will you?”

Jill raised one shoulder. “Never say never.”

Betsy smiled. “Mavis is really bad, isn’t she? My cousin, Eli, said she tied into him like a banshee over those hogs, blaming us for their disappearance.”

Jill changed the subject. “How long has this feud been goin’ on?”

“You’d have to ask someone older than me,” Betsy said.

“Well, if y’all are done with the girl talk, supper is about ready. I promise, darlin’, that we’ll act more civilized than your dinner date turned out,” Tyrell said.

People were everywhere. Names blending one with the other, but not matching the faces. When it was time to leave, she could remember Tyrell, Betsy, and Naomi.

She was supposed to be giving points to each family, but mostly she wished she was home on her sofa in the bunkhouse with Sawyer on the other end. A foot massage would be nice, but leaning her head on his shoulder would be better. Maybe with an ounce of luck, she could hurry into the house without a kiss when the evening ended.

There was no luck.

Tyrell walked her to the door and caged her against the house by putting a hand on either side of her shoulders. He’d left his hat in the truck, so it didn’t even get in the way when he closed the space, fluttered his eyes shut, and kissed her hard right there in the moonlight with the north wind howling through the trees. He was every bit as good as Quaid, showing he’d had some very fine experience in the kissing business.