Daisies in the Canyon(5)

Cooper picked up two plates by mistake and handed one to Abby, who was right behind him in the lineup. His fingertips brushed against hers and static popped all around them. Dammit! He’d always been attracted to redheads, especially tall ones, like Loretta Bailey, but not blondes, and definitely not those with an attitude. And for damn sure not one who was likely to grab the dollar bills and be gone in an instant.

“The cook over on Lonesome Canyon made the fried chicken and the potato salad. She’s awesome,” Rusty said. “The corn salad, baked beans, and chicken salad are all good, but unless you really like pickled beets, leave that purple stuff alone. Paper towels are over there by the stove—the chicken is pretty greasy.”

The small kitchen table was made to seat four, but Rusty brought out an extra chair from the living room. Abby sat down where she’d hung her coat and Cooper eased into the chair right beside her. Bonnie was straight across the table from Cooper and Shiloh claimed the spot at the other end.

Cooper picked up a chicken leg and bit into it. “Mmm. This is some fine food.”

He wanted to ask Abby where she’d lived and how far she’d driven, but he couldn’t figure out a way to do it without sounding nosy, so he ate in silence. He’d seen her get into the fairly new truck after the funeral, but he hadn’t thought to check the license plates. He’d do that on his way out after dinner. Nothing could possibly come of the attraction he felt for her, seeing as how those cold blue eyes didn’t show a bit of the heat he’d felt when their hands touched.

Not a single one of Ezra’s daughters looked like she wanted to be there, but then, they had their reasons—and they were damn fine ones.

Abby really took his eye, even though she didn’t show much respect, showing up at a funeral in military camouflage and combat boots. But then, neither did the other two women. Shiloh wore an outfit that looked like she was about to go out dancing at a honky-tonk, and Bonnie reminded him of a punk rocker, with eyes a darker blue than her two sisters’ and rimmed with lots of black eye makeup. There was a cool determination in those blue eyes that said she might be the one who actually inherited Ezra’s place. It was the same look that Ezra had had in his eyes when he’d set his mind to do something. Everyone in the canyon knew that when he did, there was no talking him out of it.

Abby was still the prettiest one of the three, with a mouth made for kissing and porcelain skin that begged to be caressed.

“Okay, Abby? What’s your full name?” Cooper asked.

“On the birth certificate it’s Abigail Joyce Malloy. Mama called me Abby Joy when she wanted to make me feel special, and she used all my names when I was in trouble,” she answered.

“My mama refused to call me Coop. She said it sounded like a place where chickens live,” Cooper said.

Seeing the joy in her face when she mentioned her mother, Cooper could not disagree one bit. He’d be willing to bet all three of the women were unique in their own way and their mothers had made them that way because they didn’t have a father. His grandparents had done the same for him after his parents were killed. They hadn’t spoiled him, but they’d sure made him feel special.

Oh, Ezra, you sure missed a lot, he thought, especially your oldest one. She’s a fighter just like you were. Cooper reached for the saltshaker sitting in the middle of the table. His leg brushed against Abby’s and sparks danced around the room. If a mere touch through clothing could create that much heat, what would happen if his bare skin touched hers?

“The lawyer said y’all were all in different states, but he didn’t tell me where,” Rusty said.

Cooper owed Rusty a beer the next time they wound up at the local watering hole, the Sugar Shack, for asking the question he so desperately wanted to know the answer to.

“I was raised in Galveston, Texas, right on the beach, but I haven’t lived there in twelve years. I got out of the army two weeks ago and I’m ready to start over right here on . . . what’s this ranch called anyway?” Abby answered.

“It’s the Malloy Ranch. I thought I could hear some Texas in your accent,” Cooper said. “My place is next door on the south.”

She turned her head to look at him, those blue eyes boring into his. “I thought you were a cop.”

“Sheriff is an elected position. I’ve always been a rancher, always will be,” he said.

“I’m changing the name next January,” Bonnie said.

“What are you changing it to?” Cooper asked.

Bonnie shrugged. “I’ve got a whole year to think about that.”

“What if I like it just the way it is?” Shiloh asked.

“If you’re still here, we’ll talk about it,” Bonnie answered.

Cooper slid a sidelong glance toward Abby. She kept eating and didn’t argue or comment, which made him wonder if she’d even unpack her bags. By Monday morning she could easily be headed back south to Galveston.

“How about you, Shiloh? Where’d you come from?” Rusty asked.

“Lewisville, Arkansas, since I graduated from high school. Before Mama went into business with her sister in a truck stop, we lived in Jefferson, Texas.”

Bonnie didn’t wait to be asked. “We got our mail out of Chappell, Kentucky, but we lived between Harlan and Chappell, back in one of the hollers. I was six when we moved there from Texas.”