Daisies in the Canyon(55)

“Let’s skip church,” Abby said.

“No, ma’am,” Bonnie answered.

Shiloh held her hands out in front of her face. “Never had a mani-pedi?”

“No, I had to buy eggs, bananas, coffee, and honey, remember. I wasn’t spoiled bitches like you two,” Bonnie said.

“We can’t go in my truck. There’s only room for two and don’t call me a spoiled bitch. I’ve never been spoiled a day in my life,” Abby said.

“Well, my poor old truck got me here on a prayer and four bald tires, so Shiloh, your van will have to take us,” Bonnie said.

Abby wasn’t going to argue. If her head would stop pounding, she’d let the bellowing bull in the yard drive them to town.




The congregation was already singing the first song when the Malloy sisters entered the church. They slid into the first place with room for three people and Shiloh picked the last hymnbook from the pocket on the pew in front of them. She looked over at an elderly woman’s book to find the number and flipped pages until she located the right place.

Abby held her hands in her lap to keep from slapping them over her ears to blot out the loud singing. Did everyone have to sing at the top of their lungs? Couldn’t they be quieter? It was a church, for goodness’ sake, not a rock concert. Every single piano note reverberated in her head, bouncing off aching brain cells like thunder in the canyon. It even felt like the pew was shaking.

God was punishing her for drinking Ezra’s moonshine or maybe for mixing it with Tennessee bourbon, because he’d chased all the clouds away that morning and brought out bright—ultrabright—sunshine.

Bonnie elbowed her in the ribs. “Take off those sunglasses. You are in the house of God and that’s rude.”

Abby put them in her lap and her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. Would lightning rain down upon the church if she opened her phone discreetly to see if some catastrophe had happened on the ranch? They had, after all, left it completely unmanned and that damn bull might have decided to tear the porch down looking for his harem.

She slipped her hand in her pocket and laid the phone on the cushion between her thigh and the end of the pew. Very carefully, she touched the screen and brought up the messages from Rusty and Cooper.

Why didn’t Bonnie make them come to church? she wondered and then remembered that they’d taken a road trip with a prisoner. They’d be home today and they could take care of the bull roaming around the house, bawling for his lady friends.

Bull. Doorbell. Phone. It came back to her in a flash. Holy shit! Had she really told Cooper that she could fall in love with him?

She checked the messages, hoping that she had not said those words out loud.

On our way home. Can’t wait to see you. I do believe Ezra’s moonshine melted your wings last night. That was from Cooper.

From Rusty: Call me!

She sent one back to Cooper: In church. Hangover. Moonshine is made in hell.

And one to Rusty: Later!

Bonnie elbowed her again. “Turn that off.”

When did that little shit become the boss? Just because she could almost cure a hangover, that didn’t make her God. Abby shut it off and shoved it back into her pocket.

She felt as out of place as a hooker on the front row of a tent revival, anyway. For one thing, it had been years since she’d been in a church. For another, it had been nearly a year since she’d worn anything other than jeans or a uniform and the long skirt felt confining. Shoes with heels weren’t as comfortable as her combat boots and the bright blue sweater itched. She had nicked her knee twice shaving that morning. Now her legs looked like she’d run through brambles, but at least the long skirt covered most of that.

She fidgeted with the collar of the sweater when the preacher started his sermon about forgiveness. She’d rather forget Ezra than forgive him, especially after all that stuff under her bed.

Her headache slowly faded as she let her mind drift back to the ranch. It wasn’t nearly as desolate as it had seemed when she’d first arrived. Bonnie wasn’t quite the brazen hussy that she’d thought her to be at first either, nor was Shiloh a prissy bitch. In the worst-case scenario, she could possibly run the ranch with them—as long as nobody ever brought out another jar of moonshine.

The sermon wound down on a louder note than it began, but by then Abby’s head had settled down and she was hungry. Bonnie was right. She could probably put a buffet out of business. She reached into her pocket, but she’d forgotten her normal stash of candy. Damn that moonshine.

“Hungry?” Bonnie asked the minute the last amen was said.

“Starving,” Abby answered.

“I had my heart set on Italian, but I can’t make it to Amarillo. Rusty mentioned that little diner in Claude. Let’s go get a burger or a chicken-fried steak or something really fattening,” Shiloh said.

“Where’s the cowboy she’s eyeballing?” Abby whispered to Bonnie.

Bonnie nodded toward the back of the church. “The one in the green shirt. Dark hair, blue eyes, brooding look.”

“I see him. He is one delicious hunk, isn’t he?”

“Stop it,” Shiloh hissed.

“Not my type. Too serious for me,” Bonnie said as they moved out into the center aisle.

“What’s his name?” Abby asked.