Second Chance Pass (Virgin River #5)(66)

“I’ve been known to hunt. I don’t know how much of that I’ll get in this year—I’m working on that house. But Luce needs a little time on her skills and I should get her in the water before too long. Keep her up to speed. I’d like to get a litter out of her in a couple of years, after we check her hips. She’s got such a good line.”

Walt looked at her hands. They weren’t fancy-girl hands. Her manicured nails were short and she wore no rings.

“Do you hunt?” she asked him.

“I haven’t in a while, but I’m planning to get back into it. Soon.” It made her smile at him; she knew a flirt when she saw one. “I guess I thought you’d be breeding peacocks on that ranch. Or something. Not working on a house and training a bird dog.”

She tilted her head. “And you would think that because…?”

“Mel told me my new neighbor was a movie star, so I looked you up on the Internet. Lotta fancy pictures,” he said. And then he felt his cheeks grow warm.

“Well, God bless the Internet. Anything else you’d like to know?”

His first thought was he could probably find out who all those husbands had been, but maybe he’d resist. “I don’t know much about movies. Haven’t seen too many. And I don’t know anything about movie stars.”

“Retired,” she said. “I’m sanding, varnishing, hauling trash and training my bird dog. I’m going to pick up another one pretty soon now—I picked the bitch and sire a while ago and she whelped, so as soon as they’ll let him go…And I don’t cook much, don’t bake at all, but as it happens I have sugar for my coffee. In case you want to borrow a cup for that cake you’re baking me.”

“My thirty-year-old daughter has a man in her life—a good man—and they’re at the house every weekend,” he found himself explaining. “I have reasons to stay out of the house a lot. How much sugar do you keep on hand?”

She grinned at him. “Plenty.”

“I might need some as early as tomorrow evening,” he said. “That good man my daughter has is here for the weekend.”

“Is that so?” Then Muriel turned her mount, facing the other way and said, “Luce!” She gave two short whistles. The Lab bolted back where she’d come from. Muriel looked over her shoulder and said, “Bring a decent bottle of red wine then,” she said. She put her horse into an easy canter and followed her dog.

Walt sat there for a long time, till she was out of sight. “Damn,” he said aloud.

The next evening Paul and Vanessa decided to go to Jack’s for dinner, a predictable event for them. Of course they expected Walt to join them. “Nah,” he said. “I see enough of Jack during the week. Tom gets dinner at Brenda’s and I have no interest in cooking for one. I’ll pass. In fact,” he said, “I might head out to Clear River. There’s a little bar over there where I’m not so well known. I might do that.”

“You sure, Dad?” Vanni asked.

“I’m sure,” he said. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll see you later, or in the morning.”

When they were gone he showered, applied a little aftershave and poked around in the wine rack, selected a bottle and grabbed his car keys.

When Walt pulled up to his new neighbor’s house, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t come off looking like some old fool, chasing a movie star. Of course, the chasing hadn’t even started—this was just a glass of wine with a neighbor. But he felt every second of his sixty-two years and although the research said she was just a few years younger, she looked many years younger than he did. And far more confident than he was.

The property was made up of a timeworn two-story house with a wide porch, a smaller vintage bunkhouse, a barn and a corral. Walt didn’t know where to look first. On instinct, he went to the house and knocked on the front door. “Right in here,” she yelled. “Come on in.”

As Walt stepped inside he was greeted first by a very excited Luce, wagging and nudging him playfully. Muriel was up on a ladder with a trowel in her hand, which she put in a pan. She wore overalls that were as splattered as the wall. “Good. Break time,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag that she had stuffed in her back pocket.

Hmm. He had showered and splashed on the cologne; she hadn’t even bothered with a comb, much less makeup. She looked real good for a woman her age. “What’s that you’re doing?” he asked.

“Spackling. After which I’ll paint and install new baseboards, and then I’m going after some crown molding.”

He looked around at the mess. The place was in full remodel mode. He lifted the bottle and pointed the label toward her as she descended the ladder. “Will this do?”

She took the bottle from him. “Nice,” she said. “Give me a minute to clean up my tools.” She grabbed her pan and trowel, disappeared into the kitchen and he heard the water run. Momentarily she was back. “Come with me. Come on, Luce.”

He followed her out of the house and across the yard to the bunkhouse. She opened the door and surprised him again. It was one whole room, but it was a big room—as a bunkhouse it could’ve held six twin-size beds. She had a bed in one corner, a settee and chair in front of it, a small table with two chairs and, along one wall a few appliances—a bar-size refrigerator, microwave, small oven, sink, a few cupboards and drawers. The bathroom, such as it was, occupied the corner—a toilet, sink and small shower—right out in the open.