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And not at all surprised by the sparking anticipation beating like butterflies low in her stomach. If hot men were her weakness, she was pretty sure hot cowboys would be her downfall.

She gave herself a hasty glance in the rearview mirror, caught herself grinning. “Business only,” she said sternly into the mirror. “No flirting. Tonight is all about his mother. No. Flirting.”

She jumped a foot when someone tapped on her window. She hadn’t realized he’d seen her, considering he’d had that hat down so low, but Shane was standing there, a puzzled frown on his face.

She grabbed her purse, fixed her most businesslike smile on her face, and nudged the driver’s side door open.

“I’m sorry, were you on the phone or something?”

“No.” She could’ve lied, but maybe the best thing for her would be to act completely herself. She wouldn’t want to flirt with a guy who knew she was a little screwy, and she couldn’t want to flirt with Shane, so she’d just go for the bald truth. She stood and closed the door, offering him an arch look. “I talk to myself. Doesn’t everyone?”

She sailed past him, not paying attention to the way the flannel shirt he was wearing stretched across broad shoulders or to that mysterious shadow the ever-present cowboy hat gave his face.

Mysterious hot cowboy might be even more of a weakness, but she was stronger than all that. She would be.

“So, what exactly did you want to show me at the VFW Hall?” He glanced around the parking lot as people moved past them, most of them dressed in pressed plaid and poofy skirts. There was even a guy with matching pants and a vest patterned with horses.

“Follow me,” Cora replied, and she was a little too pleased when he did so instead of questioning her further.

She went through the front doors and followed the throng of people, mostly older, though there were a few more middle-aged couples, and one or two young couples more her and Shane’s age.

She snuck a look at him. He’d slipped his hat off on entering the building, and his face was a maze of clear confusion. He had no idea his mother was in a square dancing club. She wondered if Deb kept it from him, or if he just didn’t pay attention.

Much as Cora believed he was the dutiful son Deb described, Cora had a feeling Shane also didn’t pry too deeply into his mother’s personal life—aside from passing judgment on her choice of partners of course.

There was a reception area of sorts, but the crowd ambled through a door down the hall, so Cora did too, Shane at her heels. Then she found a corner for them to hide in.

“I’m not sure what watching people square-dance is supposed to prove.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Patience.”

“I don’t even know why I came,” he grumbled.

“I assume because my charm is irresistible,” Cora returned. She grinned up at him, only remembering she wasn’t supposed to flirt when his gaze dropped to her mouth.

Crap.

She whipped her head back toward the crowd, searching the small sea of faces for Deb. She finally found the sturdy brunette over in the corner, a handsome man with his arms slung across her shoulders. That must be Ben. Cora could certainly see the attraction.

Cora pointed. “I want you to watch them and then tell me you really think Ben is such an awful guy.”

She could all butfeelthe man standing next to her stiffen. When she glanced over at him, his jaw was tight, his dark eyes flat. He didn’t appear angry, and yet she thought for a second she’d seen a flash of something close.

But he smoothed it away so tense stoicism was the only thing on his face, with the slightest hint of disapproval.

But Cora knew, sheknew, what the Tyler siblings needed to see was their mother as awoman,as aperson, not just a dutiful matriarch of a complex family.

So Shane was darn well going to watch his mother square-dance with her fiancé, and then he’d have to see.

* * *

His mother was dressed in the most ridiculous getup he’d ever seen. Her skirt had ruffles on it.Ruffles. His mother, who only wore dresses to funerals, was in some flouncy getup, wearing makeup.

Makeup. Bright red lipstick and sparkly shit on her face. Hismother. Ben stood next to her, grinning like the tool that he was, and Shane thought Ben must know they both looked like utter fools.

Someone came onto the stage, talking into a microphone about something Shane didn’t understand, but people filed onto the dance floor, a riot of colors and ruffles and too colorful cowboy boots.

“What am I supposed to see? My mother act like . . .” He couldn’t say the words he was thinking. Partially because he was pretty sure his mother would hear him no matter how softly he uttered it and all but fly across the room to smack him upside the head.