Page 11 of Wyoming Heart

“Now that makes me feel better,” he said with a grin. He glanced at the dance floor, where people were shuffling around to the melody the live band was playing. “That’s a two-step. Only dance I know how to do,” he added with a meaningful look at Mina. “You did promise,” he reminded her.

“So I did. We mustn’t be wallflowers,” she teased. She put down her soft drink. “I hope I can remember how to do a two-step. I watched a dance competition once.”

He led her onto the dance floor. “Didn’t you go to dances at school?”

She shook her head. “I was much too shy. I never even looked at boys.” She grimaced, remembering why.

He danced well. “Your mother was a piece of work,” he murmured.

“She was that. But lots of people have bad childhoods and survive them.” She grinned. “I got a career as a writer for my own reward. It was worth it. Well, almost.”

“Hard times make tough people,” he agreed. “It’s no sort of world for cream puffs these days.”

“My thoughts, exactly.” She sighed. “What did the vet say about our injured young bull?”

“He said he’ll mend. Made me feel better that he wasn’t going to have to be euthanized, like the other one was.”

“Me, too,” she said, and smiled.

“There’s Bart,” he said, looking over her shoulder. He sighed. “He’s got that pretty feller with him.”

Her heart jumped. She hated it when it did that. Her brown eyes turned toward the newcomers. Bart looked nice in a suit. His cousin, however, was absolutely devastating. He knew it, too. That insolent, arrogant smile said everything. His pale brown eyes slid around the room until they lit on Mina. One eyebrow went up.

“I’ve surprised him,” she told Bill as they danced.

“Excuse me?”

“Bart’s venomous houseguest. He’s staring at me.”

“No surprise there, Miss Mina. You look real pretty.”

“I’d rather have a copperhead find me pretty,” she muttered under her breath as Bart and his cousin Cort came onto the dance floor toward Mina and Bill.

“So you did make it,” Bart said with a big grin. “You look gorgeous, Mina,” he added gently.

She smiled. “Thanks. I had a little free time, so I took down the curtains in the living room and made this cool ensemble.”

Cort’s pale brown eyes swept over her. “Not bad, for a homemade dress,” he said indifferently.

She flushed. He made her feel poor and cheap. The dress was off-the-rack, but he made it sound as if she’d sewn it by hand, and badly.

“It was a joke. I don’t sew,” she said icily.

“No. You knit. Don’t you?” His smile was arrogant and cold.

She couldn’t kick him. She really wanted to.

“How about giving me a turn, Bill?” Bart asked when the music stopped.

“Sure thing, Mr. Riddle,” the older man returned with a grin. “Thanks, Miss Mina,” he added, making her a half bow before he melted into the crowd.

“I haven’t ever danced much, you know, Bart,” she faltered.

“We’ll struggle along together.”

“And I thought this party was going to be dull,” Cort mused. His eyes were focused on the refreshment table. Or, rather, what was standing beside it. Ida Merridan was giving Cort the eye, smiling like a tiger looking over a piece of juicy meat. “Who’s the gorgeous lady?” he asked Bart, with a smug, dismissive glance at Mina before his eyes went back to the brunette.

“That’s Ida Merridan,” Bart told him. “She’s divorced from her second husband.”