Page 15 of Wyoming Heart

“You were fond of your husband.”

She nodded. “He was a good person.” She looked up at him. “People are what they are,” she said with a sad smile. “I don’t think we have the right to tell anyone how to live.”

“Amen,” he agreed, and raised his glass. She raised hers as well.

He set the glass down and chuckled. “Well, as one survivor to another, it’s been a nice evening.”

“For me as well.” She got up and smiled at him. “Sorry if I messed up your plans.”

He shrugged. “I suppose I’m getting old. I don’t really mind.”

“Don’t give me away, please,” she said. “I like being the resident seductive witch. Most men run like hell from the image I present.” She laughed. “They’re afraid they won’t measure up and I’ll talk about them to other people!”

He laughed, too. “No problem. Just don’t talk about me.”

“Oh, I’ll laud you to the skies. The most incredible lover of all time, a monument to mankind, men everywhere should be jealous!”

“Don’t do that,” he chuckled. “I’d never live up to that image.”

“I’ll modify it, just a little.”

“Thanks for the brandy. And the company.”

“I enjoyed it, too.” She studied him quietly. “You’re one of the Griers from over near El Paso, in Texas. You run purebred Santa Gertrudis cattle.”

He nodded.

“But you’re playing at being a cowboy.”

He shrugged. “I got tired of being a walking bankbook.”

“I know that feeling as well. If you get bored, come on over. I play a mean game of chess.”

His pale brown eyes brightened. “So do I.”

She stopped to jot down her number on a piece of paper. “It’s unlisted.”

He gave her his cell phone number. “I’ll be in touch.”

She smiled. “But just friends.”

“Just friends,” he promised.

BARTWASSTILLawake when Cort drove up to the front door and cut off the engine. He felt a little ashamed of what he’d asked his cousin, about bringing Ida home with him. Bart wasn’t a rounder and he didn’t move with the times. Cort never should have made him uncomfortable about his beliefs.

He was hesitant when he got into the living room. It was uncharacteristic. “Listen,” he told Bart. “I’m sorry. About what I asked you.”

Bart didn’t hold grudges. He just shrugged. “Different strokes for different folks,” he said, quoting his late father. “Your private life is none of my business. As long as you don’t try to bring it here,” he added with a grin.

“Fair enough.” He sat down heavily. “I guess I really am getting old. Women don’t hold any mystery for me these days.”

“Even the happy divorcée?” Bart asked with a chuckle.

He shook his head. “She isn’t what she seems.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Bart replied, thinking of his friend Mina.

His face tautened. “That ‘friend’ of yours is a walking irritant,” he muttered. “What the hell was she doing at a high society party in the first place? I’d bet real money that her dress came off the sale rack at some bargain basement clothing store.”

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