MAKING PLANS FOR THE WEDDING

Know anymore about the man than that he was an expert on grasslands and one hell of a rider. He'd been here seven years and hadn't uttered one personal sentence, so Andrew eyed him with some suspicion as he pulled a chair up to the table.

"Long day." Dusty flicked his bottle cap and tossed it twelve feet to land squarely in the garbage can.

"Sure was." Andrew twisted off the cap and set it on the table.

"I heard the kid took the women for a horseback ride."

"Yep." Andrew had opted to check fence rather than torture himself with what he couldn't have. "What's the betting up to?"

"Two to one the kid will still be a bachelor on July fifth. You, on the other hand, are running just about fifty-fifty."

"Me?" He should have known they'd bet on anything.

"The men think the auntie's got you hog-tied and ready for roasting."

"Meaning?"

Dusty hummed a few notes of the "Wedding March" and then grinned. "Your days are numbered, Andrew. You are a tortured man."

"I've got no argument with the tortured part." He took a healthy swallow of beer. And another one because he'd sure as hell never thought about getting married. And he said so.

The other cowboy shrugged. "Happens to all of us sooner or later."

Andrew had to smile. "Even you?"

"Well, no," he drawled, making Andrew chuckle. "I was speaking in a general sense, boss."

"I haven't thought much about marriage," Andrew admitted.

"You have been too busy doing Calhoun's work to think about women,"

"I thought about them," he said. "And dated a few from time to time." But no one compared to Rose Marti. He'd admired her calm demeanor at the airport, enjoyed talking to her more than he'd ever enjoyed talking to a woman before.

And talking to women didn't come easy. "But I like this one."

"Yeah. It's pretty obvious." Dusty drained the rest of his beer. "I put my money on you."

"To do what?" Andrew eyed the dark-haired cowboy who rarely had this much to say. "Stay a bachelor?"

"Hell, no," he said. "I've got a hundred bucks that says you won't." With that he stood up and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. "Besides Shorty's crazy about the little dog."

Inside the kitchen in the main house "Well, that was easy enough," Francisca declared, tossing a dish towel onto the counter with a great flourish. "I think I might actually be good at this."

"Honey, it was great." Bobby beamed as he covered up the leftover roast beef with plastic wrap. "I can't believe you have cooked before."

Neither could Rose. The dinner of roasted potatoes, sliced tomatoes, corn and roasted beef had been delicious. Mrs Martin had started it, but Francisca was the one who put it together. Forget Baywatch and art classes. Maybe her niece had a knack for domesticity, after all.

"Are you two still serious about getting married on the fourth of July?" she asked, amazed at how young they looked standing together by the refrigerator. Bobby gave Francisca a quick hug as he faced her aunt.

"Sure we are," he said. Francisca nodded.

"Then we have work to do." She pulled a notepad and pen out of her purse. "I guess we'd better start making lists."

Bobby's face fell. "We are going to the movies."

Francisca looked at her watch. "We've got an hour before the show starts, which gives us how long?"

"Five minutes," Bobby said. "What do you want to do?"

Rose wanted to laugh. instead she said, "Make a list of wedding guests to call? I think it's too late to send invitations."

"Sure. what else?"

*****

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