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be such asses?
    Serena moved from group to group, smiling, hearing the latest gossip, and waiting for Jed to come. It was almost nine when she saw him standing a little hesitantly in the archway to the den. He wore tan slacks and a blue polo shirt open at the throat. He looked strong and confident even in this roomful of hardy men. Serena was walking toward him, smiling, but she had taken only a few steps when Julie turned and reached out to take his hand and draw him into the circle around her.
    Serena stopped. Before she could move again, Howard Minter blocked her way.
    â€œHey there, honey, you’re a real picture tonight.”
    Serena looked up at him blankly. But it wasn’t for you, she thought, that I chose this blouse, wore my turquoise necklace.
    She forced a smile. “How are you tonight, Mr. Minter?”
    His heavy arm slid around her shoulders, and she could smell the thick sweetness of bourbon on his breath. “Oh now, we don’t have to be so formal. My name’s Howard. And you’re Serena. That’s a pretty name.”
    â€œThank you,” she said stiffly.
    â€œHere,” and he began to steer her toward the center of the long room and the open space where a few couples danced. “Let’s get in on this number. I’m a pretty good dancer.”
    It would have been rude to pull away. Serena had been taught never to be rude.
    She hated the feel of his hot heavy hand on her back, disliked being close to him, smelling the mixture of bourbon and a cloying men’s cologne. Over his shoulder, she could see Julie and Jed dancing close together, looking like a couple made for each other.
    A heavy sense of foreboding settled over her.
    Not again. Surely not again.
    Julie was laughing up at Jed, tilting her head back. Her shining blonde hair swung free, showing the graceful line of her throat and shoulder.
    Lovely, lovely Julie.
    When the couples turned and Jed looked across the room, Serena’s face remained stolid and blank. The smile that began on his face slipped away and he had a glimpse of surprise in his dark blue eyes.
    As the couples moved in the controlled circles of the dance and again Serena and Jed faced each other, she was ready with a smile, but this time Jed was looking down at Julie, his face absorbed and intent.
    The dance seemed interminable to Serena, a parody of pleasure. As the music ended, she excused herself from Howard Minter on the plea of checking the kitchen. But when she saw Jed and Julie standing close together in a little oasis of privacy at the far end of the room, Serena turned and walked blindly toward the French windows.
    She slipped out into the cool darkness of the patio and walked deep into the shadows of the magnolia. The gentle night breeze rustled the glossy heavy leaves. She pressed her hands against her flaming cheeks and plunged even farther away from the brightly shining windows toward the end of the hacienda. It was quiet here, away from the rising tide of voices and music, away from Jed and Julie. Her slippers made no sound against the flagstones.
    When she heard Uncle Dan’s angry voice, raised almost to a shout, she knew he was too upset to care whether he was overheard. She had heard that kind of tone in his voice only once before, years ago. She didn’t remember now why she had been present at the confrontation, she remembered only the sound of Dan McIntire’s voice. A cowboy who had worked for the ranch for years had been discovered to be rustling cattle, segregating them in a hidden canyon, altering their brands, and spiriting them out a few at a time to sell.
    Dan McIntire had been outraged. His voice had shaken with fury. “A man is either honest or he isn’t.”
    Now, so many years later, she heard the same anguish and outrage in his voice in a scrap of a sentence.
    â€œ. . . on my land?”
    There was no mistaking who spoke. She would have bet her life on it.
    Someone else spoke then, but