Read The Rancher's Dance for Free Online

amusement and rooted out a clean plastic container from the mess in one of the cupboards and began filling it. When it was practically overflowing, he fit the lid on top and headed toward the door.
    â€œGoing to feed the homeless?” Stan asked dryly.
    â€œJust the injured.” He glanced at his father. “I’ll be back before Shelby’s bedtime.” His daughter’s lashes quickly lowered before she could get caught looking at him and he stifled a sigh as he went outside.
    His father caught up to him before he could slide into his truck, though. “Where are you going?”
    Beck set the container of food on the seat beside him. “I forgot something over at the Buchanan place.”
    Stan’s brows shot up. “Since when do you forget anything?”
    Since he couldn’t remember the feel of his wife’s hair under his fingertips.
    Beck turned the ignition. He got along well enough with his father now—again, thanks to Harmony’s efforts—because he recognized that Stan was a good grandfather. Unquestionably helped by the fact that Stan had stopped drinking by the time Nick was out of diapers and hadn’t touched a drop since. And once Beck was on his own, leftbehind to his drowning grief and a three-year-old toddler to raise, Stan had become even more entrenched in their lives when he’d stepped in to help. He’d taken care of Shelby and hadn’t commented at all while Beck found his own way out of a bottle.
    â€œSince today.” His voice was short as he reached for the door. He grimaced. “I won’t be long.”
    Stan stepped out of the way of the door, and pushed it closed himself. “I’m guessing you met the daughter.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHeard she was back when I was picking up Shelby from day camp. Everybody was talking about seeing her at Colbys last night just before closing time. Said she was practically dragging when she went inside and ordered up whatever was still hot in the kitchen.”
    â€œDid they.” Beck’s voice was dry, but inwardly—considering how he’d seen her favoring her leg—he figured dragging was probably a pretty accurate telling. More accurate than the usual gossip that was always rife in small towns like Weaver. “I met her in passing.”
    â€œAnd now you’re taking her food,” Stan added, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing with his own two eyes.
    â€œMaybe I just don’t want us all to be eating pasta for the next four days,” Beck returned. “You cooked enough for an army.”
    â€œNo point in cooking for one meal when it’s no more work to cook for two.”
    Beck just shook his head. “Don’t forget to pin up Shelby’s pictures on the fridge,” he said, and put the truck in gear before his father could say anything else.
    Twilight was beginning to settle as he drove the narrow road that led to the Lazy-B, but Beck had made the trip often enough that he knew every pothole, bump and suddencurve—daylight or not—and the spaghetti was still hot in the container when he pulled up in front of the Buchanan place twenty minutes later.
    Only once he was there, looking at the simple lines of the old brick house that were outlined against the deepening sky, did he start wondering what the hell he was doing there.
    The Buchanans were related to the Clay family and even as antisocial as he was, he knew their numbers were plentiful in the area. If she needed looking in on, she had plenty of family who could do it.
    He pinched the bridge of his nose.
    The dancer had left the front door open, probably to take in the air that had begun cooling once the sun started heading toward the horizon, and he could see past the screen straight back through to the kitchen.
    He swore under his breath because now that he was there, it seemed worse than stupid to turn around and go home. So he grabbed the spaghetti and