Summertime on the Ranch by Carolyn Brown (leveled readers txt) 📗

You can worm your way into my grandmother’s heart, cowboy, Becca thought as she followed them into the sanctuary. You can dance with me, and even have dinner at Grammie’s house, but I refuse to be another conquest in your line of one-night stands. She felt like a little puppy trailing along after her two masters as the three of them made their way into the church and down the center aisle.

“This is where I like to sit.” Greta stopped in her tracks about the middle of the church.

“Yes, ma’am.” Dalton stood to one side.

Becca bit back a groan when she realized she would be sitting between her grandmother and Dalton. Three of Greta’s friends had already sat down on the other end of the pew, and like always, there was only room for two more people to sit comfortably. Adding a big, strapping cowboy like Dalton would squeeze them together, but there was nothing she could do but sit down.

Dalton wedged himself into the space that remained, but with the end of the pew on one side and Becca’s body on the other, there was very little room for him.

“There’s no sense in you two bein’ crowded up like this,” Greta whispered. “Go on and find yourselves a seat up closer to the front.”

“I’m fine.” Becca’s voice sounded a little high in her own ears, but then her heart was thumping and her pulse racing. Dalton looked like the cover model for a western romance novel in his tight jeans, plaid shirt, and polished boots. She took a deep breath, hoping to put out all the sparks dancing around them, but whatever shaving lotion he had used that morning sent her senses reeling.

“No problem here.” Dalton smiled.

“No leaning on each other and falling asleep,” Greta warned with a shake of her finger. “Or yawning, and if you snore, there will be no Sunday dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Becca and Dalton said in unison.

The congregation sang two songs, and since there was only one hymn book available, Becca had to share with Dalton. Their fingertips touched and the contact sent unholy pictures flashing through her mind of him in tangled sheets. She checked out the window on the south side to be sure there were no black clouds shooting lightning streaks toward the church.

The preacher took his place, adjusted the microphone, and said, “It’s been laid upon my heart to preach from Corinthians about love.”

Sweet Jesus! Becca rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

Greta elbowed her in the ribs and whispered, “Pay attention and stop checkin’ to see if there’s cobwebs on the ceiling fan.”

Somewhere between the part about love being kind and not seeking its own way, Becca’s eyes got heavy. She leaned on what she thought was the arm of the pew and planned to rest her eyes for a minute, but a movement startled her. Several folks around her chuckled, and for a split second she wondered if she had, indeed, snored. She jerked her arm away to find that she had really propped it on Dalton’s shoulder. Then she felt a weight in her lap and looked down to find Tuff had stretched his wiry body out across both Dalton’s and her laps. The dog had slipped into the church through the open doors and made himself comfortable.

“I guess we have a four-legged visitor.” The preacher laughed with the rest of the congregation. “I suppose if God knows the very hairs on our head and when every sparrow drops, then He surely won’t mind if Dalton’s dog attends the rest of the service—as long as he doesn’t snore.”

A few more chuckles echoed through the building. Becca was wide awake by then with a dog’s head planted in her lap. Tuff’s big, brown eyes were looking right at her face, and damned if it didn’t look like he was smiling.

* * *

Dalton was always welcome to Sunday dinner at his grandpa’s place in Fruitland. Nana Wilson usually fried up a mean batch of chicken after church, and her biscuits were the best in the whole world. He had a standing invitation, and if he wasn’t there by noon, Nana put a plate back for him. Very seldom did he miss at least running by to say hello to them on Sunday. He figured they would understand his absence if it had to do with him going to church and dinner with a woman, but he still planned to give them a quick call on his way to Greta’s place. They’d be elated since they had gone past throwing out hints and were making serious comments about how it was time for him to hang up his wild ways and settle down. They wanted to see a few great-grandchildren before the end of their time, and since Dalton was their only grandchild, that responsibility fell on him.

The preacher finally asked Eli White to deliver the benediction. Mr. Eli stood to his feet, bowed his head, and began to thank God for everything from the good watermelon crop that was coming in to the ladies who cleaned the church. He spoke slowly in a monotone, and if it hadn’t been for Dalton’s growling stomach, he might have really snored by the time Eli finally said, “Amen.”

“Thank God that’s over,” Greta muttered as she stood to her feet. “Another minute on this hard pew and my hips and knees would have rebelled.”

“I’d carry you out to the car if that happened.” Dalton grinned.

Tuff must have realized the service was over because he jumped down and meandered down the center aisle toward the door.

“Poor thing must’ve been worn out,” Greta said. “It’s four miles out to the ranch, and that’s a long way for him to walk just to get to church. He’s a good dog to feel his need to be here.”

Dalton didn’t tell them that Tuff had hitched a ride in the back of his truck like he did every Sunday morning. Lots of