Read Online Beautiful Dreamer with Bonus Material by Elizabeth Lowell - Free Book Online Page B

hesitated as he reached for the gallon bottle of salad oil. It was heavy as well as slippery, and his hands hadn’t been very cooperative for the past few days. He paused over the ingredients that were lined up on the counter, frowning as he tried to remember the ratio of vinegar to oil and salt to pepper for the salad dressing.
    Hope could tell by the careful way Mason used his hands that the arthritis in his knuckles had flared up again. His pride, too, was in full flare. It was hard enough on his self-respect—and temper—when he couldn’t handle the water truck and the hose for her. Not being able to handle kitchen work would be the final insult.
    “I’ll do it,” she said easily. Then, as though she hadn’t noticed Mason’s difficulty with his fingers, she added with a wink, “You always use too much oil.”
    “Rabbit food,” he said, his voice rich with disgust as he turned his back on the slick, treacherous bottle of oil. “When’s Rio coming?”
    “He said not to wait dinner.”
    “Then I’ll just busy myself putting the real food on the table.”
    She snickered but didn’t say a word.
    He got out a heavy cast-iron frying pan and banged it onto an equally heavy iron burner.
    “Price of beef went down half-cent a pound,” he said.
    Hope’s smile slipped. She concentrated on making salad dressing.
    Mason turned the burner up high. Blue and gold propane flames exploded around the black iron.
    “Feed’s up in cost,” he said.
    She hoped the icy fear in her stomach didn’t show in her voice. “Ouch. Even if it’s a mild winter, we’ll be buying feed before spring.”
    “Nope.”
    She paused as she stirred the vinaigrette. “Why not?”
    “Won’t have no cows to eat it.” Mason’s faded green eyes looked squarely into hers. “Gonna have to sell some more range cows. You know it. I know it. Gotta be done.”
    Her face settled into stubborn lines. “Not yet. I can still water them for a while longer. Maybe it will rain soon.”
    “Maybe pigs will fly.”
    Head bowed, Hope beat the salad dressing until it was mostly froth.
    Mason started to push the argument, then shrugged and let it go. As he had said more than once, she was stubborn but no fool.
    “Don’t kill yourself, honey.” Butter sizzled in the frying pan. “Nothing’s worth that.” The solid weight of a steak smacked against hot iron. “We both know that the longer you wait to sell, the less them cows is gonna weigh. Natural feed’s about gone and nothing’s coming up to take its place. No rain.”
    Mason’s matter-of-fact summary made Hope angry. Not because he was wrong, but because he was right.
    “Then I’ll haul feed,” she said tightly.
    He shook his head and didn’t say a word. He knew that even if the two of them worked around-the-clock, they couldn’t haul water and food to all the cattle.
    Too many cattle.
    Not enough hours in the day.
    Not enough muscle between the two of them.
    But Hope was young. She would have to discover her own limits. He had found his long ago, and the older he got the more those limits shrank in on him.
    He stared at his swollen knuckles and cursed softly. He wasn’t angry at life on his own account, but on hers. For her he would have endured the agonies of being young again, just to have the strength to help her build her dream. She was the daughter he had never had. He would have moved mountains for her if he could.
    He couldn’t. He could only love her.
    Silently Mason lifted a corner of the steak, declared it cooked enough, and flipped it over.
    After a time Hope quit beating the helpless dressing and put the beans and salad on the table. She heaped some of each on both plates. Then she opened the oven door and sniffed.
    The tantalizing aroma of garlic curled up to her nostrils. At one time Mason had insisted that garlic bread was a foreign sacrilege that never should be allowed to mop up good American beef juices. Eventually he had become hooked on the pungent stuff.
    “Eat