Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [67]
He was dressed casually, as always, in faded Levi’s, a khaki cowboy shirt with embroidered red arrows on the yokes, and beaded leather moccasins. His long white hair was braided in a thick rope, the end tied with a piece of rawhide. It just touched the top of his hand-tooled belt.
“Do I pass inspection?” he asked, chuckling.
“Your hair’s longer than mine,” I said, flicking his braid. “My braid just barely clears my shoulders.”
“So your grandma has pointed out. I told her I’m trying to catch up with her.”
“Does she know you’re here?”
His broad, wind-weathered face wrinkled in amusement.
“Forget I asked that. Of course she does. Why didn’t she tell me?”
“I flew in last night. She wanted it to be a surprise. She was supposed to come with me today, but she’s busy getting set up for tomorrow at the ranch.”
“What’s going on at the ranch?”
He shook his head, his little raisin eyes laughing at me. “Sorry, top secret. She doesn’t want to have her idea stolen by another fund-raising group.”
“This has to do with the senior citizen kitchen?” Then I remembered what she’d said yesterday about her prayers being answered by something I’d suggested.
“Apparently.”
“Are you involved?” I poked his chest. “C’mon, Isaac, you can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Ha,” he said, grabbing my finger and shaking it. “Not a chance, young Harper woman. I’m not procuring the wrath of Dove Ramsey down upon my grizzled old head. You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Okay,” I said, giving in quickly only because I was so excited to see him again. “So, tell me what you’re working on now. I’m sorry I haven’t answered your E-mail in the last week. It’s been insane around here, and I would have needed five single-spaced pages to tell you everything.”
He stretched his long legs out and rubbed his knees. “Dove clued me in. I can’t believe you’re involved in another homicide investigation. Is Gabe ready to lock you in your room?”
I grimaced and picked at some loose paint on the wooden bench. “I’m not involved because I want to be, believe me. She told you everything, right? About Sam and Bliss and. . .”
“And Lydia,” he finished.
I made my cauliflower face at him. “Ex-wives. Guess you know about them.”
“Do I. Dove says she’s quite a looker.”
“She is gorgeous, I’ll grant you that. And, I’d only admit this to you, actually she’s a pretty nice woman from what I can tell.”
“And after your husband?”
I made claws at him. “Not you, too. I don’t know if she is. Dove and Emory sure are convinced that’s the case. Gabe is spending a lot of time with her and Sam, but what with Bliss and the baby...” I shrugged.
“Sounds like you’re the only one being rational about it.”
I looked up into his penetrating, photographer’s eyes. “What do you think? Am I being stupid and naive? I’ve never believed you can force a man . . . or anyone to love you. My cousin thinks I should invest in a closetful of Victoria’s Secret underwear. Dove thinks I should stick to his side like glue. My best friend thinks I should spike Lydia’s coffee with arsenic.”
His thick white eyebrows moved upward.
“She’s joking,” I said, laughing. “I think. Anyway, I’ve basically done nothing except sit on the sidelines and watch. You’re a man of worldly experience. What do you think I should do?”
He took my hands in his. “Benni, all I know is it takes years for a couple to become a ‘we.’ Ultimately, some relationships make it, some don’t. Who knows why?” He rubbed his big thumbs over the tops of my hands.
“In other words, it’s what I suspected. There’s nothing I can do.”
“He has free will. But then, so do you.” He squeezed my hands. “Now let