“Were you serious?” she asked.

“Pays minimum. Work until we can’t see anymore. No dress code. You can work barefoot if you want in the truck,” he said.

“Where’s your place?”

“The ranch is easy to find. Take the county road out of Bootleg toward Wichita Falls. The ranch is about three miles down that road on the right. You’ll see a big metal sign above the cattle guard that says ‘Double Back Ranch.’ Turn there and follow the path. I’ll meet you in the front yard. How long until you can get here?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“You’ll drive an old work truck with no air-conditioning, so you might want to pull that pretty blonde hair up in a ponytail,” Waylon said.

“See you soon,” she said before she changed her mind.

She picked up a cooler from the kitchen and stopped by the convenience store in Bootleg to buy bottles of water and a six-pack of cold Coke. The thermometer in her Caddy said that it was 101 degrees, and driving a truck with no air-conditioning would make for thirsty work. She had to stand in line to pay and noticed a rack of baseball hats for sale. She picked out a pink camouflage one, removed the price tag, stuck it on her head, and pulled her ponytail out the hole in the back. Then she saw the sunblock and picked up an extra bottle of that.

She paid for her items, followed his instructions, and drove up in the front yard twenty-two minutes later. He was leaning against a flatbed truck, a bottle of water in his hands and sweat glistening on his arms and face.

“Sorry I’m late, I had to make a stop, and there were five people ahead of me,” she said.

“I don’t count two minutes as late, darlin’,” he drawled. “I like the hat. You ever driven a stick shift?”

Her mouth went dry at the endearment, and all she could do was nod.

“Well, this truck is your Caddy for the afternoon, and I’ll gladly give you all the work you want to do,” he said. “We’ll be in the hay several days a week for the rest of this month, so anytime you want to come out here and take a look at country life, you are welcome.”

“I learned to drive stick in my dad’s reconditioned ’55 Chevrolet.” She set her little cooler in the back of the truck. “Here’s some water and Coke so no one dies of thirst.”

“Beautiful and smart. A woman after my own heart.” He grinned. “Your dad really was a trusting soul to let you drive his vintage car.”

“Oh, he never did let me drive the ’63 Corvette that Mother bought for their twentieth anniversary, even though he did leave it to me.” She grinned.

“You own a ’Vette?” he asked.

“And the ’55 Chevy and his pride and joy, a ’32 Ford Deuce.” She grabbed the cooler and carried it to the truck.

“Like Abby’s on NCIS?” Waylon asked.

“Her car is red. Mine is black. Daddy said that it might have been a moonshiner’s car at one time. You driving out to wherever you are hauling hay, or do I need to give you a demonstration of my skills?”

“Where are those cars?” Waylon asked.

“In a special climate-controlled room at the oil company. I drive them every so often just to keep the cobwebs blown out. You want to see them sometime?” she asked.

“Can I drive that Deuce?”

“That depends on lots of things. For now who’s driving this rig, me or you?”

“Why did you decide to drive for me today anyway?”

“Trouble in paradise. Inheritance does bring out the claws.” She settled into her seat and reached for the seat belt, but there wasn’t one.

“Fightin’ over the cabin?”

“Looks that way.”

“And since you are the one with the biggest bank account, they are taking sides against you?” he asked.

“Nope, I’d say we’re all pretty much standing on our own rocky soil.”

He started the engine and put the truck in gear. “I’m kind of glad to hear that. If y’all were getting along like sisters, I’d continue to think you were putting on a show to cover something up.”

“We might argue and even come to blows someday, but I’ll stake my oil company on the fact that not a one of us had anything to do with Conrad’s death,” she said.

“That’s pretty positive. How can you believe in those other two that strongly?”

“Jamie might have been thinking about divorcing the son of a bitch, but she would never kill Gracie’s father. Amanda, bless her heart, will bitch and moan, but she wouldn’t have the nerve to pull the trigger, and besides she was still living in that first year of bliss,” Kate answered.

“And you?” Waylon stopped the truck at the edge of a field.

“I didn’t give a damn. To kill someone, you have to care. I would like to have my maiden name back and have it cleared from all doubt. Other than that, I was over Conrad a decade ago. Are those guys going to work with me?” She pointed to four teenage boys waiting under a shade tree.

“That’s your crew. What you do is drive this truck at about five miles an hour. Two will be on the ground throwing bales up to the catcher, who will toss them back to the stacker. When the truck is full, you’ll go back to the barn, where they will unload it and then start all over again,” Waylon said.

“Where is this barn?” she asked.

“The guys will give you directions. There’s a bathroom in the tack room if you need it. You’ll have a few minutes while they unload and stack in the barn.”

“I think I can remember all that,” she said as she slid across the bench seat. “Now give me the wheel. Does the radio work?”

“Like a charm. It’ll probably still be working when this thing finally bites the dust, but the air-conditioning went out years ago.” Waylon opened the door and hopped to the ground. “And thanks, Kate. This is a big help. It frees up a man to throw or stack.”

“Hey, I’m doing this for money, not thanks.”

He chuckled as he slammed the door shut. “And what are you going to do with your huge paycheck?”

“Buy tickets to Six Flags if Gracie doesn’t win them at the festival,” she said. “If I work all week, she and I might even send out for pizza from down at the convenience store one night. And if Jamie and Amanda are still bitchy with each other, we won’t share with them.”

“Beautiful, smart, and funny.” He shook his head as he walked away.

Waylon would never know what those three words did for her ego that day. She smiled as she shifted into low gear, let out on the clutch, and eased forward with a single lurch. A young cowboy hopped up on the back and two others started throwing bales up to him as she inched the truck along.

She turned the knob on the radio, and a country music station came in loud and clear. Maybe those cowboys liked her kind of music; maybe they liked rock or rap. But she was the driver, and as such she had control of the dial.

“Hot enough for you folks?” the DJ asked when the first song ended. “Well, turn up the air conditioner and enjoy the Monday madness. We’ll play ten of the most popular songs from last year in a row. At the end of the ten songs, the thirteenth caller who can tell me what month these were on the list will win two tickets to Six Flags Over Texas. First one is Carrie Underwood’s ‘Heartbeat.’”

“Was it February or March?” Kate asked as she kept her foot steady on the gas pedal. She’d listened to country music every day on the way to work at the oil company, on the way home, while she took her shower, and sometimes while she did extra work at night so she wouldn’t be behind the next morning.

When they made trips to the barn to unload the hay, she got out and helped stack the bales, but she kept the engine running so they could hear the music. By the time Waylon sent a text calling it a day, she’d put away four of the Cokes and six waters and was still thirsty. Never before in her life, not even at the gym, had she sweated so much or felt so grimy. Lord, she’d have to have her Caddy detailed and fumigated by the weekend if she rode home in it every day smelling like hay, sweat, and dirt.

She drove the loaded truck to the barn and parked it, bailed out, and headed for the bathroom. Using brown paper towels from a dispenser, she cleaned up as best she could with cold water. By the time she returned, Waylon was helping the guys unload the last of the hay.