Page 59 of The Wedding Gift

“That sounds like Big John,” Dalton said.

“Well, you’d best come get him or he’s going to be Dead John,” Becca said. “I keep a five-shot thirty-eight in my purse, and if another horn comes through the door, I’m going to start shooting until it’s empty. Then I’ll reload and keep it up until he’s ready to go to the dog-meat factory.”

“Don’t shoot,” Dalton said. “I’m on my way. The crazy bull loves watermelon. He was probably headed to the field and caught a whiff of what’s in the shed.”

The call ended and the horn disappeared from the door. Becca picked up a butcher knife and deftly halved a melon, scooped out a little of the middle, and then stuck it up to the hole in the door. “I’m willing to share if you’ll back away from the door and let me open it.”

Her original plan was to toss the melon out into the yard and then slam the door, but when she peeked out, the bull took a step forward. “Oh, no! You will not come inside, and you aren’t eating this on this side of the road.”

The animal lowered his head and rolled his eyes. She stomped her foot, glared at him, and took the first step out of the shed. She held the melon out so he could smell it, and then jerked it back. “You can follow me to your pasture, or I’ll take it back inside and you can do without.”

She had dealt with cattle all her life, and Big John didn’tscare her one bit. If he turned malicious and came at her, she could always throw the melon down and run like hell. Rain soaked her to the skin, and her long red hair was hanging limp before she had taken half a dozen steps, but the bull followed behind her like a lost puppy.

Dalton drove up in the ranch work truck about the time she made it to the middle of the dirt road. He rolled down the window a few inches and yelled, “Are you crazy? Big John is the meanest bull at the rodeos. He could kill you in a split second.”

“Not as long as I’ve got a watermelon in my hands. Turn the truck around and show me which pasture to put him in.” She took another step, and her foot sank down in mud that came up over the top of her shoes. Not even the rain could mask the sucking noise when she pulled the shoe out and kept walking. There was no way she could go across the cattle guard with the bull, but she saw where he had broken down the fence on his way to the watermelon field.

“Okay, Big John,” she told him. “We’re going in the same way you came out. If you rip up a leg on the barbed wire, I’m not going to feel a bit sorry for you.”

The bull threw back his head and bellowed louder than ever before.

“If you want this watermelon, then you can quit yourbelly-achin’ and get over one little strand of barbed wire,” she told him.

Dalton drove across the cattle guard and headed toward the gate into the pasture nearest the gap in the fence. He stopped the truck and Becca saw a flash of yellow. She cradled the chunk of melon like a baby and wiped the rain from her eyes. “You’ve got a rain slicker and I’m wet to the hide,” she grumbled. “Thank God you don’t have a camera.”

Dalton opened a gate and she carried the watermelon through it with Big John right behind her. When she was twenty feet into the pasture, she set the watermelon down on the ground and slowly backed out through the gate. Big John lowered his head, and Becca could have sworn the bull sighed.

Dalton slammed the gate shut and started to take off his slicker.

She shook her head. “No sense in both of us being soaked.”

“At least, come up to my house with me and let me throw your things in the washer and dryer,” he said.

“All right.” She wiped water from her eyes and glanced at the house, a good twenty yards away. “But I’m not getting in your truck. It’s only a little way, so I’ll walk. I’m not ruining the seats.”

“They’re well-worn leather. I can dry them with a towel with no problem,” he argued. “And it’s warmer in there. If you get a cold from enticing my prize rodeo bull home, Greta will kill me and never ask me to Sunday dinner again.”

Becca walked through mud puddles over to his truck and climbed inside when he swung the door open for her. Water dripped from her hair, her clothing, and her body, and saturated the seat while he drove up to his small house. She left a puddle behind when she stepped out into the still pouring rain. A quick glance at the driver’s seat told her that it didn’t look a bit better than hers.

“You’re going to need a lot of towels to clean that up,” she said as she headed toward the porch.

Tuff came out from under a lawn chair and shook from head to toe. Any other time she might have fussed about the spray, but what were a few more drops when she was already saturated?

Dalton rushed up the steps, slung open the door for her, and apologized for Tuff. “I would have brought him along to help corral Big John, but the bull hates him. He’s the only critter on the ranch that Tuff doesn’t have his bluff in on. Let me show you to the bathroom.”

Becca dripped water on the hardwood floor all the way from the living room down the short hall. The place was evencleaner than Grammie’s house, and that woman had never met a speck of dust that she couldn’t conquer. The aroma of his woodsy shaving lotion lingered in the bathroom. She was surprised to see a big claw-foot tub on one side of the tiny space and a walk-in shower on the other.

He pointed to a hook on the wall. “You can use my robe until we get your clothes washed and dried. Toss them out in the hallway, and I’ll put them in the washing machine. In an hour, you’ll be all dry and ready to go back to the watermelon shed.”

“You don’t have to wash my things. I can do that,” she said.

“I don’t mind. I’ll put on a pot of coffee. You could use something warm to take the chill off. Crazy, isn’t it, how that even in the summer, the rain can feel cold?”

“Yep,” she agreed.

“Big John doesn’t like most people. I’m surprised he didn’t just run you down and take that melon away from you,” Dalton said.

“Maybe I’m a bull whisperer,” Becca suggested.

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