A Cowboy's Woman by CATHY GILLEN THACKER Page B

coverings in place. Greta waved her mother away from all the activity and put her hands over her ears to shut out the sound of the electric drills and screwdrivers. “Mom, really, this isn’t a good time.”
    â€œThen when would be?” Tillie followed Greta into the dance hall kitchen, which was in an equal state of chaotic disarray, with boxes stacked everywhere. “ I hate to say it, Greta, but maybe you should delay opening your dinner and dance hall for another few weeks, until you’ve got your home set up.”
    Greta slit open a box and began unwrapping stainless steel baking pans and piling them on the counter. “According
to Lilah the ranch house is as filthy as can be and has absolutely no furniture,” Tillie continued.
    Finished, Greta folded up the empty box and put it in a stack for recycling. “Shane’s fixing that, Mom. He’s buying some furniture this morning.”
    Tillie followed Greta to the next box and continued to stand over her. “What about cleaning the place?”
    Greta shuddered at the memory of those bathrooms that had not been cleaned in a very very long time. “I’ll get to it when I can, Mom.” And until then , a little voice said, what are you going to do about taking a shower? “Maybe we can check into a hotel or something.”
    â€œGreta, for heaven’s sake!”
    Greta lifted out sauté pans and began stacking them on the counter. “Well, what do you expect?” she asked impatiently.
    Agitated, Tillie began lending a hand, too. “Do you want to hang on to this man or not?”
    Greta reached for a third box. This one contained glassware. “What kind of question is that to ask?” she demanded.
    â€œA valid one.” Silence fell between Greta and her mother as the tension of years past reasserted itself.
    â€œI talked to Bonnie Sue Baxter last night. Let me tell you, she has not given up on getting him back,” Tillie reported as she emptied and collapsed the third box.
    Greta picked up wads of packing paper and carried it over to the box designated for that. “What they had was over a long time ago,” Greta said stubbornly.
    â€œBut will it stay over,” Tillie returned, “with you acting like anything but a wife?”
    Leave it to her mother to make her feel no matter what she’d done, it wasn’t enough. Exasperated, Greta deposited
the packing paper and ran her hands through her hair. “Mom, I’m doing the best I can—”
    â€œI know, honey, it’s just sometimes you’re not competitive enough.”
    And Shane was too competitive, Greta thought, recalling how Shane had hauled her up the stairs, honeymoon-style chez Shane, just to keep up with Wade.
    â€œBut you know what they say—” Tillie patted Greta’s shoulder comfortingly “—opposites attract.”
    Or, in her and Shane’s case, lit each other up like fuses on sticks of dynamite, Greta thought to herself as she stormed back to tackle another box of cooking utensils.
    â€œSo maybe your marriage to Shane will work out after all,” Tillie continued helpfully.
    This was a vote of confidence? A delivery truck pulled up at the rear of the building. Greta propped the door open and tried not to show her relief at the interruption. “Listen, thanks for stopping by, Mom. I appreciate the concern.”
    â€œYou think about what I said, honey.”
    â€œI will,” Greta promised, more to get her mother out the door than anything else.
    â€œA man’s ranch should be his castle,” Tillie continued.
    And if Greta couldn‘t—wouldn’t—provide that, wasn’t that even more reason for them to get an annulment at the end of the week? Greta grinned as she waved the deliveryman in. Unwittingly her mother had just given her—and Shane—the beginning of a way out.
    Â 
    GRETA WAS BUSY emptying one of two big commercial