her on the boundary of his own prop erty.
"Go ahead and do what you think best, Jason," Mary said without argument. "You know I've no head for business. If we sell now, will we get enough to make the next mortgage payment?"
"With some to spare," he told her. "The market's up just temporarily. This is a good time to get rid of the culls."
"Are you selling some of yours?" Kate asked, just to show him that she wasn't too tongue-tied to talk.
"I've got a few dry cows and some open ones I'm going to sell off," he agreed.
"Pitiful," Kate murmured over her biscuit. "Getting rid of a poor little cow because she isn't expecting."
"I can't afford to keep poor little cows who aren't expecting," he returned with a faint smile. "In a cow-calf operation, calves pay the bills. If mama doesn't earn her keep, off she goes into somebody's frying pan."
"He's a cannibal," Kate told Mary with a straight face.
"He's a businessman," Mary argued.
"Same difference," Kate returned, grinning impishly at Jason.
He laughed, the sound deep and pleasant in the silence of the cheerful little kitchen. "It takes a cannibal to make money these days," he admitted. He ate his biscuit and sipped his black coffee. "Well, Gene's trying to convince me to back him in an art show. He needs up-front money for supplies. Damn, those paints are expensive!"
"I know," Kate said gently. "But he's good, Jason. He's really good."
He drained the thick white mug, one of the new ones Kate had bought, and put it down on the red-checkered oilcloth that adorned the table. "Kate, there are a lot of good artists in the world. But it takes a great one to make any money. And most of them," he added somberly, "die poor. He's got Cherry to support, and someday there'll be children. He needs to think about them, not about his own pipe dreams. Dreams won't put bread on the table, or clothe children. And I'll be damned if I'm going to support him into old age. He's going to have to start pulling his weight around the Spur."
Kate wanted to argue, but Jason looked dug-in, and she didn't want to start something else. It was Gene's problem, after all, not hers. If he wanted to live his own life, he was going to have to fight Jason himself. Kate didn't envy him that challenge, either. Jason was a formidable enemy.
"How's your arm?" Kate asked.
He flexed it, rippling the muscle under the nice fit of the fabric. "Fine," he said. "I haven't had a problem with it." He glared at her. "And I would have healed just fine without being dragged to the doctor."
"I do realize that, Jason," Kate said sincerely. "And I promise the next time Gabe begs me to look at your torn and bleeding body, I'll put a sack over my head and hold my ears shut." He pursed his lips, and his dark eyes twinkled. "Would you, really?" he asked. His voice had a new softness when he spoke, his face was more relaxed than Kate had ever seen it.
She sighed, studying him. "I guess not, since you're the only friend I've got."
' 'I'll put the dishes in the sink,'' Mary murmured, glancing delightedly from one to the other of them. As she puttered around the kitchen, Kate got to her feet. Kate hadn't expected Jason to stand up at the same time. She overbalanced and he caught her waist to steady her. Standing so close to him, her nerves were unsettled, and it showed. She had to force her breath in and out, but she couldn't stop the rustle of it through her lips. He stared at her mouth until she thought she'd go crazy if he didn't bend those few inches and take it. She swallowed, her tongue going unsteadily to her dry lips, and he made a sound under his
breath and almost pushed her away.
"I've got to get back to work," he said curtly. "I left calves scattered all over hell and gone."
"Thanks again for the beans," Mary said. She glanced at him thoughtfully. "Would you like to come over for supper and sample them?"
He lifted his eyebrows. "Who's cooking, you or Kate?"
Mary glared at him. "Why, you horrible man, and I was
"Go ahead and do what you think best, Jason," Mary said without argument. "You know I've no head for business. If we sell now, will we get enough to make the next mortgage payment?"
"With some to spare," he told her. "The market's up just temporarily. This is a good time to get rid of the culls."
"Are you selling some of yours?" Kate asked, just to show him that she wasn't too tongue-tied to talk.
"I've got a few dry cows and some open ones I'm going to sell off," he agreed.
"Pitiful," Kate murmured over her biscuit. "Getting rid of a poor little cow because she isn't expecting."
"I can't afford to keep poor little cows who aren't expecting," he returned with a faint smile. "In a cow-calf operation, calves pay the bills. If mama doesn't earn her keep, off she goes into somebody's frying pan."
"He's a cannibal," Kate told Mary with a straight face.
"He's a businessman," Mary argued.
"Same difference," Kate returned, grinning impishly at Jason.
He laughed, the sound deep and pleasant in the silence of the cheerful little kitchen. "It takes a cannibal to make money these days," he admitted. He ate his biscuit and sipped his black coffee. "Well, Gene's trying to convince me to back him in an art show. He needs up-front money for supplies. Damn, those paints are expensive!"
"I know," Kate said gently. "But he's good, Jason. He's really good."
He drained the thick white mug, one of the new ones Kate had bought, and put it down on the red-checkered oilcloth that adorned the table. "Kate, there are a lot of good artists in the world. But it takes a great one to make any money. And most of them," he added somberly, "die poor. He's got Cherry to support, and someday there'll be children. He needs to think about them, not about his own pipe dreams. Dreams won't put bread on the table, or clothe children. And I'll be damned if I'm going to support him into old age. He's going to have to start pulling his weight around the Spur."
Kate wanted to argue, but Jason looked dug-in, and she didn't want to start something else. It was Gene's problem, after all, not hers. If he wanted to live his own life, he was going to have to fight Jason himself. Kate didn't envy him that challenge, either. Jason was a formidable enemy.
"How's your arm?" Kate asked.
He flexed it, rippling the muscle under the nice fit of the fabric. "Fine," he said. "I haven't had a problem with it." He glared at her. "And I would have healed just fine without being dragged to the doctor."
"I do realize that, Jason," Kate said sincerely. "And I promise the next time Gabe begs me to look at your torn and bleeding body, I'll put a sack over my head and hold my ears shut." He pursed his lips, and his dark eyes twinkled. "Would you, really?" he asked. His voice had a new softness when he spoke, his face was more relaxed than Kate had ever seen it.
She sighed, studying him. "I guess not, since you're the only friend I've got."
' 'I'll put the dishes in the sink,'' Mary murmured, glancing delightedly from one to the other of them. As she puttered around the kitchen, Kate got to her feet. Kate hadn't expected Jason to stand up at the same time. She overbalanced and he caught her waist to steady her. Standing so close to him, her nerves were unsettled, and it showed. She had to force her breath in and out, but she couldn't stop the rustle of it through her lips. He stared at her mouth until she thought she'd go crazy if he didn't bend those few inches and take it. She swallowed, her tongue going unsteadily to her dry lips, and he made a sound under his
breath and almost pushed her away.
"I've got to get back to work," he said curtly. "I left calves scattered all over hell and gone."
"Thanks again for the beans," Mary said. She glanced at him thoughtfully. "Would you like to come over for supper and sample them?"
He lifted his eyebrows. "Who's cooking, you or Kate?"
Mary glared at him. "Why, you horrible man, and I was
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