âLooks like youâre not going to cut me any slack, are you?â
âWhy should I?â Angie quickly countered.
âAll right, I deserve that. But when I saw you, I was shocked. What are you doing here on the Sandbur?â
âIâm working. What are you doing? Rubbing elbows with the rich? Oh, sorry. I forgotâyou are the rich.â
Frowning, Jubal stepped closer. âYouâre still a very beautiful girl, Angie, but youâve changed. Thatâs easy to see.â
âIâm not a girl any more, Iâm a woman. And no, I havenât changed. When we were together you just never saw this side of me.â
When sheâd been dating Jubal sheâd been a loving, carefree person. There hadnât been a bitter bone in her bodyâuntil heâd decided to marry someone else.
Stella Bagwell began writing romance novels more than twenty years ago. Now, more than sixty books later, she likens her job to childbirth. The pain is great, but the rewards are too sweet to measure.
Stella married her school sweetheart thirty-seven years ago and now the two live on the Texas coast where the climate is tropical and the lifestyle blessedly slow. When Stella isnât spinning out tales of love, sheâs usually working outdoors on their little ranch, 6 Pines, helping her husband care for a herd of very spoiled horses.
They have a son, Jason, who is a maths teacher and athletic coach.
âHow do I look? Fine enough to serve dinner guests?â
Lifting her arms away from her body, Angela Malone turned on the heel of her sandal in front of the Sandbur cook, then dropped a playful curtsy.
âHmm,â Cook said, as she thoughtfully surveyed her young helper. âIf you took off the apron youâd look like a princess in that little black dress. But since weâre serving barbecue tonight, you might ought to keep it on.â
Angela was inclined to agree. The little black dress was just a simple cotton sheath, but in spite of her having worked as a waitress at The Cattle Call Café for the past two years, she wasnât always the most graceful. There had been times gravy and sauces had landed on her instead of on the table she was serving. But that was then. Sheâd moved up in life since her friend Nicci Saddler Garroway had gotten her this job on the Sandbur Ranch in south Texas. Now she was Cookâs kitchen assistant in the âbig houseâ where the matriarch Geraldine Saddler and her son, Lex, resided. Besides helping Cook prepare and serve meals, Angela also oversaw the maidsâ housecleaning, shopped for both households and generally took care of any leftover task that the maids couldnât deal with.
âYouâre probably right about the apron, Cook,â Angela told the woman. âBut I do want Ms. Saddler to think I look presentable. She really seems to want to put on the dog tonight.â
Cook, a tall, thin woman in her seventies with hair that was more black than gray and lips painted as deep a red as her fingernails, walked over to where Angela was about to pick up a tray of appetizers.
âDonât be nervous, honey. Youâve served many a table before.â Reaching up, she adjusted the tortoise-shell barrette that was holding the front of Angelaâs heavy, brown hair off her face, then patted her cheek. âPretty as a June morninâ. Now shoo. Go on with those appetizers before Geraldine comes back here to see why weâre dawdlinâ.â
Grinning, Angela picked up the tray. âIâm on my way!â
Shouldering her way through the kitchenâs swinging door, Angela hurried down the long hallway that would lead her to the formal living room. Along the way, the smell of smoked shrimp, brought fresh from San Antonio Bay only the previous day, wafted up to her nose, reminding her that sheâd not taken time to eat since breakfast at five that morning.
With a dinner party scheduled, sheâd not had time to do anything, except help Cook prepare a whole table of elaborate dishes and make sure the maids had cleaned all the rooms and arranged fresh flowers.
As Angela neared the opening of the living room, she caught the sound of voices, both male and female, intermixed with light laughter. In the background, a CD of Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys was softly playing a waltz.
One, two, three. One, two, three, she silently hummed to the beat. How lovely it would be to be dancing, waltzing in the arms of some nice guy who didnât care that she was a single mother.
Pushing that wishful thought away, Angela took a deep breath and stepped into the living room. One quick glance from the corner of her eye told her the space was full of people.
Careful to skirt the crowd, many of whom were standing about the room in small groups, Angela headed straight to a long table that had been set up near the wet bar. She was about to place the tray of shrimp next to a platter of fried jalapeños when Geraldine Saddler spoke up from behind her.
âAngie, if thatâs the shrimp, bring it over here, please. Thereâs plenty of space on the coffee table.â