She grabbed the dress she kept coming back to, one she’d bought on impulse before she’d left New York because the orange poppies that covered it made her think of Big Sur.

Not fancy, but something she thought she’d wear to a family picnic.

She opted to leave her hair down, leave it straight. It fell past her shoulders now so the lack of fuss added to the lack of fancy. Low, casual espadrille wedges, her tiniest hoops for earrings.

Taking stock in the mirror, she put herself into the role. First maybe-date in the company of his friends, in a roadhouse for dancing.

She thought it worked, and the flow of the dress would have a nice swing to it on the dance floor. Not overdressed—she hoped—but showing she’d taken some care instead of just throwing something on.

Besides, she’d fiddled around so long she didn’t have time to change.

She spotted him walking down the path—right on time. Jeans and high-tops—but not the sort she’d seen him wear around the ranch. A pale green shirt, open at the collar, but one she thought of as a dress shirt that would do fine under a suit jacket with a coordinating tie.

First hurdle—dress code—cleared.

She went to the door, opened it. And liked—what woman wouldn’t—the way he paused, the way he looked at her.

“California poppies work on you.”

“I was hoping.” After closing the door at her back, she slung her little cross-body bag on. “You’re prompt. I thought I’d head up to the house, save you the walk, but you beat me to it.”

“Nice night for a walk.”

“Nice night period. Do you do this often?”

“Do what?”

“Go dancing.”

“Not especially.” Jesus, she smelled good. Why did women make themselves smell so damn good? “Unless one of my friends says, ‘Hey, let’s hit the Roadhouse,’ I don’t think about it. I’m not big on the solo hunt.”

He pressed a finger to his eye. “And that sounded all kinds of wrong.”

“No, it didn’t. Women have wingmen, too. So, you haven’t been seeing anyone?”

“Not in a while, no.”

He’d borrowed Gram’s car—at her insistence. (“Boy, you don’t take a woman dancing first time out in a pickup truck.”) He opened the passenger door, waited until she’d pulled the colorful skirts inside before closing it.

“Because?” she said when he got behind the wheel.

“Because? Oh.” With a shrug, he started the engine, headed down. “I was seeing someone last year for a while, but things get busy in the summer. It just didn’t suit her, so we let that slide. Hailey, that’s Leo’s wife, she’s always trying to fix me up. It’d be annoying if I didn’t like her so much.”

Pleased to find yet more common ground, she settled in.

“I got that back in New York. Oh, you’ve got to meet this guy, or that guy. And I’d think: You know, I really just don’t.”

He flicked her a glance. “Because?”

“I’d go out with somebody in the business, it ended up being a mess. I’d go out with somebody not in the business, it ended up being a mess. Fraught,” she remembered. “Fraught’s the word that comes to mind.

“So tell me about Hailey, and the woman your other friend’s bringing.”

“Hailey teaches fifth grade and hits that balance between sweet-natured and steely spined on the money. Smart, funny, seriously patient. We all went to school together back in the day. She and Dave were the ones always screwing the curve for the rest of us.”

Fifth grade, she thought, her personal watershed year. One she’d ended with tutors—and no childhood friends to hold through life.

“You’ve all known each other that long.”

“Yeah. You’d have thought, back then, Hailey and Dave would’ve hooked up. You know, nerd love. But that never happened. And she came back from college, and Leo dropped like a stone. They’re good together. Probably have some fraught in there, but they’re good together.”

“And Dave’s date?” Had to have a grip on the cast, after all.

“Tricia. She’s a craftswoman, works in wood. Damn good at it, too. Artistic. Athletic, too. Likes to hike. She and Red hit it off because she surfs. I like her. She and Dave have a nice rhythm. Except Dave has no rhythm. He has algorithms.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He turned onto a back road, pulled into the crowded parking lot in front of what really did look like a house. Single story, though long and deep, with a flat roof.

Big bulb lights strung their way across the front eaves over a porch where a number of people stood around drinking bottles of beer.

Since the doors stood open, she heard music pumping out.

“It’s already busy.”

“The band’ll start soon,” he told her. “It’s early, I guess, by what you’d be used to, but we’ll have a lot of ranchers, ranch hands, farmers, farmhands. They’ll be up before dawn tomorrow, Saturday or not.”

She got out before he could do as he’d been taught and come around to open the door for her. She gestured to the line of motorcycles. “Ranch hands?”

“Bikers like to dance, too.”

A couple of people called out his name as they walked across the gravel lot. Some of the porch people wore Stetsons or ball caps, some wore bandannas and tattoo sleeves.

Inside she saw a lot of wooden tables crowded together, a decent-size dance floor, a long bar. And a stage at the front, raised up, equipment and instruments already waiting.

She felt some mild disappointment not to see chicken wire across it, Blues Brothers style.

Recorded music bounced off the walls—walls decorated with beer signs, bull heads, and cowhides.

“Looks like Leo and Hailey already grabbed a table.” He took Cate’s hand to lead her through the tables, chairs, benches, people.

His friend Leo wore his black hair in short dreads, looked over at their approach with big, appraising brown eyes. Hailey, her honey-blond hair cut in a side swing, had one hand on the mound of her belly as she studied Cate.

Decision pending, Cate thought.

“Hey, man.” Though his eyes stayed watchful, Leo offered a smile.

“Cate, this is Hailey and the guy she married instead of me.”

“Somebody had to. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Cate took a seat. “Coming soon?”

Hailey gave her baby bump a pat. “Eight more weeks and counting. The nursery’s finished, Dillon. You’ll have to come by and see.”

“I’ll do that.” With the ease of an old friend, he gave her bump a rub. “How’s she doing?”

“So far, so perfect. If we don’t count the times—you’ll excuse me,” she said to Cate, “she parks herself on my bladder.”

“Do you have a name?” Cate asked.

“We think Grace because—”

“She’s going to be amazing.”

Hailey cocked her head, and the smile went all the way into her eyes this time. “That’s exactly right.”

The waitress stopped by.

“House nachos,” Leo told her. “Four plates.”