Between Heaven and Texas Read Online Free Page B

buckle as big as a pack of cards, to a slim torso clad in a clean white Western shirt, to a pair of broad shoulders and a handsome head topped with thick dark hair.
    In truth, she couldn’t tell if the cowboy was handsome, not at first. When she looked up, the sun was so bright in her eyes that she couldn’t make out his features. Sunbeams radiated out from his dark halo of hair, leaving his face in silhouette, but from the sound of his voice and the way her heart was pounding in her chest, she figured he must be handsome. And when he reached down to pick up his black Stetson from where it had fallen, then put it back on his head, blocking out the sunlight, she saw it was true.
    â€œOh, my . . .” she said weakly.
    The cowboy frowned, his dark eyes concerned. “Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine.” Mary Dell blushed. “Clumsy but fine.”
    â€œOne of the farriers must have dropped that horseshoe. They should be more careful.”
    He picked up the garment bag, smiled, and handed it to her. His teeth were as straight as pickets in a new fence. And so white! She’d never seen a grown man with teeth so white.
    The voice of the rodeo announcer came crackling through the loudspeaker. “Oh, my! That one hurt! But it was a good try by J. D. Hooper from Corpus Christi. Let’s give him a hand, folks. Up next, we’ll have young Graydon Bebee from Lubbock . . .”
    The cowboy’s head jerked up as he heard his name. He touched his hat. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
    â€œLubbock,” she sighed to herself as she watched him run off toward the rodeo ring. “I knew he was too handsome to be from around here. Too bad.”
    But it was just as well, she decided as she resumed her date with destiny, the first stop on the journey being the 4-H pavilion and a blue ribbon with a rosette. She couldn’t afford to be waylaid by distractions or detours today. And a man as good-looking as Graydon Bebee could be very distracting indeed.
    Â 
    Taffy was too busy fixing Lydia Dale’s hair for the pageant to attend the 4-H fashion show, but Dutch sat in the third row, eating a deep-fried Twinkie on a stick and waiting for his daughter’s name to be announced.
    When it was, Mary Dell, wearing her red satin dress with a bow at the back and three rows of rhinestones at the neck, sleeves, and hem, walked across the platform. The skirt hit Mary Dell just below the knee, or would have, but for the six layers of netting underneath. She had used two yards of every color of netting available at Waterson’s Dry Goods Emporium to make the underskirting, which lifted the red satin and made it stick out at an angle from the waist, giving everyone a generous peep at the petticoat rainbow beneath. It was, in effect, a square-dance dress modeled after one she’d found in Grandma Silky’s closet, but Mary Dell had decided to make her version “more elegant.”
    As Mary Dell moved to the front of the stage, Dutch bolted down the last of the Twinkie and sprang to his feet, clapping and hooting for all he was worth. Dutch wasn’t the most capable provider on earth, but he loved his wife and children with his whole heart. He stuck his fingers into the sides of his mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle, so loud that Mary Dell didn’t hear the snickers from the rest of the crowd.
    As she executed a graceful pirouette in front of the judges, Mary Dell was positively beaming. Passing in front of her father, she blew him a kiss from the tips of her fingers. Dutch wiped a tear from his eye. The dress was awful, he knew that, but his daughter was beautiful, and he was proud of her.
    When Dutch reached into the back pocket of his jeans, searching for a handkerchief, he noticed another man a couple of rows away who was also on his feet, whistling and clapping as Mary Dell made her turn, a tall fellow with a black Stetson covering his dark hair and wearing a