Lone Star Valentine. Cathy Thacker Gillen

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      Clint helped Gannon put out some feed. Then eventually asked, “What about your horses? Are you planning to keep them or are you going to sell them, too?”

      That was a tricky question. Gannon exhaled. “I hate to—these three have been part of our family since I was a kid. But on the other hand, although they’re being well cared for, they’re not being exercised enough. But if you’re interested...?”

      Clint shrugged. “I could board them for you, if you like. Free of charge—if you’ll let me use them in some of the riding and roping lessons I’m planning to give. That way they’d still be yours, and you could still ride them whenever you did come back home.”

      It was the perfect solution to yet another problem of downsizing. So why was he hesitating? Why was he once again yearning to saddle up and ride whenever he wanted and thinking about how his life had been in simpler times? He had made his decision about where his future lay. Hadn’t he? Was okay with the hefty price extracted from working 24/7?

      Clint looked at him.

      “Let me mull it over,” Gannon said.

      In the distance, another vehicle turned into the lane and sped toward the ranch house.

      “Expecting someone?” Clint asked.

      Gannon caught sight of the satellite dish affixed to the top of the white-and-blue van and swore. Just what he did not need.

      He wondered if Lily had her hands full, too.

      * * *

      “YOU HAVE TO get that statue out of the town square,” Marybeth Simmons declared. “Sooner, rather than later!”

      Lily looked at the delegation of fifteen community leaders standing on her front porch. Farther down the block, a vehicle came to a halt; a door opened and closed. But from where she was standing, Lily could not see who it was.

      Deciding to concentrate on those already there, she lifted a calming hand. “Look, I know it wasn’t what we all expected. But I think we ought to give it a chance, maybe—”

      Rex Carter interjected angrily, “The entire dedication ceremony, complete with fire, is on YouTube! It’s had twenty thousand hits so far! And that’s just in one twenty-four hour period.”

      “It’s made our whole town—not to mention the chili festival—out to be a joke!” Sonny Sanderson added. Which was a problem for him and his family, because he’d been hoping his barbecue restaurant would sell a lot of food at the event if attendance was even moderately high. Now that might all be for naught—for all the restaurateurs and food vendors planning to take part.

      A familiar low male voice joined in. “It gets even more interesting. A Dallas TV station news crew is interviewing my mother as we speak.”

      Everyone moved to make way for Gannon Montgomery. He’d thrown a leather jacket over his usual shirt and jeans. With a black Stetson slanted across his brow, he looked sexier than ever.

      “Sorry,” Oscar Gentry, another retired teacher said. “No disrespect meant for your mother, son.”

      “But we don’t want to see her or her art ridiculed, and the way things are going,” Yvonne Gentry, another retired teacher, kindly concurred, “Harriett will be made out to be a laughingstock.”

      Lily—who’d had no time to pull on a coat herself before meeting with the crowd—searched desperately for a solution. “Maybe if we put up a framed explanation beside it, letting people know it’s part sculpture and part performance art—”

      Around her, everyone paused, exchanged looks, slowly shook their heads. “It’s got to be moved to a less conspicuous place than the town square,” Miss Mim insisted.

      Emmett Briscoe, oilman and art collector extraordinaire, joined them on the front porch of Lily’s Craftsman. Nearing seventy, he was still a big, robust, handsome bear of a man. As well as a community and state leader. “Why not put it at the fairgrounds?” he said. “Where the chili cook-off and festival is going to be held? We can put it behind glass in the exhibition hall, along with the explanation that Lily suggested. And then decide what to do with it once the festival is over.”

      “Given all the publicity we’ve already had, festival-goers are going to expect to see it.” Lily looked at Gannon for support. “We may as well capitalize on that.”

      Rex Carter scoffed. “How much money is it going to cost to move it?”

      “Since it’s just from one place to another, and is only the one sculpture, I’m sure it won’t be much,” Lily said. At least she hoped that was the case.

      More grumbling followed.

      “Give me until Monday afternoon to come up with a definite plan,” Lily urged.

      Marybeth Simmons, the leader of the local PTA, huffed, “Well, see that you keep us informed. All our organizations are relying on the money we hope to raise Valentine’s Day weekend to fund our projects for the rest of the year.”

      “I will.” Lily thanked everyone for coming, and slowly the crowd dispersed until it was just Lily and Gannon on her front porch.

      Shivering, she decided to take the conversation inside her Craftsman-style bungalow. The downstairs had been remodeled into one large space—living room, kitchen and dining area, with a laundry room, half bath and screened-in porch at the rear. Upstairs, she had two bedrooms and a full bathroom.

      “How is your mother doing?” Lily asked, grabbing her heavy red wool shawl-collared sweater and slipping it on over her turtleneck and jeans.

      Gannon removed his hat before stepping across the threshold and left it on the coatrack in the foyer. Then he followed her over to the fireplace, looking as tense and frustrated as she felt. “Let’s just say she’s had lots of phone messages and emails, not all of them complimentary.”

      Lily poked at the fire already burning in the grate. “I don’t think anyone understands it, or what it represents.” She slid the poker back into the stand, then turned to face Gannon. “Not the way your mother meant anyway.”

      He stood, hands braced on his hips, pushing the edges of his jacket back. “Even worse—I don’t think my mother cares if they do or they don’t,” he said.

      Deciding she could use a hot beverage, Lily headed for her kitchen. “That is the mark of a true artist.”

      “Or an eccentric,” Gannon countered mildly as he looked around, taking in the comfy denim furniture, distressed wood floors and multicolored area rugs. There were toy bins and books galore, most stored in a built-in shelving system on one wall of the living room, as well as a nice entertainment center, complete with stereo TV and DVD player.

      Lily paused, pleased that he seemed to like the cozy but practical interior of her home. Not that it mattered.

      “You doubt your mother’s talent?” she asked.

      Gannon watched Lily fill the teakettle and set it on the stove. Brawny arms folded in front of him, he tilted his head, thinking. “All I know for certain is that I don’t want to see my mom hurt by all the controversy.”

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