Cowboys and Cabernet. Margot Dalton

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      Don Holden knew that Ruth had suffered through the years from the lack of a mother figure in her life. Don’s wife, Thelma, had died when Ruth was just five, and Don had been so devastated by the loss, and so absorbed in restoring the tumbledown old winery and raising his young daughter that he’d never managed to build another serious relationship.

      Sometimes he regretted that omission and wished that he’d provided a woman for Ruth during her growing up. He’d been wrenched with sympathy, years ago, when he noticed how his quiet teenage daughter tried to build a relationship with their forbidding housekeeper, hanging around in the kitchen while Mrs. Ward worked, and even on occasion shyly confiding in her. But then as now, Mrs. Ward had been as full of warmth as a mountain glacier, and just about as inviting.

      Don frowned, watching while the housekeeper marched in with two heaped platters of Caesar salad, redolent with garlic and richly studded with croutons and anchovies.

      Don looked hungrily at this delicious sight, and found himself, as always, beginning to forgive Mrs. Ward for her bad temper.

      “Wonderful. Just wonderful.” Don smiled up at her. “What’s the main course, Mrs. Ward?”

      “It’s burned to a crisp,” she said coldly. “Dry as old leather.”

      “Yes, but what is it?”

      “Baked salmon stuffed with wild rice, mushrooms and chestnuts,” she said over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen.

      Ruth sighed in bliss and dug into her salad with greater intensity.

      “Baked salmon,” Don repeated thoughtfully when his salad plate was empty. “What do you think, Ruthie? A nice Chardonnay?”

      Ruth nodded abstractedly, chewing appreciatively on the last of the anchovies. “Probably,” she said at last, swallowing and looking up at her father. “Do we have one up here?”

      “Well now, we just might,” Don said mysteriously. He got up and hurried over to the big antique sideboard where he took out two wine goblets and a bottle from a lower cabinet.

      “Oh, my,” Ruth murmured behind him as Mrs. Ward entered with the fish course. The salmon rested in a creamy golden coating of perfect hollandaise, tender and flaky, exquisitely pink, delicately toasted around the edges and oozing a delectable rice filling.

      “Ruined,” Mrs. Ward announced, her face grim. “Completely ruined.”

      Ruth and Don both nodded solemnly, watching in respectful silence as the woman swept out of the room. Then they exchanged a glance and burst into laughter that they stifled hastily, casting nervous glances at the hallway.

      “Burned to a crisp,” Ruth said in a fair imitation of Mrs. Ward’s haughty tone.

      “Dry as old leather,” Don agreed, crossing the room and glancing at the tender pink fish. “Try the Chardonnay,” he added, handing his daughter a goblet brimming with clear pale wine.

      She accepted it and sipped obediently, then nodded. “That’s nice,” she said. “Which one is it, Dad?”

      Her father looked down at her in disbelief, moving around to seat himself at the opposite end of the table. “Ruthie, I can’t believe you don’t recognize this.”

      “Why? Should I?”

      “It’s our new Chardonnay. The one we’ve been waiting to sample. Johann said it was ready yesterday, and I thought I’d surprise you with it.”

      “Oh.” Ruth sipped at the wine again, then tried to smile. “Well, I guess we were right, Dad. It’s really a lot better than the last one, isn’t it?”

      Don continued to gaze at the slender young woman, his eyes darkening with concern. “Ruth,” he said gently, “is everything all right?”

      “What do you mean? Oh, Dad, can you spoon up a little more of that sauce for me? Just there on the edge, please, and some more rice…”

      “I mean,” Don said, filling her plate carefully, “that you just don’t seem like yourself lately. You seem kind of…depressed,” he finished awkwardly. “Not my cheerful optimistic girl at all.”

      Ruth avoided his eyes, concentrating on the plate of food in front of her. “It’s probably the weather,” she said. “You know how blue I always get in the winter, with all these clouds and rain and no real work to do outside. It just makes me crazy, Dad, waiting and waiting for spring to come so the world can start again.”

      “I know, but this year things seem different, somehow,” Don persisted gently. “Is it something to do with Harlan?”

      Ruth’s cheeks tinted delicately and she flashed a glance at her father, then looked quickly down at her plate again. “Harlan is no longer part of my life,” she said without expression.

      “Yes?” Don looked with sudden alertness at his daughter’s glossy head. “Since when?”

      “Since forever, I guess,” Ruth said with a bleak smile. “I mean, that relationship was doomed from the beginning. But it was officially laid to rest last night.”

      “I see.” Don hesitated, sipping the delicious pale liquid. “By whose choice?”

      “Oh, mine, absolutely,” Ruth said. “Harlan would have been very content to marry me, move us both into a nice house with a three-car garage and have two-point-one children. He says he’s ready for…quote…that particular stage in one’s life.”

      “And you’re not?”

      “Not with him,” Ruth said helplessly.

      “Poor Harlan.” Don shook his head, though if the truth were told, he wasn’t really all that devastated by this piece of news.

      “Dad, he’s so boring,” Ruth said with a hint of desperation creeping into her voice. “I mean, he and his friends are so horribly predictable. They all say the same things, do the same things, buy the same things, and I swear to God they have the very same conversations every time they get together. They talk about their golf games, their stock portfolios and their new cars, and then they sit around and gossip about each other. It’s just deadly.”

      Don nodded, his face carefully noncommittal. “Maybe,” he said, setting down the wine goblet and toying with the heavily engraved handle of his butter knife, “you just need a holiday.”

      “A holiday? Where would I go?”

      Don cleared his throat. “Well, how about Texas?”

      “Texas?” Ruth stared at her father as if he’d suddenly taken leave of his senses. “What would I do in Texas?”

      “Well, for instance, you could pay a little visit to the McKinneys, spend some time on the ranch and see how they’re—”

      “Why would I want to do that?” Ruth interrupted. “I’ve never even liked the McKinneys all that much. They’re your friends, Dad, not mine. And now J.T. has this new little fluff ball of a child bride…”

      “She’s thirty-five СКАЧАТЬ