And no one had sent her flowers, she thought, in too long to remember. When her mind drifted to a tiny yellow wildflower, she pulled it back, and called herself an idiot.

“She’s not getting that new calculator she’s been hinting for, either.” He rose. “Do you want a lift to the club tonight?”

So went the life of a single woman, Laura mused. Always tagging along with couples. “No, thanks. I’ll see you there.”

“I’m not the country club type, Josh.” As if someone had already forced him into a suit, Michael rolled his shoulders.

“I’d consider it a favor.”

Scowling, Michael measured out grain. “I hate it when you do that.”

“And I’d be able to introduce you to a lot of potential horse owners. I happen to know someone who has an impressive stud. You did say you have a mare ready to breed.”

“Yeah, she’s ready.” And he wanted the right sire for her. “So, you’ll give me his name, and I’ll talk to him. I don’t have to go to some lame dance. And I’m the last person your sister wants taking her to some lame dance.”

“It’s not like a date.” So Margo had said when she’d drilled the request into his head. “It’s just that Laura’s feeling like a third wheel at these things. I didn’t realize it myself, but Margo pointed it out.”

And, Josh thought as he watched Michael divvy up grains, had made him feel like a lower form of life. “Then I realized how often Laura either skips going to events, or cuts out early. It would be nice for her to have an escort, that’s all.”

“A woman like your sister ought to have a platoon of likely escorts lined up and waiting.” And all with the proper pedigree, Michael thought.

“Yeah, well, she doesn’t seem interested in swimming with the sharks in the dating pool.” Was he supposed to do something about that, too? Josh wondered and nearly shuddered. “She knows you, Mick. She’d be comfortable with you. And it would give you the chance to make some contacts. Everybody’s happy.”

“I’m not happy when I have to wear a tie.” He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Not like you, Harvard, in your fancy Italian suit. Get the hell out of my barn.”

“Come on, Mick. It’s just one night out of your fascinating and fun-filled life. We’ll hit the game room, play some billiards, tell some lies.”

There was that, Michael considered. And the alternative was a sandwich and an evening hunkered over his drawings for his projected house. “I can still bury your ass at pool.”

“I’ll lend you a tie.”

“Fuck you.” One of the cats streaked by, pounced in a blur of black. There was a short squeal.

“Christ, that’s disgusting.”