“I like grits,” she said. “And just what have you got against corn?”

“They make grits out of it,” he returned.

“Well, you’re in a sweet mood today,” she muttered as she scraped out the last little bit of grits and spooned it into her mouth.

“The cattle being oppressed has soured me,” he retorted.

She looked up, curious. “What sort of cattle do you have?” she wondered.

“Santa Gertrudis.”

She smiled. “I like them. Cal runs black baldies, just beef cattle, but Cy Parks has purebred Santa Gertrudis that are famous all over the world.”

He scowled. “How would you know that?”

“He and Cal are friends. Cal took Tad and me with him one Saturday when he had to talk to Mr. Parks about something. Harley Fowler took us on a tour of the place while Cal was busy. It was fascinating. I didn’t even know that the foundation herd of Santa Gertrudis was at the King Ranch, up in Kingsville!”

He was staring at her. It was actually painful to compare her attitude about cattle with Grace’s.

“Do you have a lot of them?” she asked.

“Only about a hundred head.”

“Wow. That’s a lot. Are they purebreds?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

She put her refuse in the trash and sipped coffee. “I made coffee, if you want some,” she said. She frowned. “I thought you were taking the day off.”

“I was. Grace had to be back for a meeting, so I thought I’d go by the gun store and pick up the .28 gauge shotgun I ordered.”

“That’s a lightweight gun.”

He looked exasperated. “And how would you know that?”

“Granddaddy was a triple A skeet shooter,” she said. “I used to go to the gun club with him to watch him practice.” She made a face. “He could shoot all four classes of shotguns, even an antique Colt .45 he owned, but he wouldn’t let me use anything except that .28 gauge.”

He scowled. “You can shoot a shotgun?” he asked.

“Well, it’s not that hard,” she began defensively.

“I’ve found very few women who would even pick one up,” he returned, “and that includes my sister. They’re afraid of the kick and the noise.”

“Granddaddy had them put a padded stock on mine, to lessen the impact of the kick, and we always wore earplugs on the range. I really enjoyed it. Shooting, I mean.”

She loved guns and cattle, and Grace thought both were unacceptable. He’d never been so depressed. It showed, too.

“Do you still have his guns?” he asked after a minute.