“Your totem animal,” he mused quietly, but he wasn’t making fun of her.

“I remembered, afterward, what my grandfather had told me. He said that a totem animal was a protection and a warning. The next day, Henry ran his car into a tree and killed himself and my mother.”

He whistled softly. “That’s heavy.”

She nodded.

“Have you ever seen him again?”

“No.” She made a face. “When we found the calves that had been attacked, the live one and the dead one, I was afraid that it was a wolf and that it would have to be hunted. I knew Bart would trap it. But we have other neighbors who aren’t that charitable. And sure enough, somebody shot the old wolf.”

He nodded. “You understand how it is with ranchers, though,” he said softly. “Times are hard. Ranchers and farmers are going bust all over the country. You can stand a calf now and then, but it gets expensive.”

“And you can’t let wolves feed on your livestock. I know.”

“Besides that, the old wolf would have died anyway, from that long, jagged wound that ran the length of his belly. It was infected.”

“I guess the rifle shot was a mercy,” she conceded.

“We don’t have wolves,” he mused. “But we have something worse. Rustlers.”

“We’ve had some of those around Catelow, too,” she said. She laughed. “Most recently, a security guy who works for Ren Colter nabbed a couple of them with a transfer truck. They said the rustlers were babbling their heads off to law enforcement the minute they arrived and even asked to be rushed to jail. Apparently J. C. Calhoun is as mean as gossip says he is. Not so mean now, of course. He has a wife and a daughter and a brand-new son.”

He chuckled. “Good for him.” The smile faded. “I hate rustlers.”

“Yes, Bart told me about a run-in you had with some,” she replied, and her eyes twinkled. “I think you and J.C. would get along.”

He chuckled. “Do you, now?” he teased.

The waitress arrived with their food, and they ate in a pleasant silence.

“This is good beef,” she remarked.

“Not bad,” he agreed.

She finished her piña colada with something like surprise. She hadn’t expected the glass to be empty so soon. It was a huge glass.

“Want another?” he asked.

“I’d better not,” she replied. She was feeling pretty good already. Unusually good. She sighed and smiled at him.

He raised an eyebrow. He remembered that she didn’t drink at all. One piña colada shouldn’t disinhibit her much, though. She was probably just relaxed.

But he ordered another. It had been a long week. He’d been helping Bart’s cowboys with new fencing and it was harder work than he was used to. His muscles were aching.

“I never drink to excess,” he said gently when he noticed her reticence. He knew how she must feel about alcoholics, having been victimized by one for so long. “If you eat while you’re drinking, it lessens the impact. Besides,” he added, stretching and wincing, “I’m beginning to think of it as pain relief. I’ve been helping the guys dig postholes.”