May laughed.
“Certainly. I was a little girl here when it happened. Is there any one on the range in Montana who hasn’t heard that story about Bob Terry and young Joe Stevens? And Mr. Tyler is Bob Terry’s cousin, eh? Since Joe is your sister, what ‘in-law’ relation does that make you two?”
“Give it up.”
“Too complicated,” Robin murmured. “I’d have to go to school some more to figure that out.”
“As usual,” May changed the subject, “there aren’t enough girls to go around. Did you bring one?”
“Yes. She’s getting organized,” Robin answered.
He looked around. Ivy stood just inside the door of the little side room looking at him. He beckoned. She didn’t move, except to lift her hands and finger her hair with deft little patting touches. The handclapping brought an encore from the fiddler and the coatless pianist who pawed the ivory with gay abandon even if his technique left something to be desired. Stevens and May went on with their dance. Robin joined Ivy where she stood. He was impatient to get his feet on that smooth floor.
“Who was that towhead you were talkin’ to?” she asked—it seemed to Robin a trifle resentfully. That amused him, perhaps even flattered his vanity a trifle. He had known Ivy to be jealous before on slight grounds, or none at all.
“Oh, that’s Adam Sutherland’s girl,” he said carelessly. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
“I never knew you knew her,” Ivy said.