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  I didn’t care. He deserved to lose the election. His going to prison for Eldon’s murder would even be sweeter.

  Probably.

  Sarah raised her eyebrows and tilted her head.

  Damn it. She was right. The only way to buy myself decision time was to hold it all together. My stomach did a barrel roll and splashed into the inky ocean. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

  When I punched off, Sarah clapped me on the back and offered me the bottle. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  I shook my head. “You hate Ted.”

  She knocked back a gulp and twisted the lid on the bottle. “But I love you.”

  She had made the first moves to leave, when Aunt Twyla’s Jeep Wagoneer puttered over the AutoGate, followed sixty seconds later by my neighbor, Doris Cleveland, in her dark-blue, twenty-year-old Lincoln Continental.

  Sarah raised her eyebrows in a question.

  I thought about the sixteen missed calls on my cell. “Guess I should have answered the phone. I never thought anyone would drive all the way out here to gossip.”

  Dick Fleenor, the EMT Eunice’s rancher husband, followed the two women in his beater ranch truck.

  Sarah scooted to her Dodge. “I’d love to stick around, but if I have to go to town tonight for the debate, I need get some work done.”

  She drove ahead and around the ranch yard in a circle and waited for the caravan to file behind the house. She stuck an arm out her window and waved as she accelerated away, leaving me to deal with the gossip patrol.

  My nose was used to the manure and calving fluids, my own work-strained body, and the bits of straw and mud that clung to me. I wondered how offensive I’d be to civilized people. If they’d held off for a few more minutes, or at least given me some warning, I might have had time to clean up.

  Twyla hit the ground with her mouth running full speed. “I tried to call but you didn’t answer. People have been stopping by the Long Branch all morning.” She opened the back door of the Wagoneer and hefted out a grocery bag.

  I hurried over to help.

  Doris Cleveland crept to a halt behind Twyla and lugged her basset hound face toward us, two loaves of bread clutched to her chest. She wore her husband’s oversize work coat with the logo of Hodgekiss Feed and Grain embroidered across the back. The Clevelands owned the ranch farther down the road from Frog Creek. We shared fence lines and two-track trail roads.

  Twyla settled one paper grocery sack in my arms. A Tupperware dish, probably containing the obligatory green-Jell-O salad, sat atop a five-pound can of coffee. “No one knows where to take the food. Your father must have gone somewheres, because no one’s answering the door.” Her disapproval of Mom’s capriciousness about opening the door to uninvited guests was a given.

  Dick Fleenor, potbellied and slow moving, joined us, toting a plastic grocery bag with two sleeves of paper cups towering out the top. “Eunice sent me over with supplies. She didn’t know where folks were gathering and said you’d know what to do with this.”

  For Sandhillers, bringing food and paper plates to grieving families was like washing your hands after using the bathroom. You might survive if you didn’t, but you wouldn’t feel right about yourself.

  Despite my growing nerves about the debate and falling behind on my ranch chores, as well as worrying that I smelled like a floating garbage barge, I invited them in for coffee.

  “Only a quick cup,” Twyla said. “With the debate tonight, we’ll probably be packed for supper, and then that damned news crew tromping in and out at all hours.”

  “I can toast up some of this cinnamon swirl loaf to go with it.” Doris pointed her doughy chin at the bread she held.

  Dick grinned and held the porch door open while we trudged inside.

  I set the coffee to drip and directed Doris where to find the knives and cutting board. “I think I’m out of butter. Sorry.”

  Dick rummaged in the bag with the cups. He pulled out a tub of margarine. “Here’s the goose grease. Eunice thinks of everything.”

  I excused myself to change out of my gunk-caked clothes. By the time I returned, Twyla was pouring coffee and Doris had filled a plate with warm cinnamon swirl toast, dripping with margarine.

  Dick sat at the Formica table and talked around the bread in his mouth. “Eunice said Rope and Nat looked pretty torn up.”

  Twyla blew on her coffee. “I can see where Rope would be wrecked. He and Eldon have been close since they were pups. But that Nat, I’d say they was more crocodile tears.”

  I picked up a slice of toast. It smelled good, and it might be smart to let it soak up the Jack in my empty belly.

  Dick warmed his hand on his coffee mug. “I always liked Nat. She was full of spit and vinegar when we were in school.”

  Nat? She seemed like a tangle of anxiety now.

  Doris busied herself putting the cold groceries, a casserole dish, and the Tupperware bowl in my bare refrigerator. “All that trouble with Mick took it out of her.”

  Mick was Danny’s father, Rope and Nat’s only son. He’d got on the wrong side of the law in Omaha and was locked up. That’s why Danny lived with Rope and Nat.

  Twyla sipped noisily. “I wouldn’t wish that hellion on anyone, but Nat was a bitch well before Mick went bad.”

  Doris looked affronted. “I don’t think that’s right.”

  I nibbled at the bread.

  Twyla shrugged. “She’s a slippery one. You knew she told Rope she was pregnant to get him to marry her, and there wasn’t a baby for eight more years. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t shoot Eldon and Ted herself.”

  Dick frowned. “No reason for her to do that.”

  Twyla had a cagey look to her. “Folks liked Eldon because he was generous and helped people out. Like loaning Tuff Henderson money to buy the Stewarts’ place.”

  Doris reached for the bread. “I didn’t know that.”

  Satisfaction that she’d produced new information seeped across Twyla’s face. “Course, Tuff spends all his time bellied up to the bar, so he’s bound to lose it all. But Eldon, he did all sorts of things like that.”

  “That don’t say why Nat should hold a grudge against him,” Dick said.

  Twyla leaned forward. “Well, see, that’s just it. He helped out everyone else but never helped Rope out.”

  “Did Rope want help?” Doris asked. She’d finished another slice and reached for the last one on the plate.

  Twyla set her nearly full cup in the sink. “Don’t know if he cared, but I heard Nat and Roxy complaining about it one time.”

  I perked up. Tending bar, Twyla was privy to all kinds of unguarded conversations, and her insight could be helpful. In such a small town, everyone in the county mingled together, drawing interaction between unlikely partners.

  Dick pushed back from the table. “I don’t believe Nat would shoot anybody.”

  Doris pushed her finger on the bottom of the bread plate to catch the last crumbs. “But she might know who did.”

  Trying not to show my impatience, I ushered them out, and then stood for another fifteen minutes while we indulged the Sandhills custom of saying good-bye, starting another bit of conversation, saying good-bye again, and repeating the process a few more times. It was as expected as an encore at a rock concert.

  It was already early afternoon. I hurried to the calving lot to make sure the cows were okay. Since I’d moved to the ranch, I’d never been this distracted in calving season. Then again, I’d never had a hailstorm of problems like this beat down on me. I thanked whatever good luck had brought the mild weather. In fact, it was better than mild, which probably meant a surprise storm on the way. Though an April storm could hardly be called a surprise.

  With any luck, everything in the calving lot would be copacetic. I’d do a little boning up on Grand County, in anticipation of questions Clete Rasmussen was likely to ask, then get myself cleaned up and presentable.

  All my plans disappeared in a puff of toxic fume
s when Louise’s Suburban charged toward the house. I’d rather hook my foot in a stirrup and be dragged through mud than discuss my wrecked marriage with Louise.

  I kept hiking to the calving lot. “Hi, Louise,” I said, when she threw herself from the Suburban and barked my name.

  “We need to talk.” She actually stomped her foot.

  I considered ignoring her, but that would only keep her at Frog Creek longer. Best take the beating and get it over. I plodded down the hill. “You can talk while I do some stuff.” I passed her on my way to the back porch.

  She stayed on my heels. “I know you’ve been through a lot. It can feel like the end of the world when you find out your husband has been unfaithful.”

  Did she know from experience? I spun around. “You?”

  She raised both hands and waved them. “No, oh no. Norm would never.”

  “Right.” Norman probably wouldn’t change underwear without her approval. I stopped on the back porch and pulled off the ragged hoodie that could use either a wash or a burial.

  “This is just like you to bottle everything up. Glenda was the only one who could ever coax you into letting it out. Lord knows, Mother never even tried.”

  “Mother—‘Mom’ to the rest of us—doesn’t believe in prying.” And Dad didn’t believe in gossip. Neither trait had stuck with Louise.

  Louise huffed. “Or doesn’t care. I’m concerned. You need to talk about your pain or it will fester.”

  I maneuvered around Louise, into the kitchen. “I’m really busy today. I’ll stop in for coffee next week and we’ll hash out every feeling I’ve ever had.”

  She shoved around me to keep me from going into the living room, popping me against the refrigerator.

  I pushed her, not enough to bounce her on the counter, but enough to emphasize my words. “Back off.”

  She braced for battle. “You’re not putting me off this time.”

  I really wasn’t up for this after all. I spun around to escape out the back door.

  Before I got there, she wrangled by me—she had a definite weight advantage—and deposited herself in front of the door, phone in hand, punching furiously.

  “What are you doing?”

  She held the phone up to her ear. “Staging an intervention.”

  “What?”

  She used her pudgy palm for a stop sign and talked into the phone. “Ready? She’s here.”

  I waited to see what came next.

  My sister Diane’s exasperation shot through the speaker. “What the hell are you going to do about Ted?”

  Louise looked annoyed. “We’re supposed to be giving her support.” Louise loved conference calls in equal measure to how much we all hated them. She cast sad eyes toward me. “As your loving family, we want to give you some guidance through this difficult time.” She sounded as though she was reading from a script.

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  Louise lurched toward me, but I dodged before she could smother me in one of her flesh-eating hugs. “That’s only the pain putting up walls. You need to trust us. We’re older and have seen more of this sinful world.”

  Why, oh why hadn’t she been a missionary in Botswana and left the rest of us alone?

  “Hello-o-o.” Diane sounded impatient. “I’ve got a meeting in about two minutes. I want to know what you plan to do about that shit you married.”

  Louise’s gasp of disapproval was predictable. “Diane, please.”

  I pivoted away and shot through the living room, aiming for the front door. Louise surprised me by passing me and getting there first.

  Diane’s voice drilled from the phone. “Look, I know you think you love him and all that bullshit.”

  Louise propped herself against the front door. “I’m sure you don’t use that dirty talk in board meetings.”

  At times like these I longed for a few comic books and a bed to crawl under. Let my sisters hash it out.

  Diane kept talking. “Ted’s been using you for years, making you work the ranch while he plays Marshall Dillon. I hope now you at least see what a misogynistic pig he really is.”

  I switched directions and popped into the office. Maybe I could dig out something from Ted’s files to help me in the debate. Bad idea, because Louise moved to barricade the office doorway.

  “This is not about your divorce, Diane,” Louise said. “We need to let Kate talk.”

  I didn’t.

  Louise began the conversation for me. “I’ve never trusted Roxy. From the time you and Ted first got together I’ve had a feeling she had her eye on him. Is that how you felt?”

  Maybe. Okay, yeah. I should have trusted my instincts.

  “Of course she didn’t trust that bitch Roxy,” Diane said. “But she did the ostrich, head-in-the-sand thing she always does. The issue is not what Roxy did or didn’t do. It’s what her bastard husband did.”

  And they were off to the races, as usual. I could let them rant while going about my business and entering their arguments on my mental t graph: one side for staying, one side for leaving.

  I opened a drawer in Ted’s file cabinet. I had no idea what I might need to know for the debate. I tried to imagine the questions Clete would come up with and what the audience might ask. He’d want to know Ted’s plan for keeping kids from drinking and driving. He’d ask about patrolling during the county fair. He might even ask if and when Ted proposed to hire a deputy, which had been in the budget for three years.

  Louise countered. “Her husband is in the hospital, not knowing whether he’ll walk again. He’s made mistakes, sure. But that doesn’t mean she should shirk her responsibility to him. She married him for better or worse. Just because he faltered, she doesn’t have to compromise her character. Even more so if he’s a paraplegic.”

  Louise earned a point for her side.

  I found a file of this year’s county commissioner meeting minutes. Maybe there was a log of trending crimes for the last few years. That way, I could remark on Ted’s strategy for preventing those, which I’d make up, of course.

  Diane sounded breathless, and I assumed she was rushing toward her meeting. “So, let Roxy take care of him. She wanted him when he walked into her house; see how she likes it when he crawls.”

  Score one for Diane.

  Louise seemed to have forgotten about me. “He’s only a man. She wouldn’t leave him if he developed cancer or some other disease. They’d fight it together. Is this different?”

  Sleeping with an ex-girlfriend versus ALS. Louise didn’t score that point.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Louise. Even your Bible says it’s okay to dump the prick.”

  Louise dove into her favorite topic. I had no trouble moving around her. “The Lord says you may divorce in the case of infidelity, but you don’t have to.”

  I hit the back door when I heard Diane say, “I’ve got to go.” As an aside, she said, “Katie, you know I love you, but you’ve got to grow a pair and boot that prick to the curb.”

  Ah. The sound of a gentle breeze through new leaves soothed my ears. Diane and Louise had laid out the pros and cons of sticking by my man. All I had to do was decide.

  The county debate hovered over my shoulders, breathing down my neck. Despite the early afternoon sun, dark clouds of worry blotted out the cheer. As with so much of my life, everything hinged on Ted.

  So, instead of chores and boning up on Grand County details or making sure I had an ironed shirt, I tumbled into Elvis and took off for the hospital again.

  About halfway to Broken Butte my stomach did swirls that Van Gogh would have appreciated. My mouth flooded, and I had only a few seconds to slam on the brakes and pull over. I didn’t even get out of the car before cinnamon swirl loaf splattered onto the pavement. I heaved until there was nothing left.

  A windmill pumped clear water only a few paces into the pasture, so I climbed out, shimmied through the wires of the fence, and made my way there. I rinsed my mouth with water pumping from the pipe and drank a few sips
, worried that a gulp would hit my gut and start the whole process again. Some people have panic attacks, some slip into depression. I guess I handle emotional upheaval in a lumpier way.

  I climbed back into Elvis and headed down the highway, letting my mind float. Full awareness flashed with a sudden jolt. A washing machine agitated inside. I clamped my lips against the threat. What if my nausea and food aversion weren’t symptoms of emotional distress? Three of my sisters were mothers. Glenda, Louise, and Diane. All three had suffered morning sickness.

  10

  An hour of pointless worry later, I made my way to Ted’s room on feet heavy as a Clydesdale’s. I didn’t see Sid, but Dahlia held a plastic pitcher and watered an arrangement of lilies and daisies.

  Her chatter sounded overly chipper. She started when I entered. “Kate! Why aren’t you getting ready for the debate?”

  Ted, still pale, didn’t say anything. He smelled a little fresher than yesterday, and it looked like his blood circulated, even if it wasn’t enough to give him a rosy glow.

  “I’m heading that way soon.” I gave Dahlia an assessing study. “You probably want to get cleaned up yourself, so you’d better get going.”

  She rewarded me with an uncertain look, wondering what shortcoming I’d noticed and how extensive the repairs would be. She set the pitcher on the radiator next to the flowers and leaned close to Ted, rubbing his arm. “I do need to wash my hair and make sure Sid wears something clean. Will you be okay?”

  He manufactured a weak smile and patted her hand. “Thanks for staying with me all afternoon.”

  She kissed his forehead. “That’s what you do when you love someone.”

  Subtle, Dahlia. I waited while they exchanged a few more admiring and loving words, and dodged the daggers Dahlia shot at me as she sashayed out of the room.

  I leaned on the radiator that ran the length of the room, underneath the window, and placed my open palm on my belly. If my curdling stomach wasn’t caused by emotional turmoil but by a baby growing inside me, then Ted and I would be attached forever, even if we weren’t married.

  “It’s good to see you,” Ted said. The buttery feel of his tone and sincere affection in his eyes smothered me.