Jackson Hill rose from his knees and lounged next to the wagon seat on the covered porch.
“Did you lose something?” Develyn asked.
“Look!” Casey pointed to the bench.
Develyn scanned the collage of carved initials.
“There…inside the heart!” Casey grinned.
“Oh, J. H. plus C.C.R? Does that mean Jackson loves Credence Clearwater Revival?”
Casey stuck out her tongue.
“How's the store?”
“It wasn't what I expected at all,” Jackson said.
“Disorganized?”
“Just the opposite. Mrs. Tagley has charts under the counter about what products should be on each shelf, how many should be there, and what her wholesale price is. It's incredible record keeping. This might be the easiest store in Wyoming to run.”
“Good for her.” Develyn led them into the store's main room. “She once told me that she writes everything down so she won't worry about forgetting things. She's quite a lady for being ninety-four.”
“Her records show she's getting a delivery in the morning from the wholesale outfit in Casper,” Jackson explained. “There won't be enough money in the till to pay for it. What do you think we should do?”
Develyn tapped the counter with her fingers like a snare drumroll. “I'll ask Mrs. Tagley this afternoon.”
A loud bray from the yard bought all three back to the front door.
“Your watch-burro is having problems,” Casey said.
“I'm sure it's Leon. He's decided to torment Uncle Henry. I'll take him back to the cabin and put him in the corrals with Coop's horses.”
“Leon?” Jackson grinned.
“Hmmm, I'm tempted. I'm sure you two can take care of the store for a while by yourselves.”
“Oh, no more hovering over me?”
“Nope, you're on your own, girl.”
“I didn't mind you treating me that way.”
“I mind. I need to learn to be different.”
A second bray scurried Develyn out on the porch. “Leon, what did you throw at Uncle Henry?”
The dark-haired boy gawked from behind the tree. “A carrot. I thought he looked hungry.”
“Uncle Henry does not eat carrots.”
“Sure he does, look at him.”
The burro licked a dusty carrot off the dirt and began to munch on it.
“Baby, don't put that dirty thing in your mouth!” She dashed over to the startled burro.
“What are you doing now, Ms. Worrell?” Casey called out from the porch.
“Uncle Henry …”
“He's acting like an animal. You don't want him to be a fifth-grader, too, do you?”
Develyn folded her arms and ground her teeth. “You're right, Casey, Uncle Henry can eat anything he wants. But I am going to lead him home and put him in the corrals.”
An off-key trumpet blasted, and Leon scampered back toward his grandmother's.
Develyn scooped up three dirty carrots and hiked back toward the cabin.
Lord, this is a lot harder than it looks. How do you do it? How do you give all us sinful, rebellious people so much freedom? I have a tough time letting a wild burro eat carrots off the dirt. Or allowing a thirty-year-old woman spend time alone with anyone she wants. How do you sit back and let us do so many questionable things?
Uncle Henry snapped his teeth. She gave him another carrot.
“Perhaps I haven't been giving you a very balanced diet. I'm not sure I've had one either. Some things will be nice to return to. But then, I don't eat well at home either.” She stared at the carrots. “No, honey, I'm not going to eat one of your dirty treats. There is no telling where it came from.”
The rumble of a vehicle behind her caused Develyn and Uncle Henry to scoot over to the side of the dirt road. A huge motor home towing a horse trailer and sporting Kansas license plates pulled up beside them. The tinted, electronic window yawned open. A man with a buckskin shirt and raccoon fur hat leaned out.
“Howdy, ma'am. Do you speak English?”
Develyn studied his sunburned face, then glanced at the heavyset woman wearing a calico dress and bonnet. I have never been asked that in my life. “Yes, I do.”
“Oh, good. I'm Mean Missouri River Marvin, and this mountain mama is Two-Shoes Katie.”
The woman in calico rolled her eyes. “I'm Katherine.”
“Is this the trail to the rendezvous?” he asked.
“Which rendezvous are you talking about?”
“The Mountain Man rendezvous and black powder shoot.”
“Where is it held?”
“On Rawhide Creek at the base of Carter Mountain,” he said.
“I'm not familiar with those places.”
“It's on the Pitchfork Ranch,” Katherine explained.
“Two-Shoes Katie, I told you we weren't going to call it that,” the man scolded.
“Marvin, I told you not to call me Two-Shoes until we got to the rendezvous. Until then, I'm an accountant's wife from Topeka.”
“Never mind Two-Shoes. She's peeved because she spent yesterday out in the sun gathering genuine buffalo chips.”
Develyn glanced over at the lady. “Really?”
“That part is true. Mr. Everything Authentic insisted we spend the day gathering genuine buffalo chips. The man at the Buffalo ranch thought we were crazy, of course.”
“We'll be the only ones at the rendezvous with genuine buffalo chips,” he boasted.
Develyn swiped her blonde bangs off her forehead. “Well, the Pitchfork Ranch is west of Meeteetse. Go back out to Highway 20, drive up through Thermopolis, then follow the signs. I think you'll turn west right near the creek. That should get you in the neighborhood.”
Katherine stood, then pointed to the back of the motor home. “Well, we aren't there yet, and I want some coffee.” She glanced out at Develyn. “Would you like a latte?”
“I would love one, if you have some half-and-half. You have an espresso machine?”
“Yes, it helps me keep in touch with reality. You can call me Katie, but leave off the Two-Shoes.”
“I'm Develyn.”
“Ah-hah! Devil Woman, that's…”
“Marvin!” his wife snapped.
He winced when the pointed elbow clipped his shoulder. “Anyway, I can't take the highway. We want to follow Ol' Gabe's trail.”
“Old Gabe?” Develyn asked.
“Jim Bridger.”
“You're looking for the Bridger Trail?”
“Yep.”
“If you continue east along the railroad tracks, this road will turn north. The first dry gulch you cross will have a narrow trail high on the north rim. That path is said to be part of the Bridger Trail.”
“Can I drive the motor home down it?”
“I don't think so. There isn't any road.”
“I can drive this sucker across any terrain.”
“You can't drive an ATV down it, let alone a motor home. I would guess that even Uncle Henry would have trouble in places. Besides, the trail is washed out after…”
“Can I hire your Uncle Henry to act as scout?”
She pointed to the donkey. “Uncle Henry is my burro.”
“How much you want for him?”
“He's not for sale.”
“I'll rent him. Give you five hundred dollars for two weeks. He can lead the way down the Bridger Trail.”
“He's not for rent either. I didn't say he knew the trail, just that it wasn't much wider than him in places. You'll need to go back to the highway.”
“I didn't drive all the way out here from Topeka just to cruise down a blacktop road. No, ma'am, this is an authentic rendezvous. I'm following Bridger's trail wherever I can.”
Katherine appeared at the window. “Hand this down to Develyn.”
Develyn took the Styrofoam cup. “Thank you very much.”
“Marvin, you heard her. We need to go back to the highway.”
“Two-Shoes, we are going on the Bridger Trail. I can feel it in my bones.”
“All I can feel is a migraine coming on,” Katherine said. “I'm going back to take a nap.”
“Follow this road, then turn right just past the first creek?”
“Turn left,” Develyn corrected.
“Got it. We're a comin', ol' Gabe, we're a-comin'.”
The giant travel home lurched forward in a swirl of thin, yellow dust.
“You know what I'm thinking, Uncle Henry? There are worse things than being forty-five and single. My life seems quite sane and peaceful.” She took a sip. “Two-Shoes Katie knows how to make a good latte.”
Develyn spied the white Ford pickup the minute she turned up the long dirt driveway to the cabin.
Hunter Burke? What's he doing here at this time of the day? What's he doing here at all? She said she had a date tonight. It is not night.
Develyn tried to pace herself but refrained from jogging.
Why aren't they on the porch? Where is he? If he's in the cabin, this is going to stop, and it's going to stop right now. I don't know this man. Delaney doesn't know him.
She shoved open the unpainted wooden door. “Delaney?”
The shadows of the cluttered room came into focus. “Dee, where are you?”
Develyn breezed through the cabin and back out the front door.
“Delaney?”
She stomped to the white pickup. They had better not be in that truck. I don't see them, but that doesn't mean … She jerked open the front door on the passenger side, then the extended cab door. When she did, a handgun tumbled to the dirt beside her feet.
She stared at it, glanced around at the empty yard, then picked up the gun. A 38 special? When she shoved it in behind the seat, she noticed several rifles.
Are those hunting guns? How would I know what's a hunting gun? Everyone in Wyoming has some kind of gun in their rig.
She eased the door closed and walked back toward the cabin. “Delaney!”
The voice was distant. “Out here, Mom!”
Develyn scurried to the pasture. Hunter Burke and Delaney stood next to My Maria.
“Your mare got tangled in some wire, Mrs. Worrell. I just stopped to get the wire loose,” Hunter called out.
“She did?”
Delaney and Hunt strolled back toward the gate.
“It was lucky that Hunt came along when he did,” Delaney said.
“Yes, well, thank you, Hunter. I appreciate that.”
He tipped his hat that revealed no tan line on the forehead. “No problem, Mrs. Worrell. I was on my way to …”
“To see your friend, Billy?”
“Yep.”
“Don't let us keep you.”
“Mother.”
“Honey, I know you and Casey need to go to town. You'll want to change clothes.”
“I will?”
“You walk Hunter to his truck. I'll see what you have that's clean.”
“Everything's clean. We just bought all new clothes, remember?”
“Oh, good, that should make it easy. Thanks again, Hunter.”
“Yes, ma'am.” He tipped his hat and sauntered to the white Ford truck.
From the cabin window, Develyn could see Delaney leaning through the open window.
I don't understand this, Lord. Why am I so paranoid about Hunter? It's as if there's a bear prowling outside, and I want to pull my baby to safety.
Develyn felt a deep release when Hunter drove away and Delaney started for the cabin.
“You were rude, Mother. I have plenty of time to get to the doctor.”
“I'm sorry for that. And I'm sorry about the clothing remark. I shouldn't have said that. I wouldn't go to the doctor in denim shorts and a tank top with my belly button showing, but you can wear whatever you want.”
“Mother, you wouldn't wear anything that exposed your belly button.”
“Probably not, but I'm from a different generation.” Maybe a different world.
“You know what, Mother? I've never seen your belly button.”
“Nonsense.”
“No, really, you always wear one-piece bathing suits. I do not know what my own mother's belly button looks like.”
“Honey, you know me. I'm not comfortable wearing clothes like that.”
“I didn't say you had to wear hip-huggers and short shirts. It just dawned on me that I have never seen your belly button.”
Develyn chewed on her tongue, then sighed. She untucked her blouse and yanked it up a few inches. “There!”
Delaney giggled. “Wow, I can't believe you did that.”
Develyn felt her face redden. “Neither can I.”
“You have a cute belly button, Mom.”
“Thank you. I've never considered a belly button cute.”
“You ought to pierce it and wear a ring.”
“Absolutely not. There's no way I'm going to pierce anything else. Not my belly button, not my nose, not my eyebrow, not my anything. The ears were bad enough, but no more.”
“Why don't you just come right out and say what you think, Mom? No reason to beat around the bush,” Delaney laughed.
Develyn hugged her daughter. “I've never been one to keep my opinions to myself. How about you? What do you have pierced, besides your ears?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Probably not,” Develyn said. “Just tell me that you didn't pierce your…”
“I didn't.”
“Good.”
“Of course you didn't ask me about the tattoo.”
“What tattoo?”
“The rose one.”
“Do I want to know where it is?”
“No.”
“Let's change the subject.”
Delaney pulled her hair back. “Why were you so rude to Hunt?”
“Honey, I told you. He makes me nervous. There's something about him …”
“You too?”
“No, I get a feeling inside that…”
“I know. There's a cool mystery about him. Sort of like a young James Bond, right?”
“What?”
“Oh, my word, are you jealous of me, Mother? Do you like him too? Well, he likes me better, and you just can't handle that.”
“That's absurd. I think…”
“This is a first. I made my mother jealous over some man.”
“This conversation is turning bizarre.”
“You are really jealous. Do you know how good that makes me feel?”
“Dee, that is not what I meant. I assure you, I am not…”
“Of course not, Mother. It would be too embarrassing to admit. I understand that. I have a hard time admitting all the times I was jealous of you.”
“Of me?”
“This might be the most wonderful day of my life!” Delaney declared.
And when you get the doctor's report, it could be the most devastating.
Develyn was standing next to Jackson Hill when Casey and Delaney drove off to Riverton.
“What's the schedule now?” he asked.
“I'm going to have an orange Popsicle. Would you like one?”
“No, thank you. But I do want to look at the picture.”
“What picture?”
“Of this guy named Hunter who says he knows me but never stops by when I'm around.”
“Oh, yes, I left Coop's camera in Mrs. Tagley's living room yesterday. Get me two double-A batteries.”
Develyn started into the store, but Jackson paused.
“What are the rules here? Am I allowed in the store at the same time you are?”
Develyn glanced at Jackson's thin, strong face.
“I must be about the most controlling person you ever met. I'm sorry for being so bossy. You can come and go in the store as you like, whether it's me or Casey or whoever. I can't believe I told you two some of those things.”
“You're a lot like my mother.”
“Yes, it's the schoolteacher mind-set, no doubt.”
They stood behind the counter inside the store as Dev fumbled to install the new batteries. “OK, let me turn it on. Here.”
“That's cute,” Jackson grinned. “Hunter looks a lot like Cooper Tallon.”
“That's the wrong picture.”
Develyn pressed the silver button again.
“There. Do you know this guy?”
“It's David.”
“No, his name is Hunter Burke.”
Jackson studied the picture closer. “No, it's David Vincent.”
“Who's David Vincent?”
“A guy I went to high school with. He graduated two years behind me.”
“Are you sure it's him?”
“Oh, it's David.”
“I wonder why he changed his name?”
“I don't know. I haven't seen him since he went back east to college. He had a full ride to Yale.”
“Hunter had a full scholarship to Yale?”
“I heard he got his master's at the University of Paris.”
“This is not the same guy,” Develyn insisted. “What did he major in?”
“History. Last I heard he was doing research at some big museum in New England.”
“This is definitely not the same guy.”
“I haven't seen him in eight years. If that's not David, I don't know who it is.”
“I don't believe this Hunter graduated from Yale.”
“Then there's no reason to tell you that I graduated summa cum laude with a degree in philosophy from Harvard?”
“You did? Jackson, that's…that's wonderful.”
“No, I didn't. But for a second you believed it. That's my point. You believed it about me but not about him. How do you know the guy who calls himself Hunter Burke didn't graduate from Yale?”
“A point well taken, Mr. Hill. No more stereotypes. But the next time he stops by, I want you around to visit with him.”
“Maybe he got that job up in Cody.”
“What job?”
“Assistant curator. My mom knows his mother, and she said David applied for some important job at the museum in Cody.”
“Wait a minute. You mean to tell me the man hanging around my daughter, the one who stashes gas and bullets out at Coop's springs, the one who showed up mysteriously when we had a flat tire, this guy is a Yale graduate and a museum curator?”
“Does it change your opinion of him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he still creepy?”
“Yes, but now he's a highly intelligent creep.”
Jackson leaned against the counter. “What do we do now, wait for the lines of customers to flood in? I'll be the bag boy; you can be the cashier.”
“I'm going to get my orange Popsicle and eat it outside.”
He followed her out the door. “Casey said watching you eat a Popsicle is quite an event.”
Develyn plopped down on the bench and tugged off the wrapper. “Oh, she did? Well, I do know how to enjoy every lick. Most people are rank amateurs.”
“You don't have to just lick it. You can bite right into it. That way it doesn't spill on your shirt.”
“I would have thought a man who graduated summa summa summa from Harvard would know better than that.”
“I was sick the spring they had the confectionary consumption class,” he laughed. “Perhaps you can school me.”
“Always happy to enlighten those still dwelling in darkness. What you need to do is take long licks. You put your tongue at the base, near the stick, and lick all the way to the top.”
“You never bite it?”
“Never. It kills the taste. You might as well chew an ice cube. And no matter what, you never, ever break it. There is only one Popsicle in a bag, not two.”
“But there are two sticks.”
“Look at the bag. What does it say?”
“Popsicle.”
“Precisely. It does not say Popsicles. For full flavor and texture, the two sticks must remain in the ice until the last possible moment.”
“That sounds like a very messy way to eat a Popsicle.”
“Oh, it is a dull, boring lad who chooses function over flavor. How terribly sad to be thirty-two years old and never savor the exquisite yet delicate delight of the juice from an orange Popsicle.”
“I was culturally deprived.”
“And your mother a teacher? Oh, don't tell me she never taught you how to eat peanut M&Ms?”
“I don't suppose you pop them in your mouth and chew them up?”
“Oh, my heart. How could you suggest such a thing? No, my poor, wretched friend, you gently let the hard candy shell dissolve on the top of your tongue, rolling it over and over so you will hit the milk chocolate all at once. Then you let it sit on your tongue and slowly dissolve its cocoa bean juices. Finally, when the peanut is as naked as a baby's bottom, you reward yourself by crushing it between your teeth.”
“I won't even ask what you do with an artichoke.”
“Oh, heavens, I don't have enough time to teach you that. In some midwest colleges, you can major in artichokes.”
Jackson flopped down on the bench beside her. “You don't exactly fit the stereotype of a fifth-grade teacher. You are a really funny lady.”
“You know what, Jackson? I would never have launched into that tirade in Indiana. I have an image to uphold. But out here I get to relax and cut loose. I like it. I don't like being serious all the time.”
“Can we be serious for just a minute?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Ms. Worrell, I'd like to ask your permission to marry Casey.”
Develyn patted his knee. “You don't need my permission.”
“Casey wanted me to ask you. And I wanted to. You see, Casey wants to get married, and I want to marry her. But I'd surely like a third opinion on the matter. What kind of husband does she need, Ms. Worrell?”
“She needs a man who is strong yet gentle. But also very patient, someone with slow hands. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Is that because of what happened when she was younger?”
“Yes, it is. Did she tell you?”
“She said you would tell me because it made her hurt too bad to have to tell it herself. Was she abused when she was a little girl?”
“Casey was raped by three men when she was about fifteen.”
He sat straight up and slammed his fist into his knee. “Did they get arrested?”
“No, Casey was on her own, and there was no one to stand up for her. She was too humiliated to get a physical exam. She is one tough girl, Jackson. I can't think of anyone else I would rather have with me in some dark alley in Chicago. But she needs to be treated with extra tenderness in some areas.”
“I think I figured that part out.”
“She can be cocky, almost arrogant, aggressive; but inside she's scared of being hurt. Not physically. I'm convinced she'd take on the devil himself face-to-face, but she is scared of being emotionally hurt. Right now she is so scared that she might lose you.”
“Lose me?”
“She loves you, Jackson, and wants you more than anything she has ever wanted.”
“I love her, too, Ms. Worrell. What worries me most is what if I'm not the best she can do? What if there is someone better for her, and here I am trying to squeeze into her life?”
“She is a bold, fearless woman. She will go anywhere and do anything with you. She holds little regard for material possessions. Jackson Hill, you won't need much to support her at the level to which she is accustomed. But she will need continual assurance of your love. Her bravado is grand, but her self-esteem is low. Be patient.”
“Sort of like you eating that dripping Popsicle?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then you give us your permission?”
“You know I'm not related to Casey. But you two have my unreserved blessing to get married.”
“I have one more request. Since Casey doesn't have any family, she's adopted you as a surrogate mom. Would it be alright if I adopt you as a surrogate mother-in-law?”
“Only if you promise never to tell any of those horrible mother-in-law jokes, no matter how true they might be.”
“That's a promise.”
“If I'm the mother-in-law, you have to bring the kids to see me so I get to babysit.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“Yes, I am. Now, when will this wedding take place? Casey hints about waiting until next June, but somehow I just don't believe her.”
“We have to get the jobs thing settled,” he reported. “I can't support a wife on a wrangler's pay.”
“What kind of job are you looking for?”
“It doesn't matter. I want to pay the bills and have lots of time to be happy. I've been chasing dreams my whole life with education, with rodeo, with ranch work…Casey is the first dream I've ever caught and the only one that matters. I'd love to be my own boss, but there aren't a lot of positions out there for a Harvard grad, summa cum laude in philosophy.”
Develyn laughed and shook her head. “You can't fool me again, Mr. Hill.” She noticed a drop of orange splash on the porch and leaned over for a long lick. “Let me guess. You graduated from junior college as a secondary education major, took a few classes at the University of Wyoming, then dropped out to be a big rodeo star. How close did I come?”
“You missed it by six hundred miles.”
“Six hundred?”
“That's the distance between the University of Wyoming in Laramie and Montana State in Bozeman. But you are right about the major. Do all teachers' kids end up education majors?”
“Mainly those who admire their parents.”
“Is Delaney an education major?”
“She was, but she changed it to communications after her freshman year. That was the first of many changes. Jackson, did you ever consider finishing college and getting your teaching degree?”
“Now you are sounding like my mama.”
A white Buick sedan with Ohio license plates pulled into the dirt parking area in front of the store. Develyn watched as an older, white-haired man wearing a blue golf shirt, khaki Bermudas, black socks, and shoes emerged from the car and hurried around and opened the door for a woman in crisp white tennies that contrasted with the deep purple slacks and matching short-sleeved blouse. Arm in arm, they sauntered up to the porch.
Jackson stood and opened the door. “Good morning, and welcome to Argenta.”
“Thank you. We pulled off looking for a store. This is a store, isn't it?” the lady asked.
“Argenta's finest.”
The man grinned and nodded at Develyn. “I told my Barbara that it had to be open because there were young people on the porch eating Popsicles.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
The lady offered a soft smile. “When you're our age, everyone is a young person.”
As they entered the store, Develyn listened to Jackson's voice. “What can I find for you?”
“We need some of those cold/flu pills that fizz. I saw them on Oprah and felt like we need to take one before we get to Yellowstone.”
The voices filtered through the screen door. Develyn leaned over to hear the conversation.
“This is a little store, but we do have two different types of pills for that. You may certainly buy that one. The other we have is a couple of dollars cheaper, and the May issue of Consumer Today rates it more effective. Buy whatever you are confident in, but my mother says the cheaper ones really work.”
“Is that your mother on the porch?”
Develyn flopped back against the wagon seat and chewed on her Popsicle stick.
“No, my mother teaches school up in Sheridan. Every winter she used to get the same colds that the students got, but this stuff has kept her healthy the past couple of years.”
“I was superintendent of schools for thirty-one years,” the man proclaimed. “Let's take the young man's suggestion.”
“Well, I hate to shun dear Oprah. Why don't we buy both, dear? That way we can compare.”
Develyn rubbed her tennis shoe on the orange spot on the porch as if that would erase it. You are a salesman, Jackson Hill. They will be inviting you to visit them any time now.
When they emerged from the store, the man carried a small plastic bag. The lady toted an orange Popsicle.
She nodded at Develyn. “I haven't had one of these in years.”
“They are very tasty.”
The man led the way across the dirt yard. “Come along, Barb. We'll walk down to that corral and back for a little exercise.”
The woman turned to Dev. “He won't let me eat it in the car. He's afraid I'll drip it on the leather seats. Says I eat them too slow.”
“She just licks and licks and licks until she makes a mess,” the man reported.
Develyn glanced at Jackson, who stood in the doorway. He shook his head.
She marveled at the number of customers who found their way to Mrs. Tagley's. She had just restocked the soda case when a honk from a large truck brought her out to the porch.
Cooper Tallon drove a dump truck with a trailered skip-loader towed behind. “I thought you might be here,” he called out. “Did you pull everything out of the rubble that you want? The rest will be hauled off.”
She glanced back. “You are on your own, Jackson. I'll stop back on my way to Casper to see Mrs. Tagley. Be sure and get something to eat for lunch. Help yourself to what's in her fridge. It will all spoil before she comes home.”
She trotted out to the truck and could barely hear Jackson's “Yes, Mother.”
“Hey, truck driver, can you give a girl a ride?”
“Sorry, lady, I never give rides to purdy women.”
Develyn yanked her mouth wide open with her fingers and stuck her tongue out. “Is that ugly enough for a ride?”
“That will work,” Cooper laughed. “Come on.”
They pulled into the long driveway back to the cabin and noticed Leon running toward them. Cooper stopped the rig, and Develyn rolled down the window.
“I'm going home, and you can't talk me out of it,” he cried.
“What's the matter, Leon?” she asked.
“I'm not going to play with him again.”
“Play with whom?”
“I went up to let your pony mule out of the pen, and he bit me in the butt.”
“Uncle Henry bit you?”
“It hurt.”
“I'm sorry, Leon. I'll scold him.”
“Tell him I ain't comin' back.”
“I'll mention that.”
Leon spun around. “Did he rip my jeans?”
Develyn noticed a half-eaten carrot sticking out of his pocket. “No, they are fine.”
Leon pulled up his wrinkled red T-shirt and wiped his eyes. Develyn noticed foot-long, parallel scars sliced diagonally across his stomach. She reach into her pocket and pulled out three quarters. Develyn leaned out the window and handed them down. “Leon, why don't you stop by the store for a Little Debbie. Maybe that will make you feel better.”
He grabbed the quarters. “Yes, ma'am,” he grinned, “I reckon it will.”
Cooper eased the truck and trailer into the yard. “I guess Uncle Henry gained a little respect.”
“Yes. Did you see…”
“I saw.”
“Do you think…”
“Those weren't scars from surgery, Dev. No one has parallel incisions. But they looked old. Do you know anything about Leon before he came to visit his grandmother?”
“No. I haven't heard a thing. It certainly changes my attitude.”
Cooper drove on up the drive. “I reckon all of us have a few hidden scars.”