Beth watched the Rover disappear over the rise and turn away. The encounter with Lang Dillon had distracted her, but now the crushing hurt of the last few hours bore down. In shock at the cataclysmic and abrupt change in direction her life had taken in only a few hours, the usually stoic Morgan daughter sat in a porch rocker and breathed deeply, glad to be home.
She had spoken only five words to Bill: “Get out while I pack.” He had complied, his lover following at his heels. She had raced around the condo, throwing as many of her belongings into bags and boxes as she could. What a nightmare. She bent over, head in hands, and sobbed.
Always the quiet, solid Morgan, Beth had never been given to outbursts or strong displays of emotion. She could not remember the last time she had cried. Solid, dependable Beth had escaped ranch living to reside in Tucson with her beloved Bill, her former professor. They had made a comfortable life for themselves away from the ranch where she worked every day. Their activities mostly centered around Bill’s university friends, which suited her just fine.
Growing up, her siblings were constantly surrounded by friends, but Beth had few. Bookish and shy, she spent most of her free time with a nose in her books or helping out on the ranch’s vast farm. Morgan’s Run had the largest organic farm in the state, which she now ran with her sister, Ruthie, and workers who had been surrogate parents to them both. Bill and the farm were her entire life.
She met Bill her first week at the University of Arizona when she enrolled in his Biology 101, a huge first-year class with over a hundred students. She had remained after class on that first day to ask Professor Sampson to sign her gray card to allow her into the course. He had signed it and asked if she wanted to go for coffee. It was Bill’s first year of teaching. Shy and reserved like herself, he sensed a kindred spirit in the lovely young woman eight years his junior. They often laughed about that encounter and how Bill had not yet learned to set boundaries between himself and students.
They had dated on and off for three years before he asked her to move in with him senior year. Her parents had screamed, yelled, and begged her to stay in the dorm, but once she made up her mind, Beth could seldom be dissuaded. Five years ago, they had moved from Bill’s faculty apartment to a condo near the foothills, with hiking trails right outside their door. They had purchased it together, and she groaned thinking about the headache of dividing their very mingled assets, which included joint checking and savings accounts, the condo, and land they had purchased to the north, near Flagstaff. Their intention had been to build a vacation cabin in the next few years and spend a good part of each summer in the mountains they both loved.
She moaned as fresh sobs wracked her slender frame. This was how her older brother found her, head in hands, crying. Ben could not remember his sister crying since she was ten and fell off her horse, and even then there had not been audible wailing, just a few tears streaking her face.
“Hey, Beth, what’s going on?”
He took the porch steps in one stride and knelt in front of his sibling. Of all the Morgan children, Beth and Ben were closest, their relationship largely unspoken, borne by an appreciation for and understanding of each other. However, dealing with uncontrollable weeping was uncharted territory for the dust-covered cowboy, who had stopped in at the house for his father’s map box.
She gazed up at her handsome brother, his chestnut eyes full of concern. He had pushed his hat back, and a line of grime and sweat crisscrossed his brow, his dark brown hair flecked with red dust. “Where have you been?”
“Harley and I have been breaking in a new mustang. Morning was a little wilder than we anticipated.” He meant Harley Langdon, his oldest friend, with whom he ran the ranch’s stables. He smiled his hundred-watt smile that made every woman swoon, including his bride of nine months, Maggie Williams, one of the wranglers with whom he worked.
“Never mind me. What the hell’s happened to you?”
“Could you help me carry the bags up to the pony room?” she asked, referring to one of the upstairs bedrooms, originally their brother Kyle’s room and now one of the home’s guest rooms.
They each grabbed bags, and with two trips, all had been stowed in the light-filled bedroom, its wallpaper still festooned with cowboys and their horses in bright reds, blues, and oranges. By tacit agreement, they went to the kitchen and grabbed iced tea, which they took to the back terrace. It was market day for Carmela, the cook and housekeeper. No one was about, including their mother, Leonora.
“So?” he said, eyes full of concern.
“So, I found Bill in bed with a grad student, and I’ve left him. Period, end of story.”
“The bastard. I’ll kill him.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Harley and I’ll go down and have a talk with him, then.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll deal with Bill, but not now. I need a few days, maybe weeks, to pull myself together.”
“Jesus, what’s it been, six years?”
“Seven, living together. Ten, if you count the years we dated.”
“I’m sorry, Beth. Are you sure you want to camp here? Maggie and I have plenty of room. We’d loved to have you.”
“Thanks, but I’ll manage. I’ll stay out at the farm as late as I can and find ways to escape Mother’s meddling till I figure things out.”
“Uh-oh, speak of the devil. I think I just heard her pulling up.”
“Time to face the music. What were you doing here, anyway?”
“Grabbing Dad’s map box. Want me to stay?”
“No, go. I know how to deal with Leonora.”
Ben headed through the house, grabbed the box, and met his mother in the drive.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”
He held up the box.
“Be careful with that. You know how you father is about his trail maps.”
“I’m actually gonna take it into town later today and get two or three copies made of all these so we can keep a set at the barn.”
“Have you got time for a cool drink?”
“No, just had one with Beth.”
“What’s she doing up here in the middle of the afternoon?”
Ben regarded his mother, who was still a blonde beauty. In her late fifties now, Leonora had married her college sweetheart. She and Ben Senior were still as much in love now as they had been at nineteen. He hated to tell her about Beth. His mother liked order and predictability. When order and predictability were absent, she worked overtime until they were restored. Poor Beth.
He gave their mother a quick rundown of the situation, ending with, “Just let her be, Mom. Let her cry it out for a few days. She’s strong. We’ll help her through it.”
“Beth doesn’t cry.”
“Well, she does today, and she needs to let it all out. If I could get my hands on Sampson, I’d wring his neck, the jerk.”
“Your father will kill him.”
“Not if Harley and I get to him first.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll do no such thing. You have a family now.”
Ben thought about his beautiful wife, Maggie, and their daughter, Emma. Yes, he did have a family and felt like the luckiest man on earth, which made his beloved sister’s situation even more upsetting. Bill might have been a bit on the dull side, but he seemed steady and reliable, and he had clearly made Beth happy until today. He might not kill him, but they would certainly have words.