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I AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING after a dreamless sleep to a cornucopia of smells: coffee, fresh-baked cinnamon rolls, and bacon. Last night Opal and Sissally had hovered over me like two mother hens until I assured them I only needed a good night’s sleep. Exhaustion had overtaken me, and I’d slept through the night without ghostly visitors. But I remembered Max’s warning that I would need professional help to work through what I had seen and done—a dead woman floating in a river, and taking someone’s life.
I followed the murmur of voices. Opal stirred something on the stove. Sissally stood leaning against the sink, coffee cup in hand. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said, pushing off the sink to envelop me in a hug. Opal rattled off the breakfast menu while pouring me a cup of coffee. I ate like a lumberjack and sighed with contentment before refusing a third cinnamon roll. Okay, I took half of one. Fibbing comes so easy.
“I need to go to Two Rivers. To the hospital. To see Max.” My voice was shaky, my sentences short and choppy.
“Understandable,” Opal said. “I’ve packed a lunch, and the car’s gassed and ready to go.”
I stood and gripped the back of the wooden chair for stability. “Thank you both so much. I don’t know what I would have done without your help.”
I used the drive time to Two Rivers to recap to Sissally what had happened after Max and I rode away from the camp. Sissally followed her cell phone’s directions, and we arrived in the visitor parking lot of the Two Rivers Regional Hospital. Nervousness squeezed my gut as we walked through the glass doors into the lobby of the hospital. A grandmotherly type asked how she could help—her name tag read Martha, Volunteer.
I took the lead. “We are looking for Max Ryan’s room.”
“Third floor, room 311. He’s sure a lucky young man to have so many visitors,” Martha said.
After we got into the elevator, Sissally asked, “I wonder who else is visiting him?”
I shrugged. “He said he has a girlfriend.”
“Oh, that sucks. I thought you two had chemistry.” We followed the signs to Max’s room and stopped at the open door of room 311. The privacy curtain was pulled open and we saw Max hooked to monitors that flashed green and blue lights. A line from an IV bag snaked down his left arm. His black stubble sharply contrasted against the white pillowcase.
I have fallen in love with this man. The realization rattled me, and I wanted to rush to his side and tell him.
But that didn’t happen, because just then a curvaceous woman in a clingy knit dress walked to Max’s bedside, bent over, and gave him a lingering kiss on the lips.
“Oh, that really sucks,” Sissally whispered in my ear, tugging me away from the scene.
“Ms. McKeena?” Special Agent Sorenson’s voice sounded from my left. “I thought I told you to not leave Eagle Landing unless you cleared it with me.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“I have some follow-up questions for you. Be at the Eagle Landing sheriff’s office at three this afternoon.” She stood looking at me until I nodded in understanding. Then she turned away, her black rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the polished tile floor.
I turned to look back into Max’s room. The woman was now lying on half the bed, twirling her fingers through her black silky hair. She was a green-eyed perfect size four. She and Max would have beautiful babies together.
“I’m done here,” I said. “Let’s go.”
The ride back to Opal’s house was quiet. I felt as if I was in mourning—the loss of Nakita, a woman I knew briefly; of Wanda Gasby, a woman I never met; of David/Max, the man I’d fallen in love with. And most painful, the loss of my character, Serena. I knew that after all this, I wouldn’t have the stomach to write again about another human being dying.
As we pulled into Opal’s driveway, Sissally asked, “What’s your next move?”
“I have an invite to the sheriff’s office at three.”
“I mean are you going to fight for the man you obviously are in love with?”
I shook my head. “I don’t see the point. Our lives are on the opposite ends of the spectrum. He’s FBI and lives this wild and dangerous life. And after what happened on Dryhead Mountain, I just want to go home to my ranch in Wyoming and maybe get a job selling french fries and ice cream.”
“Serena would never do that.”
“True. But Serena lives in a made-up world—one where she’s always in danger, catching the bad guy, and then moving on to the next 80,000 words to do it all over again. I can’t.”
“I think you just need time. Let’s go stuff ourselves like little piggies, because you know Opal’s been cooking all morning.”
***
I DECLINED A RIDE TO the sheriff’s office; I needed the half-mile walk to clear my head. I passed the city park where sounds of noisy children filtered through the air. Young mothers pushed strollers, shades pulled to protect new skin from the July sun. An older gentleman walked with the help of a cane, a too-fat dog panting at his side.
A normal summer day. For them. But I felt angry, cheated that I couldn’t enjoy the world around me because I’d been forced to make a life or death decision. And I’d chosen life—for me. Which meant someone else had to die—and the decision was unraveling me. Max had been right—I would need professional help to get through this.
A couple crossed in front of me, holding hands and laughing, reminding me I had thought about pursuing a relationship with David Brown. But David didn’t exist. He was just a made-up name, a character playing a part. Maybe that would be how I’d look at it, how I would get over the feeling that had snuck up on me.
Special Agent Sorenson cleared me of any wrongdoing in the death of Morgan Weatherby after a few more questions. I signed my statement and walked out of the sheriff’s office. Case closed.
I needed to replace the cell phone Morgan had smashed, and I needed wheels. I had unfinished business out at the TRO Ranch. Hometown Motors agreed to rent me a Ford Ranger, and the Town Pump truck stop provided me a burner phone and fuel to drive the sixty-mile round trip. I’d have to wait until I was at my computer to find my contact numbers. Sadly, I didn’t even know my mother’s number to call her and let her know I was okay. I had a lot in my life to make right.
I drove under the ranch sign, flashing back to the night I had huddled near the rock watching what I had thought were clandestine lovers meeting in the dark. Obviously, Max had been updating Special Agent Sorenson. I bypassed the deserted-looking lodge and drove straight to the corral complex. The sound of a lawn mower drew my attention to the airstrip, where heat shimmered over the blacktop in the late afternoon sun.
Familiar sounds came from the interior of the barn—horses blowing their noses, stomping away biting flies. Skeeter was at the unsaddling area by the tack room. A young palomino gave a shake when Skeeter slid the saddle from his sweaty back.
“Hey there,” I said. “I came to see Bonnie. And ask you a question.”
“Bonnie’s gone, but ask away.”
“What do you mean Bonnie’s gone?”
“Sold.”
Sold. If Skeeter had gut-punched me, I wouldn’t have felt any different. “She couldn’t be ... I mean I didn’t think if an animal went to their forever home, they could be sold.”
Skeeter snorted, sounding every bit like Bonnie at the end of her hew-haw whinny. “Bryce Bentley does what Bryce Bentley wants, everyone else be damned.”
“Who bought her?”
“No idea. A transport company came and got her. And that outlaw of a grullo gelding.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Bonnie was now just one more thing to mourn.
“I got a date in town tonight, but I’d be willing to cancel,” Skeeter said stepping toward me. “We never did have our first kiss.”
I turned on my heel and gave myself the satisfaction of raising my hand and giving him the finger.
Loneliness bombarded me after I returned the pickup to the dealership. As I walked the short distance to Opal’s house, I wished I could be Bewitched and wiggle my nose and be home in Wyoming. But I wasn’t, so I had to make the best of it until my flight left in the morning.
Opal, with the help of Sissally, had pulled out all the stops—creating dish after dish of comfort food.
“What do you think will happen to the movie?” Opal asked, spooning up warm apple crisp.
Sissally set a carton of vanilla ice cream next to me. “Cutting-room floor would be my best guess. You can’t have a premier without one of the stars, and Alex’s doctor is reporting his condition is too tenuous for him to appear in public.”
“Okay, back the buggy up,” I said around a mouthful of crisp. “Alex? Condition?”
“Oh! I’m sorry, Courtney. You don’t know, what with being kidnapped and all,” Sissally said. “Nakita was standing beside the river just at dusk. Alex mistook her for Lindy and ran up behind her. It startled Nakita, and she fell in and hit her head. He claims he couldn’t save her, and ultimately his Hollywood doctor held a news conference saying Alex had suffered a nervous breakdown as a result.”
“Poppycock!” Opal snapped.
“Agreed,” Sissally said.
“What about Tiffany?” I asked.
“All I know is she flew back to L.A. with the rest of the crew.”
I handed my phone to Sissally. “I’d like to touch base with her. See how’s she’s doing.” I remembered the guilt she had carried, worrying Nakita’s death was her fault. “Could you put her contact info in my phone?”
I’m sure she could, Courtney Jane. But would she? Mother, welcome back!
