she’d been massaging the painful left one with her right. She sighed.
“Please, girls, let’s talk about something else,” she pleaded. Talking about her nightmare might allow that disturbing, unnameable emotion she was keeping under strict control to rise again. “Please.”
Jasmine surrendered first, sliding her gaze toward her more voluptuous sister. “Okay, Mama.” She grinned, that devilish grin of a younger sibling who knows just how to push the older one’s buttons—and revels in it. “Let’s talk about what’s bugging Cleo.”
“Watch it,” Cleo threatened. “I can still hide your Barbie dolls, brat.” She propped her hands on her hips.
Jasmine’s grin widened. “I’ve hidden them from you. At your insistence, I recycle, Cleo. I compost our kitchen scraps. I’d never wear fur. But you’re not going to make me give up my precious fashion dolls. Uh-uh.”
Before Cleo could retort, the kitchen’s back door opened and Frannie, Celeste’s niece, stepped over the thresh old. In a brown, knee-length business suit that matched the brown of her hair and the brown of her eyes, she looked completely prepared for another day in her job as a loan officer at the White horn Savings and Loan.
At five-nine, Frannie towered over her cousins. In a familiar morning ritual, she automatically took the cup of coffee Cleo poured for her. “What are we talking about?” She lived at her parents’ house, located just behind the B and B.
Jasmine started bustling around the kitchen, getting ready for the break fast she’d serve the guests. “Fashion, I’d guess you’d say.”
Frannie touched the brown tortoiseshell clip that held her hair at the back of her neck. She sighed. “I guess that lets me out, then.”
Jasmine shook her head. “Only because you won’t let me make you over, Frannie. If you’d just give yourself a chance, you’d be stunning.”
Frannie flushed. “Let’s talk about something else.”
That mischievous smile twitched at Jasmine’s lips again. Uh-oh, Celeste thought. Prepare yourself, Cleo.
“We could go back to discussing Cleo’s love life,” Jasmine said, taking eggs out of the refrigerator.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Cleo’s face blushed just as pink as Frannie’s.
Jasmine acted as if she hadn’t heard her. “Mama wondered if maybe Cleo was still smitten with that Ethan Redford who was here three months ago.”
Frannie blinked owlishly. “Who?”
“You remember.” Jasmine took the juicer out of a lower cupboard. “He took Cleo out a couple of times, and I admit the looks he gave her could have melted that old wallpaper off the downstairs hallway, but then he just—poof!—left White horn. What do you think? Is Cleo in need of romantic repair?”
“Of course not.” Frannie blinked again and her voice was absolutely certain. “Cleo is much, much too practical to make any kind of romantic mistake.”
“Sensible, too. You missed sensible, Frannie,” Cleo added. Her face had regained its normal color and her voice was without animation.
Something in the nonemotion of Cleo’s voice niggled at Celeste and her mother radar went on the alert. “Cleo, sweetie—”
“Good morning!” The back door had opened again to admit Frannie’s parents, Celeste’s sister Yvette and her husband, Edward Hannon. The smell of a cool spring morning accompanied them as they headed for the countertop and Jasmine’s coffee.
The girls exchanged plea san tries with the new arrivals, and soon they were all savoring their morning ritual. Jasmine continued preparing break fast for the guests, but the rest of them took their places around the large kitchen table. Edward unfolded the newspaper and smiled at the faces circling him. “And a good morning it is. No better way for a man to start the day than with a glimpse of the harem that has kept him happy all these years.”
Celeste joined the others in the groan that in variably accompanied Edward’s usual comment. Someone wished that David, Frannie’s brother, was around to keep his father in check.
Thinking of her nephew, Celeste could only wish David was nearby, too. An FBI agent in Atlanta, Georgia, he hadn’t made it to Montana for a visit in too long. And she needed her loved ones around her. The nightmares were trying to tell her something about the past, and she felt certain she’d need all those she held dear when the day of reckoning came.
Yvette touched Celeste’s arm. “Are you all right?”
“She had another rough night,” Cleo said.
Celeste felt like a specimen in a bottle with five sets of serious eyes regarding her. That desperate, unnamed emotion swirled up inside her like a tornado, and she had to take a deep breath to find the strength to push it back down. “But I’m looking forward to an interesting day,” she said firmly. “Edward, tell us some good news.”
With one more searching look at her face, Edward smoothed the front page absently, then bent his head. “Well,” he said, smoothing the paper again. “Lyle Brooks finally broke ground for that resort/casino complex he’s been talking up all over town.”
Celeste frowned. That young man was some sort of kin on the Kincaid side and she’d never felt comfortable around him. “But isn’t the casino part of the Laughing Horse Reservation? How is Lyle involved?”
It was banker Frannie who answered. “Because Indian laws allow gambling, the casino will be on the Laughing Horse reservation, Aunt Celeste. But the accompanying resort will be on Kincaid land. Lyle’s put together the financing for both projects.” She didn’t look any more at ease about the young man than Celeste felt. “In ten years the whole thing will move out of Kincaid/Laughing Horse hands and into those of a joint corporation, headed by Lyle.”
Celeste should have been happy that they were off the subject of her nightmares, but suddenly the whole notion of Lyle and the disturbance of Kincaid land chilled her. A shiver racked her body. Yvette’s hand moved across the table to cover Celeste’s left one, the ache in it more pronounced than usual.
“Celeste, what’s the matter?” Yvette asked.
Another shiver rattled over Celeste’s spine. “There’s just something about Lyle I don’t like,” she said to her sister. “Maybe it’s because he reminds me of Jeremiah.”
At the mention of their elder brother’s name, silence fell around the table. When he’d been murdered, the violence had been shocking, but they hadn’t mourned him. He’d been cold and controlling all his life.
Celeste took a long breath, sorry to have brought her brother’s name into their warm circle. She looked from face to face, trying to gauge their moods. Edward and Yvette were concerned about her, she could see, while Frannie looked almost embarrassed. Standing behind Cleo, two worry lines bisected Jasmine’s smooth forehead. And Cleo—her beautiful, motherly Cleo—looked ready to fight tigers on Celeste’s behalf. But even underneath all her bristling protectiveness Celeste sensed in her older daughter another kind of sadness…
Yvette squeezed Celeste’s hand. “We love you,” she said.
Oh.
