to think of her long absence.
“Twelve years,” Nora said in wonder. “It’s not possible. It can’t be.”
“The prodigal returns,” Kitt said, trying to make a joke of it.
“It’s about time,” laughed Nora. “I was starting to think you got too citified. You wouldn’t claim us any more.”
“I’ve got an assignment,” said Kitt, trying to sound casual. “To write about Crystal Creek. The current troubles. You know, that whole land grab thing with Brian Fabian.”
For a moment, Nora went strangely silent. At last she said, “Write about it? I don’t know. Folks around here might not like it….”
Kitt made her voice conciliatory. “We’ll talk about it when I get there, okay? The main thing is I get a chance to see you. It’s been so long…I mean, I can still come, can’t I? Even if I’m on assignment?”
This time Nora didn’t hesitate. “You’re always welcome,” she said with warmth. “And I want you to stay with us. At Chez Slattery. I insist.”
It was Kitt’s turn to pause. For the first time since that afternoon she had a strong rush of apprehension about the McKinneys.
Nora was married to the McKinneys’ foreman. She lived within sight of the main house. For Kitt, it was uncomfortably close, too close.
“That’s good of you, but I shouldn’t. I mean, if the people in town don’t like what I write, they could hold it against you.”
“I know you’re always fair,” Nora said loyally. “That’s one of the best things about your articles. You put emotion into them, but they’re fair. Really, stay with us—please.”
“No,” Kitt insisted. “It wouldn’t be in my best interest, either. If I stay with you, it’ll look as if I’ve taken sides before I’ve even started.”
Kitt drew in her breath and held it. What she was saying was sound in journalistic principle. But she also could not bear spending a week or more living on the McKinneys’ land. Suddenly the ghosts of her past did not seem so few or so feeble.
Nora sighed. “I can understand that. I’d certainly never want to compromise the integrity of your story. But you can spend time with us—can’t you? You can’t work all the time.”
“You’ll be the first person I’ll come see,” promised Kitt. “I’ll drive straight to your house. Won’t even check into the hotel first. The old hotel—you said they remodeled it?”
“You won’t recognize it. You know that you could stay for free at the motel, instead,” Nora said ruefully. “But it’d hardly be doing you a favor. We’re putting in a new heating and air-conditioning system. It’s a mess.”
“No, it’s better I stay on neutral ground,” Kitt replied.
Nora laughed. “Oh, Kitt—these days there is no neutral ground in Crystal Creek. But it’ll be a kick to have you home.”
Home. The word almost froze Kitt. She tried to shake off the cold, empty feeling. New York was where she lived now, and she wanted and needed no other place to call home.
She pushed the emotion away and got back to her job. “The McKinneys,” she said with seeming casualness, “they’re leading the fight against Fabian?”
“J.T.’s the president of a citizens’ group. It’s running him ragged. I wish Cal could get home, but he’s tied up in business in Australia.”
He’s not there yet. Good, Kitt thought with a wave of relief. But he would soon be back—Cronin had said he would.
Kitt made herself press on. “Is there any word of Fabian making another move down there?” She knew, of course, that he was about to.
“We hope not,” Nora said. “J.T.’s got about all he can handle. He’s got Fabian tied up in lawsuits for the moment. And all the major ranchers have refused to sell any more land. But anything might happen. J.T. doesn’t need any nasty surprises.”
“I see,” Kitt said noncommittally. She couldn’t warn Nora that just such a nasty surprise was on the way, and it would come in the form of a man named Mel Belyle.
IN CRYSTAL CREEK the next day, Nora realized that Kitt’s phone call had sent a strange restlessness tingling through her.
The Longhorn Coffee Shop was languid, enjoying a rare Saturday morning lull. Nora savored the quiet and looked out the front window at the blue sky and sunshine and the strolling people.
This was the first time in two long weeks that the sky had been bright and clear. Every day had brought clouds that sprinkled, rained, or poured down storms. Suddenly, she yearned with all her heart to join those people out in the beautiful sunlight and be free, like them.
What would she do if she had a Saturday all to herself? A whole day to do anything she wanted? She leaned her elbows on the windowsill, giving herself up to this sinful fantasy. For starters, there were books to be read, tempting stacks of them, seductive heaps of them…
The crash of shattering glass hurtled her back to reality. Nora straightened, squaring her shoulders. She was training a new waitress, LaVonda Pollack. “Vonnie?” she called apprehensively.
The girl’s voice, nervous, came from the kitchen. “It was only an empty bottle. I’m cleaning it up. Sorry.”
“It’s all right. Don’t worry.” Nora sighed and pushed a hand through her ash-brown hair. Then she busied herself readying for the lunch hour rush. She had tables to wipe, fresh place mats to put down, condiments to restock.
Nora’s regular assistant, Kasey, was on vacation. Her other waitress, Shelby, had just gotten married, and Nora had been lucky to get a replacement—even if it was Vonnie.
Finding good, steady help for the café was hard. The hours were long, the pay only adequate, and the waitresses had to count on tips to make a decent living. Nora missed Shelby, and she envied her. Shelby had gone back to college for her master’s degree.
Sometimes in her heart of hearts, Nora still wished for life without the Longhorn. But the place was hers, and she was lucky to have it. Once the café had almost sold, but the deal had gone sour at the last moment, and Nora took that as a sign. It belonged to her and she belonged to it. There was no escaping and no use complaining.
The door opened, its bell jingling, and her vague discontent fled. When she saw who entered, her heart flew up in happiness.
Three tall men stood in the entryway. All wore Stetsons, western-cut shirts, jeans and expensive boots. Each was handsome, but in a different way. It was J. T. McKinney with both his sons, not only Tyler—but Cal.
The sight of Cal dizzied her with happiness. He and his family had been gone for months. She threw herself into Cal’s arms, half-laughing, half-crying, hugging and being hugged. Cal laughed out loud, Tyler gave a tight smile, and J.T. sighed as if in resignation.
“Cal,” she said in disbelief. “When did you get back?”
“This mornin’,” he said and whirled her
