guess so,” Boone finally said, because he knew his old friend was waiting for an answer to her brief but inspirational message. “You’re an angel, Opal. Moving was a shock to my boys, sudden as it was, and they’re worried about their uncle, of course. It’ll make them feel better having you here.”
She smiled and patted his cheek. “Let me just get breakfast on the stove,” she said. “There’ll be coffee in a few minutes, and you look like a man who needs some sustenance, pronto.”
Boone nodded gratefully and went off to grab a shower and get dressed in his usual go-to-work getup of jeans, a cotton shirt cut Western-style and a decent pair of boots. He’d put on his badge and his service revolver later, he decided. Most of the time, he didn’t need either one, since everybody in Parable County knew who he was and no one was likely to behave in a way that would require shooting them.
When he got back to the kitchen, Opal handed him the promised cup of coffee, and he inhaled the rich scent of it before he took a sip, savoring it as he took in the sight of his boys, sitting at the table in their cartoon pajamas, their feet bare and their eyes still puffy from sleeping hard and deep.
“Are you mad at me?” Fletcher asked, right out of the chute, leveling a look at Boone. A blush pulsed in his freckled cheeks, and his voice dropped to a near whisper, as though Opal and Griff weren’t right there to hear every word. “For wetting the bed, I mean?”
Boone shook his head. “Nope,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee before going on. “Stuff happens.”
Fletcher looked relieved, but he was still holding a grudge, too. That much was abundantly clear. “I want to go back to Missoula,” he reminded his father.
Boone let that one pass, since stubbornness ran in the family.
CHAPTER FOUR
ELLE AND ERIN had both grown a head taller since Tara had last seen them, more than a year before, on the most recent of her rare and brief visits to New York, and they’d both had haircuts. Gone were the long blond locks she’d brushed and braided so many times—now they sported short, breezy styles that framed their faces. And they were almost the same height as she was.
Although the girls were actually fraternal twins, and there were some marked differences between them if one knew what to look for, the resemblance was striking enough to convince most people they were identical.
Elle, the elder by four minutes, was the confident one, the ringleader. Erin, who wore glasses despite her father’s repeated attempts to sell her on contact lenses, was shy and formidably bright. Tara suspected the glasses served as a kind of shield for the girl, something to hide behind when she was scared or simply wanted time to observe and assimilate whatever might be going on around her.
When the pair spotted Tara, waiting with a big smile and her arms already opened wide, they rushed her, backpacks bouncing between their skinny shoulder blades, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing with delight.
“Mom!” Elle cried jubilantly, as the three of them tangled in a group hug, at once laughing and teary-eyed.
Since the divorce, James had expressly forbidden the twins to address Tara as “Mom,” and she thought of correcting Elle, but she didn’t have the heart to do it and, besides, her ex wasn’t there to object. He was thousands of miles away, just the way she liked him best.
“It’s wonderful to see you two,” Tara said, when the hubbub had died down a little and they were headed for baggage claim, a zigzag trio with their arms linked at the elbows.
“It’s wonderful to be here,” Erin answered, adjusting her wire-rims.
Tara felt a little stab of love as she shifted, putting an arm around each of their tiny waists. They wore the narrowest of jeans, sandals and long-sleeved T-shirts, Elle’s blue, Erin’s pink. “We’re going to have a great time,” she told them. “You’ll like Parable, and the farm, too.”
Erin’s eyes grew big and very blue. “We were so scared Dad would change his mind and make us go to summer camp instead of coming out here to stay with you.”
Elle nodded her agreement as they all strolled purposefully through the small airport, moving aside now and then so they didn’t block foot traffic. “And summer camp started weeks ago,” she added. “The day after school let out. So everybody’s already chosen their friends. We would have been, like, geeks.”
Tara laughed. “Geeks?” she countered. “Never.”
“Elle likes to be in on all the action,” Erin said, wisely tolerant of her sister.
They reached the baggage claim area and waited with the other arriving travelers, until a buzzer squawked and the first bags lurched into view.
Erin and Elle had two large suitcases each, color coordinated like their T-shirts, with busy geometric patterns.
Tara, after getting one luggage cart, went back for a second after her stepdaughters pointed out their bags. By the time she got back, a man in a cowboy hat had lifted one pair of suitcases onto the cart. He repeated the process, tugged at the brim of his hat and, without a word, picked up his own bag, and walked away.
“That was a cowboy,” Erin breathed, impressed. “A real one, I think.”
Tara grinned and nodded. “The genuine article,” she agreed.
“How do you know?” Elle asked them both, ever practical. “Maybe he was just a guy in boots and a hat.”
“I know he’s a cowboy,” Tara replied, “because he stepped up and helped with the suitcases without being asked.”
Elle pondered that, looking only partially convinced, and Erin gave her sister a light prod in the ribs. “Cowboys do polite stuff,” she informed Elle. “Like lifting suitcases and opening doors.”
“Not just cowboys,” Elle retorted. “Tony—” she glanced at Tara, no doubt figuring her stepmother was out of the loop, having been gone for a couple years “—he’s the doorman in our building. He does the same things.”
“But he doesn’t wear boots and a hat,” Erin said in the tone of one bringing home a salient point. “Not one like the cowboy had on, anyway.”
“He’d look silly if he did,” Elle said. “Right in the middle of Manhattan.”
“I’ve seen cowboy hats in Manhattan, though,” Erin reasoned. She was the diplomat of the pair, Elle the pragmatist.
Tara, enjoying the exchange, reveling in the presence of her beloved stepdaughters, didn’t comment. She simply led the way outside, pushing one cart while Erin managed the other, and silently counted her blessings, two of them in particular.
Sunshine shimmered in the twins’ hair, and there was a cool breeze out.
Life is good, Tara thought, rolling her cart through the crosswalk.
Elle swung around her backpack in front of her as they walked, rummaged through it, extracted an expensive cell phone and switched it on before pressing a sequence of icons. By the time they’d found the SUV, she was finished with whatever she was doing and popping the device into a jeans pocket.
“There,”
