it,” the little boy said, his voice and words a touching echo of his father’s. He sounded very far away, but was full of bluster, clearly reluctant to reveal fear. “Too bad Jude’s not here. A stunt man would know what to do. My hands are getting sweaty.”
A little girl piped up from the corner. “I told you it wouldn’t be as easy to come down as it was to go up.”
Max gave the girl a hard look. “Really? You think this is the right time to say I told you so?”
She blushed and hung her head, but didn’t say another word.
Two seconds later, Gray showed up, the large, thick mattress, which must have weighed a ton, carried over his head as if it were light as a feather.
“Coming through,” he called, and plopped his burden as near the safety net as he could. Then he dropped to a squat and muscled the mattress until it lay directly under the blanket. A couple of Bell River staffers rearranged the pillows and quilts on top of the mattress with lightning speed.
“This’ll be faster than the ladder, Dallas,” Gray said, putting his hand on Dallas’s shoulder. “And just as safe. Tell him to let go.”
Dallas glanced at the pile of cushioning, the outstretched blanket and his team of helpers. He looked up at his son, then down, clearly calculating the geometry of the placement. And then he nodded.
“Keep going,” he said quietly to his assistant beside the ladder. “Just in case.”
Then he moved closer to the fireplace. “Okay, buddy. Time to give those arms a rest. We’ve got you covered. Let go, and try to fall on your rump, okay?”
The little boy was silent for a moment. He twisted his neck for one second, trying to get a look at his dad, but swiveled it back quickly, as if the motion scared him.
“Come on, Alec.” Dallas’s voice was utterly calm. “It’s all good. You’ll be fine.”
A tiny voice floated to them. “You sure?”
Tess found herself holding her breath, and the room spun a little, as if she might faint, which surprised her, because she wasn’t the fainting type.
“Yep,” Dallas said, projecting complete confidence. “I’m sure.”
“Well, then. Okay.”
As though someone had pulled a lever, the boy dropped from the wall. Tess’s knees seemed to liquefy. She touched the wall for support. As if in slow motion, the blanket dipped as his scrawny form hit it, rump first, just as his father had requested, and then bounced up.
Thank God. Alec’s smiling face emerged from over the edge of the blanket, beaming and laughing, as if it were all a grand game.
Strangers and staffers who apparently had been watching from the margins of the room broke out in scattered applause, which then tapered off as Dallas glared, obviously not wanting them to encourage the boy.
The four people who had held the blanket’s corners moved toward each other, letting their weighted cloth sag until it came to rest against the mattress. Alec bounced once on the springs, as if it were a trampoline, then rolled off and onto the carpet.
Rowena grabbed him the minute his feet hit the floor and gathered him in for a tight, half-suffocating hug.
“Idiot,” she said raggedly, burying her face in his hair. “You impossible, ridiculous, infuriating idiot.”
“Well, Ellen dared me.” He pulled free and began stuffing his shirt into his jeans. “She double-dog dared me,” he repeated, as if that were an absolute defense.
“I did not,” the little girl countered, scowling fiercely at Alec.
“Enough.” Dallas’s voice had taken on a completely different quality now, carrying the unmistakable authority of an angry dad. “Upstairs, both of you. I’ll be up later to let you know whether we’ve decided to toss you to the wolves or eat you for dinner.”
The kids scurried away. As they exited, though, they could be heard giggling, which drained the moment of its drama. A relieved chatter rose from the room’s occupants, and life seemed to resume.
Now that the commotion was over, Tess felt dizzier than ever and miserably uncomfortable. She felt out of place and conspicuous, like the interloper she was. This was obviously not the time to bring a new problem to Rowena’s door.
But to her surprise, Rowena walked calmly toward her. “Hey,” she said. “So sorry about the chaos.”
“No, no. I’m the one who is sorry, for intruding on—”
“Don’t be silly.” As Dallas walked past, Rowena squeezed his hand. “Just your average Monday night at Bell River Ranch, right, Sheriff?”
“Yep.” He shook his head, grinning. “We should have let him break something, you know. Not his neck maybe, but a finger? A toe? If he keeps escaping unscathed, he’ll never learn anything important.”
“Sure he will.” Rowena put her hand against her husband’s cheek. “He’ll learn his family is always here to catch him when he falls. What’s more important than that?”
The heat of tears stung Tess’s eyes, and, though it seemed weak, she had to look away. This moment was private, in spite of the guests and the staff and the whole circus aura of the moment. She should not be here. She should not be here.
“Anyhow, sorry to keep you waiting.” Rowena returned her attention to Tess. “Gray said you needed to talk to me?”
Suddenly drained by the whole wretched day, Tess found herself eager to get it over with. She plucked the folded note from her uniform pocket. “It’s nothing serious. I just...I found this slipped in behind the door plaque as I closed up tonight.”
Rowena frowned as soon as she saw the paper, and Tess knew instantly. This wasn’t the first anonymous note they had received.
“Oh, hell,” Rowena said under her breath. She unfolded the paper and read the red words written there. “I’m sorry. We should have warned you. We get these from time to time. There are people in Silverdell, it seems, who can’t let the past go.”
Tess wondered exactly what that meant. Who exactly were the dirty bitches? The three Wright daughters? They had told Tess the whole story the night they hired her—not realizing that, of course, she already knew it. Tess couldn’t help wondering whether they would have mentioned it, if the ghost-whisperer maid hadn’t run into Moira Wright’s ghost that night.
Maybe they would have. This didn’t seem to be a family that played things close to the vest. Perhaps years ago they’d learned that secrets were dangerous...or maybe they’d learned that it was impossible to keep secrets for long.
Either way, they’d explained the basic facts: Johnny had been convicted of deliberately pushing their mother down the staircase, and Moira had been exposed as an unfaithful wife, who had been carrying another man’s baby. But both of the principal players in the melodrama were dead now, long gone. Surely it was a little Victorian to continue to punish the daughters for the sins of the parents.
And...dirty? Odd choice of insults.
