other voice. “She’ll hear, and besides, he did marry her.”
“Well, whoop-de-dang-do!” the harpy said, in a voice that dripped sarcasm. “That broke-down rodeo rider ain’t no prize.”
Maggie was too shocked to realize that her hands were stinging with cold. Hot color scalded her face, but it wasn’t the heat of shame or embarrassment. It was anger. Fury, in fact.
Having grown up with a preacher father, in a family whose very cornerstone was love, it was hard for her to imagine how anyone could be so self-righteous, not to mention bigoted. Every time she confronted either attitude, she grew angry-and more than a little sad. Gossip was as much a part of Crystal Creek as its small-town friendliness, but Maggie wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it. Didn’t these women have any idea how much potential pain their comments carried?
She wondered if she should confront the spiteful woman or pretend she hadn’t heard the unkind comments. She didn’t care what was said about her, but Rio had suffered enough during his life for being a “halfbreed” born out of wedlock with no father in sight. She wanted to march over to the woman and inform her that whatever Rio Langley’s heritage might be, he was a good man, one who didn’t have to boost his self-esteem by hurting other people. He was kind and generous, with a heart as big as the state they lived in.
Drawing in another quivering breath, Maggie cast a sideways look at the two women. A gasp of shock escaped her. Fran Dunbarr and Ada Farmer! Why, they were both women she saw often in her capacity as a social worker.
Fran’s daughter, Chrissie, who was marginally retarded from an oxygen depletion at birth, had two illegitimate children, and Ada’s husband, Bull, was an alcoholic who battered his family on a regular basis.
Like many abused women, Ada refused to press charges, and her unwillingness to get help was affecting her children. Her seventeen-year-old son, Rick, had experienced several minor brushes with the law the past year. Most recently, he and his buddies had gained notoriety for taking turns shooting at a neighbor’s dog with a .22 rifle.
Though he denied pulling the trigger, Rick was now on six months’ probation. Feeling he needed something to occupy his time and keep him away from the negative influence of the boys he hung out with, Maggie and the county psychologist had suggested an after-school job.
Unfortunately, even if Bull Farmer’s reputation hadn’t extended to his son, news of the dog shooting made prospective employers wary. When no one would hire the boy, Rio had seen Maggie’s dilemma and offered Rick a job at the ranch, assuring her that he and his brother, Jeremy, could always use another hand with the stock. Since Rick didn’t have transportation, Rio even hauled the boy back and forth to work.
And this was the thanks he got. Slurs and name calling. The urge to reciprocate rose in Maggie on a dark wave of indignation. Angry words trembled on her tongue. Her hands shook; the cooler of ice cream wavered through the sheen of her tears.
Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good. The familiar passage from Romans came to her so clearly, her father might have been standing next to her. Heap coals of fire. Turn the other cheek. Pray for your enemies. All avenues of behavior she’d grown up hearing and done her best to incorporate into her life.
A staunch belief in God and His word was Howard Blake’s answer to everything, which, Maggie supposed, was the good and right way to deal with life’s problems. But her husband Greg’s senseless death had weakened her faith in God’s wisdom, and finding Rio’s love was the only thing that had given it back.
Maybe she was just more like her mama than she was her daddy—not that Eva Blake was anything but the perfect minister’s wife. But, as her mother often said, Howard had been born good; she had to work at it. The same way Maggie did.
Maggie set the ice cream down as carefully as if it were a vial of nitroglycerin. She uttered a little prayer, lifted her chin and, plastering a bright, false smile on her face, turned and gipped the handle of her grocery cart.
“Fran! Ada!” she exclaimed, heading toward the women as if she’d just noticed them. “How are you?”
She had the satisfaction of seeing Fran’s narrow face pale and the brief flickering of shame in Ada’s dark, birdlike eyes.
“I’m fine, Miz Langley, and you?” Ada said, careful to keep her gaze averted.
“Very well, thanks. How’s Rick?”
Ada looked as if the question surprised her. “Why, uh, he’s fine.”
Overcome evil with good, Maggie, remember?
“That’s great,” she said with a gentle smile. “My husband says he’s a conscientious worker. He doesn’t know much about animals, but he’s willing to learn.”
The few words of praise brought a flush of pleasure and pride to Ada’s sallow face. Maggie was suddenly glad she’d reacted to the situation the way she had. She wondered how long it had been since Ada had heard anything good about her son, and realized what a shame it was that Rick was branded a loser simply because of his father. The stereotyping was no more fair than the stigma Rio had carried on his shoulders while growing up in Crystal Creek, Texas.
“Ain’t you gonna ask about Chrissie?” Fran said with a sniff and a look of disapproval down her narrow nose.
Maggie smiled politely. “I was just about to. How is she?”
“Pukin’ up her guts.”
“Oh,” Maggie said in concern. “Don’t-tell me she’s picked up that virus that’s going around.”
Fran shook her head. “Nope. She’s pregnant agin.”
Maggie couldn’t disguise her horror-or her dismay. Chrissie’s baby was only five months old.
“Oh, Fran! Why didn’t she use the birth control pulls the health clinic provided?”
“‘Cause Delbert was sick and Billy Don was workin’ over’t the quarry. She didn’t have no way to get there.”
Billy Don was generally presumed to be the father of Chrissie’s daughter, though by her own admission she couldn’t be sure.
“She could have called me,” Maggie said. “I’d have been glad to take her.”
“I’ll ‘member that next time,” Fran said.
Next time. When would that be? Maggie wondered. Seven or so months from now? “Is there anything I can do?” she offered, feeling somehow responsible. Even though she knew that she and the system could only do so much, and that there came a time a person had to help himself, Maggie felt as if she’d failed the Dunbarrs.
“You might bring her some of them candies she likes so well,” Fran said. “Can’t get them with food stamps, you know, and she’s been cravin’ them something terrible. Them candies and Co’-Colas.”
Candy and Cokes. Maggie started to tell Fran that Chrissie needed well-balanced meals, but realized that the advice would be not only resented but ignored.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. Fighting a feeling of futility, she glanced at her watch. “Oh my!” She feigned surprise. “It’s later than I thought! I’ve
