of their oldest brother, an ex-military, hard-core private investigator and the last member of their family to put up with bullshit from anyone.
“Not unless we need someone to put out a fire or start a war,” he drawled.
Trina giggled. “Yes, you’re right. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on Mom.”
“Good deal. Talk to you later.”
The click in her ear signaled the end of the conversation, but it had just begun a whole new set of worries. This stuff scared her. She needed to talk to Lee. She was having dinner with him tonight. He was the rational one in their relationship. He would make everything all right.
* * *
Betsy woke up to silence and for a few moments wondered why she was in bed, and then she remembered. She threw back the quilt and sat up on the side of the bed, absently rubbing the scar along her hairline. She distinctly remembered throwing up, but the bitter aftertaste was absent. And she’d been screaming. They were going too fast. That was it—they were going too fast! But that made no sense because she’d just woken up in bed, so had she dreamed it?
“Betsy?”
Startled by the sound of another voice, Betsy stood up as Dallas entered the bedroom.
“Dallas? Oh, yes, you were here, right? How rude of me to go to sleep.”
Dallas wanted to hug her, but there was something about the way Betsy was standing that told Dallas not to push her.
“It’s actually time to work your bread. I was going to do it, but since you’re up I thought you might want to do it yourself.”
Betsy blinked, and just like that she was back. She smoothed the hair away from her face and slipped into her shoes.
“Yes, the bread! I love that first rising when you go to punch it down, don’t you? It’s like popping a big rubber balloon! Let’s get that bread in the baking tins and then make something for lunch, okay? You can stay, right?”
Dallas smiled. “I’d love to have lunch with you.”
Betsy patted Dallas’s cheek as she sailed past her on her way back to the kitchen. She knew what to do now. She had purpose.
A short while later Betsy had the dough in the pans and was covering them up for the last rising. Dallas was heating up some soup Betsy had taken out of the freezer when they heard the front door open.
“It’s me!” Trey yelled.
“We’re in here,” Betsy called. Then she looked at Dallas and smiled. “Good thing we got the big carton out to reheat. Trey loves beef-and-barley soup.”
Dallas smiled and kept stirring. When Trey walked into the kitchen he went straight to her.
“Hey, honey, thanks for coming over,” he said softly, and kissed the back of her neck.
Dallas nodded and then glanced toward Betsy, who was already getting out the ingredients to make grilled cheese sandwiches to go with the soup.
“Something sure smells good,” Trey said. “I hope you made enough for me.”
“Always,” Betsy said. “One sandwich or two?”
Trey kissed her cheek and smiled. “One is enough, thanks. What can I do to help?”
“You can set the table. You know where everything is, right?”
“Sure,” Trey said. He began getting plates and bowls from the cabinet, and flatware from a drawer.
“Can you talk about the case?” Dallas asked.
Trey shrugged. “Not much to tell right now. It was a bad scene. Mack is in about the same shape you were when I called you.”
Dallas sighed. “I am so sorry. This is just a horrible thing to have happened.”
Trey glanced at his mother. She was far too cheerful. “Mom?”
Betsy flipped the two sandwiches on the grill and then looked up. “What, honey?”
Trey stopped what he was doing and walked over to the stove, took the spatula from her hand and then wiped away the tears running down her face.
“Come sit. I’ll do the last sandwich,” he said.
Betsy complied without comment.
Dallas turned off the heat under the soup.
“Should I dish up the soup or wait?” she asked.
“Wait until I get the last sandwich grilled,” Trey said as he took the finished sandwiches off the grill and put on the last one.
“Betsy, honey, would you like a cup of coffee?” Dallas asked.
Betsy wrapped her arms around herself and began rocking in her chair.
“Does it feel cold in here to you? For some reason I’m freezing,” she said.
“I’ll turn up the heat,” Dallas said, and headed for the thermostat in the hall.
Trey glanced toward the table. His mom had lost all color in her face.
“Mom?”
Betsy looked up. “Hmm?”
“What’s happening?”
She shivered again. “I don’t know, Trey, but I think I’m losing my mind.”
Trey flipped the sandwich and turned off the grill, then handed Dallas the spatula as she walked back into the kitchen.
She moved to the grill as Trey sat down beside his mother and took her hands. Her skin was clammy, and he could feel the tremor in her muscles.
“Talk to me, Mama. You told Dallas you threw up in the floorboard of a car.”
Betsy touched the scar again. “I just dreamed that, didn’t I?”
Trey shrugged. “I don’t know. Was it a dream, or were you remembering something that already happened?”
Betsy pulled her hands away and covered her face. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
He’d never seen her like this, but she seemed so fragile, he was afraid to push her.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”
Betsy swiped the tears off her cheeks, took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose as she stood. “It’s time to put the bread in the oven.”
“And lunch is ready,” Dallas said as she carried the sandwiches to the table.
“I’ll pour the coffee,” Trey said.
“I’ll dish up the soup,”
