“Dad, the ranch will not be ruined by the time you get back home. I promise I won’t make any changes without your permission.”

“Those shoots are fragile right now. You can’t cover the vines or they’ll break off.”

“Dad-”

“And I don’t know that burning hundreds of dollars worth of hay will even make a difference.”

“We can place the bales along the road at the bottom of the hill. The heat will rise.”

“Not evenly.”

“Dad, if you meant what you said about wanting me to manage the ranch, now’s the time to prove it.”

To Tyrell’s relief, his father finally gave a faint nod and released a quiet sigh. “Just remember, though,” Monty said, “if this heart problem doesn’t get better, it’ll be your decisions from now on that make or break the future of our ranch.”

“Don’t write yourself off yet, Dad. It’s going to be okay.” He trusted Jama’s instincts.

Clancy’s angry voice filled the air with ugly words about the people in the world who didn’t deserve to live. Doriann knew she was imagining the smell of his bad breath from twenty feet away.

She also knew that her prayers were being answered, because anybody else would’ve seen her in her hiding place.

Thank You, Jesus. She had lain trapped, waiting for Clancy and Deb to move for what seemed like forever, and her right leg was cramping so badly she was about to cry.

When she could stand it no longer, she shifted. Brush rustled. Dirt crumbled beneath her left knee. She peered across to see if Clancy and Deb had heard. Apparently, Clancy’s voice had masked the sound.

Doriann tried to straighten her leg a little more, and more dirt fell.

Deb turned to walk in the other direction. Clancy followed.

Doriann remembered to breathe.

The ground sank a little more beneath her left knee, and she felt her right knee sink, too. She heard the scattering of pebbles far below, and felt herself sliding.

She grabbed at the base of the bush that barely camouflaged her. It rustled.

“What was that?” Clancy growled.

Both of them stopped and turned, but Deb pointed up into the trees. “Squirrels.”

Doriann’s eyes squeezed shut as the dirt kept crumbling beneath her. She could let go of the bush and fall into the river and freeze to death, or she could be killed by the beasts nearby.

“Look at the great blue heron,” Deb said. “It just took off.”

The Missouri River was Doriann’s friend. She let go of the bush and braced herself.

The ground stopped crumbling. Clancy told Deb how stupid she was for bird-watching. Then he blamed her for letting “Dori” get away.

Thank You, God. Now He was answering prayers Doriann wasn’t even praying.

“No runny-nosed brat’s gonna outsmart me,” Clancy said.

Doriann pressed her lips together. Want to bet? A slug could outsmart you.

“We need to find a hiding place,” Deb said. There was a pleading note in her voice. “You may be macho man, but I’m fading.”

“You told me you knew how to cook a batch.” His voice was getting harsher with every word. Aunt Renee said that would happen when someone was tweeking. Needing a fix. Craving a jolt, unable to think straight, and totally stupid.

“Only if I have something to cook!” Deb snapped. “The stuff for that’s in St. Louis, and we’re a long stretch from there, with no ride. I’m headed for that barn. You can stay here and argue with yourself.”

“I’m going to get that kid.”

“She’s gone!” Deb shouted. “Look around you. See anything moving? You can come if you want, or you can get lost in the woods and be rescued by the FBI.” She turned and plunged back into the brush in the direction they’d come.

For a moment, Clancy stood watching her leave. He said a few ugly words under his breath, stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his ratty jeans and glared at the ground.

Doriann watched him. His shoulders gradually slumped. He took his hands from his pockets and crossed them over his chest, still watching Deb walk away. He looked up into the trees, as if he thought something might jump down on him.

Doriann heard a thump nearby, and she nearly cried out. But Clancy didn’t hear it. He was rushing after Deb along an overgrown path through the woods.

There was another thud, and again the sound of scattering pebbles. It wasn’t the twig-snapping buffalo tramp of Clancy’s or Deb’s footsteps. What she heard was behind…

She leaned on her left elbow and turned to look back to where the river flowed. It wasn’t until she felt the dirt disappear from beneath her right leg that she realized what was happening, and then it was too late.

This time the ledge crumbled.

Her mouth opened to scream, and she gulped it back, choked as the dirt beneath both legs gave way, then fell from beneath her belly, then she tumbled down with a slide of rocks, dirt and mud.

The white capitol building in Jefferson City was visible for many miles, standing out against the vivid blue of the Missouri sky, before Jama and Fran reached it. They wouldn’t arrive at St. Mary’s Hospital for another ten minutes.

“I can’t believe Tyrell hasn’t called,” Jama said.

“There obviously hasn’t been any news about Monty, or he’d have let us know,” Fran assured her. “And you know cell phones aren’t allowed in certain parts of hospitals.”

Jama could feel her tension building with each mile.

“I remember the last time I rode in a car to a hospital for an emergency.” Fran’s voice came soft and gentle, as if her mind had been sifting through photos of the past.

“You’re talking about when Monty had his stroke.”

Fran nodded. “I thought I’d lose him, too. Only God knows how badly I lost my cool that day. Even though Monty’s recovery went well, I still had this nagging sense that something was wrong. The trip to the hospital, the emergency room, the medical staff, all reminded me of our trip together to the hospital only weeks earlier for you and Amy.”

Jama stared straight ahead at the road.

“The sheriff came to the house about midnight Christmas Eve,” Fran said.

Jama didn’t want to hear this. Yet she owed Fran a listening and compassionate ear. They’d seldom spoken about that horrific night because when it came up Jama either had someplace else to be, or she changed the subject.

“It had to have been a nightmare for you,” Jama said.

“Worse than any nightmare, because I didn’t have the relief of waking up to find that everything was okay.” Fran patted Jama’s arm, then allowed her hand to linger, as if she needed that connection. “We got through Amy’s death, didn’t we?”

Jama glanced at her. Had they, really?

“We’re still functioning, sweetheart,” Fran said in answer to Jama’s unspoken thought. “For a couple of years after she died, I wasn’t sure I could keep going.”

It grew difficult for Jama to breathe normally. This was why her visits to River Dance the past four years had taken so much effort. It was a major reason that she dreaded the next two years. To be reminded over and over…

“We’ve got purpose to our lives again,” Fran said. “It’ll never be the same, but we’ve discovered life does continue.”

Jama caught her lower lip between her teeth. Life had continued, but not the same way.

Not a day passed that Jama didn’t have something she needed to talk about with Amy. Since losing her best friend, her sister, she didn’t think the same way anymore or feel the same about anything.

She slowed for a narrow bridge. “Amy was so much like you, Fran. She had a solid strength that made everyone around her feel secure. She could carry the world. She did, too, often. Or she tried.”

Fran squeezed Jama’s arm, then let go. “Face it, honey, Amy was as strong-willed as you are. I worried about that tendency of hers a lot. I worried that her independence would cost her the opportunity to have a man’s love, to settle and have a family. After she died…” Her voice cracked. She stared out the window for a moment.