It was the silence that hurt Jama the most. No matter how often she told herself she deserved Tyrell’s response, no matter how many times she’d rehearsed this explanation in her mind, she hadn’t prepared herself for the silence. Cold. Rejecting.

Some people thought she was tough. So many old friends had told her how proud they were of her. Hometown orphan who surprised everybody and did well. Strong, determined Jama Sue Keith.

But part of her wasn’t strong at all. Part of her was still that little seven-year-old child pounding on the door, screaming for a mother who didn’t want her. Would she always be outside?

Well? Didn’t she deserve to be?

“When you proposed,” she said after the silence became more than she could bear, “I was shocked. My time was up. I knew I couldn’t live with my secret and live with you, but I’d always told myself there was time.”

Now she wished it wasn’t dark. She needed to see his expression.

“I also realized that, not only would I have to tell you, but by telling you, I’d also be telling the rest of the family.”

“You think so little of me that you don’t believe I can keep a confidence?” Still the roughness in his voice.

She winced, unable to bear much more. “I guess I had that coming. Look, we’re both tired, and I’ve got a long drive to Columbia.” She reached for the door handle.

He touched her arm, and she jerked.

“You’re not driving back there tonight. You can stay at the ranch. I have my own apartment, and you can sleep in the house.”

“I can’t, Tyrell.” She thought she’d be able to handle this, but-

“You can’t? So you’re going to risk having the Mercer family lose another loved one to sleep deprivation?”

She winced, realizing that, somewhere deep inside, she had held out hope that he would forgive her. Not that she expected marriage-she’d never been foolish enough to harbor that hope-but that somehow he might be able to give her absolution after all this time. She would rather sleep in her car than go back to the ranch with him like this.

She had placed him on too high a pedestal. He was bound to tumble off someday. But tonight of all times…

“Now you see why it wouldn’t work for us.” She grasped the latch and squeezed. She moved from his touch and stepped out. “I think the irresistible force just met the immovable object.”

Before he could respond, she closed the door and stepped toward her car.

Someone was standing in the shadows beside the Subaru. She froze.

“It’s me, Dr. Keith.” Familiar voice. Zelda Benedict.

The rush of relief mingled with the pain, a shock to Jama’s system. “Zelda, can’t a couple have a little privacy-”

“I wasn’t spying. Listen, did you ever get a key to the clinic? Eric hired somebody to replace the window, the young coot, and I don’t want to be the next one to have to break out-”

“What’s wrong?”

The passenger window of Tyrell’s Durango slid down. “Jama?”

Jama closed her eyes briefly. No coldness now, just concern. Tyrell was back in character. How long would that last?

“Nothing,” she said. “Go home. I’ll stay with Zelda tonight.”

“Sure thing,” Zelda called to him, eyeing Jama in the dim glow of the security light. “Though I think a bath would be in order first. Clothes and all.”

“Jama?” Tyrell asked, his voice softer now. “You’re sure?”

“Of course,” Jama said. “Get some sleep.” Oh, yeah, as if.

Doriann felt a little ill. The boat kept turning in slow circles, and judging by the speed she was moving through the fog, she had to be going at least as fast as the tractor when Grandpa plowed. Probably faster. The Missouri River was higher than usual.

She had realized, far too late, that the man’s voice she’d kept hearing behind her when she was on land wasn’t Clancy. It couldn’t have been, because Clancy leaped from the bushes at her only a few moments after she’d last heard the man in the distance.

Somebody else was out there, probably looking for her. FBI? She hoped they found Clancy.

“Jesus, if you’ll just get me out of this, I’ll never shove Ajay into the pool again, and…”

Doriann suddenly realized she’d been praying wrong all day. She’d been bargaining with God to get out of this horrible mess. Aunt Renee said not to bargain with God, because everything you had belonged to God anyway, so it was like offering a bribe to a person who had given you all your money to begin with.

“Well, then, God, I guess I’ll just have to ask for mercy,” Doriann said softly. That was what Mom said when she missed church Sunday after Sunday because of work.

She listened for the sound of Humphrey’s howl, but she knew he couldn’t have kept up with her. She thought again about the dog’s attack on Clancy. And wow. Humphrey was afraid of everybody, but he’d charged a killer to defend her.

She thought about how she’d escaped the swamp, about Humphrey finding her in the cave and keeping her warm. She thought about reaching this boat at just the right time.

Maybe she was just a sassy kid who didn’t mind her parents, but she knew what mercy looked like-a sunset. She knew what it smelled like, sometimes, too-swamp water and cow poop and dog breath. It felt like blisters on her feet, and a rough wooden boat beneath her bottom, and sweat frozen in her hair.

Now if God would just keep her from floating all the way to the Mississippi River, she’d be happy.

Zelda led Jama into her house, where the aroma of some kind of Southwestern dish filled the air. Jama remembered that Zelda had always loved spicy food, even though it gave her heartburn. She’d probably stop having heartburn if she stopped smoking a cigar every night, but she also probably knew that.

“You going to tell me why you need to get into the clinic?” Jama asked.

“I’ll do better than that. I’m going to show you.” Zelda led her down the hallway to the back bedroom. She turned and looked at Jama, and the lines of her face were more prominent than Jama had ever seen them, pulled down by some heavy sadness.

Opening the door, Zelda called out, “Debra? Honey, you need to wake up now.”

Debra? Benedict? Zelda’s granddaughter? Jama stepped into the room as Zelda switched on the overhead light. The smell of unwashed body and dirty socks wafted into the air.

The body in the bed was turned away from the door. Sharp, nearly fleshless shoulder blades were prominent beneath a floral blouse that was obviously Zelda’s. From what Jama remembered of Debra-she was the age of the Mercer twins, several grades behind Jama in school-she had always preferred black T-shirts with skull and crossbones insignias and threadbare jeans, not fuchsia and orange and lime-green tropical pullovers.

The still form stirred only when Zelda placed a hand on her shoulder and gently nudged her.

“Turn over here and let the doctor take a look at you, hon. I want an expert opinion.” Zelda motioned for Jama to join her at the twin-size bed.

Debra rolled over onto her back, and Jama was stunned by her appearance, as if a Halloween mask had been painted onto her face. Her eyes were barely visible from the swollen, discolored flesh around them. Her blond hair, fuzzy and damaged from what appeared to be too many applications of hair color, was matted with blood on the right side.

Debra looked up at Jama and nodded a greeting. “Haven’t seen you in years.” Her gold-hazel eyes looked weary, as if she could barely keep them open. Her forehead-the only part of her face that wasn’t swollen-had wrinkles. She wasn’t even thirty.

“I’ve been keeping a close eye on her,” Zelda said. “I’m afraid of a concussion, some broken ribs, maybe broken facial bones and soft tissue damage. She won’t let me take her to a hospital. I’ve tried.”