Mama’s voice cracked. “Sally, please don’t be mad at me. I can’t take it.’’ Her eyes glistened with tears.

Sal stopped. He turned toward his trembling bride. At our table, Maddie made the sign of a fishing pole, reeling him in.

“Snagged like a speckled perch,’’ I agreed.

“Hush, they’ll hear you,’’ Marty warned.

“Look at that,’’ Maddie said. “Mama even looks pretty when she cries. If that was me, my eyes would be all puffy and as red as her dress.’’

“Ruby’s dress,’’ I said. “But I know what you mean. My nose would be dripping like a snot faucet by now. And I’d look like Rudolph, lighting the way for Santa’s sleigh.’’

I pushed back my chair. “I’m getting some more coffee. Anyone want anything?’’

Marty shook her head. Maddie said, “Bring me one of those big muffins with the cinnamon crust on top, would you?’’

She caught the glance I stole at her plate. A single smear of meringue and just one crumb from Kelly’s brownie remained.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take the muffin home and save it for breakfast.’’

“Sure you will.’’

“No bickering, you two,’’ Marty said. “I’m trying to eavesdrop on Sal and Mama.’’

I had less interest in that endeavor than Marty did. I’d seen the Sal and Rosalee Show, and this was yet another rerun. I made my way to the serving area.

I loaded Maddie’s muffin on a tray, and was at the condiment table, adding sugar and cream to my coffee, when I glanced to the side of the tent. The show was still in progress. Sal had enfolded Mama in a big bear hug. He was now comforting her. Sniffling, she snuggled into his protective embrace. I imagined a critic’s summation of this familiar, two-character play.

Outcome: predictable. Ending: clichéd. Plot: visible from a mile away.

As my gaze lingered on Sal and Mama, I became aware of the sound of someone beside me, breathing. I jumped. It was Barbara.

“You scared me,’’ I said. “Where’d you come from?’’

Her eyes didn’t leave Sal and Mama. “I want you to deliver a message,’’ she said. “Tell your floozy of a mother that Paul Watkins is my man, and I’m not fond of sharing.’’

“Really?’’ I said. “I wonder what Paul’s wife, Savannah, would say about that?’’

“Why don’t you ask her? She’ll tell you somebody could get hurt crossing Barbara Sydney.’’

With that, Barbara grabbed a long, serrated knife from the dessert table. She poked at the muffin I’d chosen for Maddie, flipping it onto its side. Then she cleanly sliced off the cinnamon crumb top, and dropped the decapitated pastry on the floor at my feet.

I had a gentle Quarter horse saddled and ready. The horse stomped a foot, shivered, and shook all over. Jesse backpedaled so fast her boots kicked up splatters of mud in the corral.

“Is it angry?’’

“Only at that horsefly.’’ I waved a hand to shoo the insect. “That’s what horses do when they’re trying to stop it from stinging.’’

“Does it mind if I get on?’’

“His name’s Zeke; and honestly, he’ll pay less mind to you climbing on his back than he does to that horsefly.’’

She took a few tentative steps in Zeke’s direction. Her eyes traveled from the ground up to the saddle. “I’m not sure I can do it.’’

“All that working out you do at the gym? You should be able to haul yourself up onto his back with no problem.’’ I demonstrated. “See? You always mount from the left. Foot in the stirrup. Hand on the horn. Then swing your right leg over his rump. It’s kind of like getting on a motorcycle.’’

“Motorcycles don’t bite.’’

“Neither will Zeke. He’s very well trained.’’ I swung down out of the saddle again, and stood on the ground. “Your turn.’’

She backed up. “I have to confess something, Mace. This is the closest I’ve ever been to a real, live horse.’’

Her voice was small, scared. All her swagger was gone. It was the first time Jesse had seemed vulnerable. Human.

“I really needed this role, so I lied about being a good rider to get it. I should have been practicing, but every time I got near a horse, I chickened out. They’re so big.’’

Her voice shook, like she might start crying. I actually felt sorry for her. “Don’t worry,’’ I told her. “I’m right here, and we’ll take it slow.”

“I really appreciate you agreeing to do this, Mace. I know you don’t approve of me.’’

“Don’t mention it.’’ I waved a hand, purposely ignoring the approval part. “I just want to make sure nobody gets hurt around the horses.’’

I clutched Zeke’s reins, extending my other hand to Jesse. She inched toward me, and I gently took her wrist. “You put your hand out flat, palm down, and let him sniff at the back.’’ I turned her hand over. “That’s how he gets to know you.’’

After she let Zeke get her smell, I guided her hand all along the horse’s neck, down to the chest. “Don’t pat. Stroke. And give him a good scratch there, in the middle of his chest. He can’t reach that spot, so he’ll appreciate it.’’

By the time we’d worked our way all the way back to his rump, under his belly, and up his neck again, Zeke was totally relaxed. Jesse was getting there. I had her ball her fist and gently stroke his muzzle. “See how soft that nose is? Like velvet,’’ I said. “Now, feel those stubbly whiskers.’’

A smile spread across her face. The horse rubbed his head against her chest. “See? He likes you,’’ I said. “Which figures, since Zeke is a male.’’

Jesse’s face went pink. “I know my reputation. It’s not fair. Guys who hook up with a lot of girls are studs. If a girl does the exact same thing, everyone calls her a slut.’’

“Yeah, well welcome to the world, Jesse. Life’s not fair.’’

“You can say that again.’’

When she was ready, I helped her into the saddle. “You’re going to do great. We won’t go far; and you and Zeke are already old friends.’’

I adjusted her stirrups, and then handed her the reins. “Don’t hold them too tight, but don’t let them drop, either. We’ll ride out together, and I’ll show you what I mean.’’

I mounted one of the other horses, and we set off at a slow walk. Jesse watched closely, mimicking everything I did. Now that she was more comfortable with the horse, she was a fast learner.

“You can talk to him, you know. Lean over and give him a scratch now and then.’’

She ran a hand along his neck, under the mane. “You’re a good horse, Zeke.’’ At just that moment, he bobbed his head up and down. Jesse’s laugh was pure girlish delight. “Look, he agrees with me!’’

We rode for a short distance on a rutted path through open pasture, until we came to a fork that led to a hardwood hammock. “Those big trees are so pretty,’’ Jesse said. “Is it safe to ride through there?’’

“Sure, that bit of woods runs between the base camp and the parking lot.’’ I turned my horse toward the fork, and Jesse followed. The tree-shaded path was wide enough for us to ride two abreast. “That’s a live oak,’’ I pointed toward an ancient specimen, weeping with Spanish moss. “See how its branches grow almost sideways like that? It’s like they’re reaching out to touch all of nature around them.’’

“Cool,’’ she said. “I can see that. The limbs are spread out almost as wide as the tree is tall.’’

I pointed out a couple more things—ground the wild hogs had torn up, digging for roots and bugs with their snouts; a hawk soaring on an air current in a now-clear sky. Mostly, we kept a companionable silence, with me offering words of encouragement or gentle correction. Jesse’s horseback scene was scheduled to be filmed in two more days. That wasn’t much time to bring her skill level to where it needed to be. But I decided not to mention my misgivings to her.

“Is Toby a good rider?’’ I asked.

She shrugged. “Not as good as Greg Tilton, but I think he’s okay.’’