The crowd murmured its sympathy.

Jack reached for her arm to guide her down from the log. But Wynonna lingered, hanging tight to his hand.

“Just one more thing.’’

The crowd murmured a question.

“Y’all may hear all kinds of things about Lawton in the coming days. Some true. Most not. I just want you to know that, on balance, my husband was a good man. I loved him, faults and all, just the way he loved me. And although our marriage wasn’t a long one, it was solid.’’ Her shoulders began to shake. “I’m going to miss him something awful,’’ she choked out.

Stepping down, Wynonna was sobbing. Jack put an arm around her, adding an awkward pat. First one rider, and then another, and then another stepped forward from the crowd. Hands reached out to comfort her.

“You poor thing,’’ the big cowgirl said, as she stood in line to stroke Wynonna’s arm.

“So brave!’’ The cowgirl’s curly-haired friend dabbed her own teary eyes, and then peeled off a fresh tissue from her pack to hand to the new widow.

“Poor broad.’’ Sal said, and then peered at Mama in the firelight. “I thought for sure you’d have the wadderworks turned on by now.’’ He ran a finger down Mama’s cheek, which was just as dry as mine. “What’s wrong, Rosie? I’ve seen you get teary-eyed over a TV commercial.’’

Mama’s lips were pressed together; her arms folded tight across her chest. She watched through narrowed eyes as a human surge of sympathy engulfed Wynonna.

“Mace?’’ Sal turned to me. “What’s up with your mudder?

Mama shook her head at me, a barely perceptible “no.’’ She wouldn’t speak ill of so recent a widow. But I knew she was thinking the same thing as I was. Wynonna’s public grief smacked of performance. And the two of us had witnessed her dress rehearsal, standing beside her husband’s body just a few hours before.

“Bravo! Bravo!’’

The mocking shout came from the edge of the crowd. In the hushed silence that followed, Trey stood all alone, clapping. He must have slipped in while all eyes were on his stepmother.

“And the Oscar goes to Wynonna Bramble,’’ Trey continued, “as the grieving widow.’’ He swayed a bit, but his voice carried like a TV preacher’s. “Oh my Lord, what will poor, young Wynonna do now? What will she do, without her beloved husband? Not to worry, folks. That pile of money she’ll inherit will make it a whole lot easier for our heroine to answer that question.’’

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Heads swiveled to Trey and back to Wynonna. It was so quiet you could hear the wood sap popping in the campfire.

“Hello, Trey.’’ Wynonna’s eyes were bone-dry now. “I see you’ve been drinking. Again.’’

“And I see you’ve been play-acting about how much you loved my daddy. Again. You may have these fine people fooled, Wynonna. But I’m not nearly drunk enough to buy it. It’s just a matter of time before you’re found out. And I plan to be there when it happens, holding the rope for your pretty neck.’’

Wynonna’s hands clenched at her sides. She took a couple of steadying breaths. When her voice came out, it was as unforgiving as a slab of ice.

“It’s too bad you didn’t take such an interest in your daddy before he died, Trey. He cried many a tear over you. Your drinking. Your business failures. Your refusal to grow up. I think it was all the stress you gave Lawton that finally broke his weak heart.’’

Trey’s eyes were slits as he took a step toward Wynonna, a rattlesnake ready to strike. She backed up against the trail boss, who looked like he’d rather be off roping a calf somewhere. Moving fast for such a big man, Sal inserted himself between the widow and her stepson. With a hand like a bear paw, he grabbed Trey’s arm.

“C’mon, pal. Let’s you and me take a wawk,’’ Sal said. “We’ll have us a little tawk.’’

In tone, in size, in demeanor—Sal oozed menace. He had at least five inches and a hundred pounds on the younger man. And Trey wasn’t that drunk that he’d argue with someone who looked and acted like a New York gangster. Sal had found it served his purpose to let people assume whatever they would about his colorful past, before retirement in Florida.

I grabbed a lantern and caught up with the two of them in time to overhear Trey ask, “Are you taking me to the woodshed?’’

“Too late for that, pal. Your fadder should have done that a long time ago.’’

At the mention of Lawton, Trey’s shoulders slumped. The tough-guy cast to his face crumbled. “Wynonna’s a bitch, and she never loved my daddy. But she’s right about one thing. I’m probably the reason his heart quit. I never gave that man a day of peace.’’

I took hold of Trey’s other arm. “That’s not true, and you know it,’’ I said. “I remember Lawton sitting in the stands at Himmarshee High when you played football. He was so proud of you. He always wore that No. 1 Fan hat with the Brahma horns. He’d scream his head off with every touchdown pass you threw.’’

A half-smile appeared, making Trey’s face handsome again. “Yeah, I remember that, too.’’ The smile faded, faster than it came. “But high school was a long time ago. I’m talking about the mess I’ve made of my life since then.’’

I couldn’t argue with him there. I’d already seen evidence of hard drinking. And I’d witnessed something fishy going on between Trey and his father’s wife, although I still wasn’t sure what.

“My screw-ups killed my daddy,’’ Trey said, “as sure as if I took a gun and shot him.’’

Sal stopped short, which meant we did, too, since he was the engine pulling all of us away from the dinner camp. Like a kid’s game of whip, we jerked around, too, from the brute force of Sal’s action.

“You listen to me, son.’’ Sal brought his big head close to Trey’s. “I’ve seen a lot of people over the years do a lot of bad things. Stabbings and beatings. Fatal shootings, where one person aims a weapon to take another’s life. That’s murder. You being a bad son, maybe even a disappointing son? It doesn’t come close to that level of evil.’’

Sal paused, letting his words sink in. Finally, he moved his huge hand from Trey’s arm to his shoulder. He gave it a fatherly squeeze.

“It’s not too late, you know. You can step up and be a man. It’s what your dad would have wanted. Maybe, somehow, he’ll know you’ve straightened up and done right.’’

Trey dropped his head to his chest, and brushed quickly at his eyes. He coughed. When he raised his face, my heart ached at the grief I saw written there. I had the strangest urge to wrap my arms around him and comfort him with a kiss.

Trey stared at me with his daddy’s blue eyes, and I wondered if he could read my thoughts. It surprised me to realize I wouldn’t mind if he did.

Our eyes locked. A flash of desire arced between us. It must have spilled out into the cool air, because Sal dropped his hand from Trey’s shoulder and took a step back. His gaze shifted, first to Trey and then to me.

“Guess I’ll get back to the fire,’’ he mumbled as he backed away from us. “See if Rosie needs anything.’’

I lifted my hand in a wave, not wanting to pull my eyes from Trey’s. “Bye, Sal,’’ I said.

“Bye,’’ Trey echoed, never breaking my gaze. “And, Sal? Thanks.’’

The light in our clearing dimmed as Sal walked away, carrying the lantern I’d brought. Trey pulled a small flashlight from his pocket; flicked it on and off so I could see he had it. Neither of us said a word. Cattle lowed in a distant pasture. Crickets chirped. Clouds floated across a dinner plate moon.