Abilene shrugged, seeming amused by the whole thing. “She’s right, though. If you’re never going to sell, who cares what they’re after?”

“True enough,” Don said sagely. “True enough. If we ever sell, it’ll be from a natural disaster. A complete dry-up or a massive outbreak. A true catastrophe, not just because some sweaty shit from God knows where shows up, waving his boss’s wallet around.” Too late, he realized he’d sworn, and apologized to their guest.

“I’d love to know what the deal is, though,” Miah said, and speared a wedge of carrot. “Can’t say I’m not curious, the way they’ve come on so strong these past couple weeks.”

“The casino’s starting to look like it’ll actually go through,” his mom offered. “Have you driven by the foothills lately? The heavy equipment’s all come back, plus we got a notice in the mail with a blasting schedule from the Silver State people.”

Miah smiled dryly. “I’ll hand it to the new contractors—they’re more courteous than Virgin River ever was.”

His mom nodded. “Or gun-shy, anyhow. And either way—whether they’re ethical or just trying to cover their butts—you won’t catch me complaining. If there’s got to be a casino, this is looking like a vast improvement, so far. No one can argue that.”

Miah smiled grimly. “No, I guess not. Though it sure would be nice to wake up and realize the whole damn project was just an awful dream.”

•   •   •

Once dinner was over, Christine ushered Abilene from the kitchen, telling her she’d done plenty for one night and to go take it easy while the rest of them dealt with the dishes.

She was only too happy to comply. Mercy had been suspiciously calm all evening, and was now due to boil over at any minute. Sure enough, she went into a fit no sooner than Abilene had started up the steps to the guest wing. It took a good hour to meet all her needs and settle her back down, but at long last she seemed to have wailed herself into exhaustion. Maybe she’d even make it two for two, and sleep through the night again.

Abilene got settled in bed, though she wouldn’t sleep herself, yet, not until Casey was back. A glance at the clock beside the reading lamp told her it was ten of ten. If he didn’t show by eleven, she’d text him. She didn’t want to appear too needy, but at a certain point, worry would kick in. Worry for him, and worry at the prospect of facing a night without him nearby, in case there was another prowler incident.

For now she’d read and try to not fret too much about what could be keeping him out for so long, when all he’d said was that he needed to take a phone call and check on his mother—

She turned at a soft rap on the door.

“Come in.”

Casey’s voice. “It’s only me.”

Only. Only the person she wanted to see most in the entire world. “Come in.”

She sat up straight, flinging the magazine she’d been browsing under the bed. It was an old copy of Glamour that she’d “borrowed” from the pediatrician’s office more than a month ago. She’d bring it back next time Mercy had a checkup, but for now, it felt like a lifeline to the outside world. Or actually, no—to the past. To simpler times. She’d had subscriptions to about five of those dumb magazines when she’d been fourteen, fifteen—sent to her grandma’s house, since her dad would never have approved of all that makeup and such short skirts. She’d pored over them the way she once had her Picture Bible, fantasizing that someday she’d be skinny and fashionable and have a cell phone and kiss boys.

Casey closed the door softly behind him and walked to the crib to peek over the edge. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Little Miss Beautiful had a huge meltdown, so now she’s out cold. You don’t need to whisper.”

“You about to steal some sleep yourself?”

She tried to read his expression. There was intensity there, but not lust, she didn’t think. “I don’t have to.”

“Cool if I hang out?”

“Of course.” If Abilene had her way, his sleeping in her bed would be the default.

“I heard I missed your home cooking tonight.”

“No big deal.”

“I would’ve liked to have been there. You Texas girls can cook.”

“The trick is to never drain the fat out of anything,” she teased. “Did any of the deputies down the road give you grief on your way back here?”

“I got stopped, but they just checked my ID and called Don, got the go-ahead. Small price to pay for a little peace of mind.”

That gave Abilene pause, and she hoped she wouldn’t find herself in a similar position. She had no clue if her fake license was good enough to fool an actual cop, and to boot it didn’t match the name on her registration. She’d have little choice but to show them her real one, and that name wouldn’t ring any bells if they called Don. Allison Beeman? Never heard of her.

“Did you have that call you’d mentioned?” She asked it casually, though Casey had implied that whatever the conversation was about, it was miles from trivial.

“Yeah.” He joined her on the bed, sitting beside her with his back to the headboard and spreading his legs. He patted the space between them. “C’mere.”

She relocated, smiling broadly and glad he couldn’t see how goofy she must look. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and his chest warmed her back through their T-shirts.

“So what happened?”

He wrapped his arms around her middle, linking his fingers at her belly. A few days ago, such a thing would’ve made her self-conscious, but he liked her body, just as it was. She trusted that much.

“This’ll be between you and me,” he said. “A few people know, but not many.”

She laughed, nervous now. “You’d better tell me before I start jumping to wild conclusions.”

After a deep breath, he did. “When I was about twenty, my mom started going crazy.”

“Okay.” She knew the gist of the situation, but not much. She covered his hands with hers, rubbing his knuckles. “Is this to do with her? Like a diagnosis or something?”

“Not exactly. But the backstory is she has some kind of early-onset dementia. She was just starting to get spacey and forgetful around the time I moved away. Now she’s pretty much checked out of reality, twenty-four-seven. Spends all her waking hours watching TV.”

“That happened to my great-grandma, but not until she was almost ninety. I’m sorry. I know how sad it is.”

“Yeah, it is . . . But so a few years ago, I started getting these funny spells myself. I thought they were seizures. Maybe they are; I’m not sure. Anyway. I was worried maybe those episodes were the first sign that I was going to lose my mind, like my mom did.”

In a breath, Abilene was worried. Terrified. She held his hands tight, bracing herself.

“She started declining when she was in her early forties,” he went on. “The, um . . . One of the reasons I told you I didn’t think you and I could be anything serious is because I didn’t know if that was happening to me, too. My mom has spells—not as violent as mine, but similar. It seemed likely it was related to her other issues. I was afraid to know for sure what it was all about, because me going crazy seemed like the most obvious explanation. And if I was, it didn’t seem fair to get into something with you. Like I’d be making a promise I might not be able to keep, if things ever turned serious.”

Jesus, she’d never have guessed his hesitation was down to something so intense. “So what was the phone call about?”

Another deep breath. “I sent DNA samples to a company that does genetic analysis. Mine and my mom’s and Vince’s. They can look at your genes and tell you if you have the markers for a load of diseases and mental disorders.”

She nodded. “I’ve seen the ads on TV.” She’d always thought it sounded like a terrible idea—she worried enough as it was, without knowing what latent illnesses might be scribbled all over her DNA. But in Casey’s situation, she could appreciate needing answers.