I had known Beverly, the owner of the cafe, since my days with Jimmy. She had a small gift shop in the cafe that was filled with southwestern art, paintings, pottery, cactuses, and various antiques. She had taken Jimmy's work on commission, and Jimmy had always seemed to like her. Jimmy had kept my existence pretty low-key, but Beverly had been kind to him and kind to me. He had trusted her, and it was one of the places where we let down our guard a little. I had eaten in the big red leather booths many times.

A few years back, when I was old enough to drive and get around on my own, I approached Beverley for a job. She was a woman on the heavy side of pleasantly plump, with red hair and a welcoming way. Her laugh was as big as her bosom, which was pretty impressive, and she was as popular with her customers as her milkshakes and double cheeseburgers with jalepenos were. She hadn't recognized me until I'd told her my name. Then her jaw had dropped and she had come out from behind the cash register and hugged me tightly. It had been the most genuine expression of concern anyone had shown me since . . . since, well . . . ever.

“What ever happened to you two, Blue? Jimmy left me with five carvings, and I sold them all, but he never came back. I had people wanting his work, asking for it. At first I was puzzled, wondering if I'd done something. But I had money for him. Surely he would have come back for his money. And then I got worried. It's been at least five years, hasn't it?”

“Six,” I corrected her.

Beverly hired me that very day, and I had worked for her ever since. She had never said anything about my appearance or my taste in men. If she thought my makeup was a little thick or my uniform a little tight, she also never said. I worked hard, and I was dependable, and she let me be. She even gave me the money from the sale of Jimmy's sculptures six years before.

“That's after I took twenty percent, plus six years worth of interest,” she had said matter-of-factly. “And if you've got any more of his carvings, I'll take 'em.”

It was five hundred dollars. I had used it to buy tools and secure the storage unit behind the apartment. And I had started carving in earnest. No more dabbling as I had done since Jimmy died. I attacked the art with a ferocity I didn't know I was capable of. Some of my carvings were hideous. Some weren't. And I got better. I parted with a couple of Jimmy's carvings, and finished the ones that he hadn't had the chance to complete. I then sold them all with his name – my name too, Echohawk - and when it was all said and done, I had made another $500. With that, and a year's worth of savings, I bought my little pick-up truck. It was very beat up, and it had 100,000 miles on it. But it ran and it gave me the wheels I needed to expand my wood gathering capabilities.

I had practiced on every log, branch, and tree I could get my hands on, but it wasn't like there were vast forests surrounding me. I lived in a desert. Fortunately, Boulder City sat higher up at the base of hills with mesquite growing in enough abundance that I could forage and pretty much take what I wanted. I became pretty good with a chain saw. Nobody cared about the scrubby mesquite anyway. And I have to admit, cutting it down was therapeutic in a very gut-level way. Within a year of getting a job at the cafe, I had sold a few of my pieces and had ten or so pieces lining the shelves of Beverly's little shop at all times. Three years later, I had a nest egg of several thousand dollars.

I was working the Thursday dinner shift one evening when Mr. Wilson came into the cafe with a pretty woman in a big fur coat. Her hair was a mass of blonde curls pinned up on her head, and she wore little diamonds at her ears as well as black stilletos and fishnet stockings. She was either coming from somewhere uber fancy or was one of those women who had never outgrown dress-up. The fur coat was so out of place in the cafe's southwest décor that I found myself trying not to laugh as I approached their table to take their order. She shrugged out of her coat and smiled up at me brightly when I asked them if I could bring them something to drink.

“I am so thirsty! I'll have a whole pitcher full of water, luv, and a massive order of nachos if you have them just for starters!” she chirped in accented supplication. She was British too. I looked from Wilson to the woman and back again.

“Hello, Blue,” Wilson smiled up at me politely. “Blue is one of my students, Tiffa,” he offered, introducing me to the woman across from him.

Tiffa's eyebrows shot up in disbelief as she gave me a quick once over. I had the feeling she didn't think I looked like a student. Her hand shot out, and I took it hesitantly.

“Are you the one who took the gun from that poor boy? Wilson's told me all about you! What a beautiful name! I'm Tiffa Snook, and I'm Darcy's, er, Mr. Wilson's, sister. You'll have to tell me what to order! I could eat a unicorn and pick my teeth with his horn! I'm absolutely famished.” Tiffa rattled all of this off in about two seconds flat, and I found myself liking her, in spite of her fur coat. If she hadn't mentioned the family connection, I would have thought Darcy liked older women.

“Tiffa is always famished,” Wilson added dryly, and Tiffa snorted and threw her napkin at him. But she laughed and shrugged, conceding the point.

“It's true. I am going to have to run for hours to work off those nachos, but I don't care. So tell me, Blue, what shall we order?”

I suggested several things, wondering all the while what Tiffa Snook exercised in if she wore fishnets and a fur coat to eat at the cafe. I could just see her clomping on the treadmill in heels and a baby seal-lined sweat suit. She was as thin as a rail and quite tall, and she exuded energy. She probably needed to eat like a horse – or a unicorn – just to fuel her energy level.

I found myself watching Wilson and his sister throughout their meal, and it wasn't just because I was their waitress. They seemed to enjoy each other's company, and their laughter filled their corner frequently. Tiffa was the one who seemed to do the majority of the talking, her gestures and hands movements accenting everything she said, but Wilson had her giggling uncontrollably more than once. When they finally signaled that they wanted their check, Tiffa reached out and took my hand as if we were old friends. It was all I could do not to yank it back.

“Blue! You have to settle this for us! Darcy here says you know something about carving. There are some fabulous carvings in the shop there, that I saw on the way in. You wouldn't know anything about them, would you?”

I was stricken with sudden self-consciousness, and for a minute I didn't know how to respond.

“Uh, what would you like to know?” I answered cautiously.

“Darcy says it's your last name carved into the base of each one. I told him they couldn't possibly be yours. No offense, luv, but they are seasoned, if that makes any sense.”

“They're mine,” I blurted out. “If that's all you need, here's your check. You can pay at the register. Thank you for coming in.” I rushed away, breathless, and barged into the kitchen like someone was after me. I found myself actually looking for some place to hide, as if Wilson and his sister would actually chase me and tackle me to the ground. After a minute of cowering, I marshalled enough courage to peek through the swinging doors separating the kitchen from the dining room.

They were browsing the gift shop, pausing beside several of my pieces. Tiffa ran her fingers along one of them, commenting to Wilson, though I couldn't hear what she said. I was struck with self-consciousness all over again, horror and elation warring in my chest. I turned away, not wanting to see more. It was close to closing time, and the cafe was almost empty, so I managed to hide out in the kitchen, doing my closing duties, waiting for them to leave.