Chapter Seventeen

But Leona wasprepping for the Five and I didn't dare interrupt her to ask questions.

She wasn't above refusing to answer unless I took her place at the anchor desk and I had another evening with Tom and Tamantha ahead — two in a row on weeknights!

Diana showed up beside my desk, just as I started to turn off my computer. "Something secret?"

"No. Getting ready to leave." I was picking up Tamantha after her after-school activity. Which one was a little hazy — I'm new to this parenting stuff — but I knew the time and place and would not be late.

Besides, she'd tell me as soon as she got in the SUV.

"What were you doing?"

"Looking up Will Rogers. I would have guessed he was born in Texas. Good thing I didn't guess."

"Uh-huh."

"He was born and raised in Oklahoma."

"Okay. Is that significant?"

"Probably was to him," I murmured putting together my belongings. "And to Oklahoma. I also hadn't known Will Rogers was Cherokee."

Like me with Will Rogers, Jennifer had assumed Keefer Dobey was from the place she associated him with. Though her assumption was based on the tendency of younger people to think that how it was when they first noticed was how it had always been.

"Let me reframe that question," Diana said. "Is there a reason I need to know about Will Rogers at this moment, a moment in which I'm trying to get out of here to meet Russ for an early dinner at the Haber House Hotel?"

"Sorry. No, no there isn't a reason. We can both head out and—"

"Not yet." She gestured and I sank back into my chair. "Have you told Tom you want to redecorate the ranch house?"

This was what I'd delayed my departure for? "What are you talking about? I don't want to—"

"All those details about how warm and inviting the McCrackens' house was? The comfort and the style? Granted, you don't have to blend the super high ceilings with human scale at the ranch house the way you say Serena McCracken has done so beautifully."

"Might not have been her. Might have been a decorator," I mumbled.

She examined my face, which turned into my profile as I moved my bag to get out my sunglasses. "So, it's not the ranch house. Then... Oh."

She remained silent until I looked at her. Sunglasses can only account for so much time. Putting them on would be chicken. I put them on the top of my head and faced her.

"Mike's house?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Which really means Mike."

I shook my head.

She ignored the denial. "First, you do know that being with Tom doesn't mean you stop caring about Mike."

"Of course not. And Tom would never—"

"No, he wouldn't. It's not Tom I'm talking to. Second," she continued without taking a breath, making it hard for me to break in with another denial, because I not only needed a breath, I needed to think through what she'd said, "you are not responsible for taking care of him."

"He's a friend and—"

"He's my friend, too. We support him and we care about him. We don't fret about his house being a gaping cavern that would make a sworn minimalist start grabbing throw-pillows and tchotchkes by the armful. Maybe we fret — a little — about his life being less decorated with a romantic relationship than we'd like, but we do not take on the job of decorating for him.

"And you — Elizabeth Margaret Danniher — do not blame yourself that you don't love him that way."

"I don't. Not really. I know—"

"He'd have been too nice to you, anyway. Would—"

"Hey. Tom's nice to me."

"—have let you keep at least one emotional foot in the cave you'd completely retreated to when you arrived here. Thing is, Tom was in his own cave. Two of you had to both advance to come together. Mike would have accommodated you by being right outside the cave entrance whenever you felt like coming out. You wouldn't have had to put as much on the line."

I'd have to mull over whether she had a point... after I shook off the image of Tom and me being cave-dwellers.

"As much as I appreciate your analysis," I said dryly, "I've got to go get Tamantha."

"Uh-huh. Think about it. But you know I'm right."

With that parting shot, she turned, waving over her shoulder as she walked away.

****

"Progress?" Tom's questionmeant with Keefe's death.

We stood just outside my back door, watching Tamantha and Shadow play in the fast-fading twilight. I was backed up against his chest with his arms around me, which helped fight the cold.

"Before I tell you about that. We have something else to talk about." I tilted up my head. "Grasshoppers. Your mother said there could be hordes of grasshoppers." I untilted my head to keep it from getting stuck.

"She said unless the grasshoppers hit."

"You remember exactly what she said?"

"Yes. Because I saw your expression. Thought you might be thinking hordes of grasshoppers."

"Actually," I said with dignity, "the word in my mind then was plagues of grasshoppers. I downgraded to hordes. I knew a couple who got married in a park in Washington, D.C., when cicadas were at their worst. The every-seventeen years kind. Their wedding was outside, in the woods. It was crazy. Needed umbrellas to keep them from dropping on our heads, couldn't hear the vows over the whine. Are we going to have to bat away insects throughout our wedding — weddings — and reception?"

"Not going to be outside much."

"That is not reassuring, Tom. Maybe the grasshopper hordes won't interfere with the wedding itself or the reception, but the cookout at the ranch house for family and—"

"Hold up, Elizabeth. There can be grasshopper infestations, but—"

"Infestations. Great."

"—they're not as bad as you're describing, especially not in town. We'll have a better idea come spring—"

With another quick tilt, I shot him a look. March, heading toward April should be spring.

He ignored it.

"—when we can check with the USDA."

"The USDA does grasshopper reports?"

"Yeah. They can affect rangeland."

"Sure. Worry about the cows."

He suppressed a grin, saying, "We always do. The outlook's for normal numbers around here."

"They do grasshopper outlooks, too?"

"Sure. Based on the previous year's adult population per square yard. That way they get on potential hotspots early. I know you're mostly joking about the wedding, but grasshoppers can devastate crops and forage. One more thing to stay on top of."

And he had plenty to stay on top of already. I wouldn't be seeing as much of him soon with calving season approaching. He'd also need time to plan with his assistant, Connie Walterston, for the upcoming road construction season.

Summer didn't let up, either. Once I was overruled on a quicky, immediate marriage ceremony, we'd considered a fall wedding so we — he — had more time, but neither of us wanted to wait that long.

The honeymoon would wait for a more convenient time — convenient for the ranch, that was. I was also marrying the Circle B.

I told him what we'd gathered today about Keefe. It felt like a lot of telling for not much progress.

"You always feel that way at the start." Then Tom called, "Time for dinner, Tamantha, Shadow."

He was right.

It was time for dinner. And I did often — always was too strong — feel this way at the start of investigating a murder. He was even right that I was mostly kidding about the grasshoppers.

My mother wouldn't be, but we'd deal with it.

As long as we got married, I'd be fine.

A little voice at the back of my head spoke up.

As long as we figured out who'd killed Keefer Dobey, then Tom and I got married, I'd be fine.