Chapter Twenty-Four

I couldn't resiststopping by the Circle B to see if Tom happened to be around.

He was. In the barn, preparing a dose of antibiotic for Tamantha's horse, Roxanne. As he said he didn't like the look of a cut on her leg.

"I want to interview this person Gee describes as Keefe's best friend. He lives in Cooke City, Montana. I thought I'd drive up there and—. Why not?" I asked in response to Tom's shaking head.

He stopped shaking his head, but I knew it wasn't because he withdrew his objection.

"I'd check the weather, of course," I said, "but I looked at the map in my SUV and Cooke City's just north of Yellowstone, barely into Montana and not that far west of Red Lodge."

"Uh-huh."

"So that's not that far away. Doesn't look like it would be much farther than Red Lodge."

That's where Tom's sister lived and they visited back and forth regularly, including taking Tamantha up for visits. We'd stayed there a couple nights to celebrate New Years.

"You've got a few mountains in the way to reach Cooke City," Tom said dryly.

"But Jean-Marie was talking at New Year's about seeing her good friend who lives in Cooke City."

He nodded. "They do get together regularly... during the summer."

I eyed him with suspicion rising in my heart. "Why only in summer?"

"It's not Red Lodge," he said quickly, apparently divining the direction of my suspicion. "Not really. But what connects the two towns most directly is the Beartooth Highway and that closes in the winter. Snows pretty much every month of the year on that road," he added thoughtfully.

I might have grimaced, because Tom said consolingly, "It's not all Beartooth. The Chief Joseph Highway gets most of the way to Cooke City."

"Most of the way." Suspicion had gone to certainty.

"They don't try to clear all of Colter Pass, so you can't actually drive it, although snowmobiles usually get through. Snow coaches, too."

"Snow coaches?"

"Don't think of public transportation," Tom said. "People who don't want to face the cold on a snowmobile get tours in Yellowstone in them. Big windows. And they sit up high, with some serious tires."

Dragging him back to the point, I said, "Cooke City is cut off for the winter?"

"Not usually. Highway 212 through the park's kept open pretty much, even when all the other roads are closed to anything but snowmobiles and the snow coaches. So they can go across the northern part of the park to reach Gardiner, Montana, and go north from there."

"But Jean-Marie and her friend don't do that?"

"It's a long way around. It's two-and-a-half, three hours in summer. Figure you'd be pushing five hours with good weather and no events in winter. Add those in and no telling. To get there, you'd have to first drive to Red Lodge, then make that round-about trip."

Every time I thought had the Wyomingness of Wyoming figured out, it revealed a new layer.

Though in fairness, this time was more the Montananess of Montana.

His phone rang.

"Will you check that?" He held up his hands, indicating the impracticality of picking up the phone.

Though we both know he would have if he'd been alone, in case it was Tamantha.

"Sure." It was no hardship sliding my hand into his pocket for the phone. "It's your parents."

Our eyes met for a moment.

I accepted the call. "Hi, it's Elizabeth. Tom's here, too, but he, um, has his hands full. I'll put you on speaker."

"Oh, Elizabeth. I'm glad you're there." That was his mother, alone. No hint of his father in view. Plus a further hint that he wasn't there in her lighter than normal voice. What a sad commentary that was.

"Hi, Mom," he called.

"He's, uh, doctoring a horse, but I can get closer so you can hear him." I kept my back to his doings.

"I just heard about Keefe Dobey and was so shocked. Do they know anything more? Have they arrested anybody?"

Tom didn't answer, so I said, "Not yet. It seems to be a mystery to them."

Us, too, but I didn't say that.

"Of course it is. Can't imagine why anyone in this world would want to harm that sweet man. And poor Wendy Barlow — she's had enough hard knocks, and now this."

"Hard knocks?"

"Mm-hmm. She had to sell her lovely home down here and rent a much smaller place. It was either sell this one or the ranch and everyone knew she'd never sell Elk Rock Ranch. And all because her brothers resented how the uncle left her the ranch in his will and they tightened the purse strings on her income that comes from the family business, while they get plenty."

They all worked for the family business, as I knew from Matt Lester in Philadelphia, so they might be justified in that.

"You must be good friends with Wendy Barlow," I said mildly.

"I wouldn't say that." She looked slightly puzzled, then it cleared. "It was after a lunch we'd happened to attend together. I suppose I was a connection to home amid all those other strangers. We sat next to each other and... well, she did have a number of glasses of wine. She didn't even seem to remember telling me the next time we saw each other, because she pretended she was still living in the same place, when I knew she wasn't."

She shot a quick over her shoulder, as if checking for her husband, but he wasn't there.

"Thomas always liked Keefe. Said he was restful. Didn't talk your ear off."

"But that sad topic wasn't why I called. We received the wedding invitation today and it's beautiful. We're so touched the way you included us and your parents in the information for the reception."

That had been one of the surprisingly easy decisions.

Invitations for first-time weddings usually included the parents, especially if they footed the bill. Since this was a second marriage for each of us and we were paying, the wedding invitation came from us. On the invitation for the reception, we'd included language about joining our families... and named Tamantha, my parents, and his parents.

"We? Speak for yourself, Mom," Tom said loud enough for her to hear.

A wince flickered across her face. "We — I... I appreciate you keeping us updated on the wedding preparations, Elizabeth. I do so hope to come."

"Then come," Tom said. "I'll get you a plane ticket. If he doesn't want to come—"

"Oh, it's not that, Tommy. Truly. It just brings up..." She looked into the screen at me, asking me to understand. "He was so proud of Tommy's basketball."

To my mind, that translated as Thomas living vicariously through Tom's success.

Perhaps that silent judgment showed in my face, because she added with the pleading for understanding now in her voice. "It was hard for him when Tommy left college."

Hard for him? What about Tom?

He'd given up his scholarship when Tamantha's mother said she was pregnant. They got married. And then she wasn't pregnant, a situation clouded in doubt for years before he knew for sure that she'd lied about ever being pregnant. By that time, Tamantha had come along.

Their divorce followed. But their daughter tied them together in uncomfortable ways. Until his ex's death.

Tom grunted. "He should have been happy I left school. Meant he had me to work on the ranch, while he built up the road construction business." Tom kept both of them going now, though in a reversal from his father's priorities, the ranch was more important to him. "And what's this about my basketball being important to him? Never said so when I was playing. Work he wanted done always came first. No basketball game or practice excused the chores. Schoolwork, either."

"You have to understand. His own father was the same way. So was mine. It's why Thomas..."

When she didn't say more, Tom moved over to be onscreen. Gently, he said, "We're glad you like the invitation, Mom. And we mean it about getting you a ticket."

"I know, Tommy. But I still hope..."

"I know you do, Mom."

She swallowed. "Yes, well, I better let you two kids get on with your day. Thank you again."

Amid the good-byes, I heard her words again.

His own father was the same way. It's why he...

Never loved the ranch?

Never wanted to visit?

Never showed his son affection?

All those were guesses. Tom rarely talked about his parents or his upbringing. I knew it was a wound, but it seemed to be one he'd found a way to not only live with, but not allow to impinge on his life now.

"Want to put it back in my pocket?" Tom asked, tipping his head to the now blank-screened phone.

"You bet."

When I'd finished, taking longer than necessary, which had both of us grinning, I stepped back and said, "You deliberately set out to be a different kind of father."

He turned back to his work, saying lightly, "Who wouldn't?"

"Your father. Most people. The vast majority replicate what drove them nuts in their own parents because it's what they know — all they know. It takes a very strong person to strike out in another direction. As you have. You do know you're an amazing father."

He half grinned, but his eyes were serious. "Got an amazing kid."

"No argument there."

"Are you marrying me for my parenting skills?" Now the grin reached his eyes.

"They don't hurt your resume any." Neither did certain other skills he employed. We employed.

Though not at the moment. So I used another of my skills and said, "Something I've wondered about... you're not using junior."

"I'm not a junior."

"Thomas Burrell—" I pointed at his chest. Then switched to point toward his phone. "—Thomas Burrell. Doesn't that get confusing? Documents and stuff, if no other way."

"He's Thomas Yoder Burrell."

And the man before me was Thomas David Burrell. "Ah."

I could ask about the different middle names. It was unlikely to open the topic of the trouble between father and son.

But I had a thought.

That question to a different person might just open the topic of the trouble between father and son.

For now I left it with that comprehending Ah.

"You do know your mother's homesick for Cottonwood County?" I asked him.

"She's not coming back as long as he's alive."

Startled, I said, "You don't think there's any chance they'll come to the wedding?"

"Back here permanent, I meant."

He turned off that conversational road. "So, that could explain what you heard about Wendy spending less time away the past few winters."

I let him make that turn... for now. We were not done with the topic of his parents for good. "It could. Also an attitude I picked up from Wendy about her brothers."

"I see that look in your eyes. Go on, Elizabeth, get out of here now. Go get more answers to those questions I see piling up."