“I get plenty of real exercise running my ranch and raising five boys,” Stella said.

  Five kids? I felt an immediate pang for her boys. Obviously she and her husband were divorcing. Growing up without a dad was hard. I should know. Well, maybe theirs would stick around. My father hadn’t, but not all men acted that way. I knew plenty who were divorced but still participated in their children’s lives.

  My slice of lasagna appeared, set down in front of me with Mandy’s practiced hand. “You want more tea?” Mandy asked.

  “No, thanks.” If the lines continued this afternoon, I wouldn’t have much time for bathroom breaks.

  Mandy turned to Stella. “Hey there, darlin’. What can I get you?”

  “I’d like a stack of buttermilk pancakes, please.” Stella darted a glare toward Renee.

  “For lunch? Oh my,” Renee said. “Aren’t you decadent?”

  Stella fixed cold eyes upon Renee, staring her down. “I’m celebrating.”

  “Is it your birthday?” Mandy asked, reaching under the counter for a set of silverware.

  “No. Not my birthday.” Stella spread her napkin over her lap. “Driving into the feed store just now, I heard that song about the lying, cheating, deadbeat husband on the radio and I thought, why not get some pancakes?

  “What song is that?” I asked Stella.

  Stella fixed her gaze upon me for the first time. “The Kathy Mattea one. You know, she rattles off a whole list of adjectives for the bastard who cheated on her. I do enjoy a good cheating song.”

  “Right. That’s a good song. I can never figure out how she can sing that fast,” I said.

  “Right?” Stella asked. “And with just the right amount of venom. I never really loved it as much as I did today.”

  I swallowed, a little afraid of this small woman with the shiny brown hair dressed in a pair of faded jeans and boots covered in mud. Not a stitch of makeup. Not that she needed it. She glowed with health and natural beauty.

  “Did Rex cheat on you?” Renee clutched the collar of her sweatshirt. “I’m so sorry.”

  Stella shrugged. “I have no evidence. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Then why are you saying anything about it at all?” Renee asked, snappily. “You can’t have it both ways.”

  “We covered this,” Stella said slowly, as if talking to a child. “Now you have something to talk about at Jazzercise besides how many calories you ate for breakfast.” She picked up her fork and stuck it into the palm of her hand.

  “It’s not Jazzercise,” Renee mumbled, cheeks red.

  “We haven’t met,” Stella said to me. “I’m Stella McKinnon. My family owns Crescent Moon Ranch.”

  “I’m Jasper Moon. I bought the house adjacent to your property.”

  “I apologize for not coming over to introduce myself earlier,” Stella said. “The ranch and the boys keep me busy.”

  “McKinnon?” Renee asked. “Are you taking back your maiden name?”

  Stella shrugged as if it meant nothing to her but I suspected that was just a defense mechanism. “I should never have given it away in the first place.”

  “That’s what women do,” Mandy said soothingly. “Nothing wrong with it.”

  “Well, God giveth and God taketh away or whatever the saying is.” Stella returned her gaze to me. “Jennie says you’re a really good boss.”

  “Jennie talks about you all the time.”

  “She’s been my best friend since we were three years old. She’s family.” Stella’s face lit up when a steaming plate of pancakes appeared in the window.

  “Here you are, honey,” Mandy said, setting the plate down in front of Stella.

  “I haven’t had pancakes in eleven years.” Stella smeared the dab of butter over the top before dousing the stack with syrup. She cut half of it into small bites and dug in as if she hadn't eaten for weeks.

  Renee watched the devouring of the pancakes as if she were watching the unfolding of a horror show. She picked up her own fork and speared a piece of lettuce while emitting a pious sigh.

  “Could I get a glass of milk, please?” Stella asked Mandy between bites. “Whole, not that nonfat nonsense.”

  “You got it,” Mandy said.

  Renee pulled some bills from her pink-and-silver-checkered purse. “As fun as this has been, I should run. Must pick up my little guy and get packed. Martin’s whisking me away for a weekend in Bozeman. Tootles.”

  The minute Renee was out the door, Mandy cleared up the mostly uneaten salad. “I know she’s a nuisance, but I feel sorry for her. Wouldn’t surprise me if Martin’s running around on her. It’s making her mean.”

  “That and the lack of food,” I said, without thinking.

  Both women chuckled.

  “Sorry. That was unkind,” I said.

  “Unkind but funny,” Mandy said in a reproving tone that belied the humorous twitch of her mouth.

  “My mother would be ashamed of me,” I said.

  “She never met Renee,” Mandy said.

  “I hope Martin’s not cheating on her.” Stella swiped the milk mustache above her upper lip with her napkin. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Not even Renee.” She shuddered. “She was one of those mean-girl types in high school and still is. She’s probably delighted by how my life’s turned out.”

  “Yet you wish no ill upon her,” Mandy said. “Proving what a good person you are.”

  “I don’t know,” Stella said. “Most days I feel like a hard kernel of my former self.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” Mandy said. “You’re about to have a fabulous second act.”

  “Rex left me with a bunch of debt and five little boys to raise all on my own. I’m almost thirty and uneducated.Nothing but a falling-down ranch to support my family. I’m going to lose the only thing my father ever loved. The biggest mistake of my life was marrying that lying cheat.” She pressed her knuckles against her lips.

  “You wouldn’t have your boys if it wasn’t for Rex.” Mandy swiped the counter where Renee had vacated. A whiff of bleach emitted from her towel. “My girls are worth all the years of marriage to my ex-husband. My mama always said my picker was off, and I’m afraid she was right. But it’s not too late for you, Stella. You’re young and pretty. There’ll be someone else. When you’re ready.”

  “I won’t ever remarry, let alone fall in love.” Stella set her fork on the counter, straightening it. “If I can survive this and keep my boys safe and healthy, I’ll never ask God for another thing.” She gestured toward my lasagna. “You going to eat that before it gets cold?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I suppose I should. Unless you’d like to share it?”

  A laugh bubbled from her mouth, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the woman she must have been before her heart broke. “I’ve eaten enough, thank you.”

  4

  Stella

  Those pancakes sat in my stomach like a lump of rocks all afternoon, mocking me for my rebellion. Rex had never liked me to eat much, always worried I was going to keep the thirty pounds I’d put on when I was pregnant. I never did, mind you. Those hungry babies of mine made sure of that. However, his scrutiny of my weight had made me self-conscious. I’d stayed away from desserts and sugar for the better part of a decade. Until that giant plate of pancakes.

  Regardless of my overly full stomach, at half past two, Iris and I walked down my driveway to meet the school bus. Our yellow Lab, Sophie, Soren, and Thad ran ahead, their breath coming out as clouds in the chilly air. Sophie barked happily. Thad yelled nonsense, simply happy to run in the cold fall air. Soren, who loved being outside, stopped occasionally to pick up and examine a fallen leaf from the oaks and aspens that lined our driveway.

  Although Atticus, Rafferty, and Caspian were old enough to walk the quarter mile down our driveway from the bus stop, I enjoyed meeting them. In addition, it gave Soren and Thad much-needed exercise. Iris had looked after the little boys for me that morning and had stayed to help me do several loads of laundry and make a casserole for dinner.

  A heaviness seemed to have made a permanent residence in my body. Fatigue and headaches plagued me during the days. My boys were my only motivation to get out of bed in the morning. They had to be fed and sent off to school. Soren and Thaddeus were still home with me. Their tired mom could barely think of ways to keep their curious, mischievous little souls occupied. The laundry. Oh, the laundry. Those full baskets haunted me. The moment I’d emptied one, another took its place. I’d let two days pass without doing any washing, and the piles had seemed to be magically multiplying. When Iris had offered to come over and help, I’d been incapable of saying no.

  “Thanks for rescuing me today,” I said out loud.

  “You know it’s my pleasure. You’re my family.”

  “Oh, Iris, you’re the best.”

  “Seems like yesterday Thad was an infant,” Iris said, a slight tremor in her voice. “And look at him now.”

  “Time’s a weird thing, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is. Hard to believe Thanksgiving’s two weeks away.” Iris adjusted her knit cap to cover her white curls. Over the years, her sparkling blue eyes hadn’t changed, even though the rest of her had wrinkled and grayed.

  Iris and her husband, Rocky, were our neighbors to the east. When my mother was alive, she and Iris had been good friends. A real case of opposites attract—my mother skinny and as hard as a calloused thumb and Iris plump and soft as a butterfly kiss. Rocky and Iris had never been blessed with children, despite wanting them desperately. I was an only child. My parents had no desire for offspring, and they’d let it slip more than once that I’d been an accident. Dad mentioned how expensive I was at least twice a week. One could say I was blessed with four parental figures, but the truth was, my mother and father were too busy being stoic and tough to express much love. Life was a test for them. One in which the only prize was survival. It was as though they were holding in their love as if it was something to be saved for emergencies. Iris and Rocky, on the other hand, were the types to shower love as if they knew it was a renewable resource. The more they gave, the more they received and vice versa.

  Our conversation veered toward the plans for the long weekend, which would involve a lot of cooking, puzzles, football, and dishes. Iris and Rocky always joined us for holiday meals, including Thanksgiving and Christmas. Last year had been the first festive season without my mother. She’d died in the spring, and by the time Thanksgiving rolled around, the hollow feeling in my gut had lessened somewhat. Saying goodbye to those we loved but didn’t like might be the hardest grief of all.

  We made the same dishes we’d always made, dividing them in half. I did the turkey, potatoes, gravy, and stuffing. She did the other side dishes, including Jell-O mixed with whipped cream. Iris called it a salad. It was the only salad the boys had ever devoured, scooping it into their mouths as if it would magically disappear if they didn’t hurry.

  “I snagged one of the last giant turkeys they had,” I said. “Twenty-two pounds. I could hardly lift it out of the van.”

  “Excellent. You know I love the leftovers,” Iris said.

  “We should have enough turkey for soup.” I almost added, especially since Rex wouldn’t be there to hoard the legs for himself.

  We were one less at table. Should I take out another leaf in the table or just allow for more elbow room?

  From the time I was nineteen years old, I’d had a baby every other year. A new chair had been added to the table for each new baby. Currently, I seemed to be going the opposite direction.

  I must have sighed, because Iris asked if I was all right.

  “Yeah, just thinking about my mom,” I said. “And a little about Rex.”

  “Empty seats. I know.”

  “Yeah, that.” I fought tears by biting the inside of my lip. Too many tears over him. For so many years. All the pain and betrayals stacked up one after the other.

  “You’re going to get through this,” Iris said. “Rocky and I’ll be there every step of the way. Whatever you need.”

  When I was a kid, I’d wished Iris was my real mother. It's a terrible thing to want, I know. But I was a sensitive soul, coveting physical touch and words of praise. No matter how much I craved both, my parents kept them hidden from me. If they ever felt anything for me at all.

  Survival, though? That was Mother’s expertise. Alice McKinnon worked from sunrise to sunset every day of her life. She kept us fed no matter how lean the year, made our clothes with the aid of her ancient Singer machine, kept the house immaculate and grew a vegetable garden and put away jars and jars of fruits and vegetables after hot afternoons in a steamy kitchen. She may have been emotionally distant, but I never heard a word of complaint about working hard. When she’d married my dad, she’d moved from her parents' home right into his old house, taking on the responsibilities of a rancher's wife by gritting her teeth and getting on with things. If she ever regretted her choice, she never said it out loud.

  Iris, however, had provided the soft landing I often needed. Anything I came up with to do or be, she’d always said, "Well, that sounds like an interesting idea. I bet you’ll be real good at it, too.”

  When I trudged over to her house twelve years ago to tell her I was pregnant and getting married to a rodeo bull rider, she’d not hidden her tears. Iris had known how much I’d wanted to go to college to become a veterinarian. My pregnancy meant all of those dreams went up in smoke. The pregnancy had broken her heart almost as much as it had mine. She’d opened up her arms and held me close, promising that everything would be all right. “You can do this. I’m here to help.”

  Eight months later, Atticus had healed our broken hearts. I knew it was my destiny to be his mama. A mama, not a mother, as I’d had.

  “Every woman in town seemed to be at the grocery store,” I said. “It felt like everyone was staring at me, by the way. I guess news has gotten around that he’s gone.”

  “This is a small town,” Iris said soothingly. “It’s to be expected.”

  “I wonder what people think? About what happened between us, I mean.” I would never admit to anyone but Iris that I cared what people thought about my marriage. Being the one left opened up another level of embarrassment and shame. What was wrong with me that he hadn’t wanted to stay? How repulsive must I be if he left his five beautiful boys as well as his wife? Did people speculate? Wonder what I’d done wrong?

  “Anyone who knows you knows he had one toe out the door from the moment he arrived,” Iris said, bitterness creeping into her voice.

  “Is that true?” Her words hurt, and I stumbled slightly in the loose gravel of my driveway.

  She took my arm, steadying me. “Darlin’, you know that it’s true. He wasn’t a good husband. You’ve said so yourself. All the other times he left, it was for a woman.”

  We didn’t know for sure, but all evidence pointed to affairs, including unexplained charges on the credit card. I’d taken him back all three times, though. The boys, I’d thought with every betrayal. The boys need their father. I can suck it up and get on with things, as my mother taught me.

  I nodded, holding her arm tight against my side, taking comfort in her soft, warm body. “I just keep wondering if there was something I should have done or not done.”

  “Sweetie, there’s someone else. Has to be. Otherwise, his lazy butt wouldn’t have left. He had it too good here. You doing all the work. Him drinking beer with his feet up on your table while you ran yourself ragged with the boys and all the chores. This time, promise me—you won’t take him back.”

  “Not this time. I’m done.” This was different. I couldn’t explain why, other than fourth time was the charm?

  “You haven’t said how you’re holding up,” Iris said. “Any word from him?”

  “Not a one.” He’d been gone three weeks. Every day since, I’d ticked them off in my head. How many more until I woke up feeling like myself instead of a yoked beast?

  The yellow school bus reached the end of our driveway about the same time as the rest of us. Thad screamed out to his brothers while waving his hands to get their attention. Afraid of the bus, Soren moved closer to me. Anything loud or oversize made the muscles in his cheeks twitch. Soren was happier surrounded by cattle and horses than anything man made, especially if it was loud. His ears seemed more sensitive than others. I wasn’t sure what that meant, other than I felt extra protective of him any time we left the ranch.

  Rafferty and Caspian tumbled one after the other down the bus steps, followed shortly thereafter by Atticus. Annie pressed her nose against the glass, and as if he felt her gaze, Atticus turned to wave goodbye to her.

  I nodded to Sue, the driver, who grunted and touched the tip of her plaid cap before closing the door, the vacuum-packed sound the same as it had been when I was a kid.

  Rafferty and Caspian launched themselves at me and then Iris, but Atticus held back. A smudge on Atticus’s glasses caught my attention first, before I saw the purple bruise around his right eye.

  “What happened to you?” I asked, alarmed.

  “He got in a fight,” Rafferty said in his high-pitched little-boy voice.

  “You did?” I asked. “With who?”

  “Some kid picking on Annie,” Caspian said.

  “What was he doing to her?” I made a mental note to mention it to Jennie. She said Annie rarely shared anything that had happened at school.

  Atticus hung his head, the tips of his ears red. “I can’t say.”

  “Spill it,” I said firmly.

  Atticus looked up at me, his eyes almost the same color as the faded blue autumn sky. “He wouldn’t stop singing whenever she was around.”

  “Singing’s hardly an insult,” I said. “Maybe he was trying to serenade her?”