Then it hit me what was wrong. The last time I’d gone out it had been the four of us. We’d had a good night, too. Or, at least I thought it was good. Rex had been sweet that night. Playing the role of the perfect husband for my friends.

  All right, fine. This would be different. The first time out on my own since I was eighteen. There had been many nights alone, of course, just not out. Rex had spent plenty of nights at the Blue Bonnet without me. Playing pool with the guys and drinking. He’d come home smelling like cigarette smoke and booze.

  My hands shook thinking about facing anyone else out tonight. There would be all the questioning looks and pretend sympathy. Everyone wanted to know what the heck had happened and I couldn’t blame them. I’d want to know, too, if it were one of them who had been left high and dry by their spouse.

  Rex, where did you go?

  I pressed my cold hands between my knees. Maybe I should say I was sick? I could just stay home, comfy in my flannel pants and thick Irish sweater. Snuggle with the boys. We could watch a cartoon or I could read them a story.

  I hadn't been doing a good job with them. Since Rex left, I'd struggled to get through the days, counting minutes until I could put the boys to bed and then crawl into my own, shivering until the sheets warmed. Rex had been good for something. His body had made the bed a lot warmer. A bad taste came to my mouth just thinking about him.

  I crossed the room to stand at the window and peered out into the dark evening. Lacking serious commitment, snowflakes drifted lazily from the dark sky. The weather forecast predicted several feet of snow during the week of Thanksgiving, but at the moment the ground was clear.

  I needed to thaw the turkey.

  The first Thanksgiving without Rex.

  I thumped my forehead against the cold window. “You are pathetic,” I whispered to myself. “Why are you mourning a man like Rex?” Wasn’t that what had gotten me into this mess? Falling in love with the wrong man? Believing we could make a loving family together?

  Holidays without him would be easier, I told myself. No one lying on the couch, nearly drunk by noon, asking for another beer and did I have any chips? As if Iris and I weren’t in the kitchen making enough food to feed an army?

  Frost decorated the inside corners of the window. The old glass couldn’t keep out the cold as it should. Windows were ridiculously expensive. I could send a boy to college for what it would cost to replace even half of them. I etched a heart with the pad of my finger in each corner. “Please God, help me to get through this,” I whispered.

  Shivering, I wrapped my arms around myself. I swear, lately, it was as if my body had a constant fever. Aches and chills constant, unwanted companions. I’d even gone to the doctor in town to see if I had some kind of fatal disease. I worried about dying and leaving my kids orphans more than was mentally healthy, but even before Rex left, I knew I was the only parent they had that would come through for them. The doctor declared me in perfect physical condition and asked if I’d ever thought about seeing a therapist.

  I wanted to ask—with what money? But I didn’t want to appear rude. Also, my father had always told me never to talk about money with anyone in town or it would be everyone’s topic at dinner. Anyway, the doctor was new to town and we were all glad for such convenient medical care. For years, we’d had to traipse all the way to Bozeman when we were sick, which took an hour to get to and an hour to get back. If you weren’t ill when you left, you might be when you returned at the end of the day, exhausted and weary.

  I pulled my curling iron from the back of the drawer. I don’t know the last time I’d used it. Maybe last Christmas festival? It smelled slightly of burned hair spray when it heated but I used it anyway, making a few waves in my medium-length brown hair. At least I'd kept my figure. I could console myself somewhat with that thought. Having kids young meant your body returned fairly quickly to its normal ways without too much effort. Albeit, with a few stretch marks to remind me I'd carried a fat baby boy around for nine months.

  Pulling open the closet, I scanned the hangers for something to wear, averting my eyes from Rex’s empty side. What he hadn't taken, I'd gotten rid of myself by taking them to the Goodwill in Bozeman. I’d dumped those black plastic bags of clothes as though they were possessed by the devil, then screeched out of the parking lot like a teenager. Burning his things would have been preferable, but I couldn't in good conscience waste perfectly good clothes when there were so many folks who needed them.

  Standing in the doorway now, though, the absence of his clothes was a stark reminder that a closet meant for two now held clothes only for one. What of the years we’d spent together? Was I to look back at any of them fondly or were the last eleven years a waste of my time and love? Had they meant nothing to him? Was our marriage simply a mockery of what God intended for us? I leaned the side of my head against the doorframe and let out a long, shaky sigh. My father would have had a fit to know his daughter was getting divorced. He always bragged about how there had never been one couple in his family tree ever to divorce. They might have been miserable and the husband a no-good cheater, but by God, they stayed together.

  The weather had dropped into the teens earlier in the afternoon. I’d need to dress warmly. Practicality trumped fashion here in Bluefern, but I should at least try to look decent tonight. Who knew how many people I’d meet at Blue Bonnet just dying to see my broken heart on display. Best to hide these things if possible. My mother had her faults, but she knew how to keep up appearances and keep on keeping on even when life imploded.

  In the back of the closet, a few lonely dresses clung to their hangers as if for dear life. I chose a sage-green sweaterdress, which Iris had mentioned flattered my olive complexion and brown eyes the last time I’d worn it.

  I found a pair of wool stockings at the back of my drawer still in their package, so I pulled those on for a little extra warmth. Jennie had given me a thick black leather belt last Christmas, and I fastened it around my waist to give the dress a little shape. I shoved my feet into my best riding boots, the pair I didn't actually use for working outside or riding. I saved these for when I went into town for church or grocery shopping. When had I last worn them?

  Standing in front of the full-length oak-framed mirror that had been in this house as long as the floorboards, I did a quick assessment. Worn out. Washed out. At only twenty-nine, I felt like a used-up dishrag, limp and gray. That’s what a broken heart did to a person.

  I needed a little blush. Maybe some mascara? Something to make me look less washed out.

  The phrase "rode hard and put up wet" came to mind as I rubbed pink rouge into my cheeks. I even patted some eyeshadow on my lids and finished with mascara and lipstick. I looked better. Good as it was going to get, I thought, as I tugged the belt tighter. I hadn't been eating enough since Rex left. When I sat down to a meal, my stomach knotted with worry and grief, and I ended up putting it all back into the fridge.

  This was what my life had become. A washed-out woman with five little boys and no skills to support us with.

  Enjoy yourself tonight, I thought. Have a few beers. Whenever I'd gone out with Rex, he'd played pool and drunk whiskey all night, basically ignoring me until it was time to drive his drunk butt home.

  How different tonight would be, I reasoned. I’d still be alone. Bonus? I wouldn’t have to worry about him waking the kids when he stumbled into the house.

  After a final look in the mirror, I went out to the kitchen. The boys were there with Annie and Iris making homemade pizzas. Each of them had a small piece of dough and were doing their best to flatten it. Only Caspian's looked round. The others were in shapes not usually seen in nature or otherwise.

  “Thanks for having me, Aunt Stella,” Annie said.

  “You’re welcome here any time, you know that.” I smiled at her, always glad to have my best friend’s girl at my home. She and Atticus shared one end of the table, making one large pizza instead of a solo like the rest of the kids.

  Thad, perched at the edge of his booster seat, tried with all his might to make his piece of dough flatten. Caspian and Soren would have gotten frustrated at that age and tossed it all onto the floor. Not my Thad. He had the patience of a saint. If something didn't work, he just kept at it.

  He looked up and grinned when he saw me standing there in the doorway. "Mama, we making pizza."

  "I can see that." My heels clicked on the floor as I crossed over to my shabby kitchen table covered with flour and dough. Normally, I scrubbed the surface clean as soon as a meal was over. My mother might be dead, but her voice still echoed through my mind.

  Thad held his dough up in the air and started spinning it around until one part broke off. He giggled and picked it up again. At this rate he'd never have any dinner.

  I turned my attention to Soren, who was in the process of punching his dough into submission. Like Atticus, Soren was stoic and serious in nature. However, unlike his oldest brother, who had started to talk at nine months, he rarely spoke. Just today, I’d noticed him listening and watching everything that went on around him, soaking it all in without totally participating. During the long winter months when it was too cold and snowy to play outside, he’d sit for hours on the window seat and just stare out at the landscape. Even if all the others left Montana and their old mom, Soren would stay. This land was as much a part of him as it was me. God help him.

  I kissed the top of Soren’s fair head. He and Caspian had light hair, whereas the rest of them were dark like me. Soren looked up at me with his big green eyes and his old soul. “Mama, you’re fancy.”

  “I’m going out with Aunt Jennie and Uncle Mark. Remember?”

  “I know,” Soren said, returning to his dough. “That’s why Iris is here.”

  “Me love Iris,” Thad said, thumping his dough.

  “I love you too, baby,” Iris said, blowing him a kiss.

  Thad pretended to catch her kiss in his chubby hand. My sweet boy.

  Rafferty, my middle child, used a rolling pin on his dough and had his tongue between his teeth, concentrating on getting the shape exactly right. Clearly dissatisfied, he picked up a butter knife and cut his thin dough into a nearly perfect oval. Like a surgeon, I thought. At seven years old. These kids of Stella’s were something else.

  I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Well done, sweetie.”

  He glanced up at me, beaming. “Do you really think so? Is mine the best?”

  Caspian, who had also managed to create the perfect shape and thickness of his dough without the use of a knife, smiled to himself, but didn’t comment. His was the best, and he knew it. I kept it to myself, never wanting to pit the boys against one another. My deepest wish was for them to grow up to be best friends.

  “They all look good.” I kissed the top of Caspian’s head, taking in the scent of his freshly washed hair. They were all dressed in flannel pajamas, including Annie, who would sleep over tonight so her parents didn’t have to wake her. This house might be falling apart, but it was big enough for a few guests.

  “We get to watch Nemo.” Thad squealed with delight. He’d seen that move a dozen times already but never got sick of it. Last Christmas I’d splurged and bought a DVD player. I never grew tired of the novelty of putting a small disc into a machine and getting a full movie. Although I still missed going to the drive-in. Jennie and I had a lot of good times there.

  “What will you put on your pizza?” I asked Caspian, curious. He always had the most interesting ideas when it came to food.

  “I wanted to put pickled onions with the pork sausage, but we don’t have any of those,” Caspian said. “Did you know you can make pickled onions? We don’t have to buy them with your plastic card.”

  I looked over at Iris, who was cutting up lettuce for a salad. “We had a lengthy discussion about the process of pickling earlier.”

  We exchanged a knowing smile. Caspian was different from his rough-and-tumble brothers. He loved to cook and bake. Last summer he’d become interested in growing herbs, and the two of us had planted several boxes on the back patio. All through the warm months, he’d dutifully watered them. Watching my little guy bent over herbs with his watering can made my eyes sting.

  Rex and I had fought more about Caspian than any of the others. He’d ridiculed Caspian for his interests and called him names that had made me feel murderous. Even now, just thinking about his mockery of my special boy made me hot.

  We were better off without him. Another reason I couldn’t argue with.

  If I could just keep us together financially, we could live in peace going forward. Atticus’s idea had been playing around in my mind for weeks now. I planned to speak to Jennie and Mark about it tonight. If they thought it was a terrible idea, I would let it go. If not, maybe I would consider it. Maybe Jennie had an in at the bank and could get that nice boss of hers to consider giving me a loan. He’d want a business plan, though. I didn’t know if I was even capable of such a thing.

  “Mama, our fresh herbs are in the sauce,” Caspian said in his sweet little boy voice. “Can you smell them?”

  I sniffed the air, taking in the glorious scents of onions, tomatoes, olive oil, and oregano, thyme, and garlic. “I can. I could eat here with all of you.”

  “No, Mama needs a night out,” Rafferty said. “Miss Iris said you work yourself to the bone.”

  I chuckled and glanced back at Iris. “Direct quote?”

  She tilted her head, smiling. “It’s true, you know. You need help around here.”

  “I wish I could afford it, trust me.”

  Iris tutted and held up her hands. I knew exactly what that meant without her saying the words. Worthless, worthless Rex.

  At the end of the table, Atticus and Annie whispered to each other as they sprinkled sauce over their dough. Those two practically had a secret language. What could we have expected? They’d grown up side by side, only four months apart in age.

  “Annie and Atticus, help Miss Iris with the little ones,” I said.

  They looked up in tandem as though one brain controlled them both and said at the same time, “Yes, ma’am.”

  8

  Jasper

  A few minutes before seven, I walked into Blue Bonnet. The air smelled of beer and kitchen grease. I'd eaten here at least a half dozen times in the last six months. Their burgers and fries were surprisingly good. My mother would be appalled at how often I ate out. However, making a dinner for one always seemed like such a waste of time. Instead, I stacked the freezer with boxes of frozen meals. Not great tasting, but they did the trick.

  Tonight, being Saturday, the joint was hopping. As much as anything in Bluefern could hop, that is.

  I scanned the room, looking for Jennie and Mark, but didn't see them. Patsy, the owner, greeted me with a friendly smile. She was no taller than five feet, with a pudgy middle and warm eyes the color of woodsmoke. Smudges of barbecue sauce smeared the front of her green apron. She brought a handkerchief to her forehead and patted away the shine. “Goodness me, we’re busy tonight. Jeff’s having trouble keeping up with the orders, even though we hired Mercy’s son to wash dishes.”

  I didn’t know who Mercy was but nodded as if I did. “Busy is good, right?”

  “You bet your sweet bottom it is.” She scanned the length of me. "Mr. Moon, you’re not wearing a suit.” She grinned. Infectious, that smile, with the gap between her two front teeth, and bright red lipstick.

  “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?” I'd dressed in a button-down shirt and a pair of black jeans. They were comfortable but looked decent too. Or I'd thought so, anyway.

  “No, you look fine. I’ve just never seen you without your school clothes on.”

  School clothes? I laughed. Normally I stopped in for a bite after work. “Jennie instructed me to go casual tonight. On the weekends, she’s the boss of me, apparently.”

  “Is she fixing you up with Stella?” Patsy asked. At the back of the room, a group of men broke into laughter and then clinked their beer mugs. Another table with several couples got up to play a game of darts.

  “This is not a setup. Jennie was very specific about that.”

  “Such a pity. She could do worse. Than you, I mean.”

  Was Jennie fixing us up, even though she’d denied it? An image of Stella at the diner tackling those pancakes floated across my mind. No, she wasn’t even divorced yet. Which meant she was off-limits. Plus, she had five kids and a ranch. Something casual would not be good for her, and I was pretty sure that’s all I was capable of at the moment. For one thing, the bank could ask me to open another branch at any time and I would have to go.

  Why did that thought leave me with a pang in my gut?

  Patsy scowled. “You need to get yourself a pair of boots. What are those things on your feet?"

  I looked down at my loafers, slightly hurt. "They're Italian leather."

  She nodded and patted my arm. “They’re real nice.”

  Patsy grabbed four of the plastic menus stacked neatly on the hostess lectern. “Follow me.”

  Peanut shells crackled under my feet as we passed through the maze of red-and-white-checkered plastic tablecloths.

  I sat at the four-top and without thinking it through asked Patsy about Stella’s husband. “What’s he like?”

  She pursed her lips and gave a rueful shake of her head. “A bad seed if there ever was one. Ruined Stella’s life, if you ask me. She was going to be a veterinarian. Broke her father’s heart too. I think that’s why he died so suddenly.”

  “When was that?”

  “When her first little boy was just a few years old. They had to move into the big house and the burden of that ranch fell on her.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “That SOB she brought here never lifted a hand to do much other than toss back a beer. She’s better off without him. Although from what I hear, that ranch hasn’t made a profit in ten years. She may lose the whole thing, and then I don’t know what she’d do. Three generations of McKinnons have raised cattle on Crescent Moon Ranch.”