Come Sundown

by Nora Roberts

  Bodine’s thought, studying him with his niece, was: besotted.

  “Mostly I have to wonder why any woman would go through that. I’m not ashamed to say I got out of the room as much as I could, but they kept pulling me back in. Yeah, lots of moments.”

  He finally pulled off his boots, then stretched out beside her, both of them still dressed. “I didn’t do any of the work, and I feel like I climbed a couple mountains.”

  He shut his eyes. “And in the moment, I said I’d take the boy for a few hours a couple days this week, give them some rest time. I’ll figure out what to do with him. Pony rides, let him scoop up some horse manure. Nothing a boy likes better at that age.”

  “Miranda—the kids activities coordinator—can help you out.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure.”

  “Might save my sanity.” He let his mind start to drift. “So, how was your evening?”

  “Intense. Mom and Alice got into a big fight before dinner. yelling, shoving.”

  “What?” His brain fired up again. “What?”

  “Actually, it started with Aubra Rose. I mentioned the baby coming, and Alice got going, then she and Mom got into it. It’s a revelation to see your mother fight with a sibling the way you might do yourself. And Nana started to break it up, and Alice went off.”

  She turned a little more so they were stretched out face-to-face.

  “She remembered things, Callen. Mixed-up things, silly, petty, kid-stuff things, but she remembered. She called Nana ‘Ma.’ Not ‘the mother’ the way she has been. She called my mother ‘Reenie.’ It was a lot. Really a lot. Maybe a breakthrough. I don’t know. Nana’s sure it is, and it worries me she’s got her hopes up, because Alice could get up tomorrow and not remember any of it.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with having your hopes up. You ought to do the same.”

  “Maybe. Chase, Rory, and I had a little meeting later, in the barn. We figured Dad’s got Mom—and during the day Rory and I will keep an eye out there. Chase is taking Grammy, Rory Nana, and I get Alice. She could lean too hard on Rory, and she’s still easier with me than Chase. All I have to do is figure out how to take the lead there. Today was the first day without the nurse rotation, and boom, intense.”

  “You’ll handle it. We should get undressed and actually get in the bed.”

  “Yeah. In a minute.”

  In a minute they’d both fallen asleep just as they were.

  * * *

  The man known as Sir fashioned a rough cane out of a sturdy branch. It helped him when his legs got too shaky to finish his ranch work.

  The dog died on him, but dogs were easy to come by. He’d get another when he felt up to it.

  He considered shooting the horse—more trouble than it was worth—but felt while a man could do without a dog for a bit of time, a man without a horse was hamstrung.

  So he fed it sparingly, rationing out the grain.

  He took more time with the cow. The cow still produced milk, even if milking the thing exhausted him.

  He wheezed as he walked, but he could walk. At least until the coughing struck. When it did he had to stop, sit, suffer through it.

  In a few days, when he felt better, he’d go for more medicine, shell out the money for feed, for hay.

  Start hunting for a new, young wife. One strong enough to plow the plot and plant it. One vital enough to give him sons. One comely enough to give him pleasure.

  This was his waiting time.

  He told himself every night when he crawled into bed that by morning he’d be strong again. Strong enough to start that hunt.

  He’d readied the basement, and there she would stay. And as she plowed the field so he would plow her. As the field produced its bounty, so would she produce hers. From his seed.

  Every night he slept with a revolver under his pillow, and a bullet ready to dispatch anyone who tried to stop him from defending his God-given rights.

  PART FOUR

  A Return

  You’re searching, Joe,

  For things that don’t exist; I mean beginnings.

  Ends and beginnings—there are no such things.

  There are only middles.

  —Robert Frost

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  If Jessica had to run her feet off half the day, she’d do it in great shoes. According to the app on her phone, she’d logged more than seven thousand steps, and it was still shy of noon.

  Even better, her big weekend event would absolutely rock.

  As a nod to the bright sun—and Montana—she paired her great shoes with her Stetson over a low, smooth ponytail.

  She thought of it as an East-meets-West fashion statement.

  On her hot pink stilettos—think spring!—she strode back from the Mill yet again, intending to swing through the Saloon and the Feed Bag, but stopped when Bodine pulled up in one of the resort cars.

  “Tell me this weather’s going to hold for the weekend,” Jessica said.

  As she stepped out of the car, Bodine looked up at the big, blue sky. “It looks good for it. We might get a quick flurry tonight, but it’s sun and sixties tomorrow. And a good thing,” she added. “We’re getting the camps set up.”

  “I’ve got event guests in Riverside Camp and the Eagle’s Nest tonight. Will they be ready by check-in?”

  “Riverside’s ready now, and the crew’s setting up Eagle’s Nest. Your guests will be glamping tonight, no problem.” She tapped Jessica on the shoulder. “So, no need for you to go out there and nag the crew.”

  “Nagging the camp crew, off my list. I really want this one to run smooth.”

  “The Cumberland family reunion, right?”

  “Family reunion–slash–birthday party. The matriarch will be a hundred and two tomorrow. I’m fascinated and terrified. A hundred and two. Have you seen the cake?”

  “Not yet.”

  “It’s nearly finished, and rather than nag that crew I’ve looked on in awe. It’s huge and gorgeous and clever. Towering really, with symbols and decorations marking milestones in her life. I’m taking pictures for the website. It’s truly one of a kind. And big enough to feed the seventy-eight people attending, whose ages range from seven months to that hundred and two.”

  “You’re practically bouncing.”

  “I know!” With a laugh, Jessica gestured toward the Mill. “There’s something about it. The continuity, longevity, the big, spread-out family coming together. They’ve been sending pictures and mementoes for weeks. They’ve booked the Mill for the whole weekend, and we’ve arranged everything they’ve sent, like a fun museum of their family’s history. It’s like another world for somebody with hardly any family history and no close relatives.”

  “You’re Bodine-Longbow family now.”

  Touched, Jessica bumped her shoulder to Bodine’s. “And as such, I’m determined to make this event another highlight of Bertie Cumberland’s life. Speaking of families, how’s it going for you?”

  “It’s up and down, but maintaining for longer periods.” Hooking a thumb in the front pocket of her jeans, Bodine took a long look around. “Since things are under control here, I’m actually going to head home pretty much now, work from there the rest of the day. It took some arm-twisting, but I talked Nana and Grammy into going out, getting their hair done, taking a few hours. Clementine will be there, and between her and me, we can look after Alice.”

  “It’s a lot.”

  “It’s miles of a lot. And it’s family.”

  “I get bits and pieces from Chase—but you know how he is.”

  “I do. I also know he’s happy. And while he doesn’t say much, he does. Yesterday he saddled up Mom’s and Dad’s horses and pushed them, in that way he has of pushing, into taking a ride together. They like their date nights, and haven’t taken one since Alice came back. That’s how he fixed it.”

  Bodine let out a sigh as they began to walk. “And Chase and Callen dragged Rory over to the bunkhouse for poker l
ast week when he was overwhelmed with Alice.”

  “Chase said she has accepted Rory’s not hers.”

  Nodding, Bodine watched a couple of guests playing horseshoes. So normal, she thought, so everyday.

  “She seems to have settled there, but even a week ago, she thought—or needed to think—he was hers. They got him away from it for a few hours.”

  “What gets you away from it?”

  “This.” Bodine gestured to expand the resort. “And Callen’s a good listener. So are you.”

  “Anytime.”

  “We should go dancing again. The six of us.” That one night at the Roundup seemed like a lifetime ago. “Rory’s still seeing Chelsea off and on.”

  “I’m there, anytime. Except this weekend,” Jessica qualified. “This event is going to—” She glanced at her watch. “Oh God! I need to check on the welcome buffet, and airport pickups.”

  “I’ll confirm the airport pickups on my way through. Any problem, consider it fixed before I head home.”

  “Thanks. Bo, if you need any help. A hair day, a shopping day, just a bitch day, I’m your girl.” Jessica took off at a trot on her pink pumps. “But not this weekend!” she called back.

  * * *

  When she got home, loaded with paperwork, Bodine put it aside. She needed both hands and all her will to shove the grannies out of the house.

  Once she had—and she watched until they’d driven out of sight—she swung through the dining room, where Clementine polished the big table.

  “Are you sure they’re not doubling back?”

  Blowing out a breath, Bodine dropped into a chair. “Pretty sure. I’m giving it a couple minutes before I go up, get into the work I brought home. Nana said Alice was resting, that her morning session seemed to go well.”

  “As far as I can tell. I’ll tell you this. Getting your grannies out for the afternoon’s the best thing all around. Alice needs a little distance, too, if you ask me.”

  Satisfied with the table, Clementine started on the big sideboard.

  “Did they fight like that a lot?” Bodine asked. “Alice and Mom, like the other night? When they were kids?”

  “They had their spats and their blowups, too. Likely as not, Alice got it going, but your ma got her licks in. Your ma liked being the oldest, I can tell you that. Lorded it some.”

  Fascinated, amused, Bodine propped her chin on her fist. “Really?”

  “Oh, she wasn’t above some I was here firsting. But she’d fall back on Alice getting away with something because she was the baby, just like Alice whined her head off about your ma getting away with stuff because she was older. I’ve heard the same from you and your brothers over the years.”

  Clementine paused to point a long finger at Bodine. “You weren’t above pulling those middle-child or only-girl cards when it suited you.”

  “Sometimes it worked.” Bodine lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “Sometimes it didn’t. But did they like each other, Clem? Love’s different. I love Chase and Rory, but I like them, too. I can get mad at them, slap and snap, but I like them.”

  “I think they did. They could be tight as a pair of tangled-up springs one minute and at each other the next. Laughing together and telling secrets five minutes after they were shouting and shoving. Cora had the patience of Job keeping up with two moody girls.”

  Clementine polished, turning the air into an orange grove. “Once when your ma was pregnant with Chase, I found her sitting upstairs alone, crying. Crying and rubbing that little bump she had going. She said she wanted her sister, wanted Alice. You know they picked the names of their first babies?”

  “What? How?”

  “When they were girls, they let each other pick the name of their first son, first daughter. Charles after your great-grandfather, and Maureen was to call him Chase. And Maureen picked Rory for Alice after their daddy. Bodine for Maureen if she had a girl. Cora for Alice.”

  Carefully Clementine set the big pewter candle stands back on the server. “I’d say they meant a lot to each other, as they both stuck by that, even when the other wasn’t around to know.”

  “No one ever told me that.”

  “I don’t know who knew besides them and me. They told me so it was official.” Turning back, Clementine smiled. “I guess they were around twelve and fourteen.”

  “I’m glad you told me. It helps me see them.” She pushed up. “I’m going to haul my briefcase up and get started. I’ll check on Alice before I do.”

  “You’re a good girl, Bodine, at least half the time.”

  “That’ll have to do.”

  As she got her things, started upstairs, Bodine thought of her mother at fourteen making a pact with her sister, a pact that would become a family. And of Alice at twelve dreaming of babies the way a young girl might. Of Alice having those babies alone in some maniac’s basement. Of having those babies, who might have given her some comfort, taken from her.

  She was now determined to be more patient, more kind for Alice’s sake alone. Not just from worry for her grannies, for her mother, but for Alice, who’d once been twelve.

  Then she saw Alice, gray-streaked hair hanging limp, eyes wild and angry. And the scissors snapping and shining in her hand.

  “Alice.” She had to firmly slide the word over the lump of panic in her throat. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s all wrong. All of it. I don’t like it. I don’t like it. I don’t want it.”

  “Okay. What don’t you like? What don’t you want? I can try to help.” Hoping her tone sounded easy and unforced, Bodine tried a step forward.

  “I can say it’s wrong!” Alice jabbed the air with the scissors, stopped Bodine in her tracks. “I can say I hate it. The doctor said. She said, she said.”

  “Sure you can. You can tell me if you want to.”

  “Ma and Grammy went out.” Alice snapped the scissors, again and again. Click, click, click. “Ma and Grammy went out to get their hair done.”

  “But they’re coming back soon. And I’m here. Clementine’s right downstairs. Maybe you could show me the scarf you’re making for me.”

  “It’s finished. It’s done.” Teeth clamped, Alice jabbed the air with the scissors. “I can make one for Chase. All of Reenie’s. All hers, hers, all hers.”

  “I’d love to see it. Could I try it on?” With her eyes on Alice’s, Bodine tried another step forward. Just a few more and she’d be close enough to grab Alice’s wrist. She was stronger, quicker, could take the scissors.

  “Yes, yes, yes! But I don’t want it.” Alice grabbed her hair with her free hand, pulled viciously.

  “Okay, that’s okay. You can…” And she understood. “Your hair? You want to get your hair done like your ma, like Grammy?”

  “I don’t want it.” Squeezing her eyes tight, Alice pulled again. “Sir said it’s a sin for a woman to cut her hair, but the doctor said I can say. I can say I don’t want or I do. Which is right? I don’t know!”

  “You can say.” Bodine agreed, moving another step forward. “That’s your right. You can say because it’s your hair, Alice.”

  “I hate it.”

  “Then we can change it so you don’t. We can go get your hair cut, Alice. I’ll take you.”

  “Not out there. No, no, not out there.” As she looked at the walls, the doors, her breath came fast. “No, not out there. I can cut it off. I want to cut it off. He can’t stop me if I’m in here, in the home.”

  “Oh, the hell with him.” Bodine’s words had Alice’s eyes going wide. “The hell with him, Alice. It’s your hair, isn’t it? Nobody’s