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  The assistant principal glanced down at the paper. “Reagan Truman,” he read aloud. “You related to that old man?”

  She nodded. “He’s my great-uncle.”

  “Sorry about that,” he answered.

  Reagan raised her head and glared at him. “Don’t you ever say anything about Uncle Jeremiah. Not ever.”

  The assistant principal looked surprised and more than a little angry, then took a breath and answered, “You’re right. I was out of line. You got a right to stand up for your kin. Welcome to Harmony High.”

  If anyone else had anything to say about Jeremiah Truman, they kept their mouth closed. Reagan had a feeling they were thinking that she was definitely related to the old man.

  Chapter 6

  TUESDAY MORNING AT SEVEN FIFTEEN, HANK MATHESON walked into the diner with his four-year-old niece on his shoulder. Two days a week he drove her into town for preschool, and on Tuesdays that always meant breakfast out.

  He removed his straw hat as he shoved the door closed with his foot. He missed the felt Stetson, but Alex had ruined it. He had no idea when he’d have time to drive over to Lubbock for a new one. It was too early in the year for straw to feel right.

  “Let me hang it up,” Saralynn squealed.

  He leaned forward so she could reach the rack, his hands firmly on the metal braces around her legs. “Thanks, Princess.”

  “You’re welcome, Horse. Now gallop on.”

  “Morning, Saralynn. Hank,” Edith said as they passed her. “Hope you can find a seat this morning. Place is hopping.”

  “I’m a princess today, Edith, and this is my horse.”

  Edith’s quick one-second smile told Hank she didn’t have time to bother with the kid’s fantasies this morning. Last week Saralynn had been a frog and would only croak. “Find a seat, I’ll get to you when I can. The morning waitress quit on Cass as he unlocked the door. Said she’d thought about it and decided she was a night person. When he told her he’d see if I’d be interested in trading shifts, she also decided she wasn’t a waitress person. If he don’t find someone soon he’ll be serving the meals as well as cooking.”

  Hank moved down the row between booths. Cass lost several waitresses a year. Some said the only reason Edith stayed around was because she worked nights and didn’t have to put up with him much. Others thought Cass might be easier to get along with than Edith’s husband waiting for her at home.

  The place was packed. He saw one empty seat in a front corner booth that held only two. Trouble was, Ronelle Logan was in the other chair. No one in town ever sat at the same table with Ronelle. She wouldn’t have allowed it if they tried. Ronelle worked at the post office sorting mail. If you wanted your mail, you left her alone, so Hank kept moving down one of the center aisles.

  Hank noticed that the only other open seat was half of a booth in the middle of the room. The other half was taken up by the local undertaker. Hank moved through the crowd, relieved to find a seat across from someone who wouldn’t talk his ear off.

  “Morning, Tyler. Mind if the princess and I join you?”

  He carefully lifted his little passenger down. Hank would have sat her next to him, but Saralynn pointed to the space next to Tyler.

  The chubby man grinned. “I’d love to have royalty join me for breakfast.”

  “I’m Princess Saralynn,” the thin child said. “And you are Sir Wright, my most trusted knight.”

  “Great.” Hank gently moved her legs beneath the table without bumping anything. The slightest bump would cause a bruise on her legs. “I get to be the horse and you’re knighted.”

  “Can’t win them all, Chief.” Tyler Wright laughed. Hank nodded while he tried to think of something to say to Wright. “How’s business?”

  Tyler looked up from his paper. “Business is slow. Only one pending.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  Tyler shook his head. “You know what they say, the young leave this town for the big city and the dead return to be buried with their kin. This newly departed had been gone from Harmony for sixty years. Half his kin don’t remember him.”

  “Well, it’s only Tuesday. Maybe business will pick up.” Hank smiled. He liked the undertaker. He considered Tyler Wright a friend. They’d shared breakfast at the Blue Moon more times than either of them could count.

  His chubby friend asked Saralynn, “How’s your mother?”

  “Fair,” Saralynn said as if she were grown and not four. “She’s stopped crying and started painting.”

  Hank studied his menu. He didn’t like talking about his newly divorced sister, but he guessed everyone in town knew she’d moved back to the ranch. She’d repainted her old bedroom for Saralynn and turned the attic into a studio loft, where no one was allowed. In the four months she’d been back she’d done six paintings, all of men dying horrible deaths.

  “Glad to hear she has a hobby.” Tyler pulled a quarter from his vest pocket. “I’ve been saving this for you, Princess Saralynn.” He handed it to her. “It’s the new one.”

  Saralynn smiled. “Thanks. I’m going to collect them all.” She turned it over in her hand. “Do you collect anything, Sir Knight? I could help you.”

  Tyler shrugged. “I like old maps. I’m kind of a cartophile.”

  “Really.” Hank was taken aback. He’d known Tyler all his life and never thought to ask if he had a hobby.

  Saralynn lost interest in the conversation and began playing with her quarter. Tiny hands slid it from one hand to the other.

  Tyler looked embarrassed. “Yeah. I got maps of this area that go all the way back to the cattle drives. Sometimes I drive out trying to see how much of the original roads are still around.”

  Hank wanted to know more, but Edith was back. “What’ll it be?” She pointed her pen at Saralynn. “The usual for you, one pancake with blueberry eyes and a banana smile.”

  “Yes.” Saralynn straightened. “And oats for my horse.”

  “That’s right, the usual for your uncle.”

  She turned to Tyler. “And you, Sir Knight?”

  “I’ll just have coffee for now.” He folded his paper.

  A few minutes later, Edith slid a diet special of two egg whites, dry toast, a cup of blueberries, and oatmeal across to Hank. He ordered the same meal every Tuesday.

  “There you go, Hank, try to enjoy it.” She turned to Tyler. “Did you decide what you’ll be having, Mr. Wright? We got biscuits and gravy with sausage in it for the special this morning.”

  “No thanks.” Tyler closed his eyes as if forcing himself to forget the offer. “I think I’ll have what Hank’s having.”

  Edith stared at him as if she saw proof of alien occupation. “All right. Anything else?”

  “No,” Tyler answered.

  As the waitress walked away shaking her head, Hank was smart enough not to comment. He wouldn’t ask. One of the things he liked about sitting with Tyler was neither got too personal with questions. That and Tyler always remembered that Saralynn collected state quarters. Anyone who was nice to his niece was all right as far as Hank was concerned, even if he did have a strange hobby.

  Tyler straightened the gap in his shirt. “I’m thinking of taking off a few pounds.”

  “Oh.” Hank put jelly on his bread, then took a moment to clean syrup off the princess’s face.

  “Yeah. I know it won’t be easy,” Tyler added as he winked at the little girl pouring more syrup on her smiling pancake. “I’m invited to every family meal after the funerals, and everyone knows there’s no better food than funeral food.”

  Hank nodded. “If you decide to work out some, you’re welcome to come down to the fire station. We got some pretty good exercise equipment.” He didn’t add that he’d bought most of it and moved it to the station, hoping the other men would use it. Some of the volunteers were barely fitting into their uniforms.

  “I might do that,” Tyler said. “Thanks for the offer.”

  Hank drank his coffee, thinking that T
yler wouldn’t exactly fit in with the firemen. Willie, just a kid whose parents made him move out the day he turned eighteen; Brad, bunking there because he was in the middle of a divorce; and Andy, who stayed around because he didn’t want to go home alone. Twenty other men made up the volunteer fire department, but they came when needed and then left.

  Edith set a box down on the end of the table. “Sheriff brought this by and said to give it to you when you came in.”

  Hank looked at the box. He didn’t have to open it. He knew what it was.

  Saralynn lifted the lid with sticky fingers. “Look, a hat, just like the one you have, Uncle Hank.”

  “Had,” Hank answered without offering any further explanation. The town had enough to talk about without him telling everyone within hearing distance what happened between him and Alex in private this weekend.

  Edith leaned her head over as she studied the Stetson. “What I can’t figure out is how she guessed your size.”

  “It’s not the first she’s bought,” he answered, wishing they’d move on to something other than the Stetson.

  Tyler helped him out with the first thought that crossed his mind. “They say it may rain this weekend. We might get some relief from this dry spell. If it comes with a cold front, I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t see a late snow.”

  Edith looked bored and moved on down the line of booths.

  Saralynn picked up her napkin. When it stuck to her fingers, she began waving the paper square, letting it dip into her plate of syrup and dribble about.

  Both men decided not to notice.

  “I wouldn’t mind rain,” Hank said to Tyler. “Fire danger signs have been up so long they’re starting to look wind-worn.” The grass had browned enough to burn fast and hot if sparked. “A grass fire could cost dearly in lives and property.” His volunteer forces hadn’t been trained properly to fight the hundred-acre fire two years ago that had taken one life, and they weren’t trained now.

  Hank wondered if Tyler, too, could still smell the odor of burned flesh. Hank and his men had fought the fire, but when one man suffered a heart attack and fell into the flames, it had been Tyler and his crew who’d tended, with loving care, to the blackened remains.

  Edith walked by and took the napkin away from Saralynn with a stern look at both men.

  “Don’t look at me,” Hank snapped. “I’m just the horse.”

  Tyler straightened. “And I would never question a princess.” He placed his paper over the sticky table, hiding the evidence.

  Edith looked at the mess. “I expect royalty tips double?”

  Both men nodded. As soon as the waitress moved on, Tyler moved his paper away so the princess could continue her syrup painting.

  “Did you hear old man Truman’s great-niece is in town?” he asked Hank.

  “I thought she might be since I dropped a kid out by his place a few nights ago. Couldn’t imagine anyone going out to the place unless they were kin.”

  “They say she’s grumpy as Truman, but that couldn’t be possible.” Tyler laughed. “The last time I asked Jeremiah how he was doing, he accused me of trying to drum up business.”

  Edith passed Tyler his plate and all conversation stopped while they ate.

  A few minutes later, Alex McAllen walked in dressed in her tan uniform. She looked all business with her hair tied up and her gun belt around her waist. She looked around, her eyes narrowing when she spotted him. She headed over.

  Official trouble, he thought, wrapped in a body he couldn’t keep out of his dreams lately. One of these days he’d voice his thoughts and Alex would probably get so mad she’d shoot him, putting them both out of their misery.

  “Move over,” she ordered, looking like she might flash her badge if he didn’t make room for her.

  Hank did so without comment, but Tyler smiled a welcome. “We’d love to have you join us, Sheriff,” he said motioning for Edith to bring another cup. “I’m having breakfast with Princess Saralynn.”

  Alex winked at the tiny girl. “Morning, Princess. Morning, Tyler.”

  She didn’t look at Hank. He might as well have been the horse in the room.

  “I just have a second. Phil called in a few minutes ago from his patrol south of town to tell me there’s a cow in that grave you dug last night.”

  “Great,” Tyler mumbled as he scooted out the far side of the booth. “I’ve got until two to get it out before the graveside service. Won’t be many at the service, but they’re bound to notice a cow in the grave.”

  Hank bumped her leg with his, forcing Alex to look at him as he laughed. “Whose cow is it?” The cemetery was bordered by McAllen land. It had to be one of the half-wild cattle that ran over her land.

  She turned her sky-blue eyes directly at him and said sweetly, “Yours.”

  He frowned, but didn’t move his leg away. Neither did she. He couldn’t tell if she liked his touch or was just calling his bluff. “How’s that possible? My field’s five miles from the cemetery.”

  “One of your men was hauling a dozen head in this morning and it appears he forgot to latch the trailer gate. There are Matheson cattle scattered out for half a mile along the cemetery road.”

  “Any hurt?”

  “Phil said they’re all standing, except the one who fell in the open grave.” She slid from the booth and smiled. “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

  He stood. “I’ll just bet you did.” He grabbed the new hat without saying another word and lifted Saralynn out of the booth and onto his shoulder.

  “I want to go see the cow,” Saralynn yelled as she tried to clap her sticky hands.

  As everyone at her table left, the sheriff called out, “You’re welcome!”

  Hank stormed to his truck trying to figure out which he disliked more, Alex drunk or Alex sober. He waved as Tyler pulled out. “I’ll meet you there.”

  He had no idea how to get a cow out of a six-foot hole, but they had until two to figure it out.

  Chapter 7

  TWO DAYS, REAGAN THOUGHT, TWO DAYS AND NO ONE HAD said anything to her. She’d seen them watching her. Knew they talked about her. But not one person at Harmony High had been mean to her.

  She walked out the side door of the cafeteria and found a bench to eat the apple she’d brought with her for lunch. She’d thought of asking Jeremiah for lunch money, but her pride wouldn’t let her. He already fed her breakfast and dinner.

  A dry wind blew from the west. The warmth of it surprised her because she’d felt like the temperature had been almost freezing at dawn. She watched dirt from the field next to the school whirl in a tiny dust devil. The baby tornado widened and rose, blending with the wind. Reagan shifted, not wanting to be pelted when the dirt blew over her.

  A tall, thin shadow crossed the ground in front of her. She looked up.

  “Hi.” A boy, so thin he looked stretched, folded to the ground in front of her like some kind of double-jointed metal chair. He pulled a bottle of juice from his pocket. “Mind if I join you?”

  Reagan ignored him. She’d seen him before. How could she have missed him? The guy was a head taller than almost everyone in the sophomore class. He had a bad complexion, a farmer’s tan, and a lopsided smile. All he needed was an L painted on his forehead and he’d be the complete package.

  “It’s nice out here.” He looked around and lowered his hat against the dust. “I can see why you’d like leaving all the noise behind.” He took off his battered cowboy hat and propped a corner of his backpack against it so it wouldn’t blow away.

  She stared at him. “Maybe I just want to be alone.”

  Stretching out one booted foot, he nodded as if agreeing with her.

  “Completely alone,” she added, hoping he’d get the point.

  After a long draw on his drink, he asked, “What’s your name?”

  “What do you care?”

  He laughed. “I care because if you’re about to walk into traffic or fall off a cliff, I could yell at you.” H
e gulped down more juice.

  She glanced at the road in front of the school. “Don’t have much traffic around here, and I’ve yet to see a cliff.”

  He tossed his empty juice bottle in the trash next to her bench, then stood in front of her as if waiting for her to look up at him.

  Reagan refused. He could stand there like a pole all day.

  “I’m Noah McAllen, but most folks call me Preacher,” he said finally, in a low voice flavored with determination.

  Great, Reagan thought. The only thing worse than being picked on by a bully was being recruited by the school religious nut. Despite her resolve, she looked up at him.

  “You got the most unusual color of hair.” He frowned.

  “No offense, but it kind of reminds me of the color of the mud down at the Salt Fork of the Red River. Kind of red and brown at the same time.”

  She thought of snapping something back at him, but she wasn’t sure he meant it as an insult.

  “Look, Preacher, I don’t need saving, I’m not interested in dating, and I’d just as soon not be your friend, so why don’t you go peddle ‘Let’s be friends’ somewhere else.”

  A grin spread across a face that could almost grow a beard. “They call me Preacher because I seem to get religion when I ride bulls. I’m the junior state rodeo champ. Not to hurt your feelings, but I don’t want to date anyone—but I wouldn’t mind having a friend.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe just to have someone to talk to that’s been outside the city limits.”

  “I’m not good company.” She’d spent far more time in her life arguing than talking. “I’m not easy to talk to.”

  He shook his head. “That don’t matter. If I liked easy, I’d go out for football or track.”

  She hid a smile as she took a bite of apple. “Reagan,” she said as she chewed. “Reagan Truman.”

  He nodded, and she was pretty sure he’d already known her name. “Trumans and McAllens don’t get along in this town, but I guess I could make an exception. After all, you may be the last survivor in that clan, and McAllens grow like weeds.” He offered her his hand. “Friends.”