counter. As Eden Hansen rang up the purchases of a couple buying T-shirts, Dylan stared at the back of Hope’s head, recalling with perfect clarity the last time he’d stood behind her, watching her somewhat blurred reflection.
“Hey, Hope,” Adam said and tapped her arm to get her attention, “maybe when I come home, me and Wally can build another tent at your house.”
“Son, you can’t invite yourself like that.”
“It’s okay.” She looked over her shoulder at Dylan, then answered Adam. “If you guys come over again, there have to be some rules. Like no wrestling in the house.” She thought for a moment, then added, “And since you boys like to pull things, maybe you two could come over and help me pull some weeds. I’d pay you.”
“Five bucks!”
“Yep.” They moved forward in line and Hope placed two rolls of film on the counter.
“Is this it for you, then?” Eden asked as she reached for the film. Hope didn’t answer right away, and Dylan figured she was stunned into silence by her first good look at Eden Hansen. For as long as he could remember, Eden had dyed her hair purple, worn purple eyeshadow and purple lipstick. She lived in a purple house and drove a purple Dodge Neon. Hell, she even dyed her little yap-yap dogs, too. Her twin sister, Edie, had a preference for blue. It was no wonder both were married to men who had a tendency to hit the bottle before noon.
“Yes, that’s all,” Hope finally replied.
Eden rang up the film and reached for a paper sack. “My brother-in-law is Hayden Dean. He’s the one who helped you out at the Buckhorn and ended up getting into that fight with Emmett.”
Hope unzipped her fanny pack. “I was very grateful he stepped in when he did. That was very nice of him.”
“Nice, schmice.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Hayden is a womanizer and likes to fight, no doubt about that. If my sister had the sense God gave a lemming, she’d run his butt off the nearest cliff, and that’s a fact. Everyone knows he steps out with Dixie Howe whenever she can’t find better. Dixie’s as loose as a slipknot, and if it weren’t for her talent with hair color, I’d never set foot in her salon.”
“Uh… oh, really?” Hope uttered as she handed Eden a twenty.
Dylan chuckled. If Hope was shocked by Eden now, just wait until she was stuck in the same room with her and Edie at the same time. Both women could talk until your ears bled.
“Now, I was thinking,” Eden continued after she took Hope’s money. “If you ever need anyone to die a really painful death in that book you’re writing, Hayden would be a good choice. Besides chasin‘ tail, he’s lazy, drinks like a fish, and is as ugly as the mange. Maybe you could have him get that flesh-eating disease.”
Dylan watched Hope’s ponytail sway back and forth as she shook her head. “I don’t know who told you I’m writing a book, but I’m not.”
“Iona said Melba told her you’re writing a book about Hiram Donnelly.”
“I’m writing an article, not a book.”
Eden pulled her purple lips into a disappointed frown. “Well, I guess that’s not the same, now, is it? Not as interesting, either. A whole book would be interesting.” She handed Hope her change. “Someone should write about my family. Woo wee, the stories I could tell. Did you know my family owned the first saloon in town? Ran the first brothel, too. You should come in sometime and I’ll tell you the story of my great-uncles who killed each other in a fight over a gal named Frenchy.”
“Dad?” Adam whispered. “What’s a brothel?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Do you know why they called her Frenchy?”
Hope shoved her money into her fanny pack and grabbed her bag. “Because she was French?” She edged toward the door at the end of the counter, past the polished agates and windup teeth.
“No. On account of her specializing in the menage a trois.”
“Fascinating,” Hope said as she grabbed the door handle. She gave Dylan one tortured glance and bolted as if demons were on her heels.
“How are you, Sheriff?” Eden asked as he moved forward in line.
“Good,” Dylan said through his smile.
Eden shook her head. “That gal is an odd one.”
Dylan wisely made no comment and quickly paid for Adam’s briefs and his snorkel before Eden could trap him, too. On the way home, he and Adam stopped at the Cozy Corner Cafe for cheeseburgers and fries. Paris was their waitress, and although no one in town knew
When they got home, their neighbor, Hanna Turnbaugh, brought Adam a new coloring book and crayons for “the trip.” She sat in the kitchen drinking coffee with Dylan until Paris showed up carrying a big white cake with coconut frosting and candied peach slices stuck on it. Adam resorted to his usual grunts and one-shoulder shrugs until both women gave up trying to talk to him.
Neither Dylan nor Adam slept much that night, and both got up early the next morning for the drive to Sun Valley. They ate breakfast at Shorty’s and over a stack of pancakes, Adam promised he wouldn’t cry this year.
In a small airport where celebrity passengers were the norm, the sight of Juliette Bancroft didn’t so much as raise a brow. At the same gate where Demi Moore, Clint Eastwood, and the Kennedys boarded and disembarked from their chartered planes, America’s angel waited for her son. Her blond hair subdued into a French braid, Julie rose from a chair, and a smile tilted the corners of her perfect pink lips. Julie had always been gorgeous, with her flawless skin and perfect cheekbones. She was a walking Barbie doll, only better, because she was real-well, except for her breasts; she’d had those done her first season.
Dylan had to give her credit. She’d toned down her Hollywood image and wore a simple pair of Levi’s and a summer sweater, but she still managed to look as if she’d just stepped out of a women’s magazine. “Hi, baby,” she said and held out her arms. She went down on one knee and Adam stepped within her embrace. She kissed every inch of his face and didn’t seem to notice his lack of response. “Oh, I’ve missed you soooo much. Have you missed me?”
“Yes,” Adam whispered.
Julie stood and her smile turned a bit uncertain as she looked at Dylan. “Hello, how are you?”
“Good. How was your flight?”
“Uneventful.” She let her gaze travel from his hair to the toes of his boots, then back up. “I swear you get better-looking every time I see you.”
He wasn’t flattered. Julie was one of those people who handed out compliments like a Pez dispenser. “I’m another year older every time you see me, Julie.”
She shrugged. “You look the same as the day I ran my Toyota into your unmarked car. Remember that?”
How could he possibly forget? “Of course.”
Julie flashed him her trademark smile, the one that captured America’s hearts, the one that used to make his own pulse race. “Do you have time to grab a bite to eat before you head back home?” she asked. “I thought the three of us could talk a bit before Adam and I have to go.”
Instantly suspicious, Dylan wondered what she really wanted. It wasn’t like her to want to sit around and shoot the shit with him. “Adam and I just ate. Maybe some other time.”
“We need to talk soon,” she said and reached for Adam’s hand. “Your grandpa is awfully excited to see you. We’re going to have lots of fun this year.”
Adam took a step back and leaned into Dylan’s thigh. He didn’t grab hold, but Dylan could tell that he wanted to.
“I thought you weren’t going to make a fuss this time,” he said, as if he weren’t dying inside. As if he didn’t already feel the loss with every squeeze of his heart.
“I’m not.” But Adam turned his face into Dylan’s side. “But, Dad…”
Dylan went down on one knee and took Adam’s face in his hands. Adam’s eyes were filled with water and his pale cheeks were splotched. The effort not to cry about had him hyperventilating, and Dylan was very proud of his son. “I can tell you’re really trying to be a big boy this year,” Dylan said. “And that’s all I asked, so that’s all that counts. If you want to cry, go ahead.” Adam wrapped his arms around Dylan’s neck and Dylan rubbed his back. “Son, there are just some times in a man’s life when he has to let it out. If it feels like one of those times to you, then that’s what you gotta do.” Dylan hated this; it tore at his aching heart and left him feeling battered and bloody.
