In truth, she was tired. Tired of trying so hard. Tired of pretending sixty was the new thirty-nine. Tired of being tired. It was that empty, unsettled kind of weariness that came to those fortunate enough to have once lived full, useful lives, but who now had nothing to do. She didn’t like the feeling.
She tried to convince herself that the face staring back at her wasn’t truly old, but even she could see it lacked the vitality it once had. The top lip was a little longer and the smile lines sagged a little more. Her hair was still thick and shiny, but there was more gray than brown now, and the hair coloring never seemed to cover it all. But if she looked hard enough into the slightly faded blue eyes, she could still see the dynamic, energetic young woman she had once been. There was still time to make a change and hopefully find that woman again. But what change?
“What are you frowning about?” a voice asked.
Coralee turned to see her second daughter, Raney, come up behind her. “Do I look older to you?”
“Older than what?”
“Don’t equivocate. I’m serious.” Coralee turned back to the mirror. “I think I look old.”
“Some days I do, too.”
“You’re not yet thirty, dear.”
“Near enough.” A pause, then: “Is this about your birthday?”
“My sixtieth birthday,” Coralee reminded her. “That’s over half a century.”
“But not yet two-thirds of one. I hear that’s when the real aging starts.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Then stop fishing for compliments. You know you’re beautiful.” Raney stood at Coralee’s shoulder and studied her in the mirror. “I thought you’d be happy, Mama, with all your chicks flocking back home to toast yet another year in your amazingly long life. Plus, you still have all your teeth.”
Coralee smiled into eyes the same bright, electric blue hers once were. “Still not helping.”
Despite her tendency toward sarcasm and a disinterest in anything not having to do with the ranch, Raney was the daughter most like her. She got things done. And with as little fuss or drama as possible.
Coralee had always considered herself the driving force behind the ranch—and her husband, if truth be told—but Raney was its heart and soul. She was the one who had stepped into her father’s boots after his death, and in the nine years since, had given up everything—college, marriage, a family of her own—to keep Charlie’s legacy going. Other than one ghastly near-marriage, Raney had never even made an attempt to build a life apart from the ranch. Perhaps she was as stuck as Coralee was.
“I am happy,” Coralee insisted now. “But I think I might need a change.” And with those words, an idea formed. Why shouldn’t she try something new?
Dating was out of the question. Not in a town as small as Rough Creek. Pickings were too slim and gossip too rampant. She’d learned that after her “date” with Walter Esterbrook, a man she’d known for two decades and who faithfully attended her church every Sunday. At least, she’d thought she knew him.
She could start a business, or manage something. If Rough Creek had a zoo or museum or even a hospital, she could do volunteer work, other than her weekly afternoon at the food bank. But the only thing around worth managing was the ranch, and Raney already did an excellent job of that.
Despite her sometimes-frivolous facade, Coralee considered herself an astute manager. She always had been, whether it was finding ways to double the size of the Lennox family farm or helping guide her husband through the backwaters of Texas politics toward a lucrative career in the oil and gas industry, or ensuring that she and her daughters were well protected and financially independent after his death. If she was relentless, she’d had to be. And it had paid off. By the time of Charlie’s passing, the Lennox farm had doubled yet again, been renamed the Whitcomb Four Star Ranch in honor of their four lovely daughters, and was known for breeding prize-winning Angus cattle. But what had she done lately?
“You’re scheming again, aren’t you?” With a sigh, Raney sank down onto the edge of Coralee’s bed. “What is it this time? A parade of acceptable marriage prospects for your unweddable daughter?”
“If you’re unmarried, dear, it’s by your own choice.”
“Exactly. So, stay out of it. Please.”
Ignoring that, Coralee picked up her tray of shadows and went to work on her eyes. Her slightly wrinkled, aging eyes. “I’m not scheming. I’m planning. With KD starting Officer Training School soon, it might be months—years, even—before the five of us can be at the ranch at the same time.” She paused to dab a spot of turquoise to the outside corners of her upper lids to bring out the blue of her eyes. “I thought we might make a festive occasion of it.”
“Such as?” Raney gave her a wary look.
“We could start with a nice chat to catch up on all the news, then dinner, followed by wine on the back veranda. What do you think?” She checked her eyes, thought they looked trashy, and wiped the color off.
“I think it’ll be cold out there,” Raney said.
“We can light a fire.” Coralee tried basic, unimaginative taupe. Boring, but better. “And drop the shades if it’s windy.” Which it invariably was in spring in northwest Texas. And when they were all comfy and mellowed by wine, she would make her announcement. Hopefully, by then, she would know what that announcement would be. At this point, all that was certain was she needed to do something different. Refocus. Make herself her next project. If she explained whatever it was clearly and calmly, maybe they could avoid the drama that characterized most of their family gatherings.
“You said ‘change.’ What kind of change? Nothing involving me, I hope.”
Where had her daughter gotten such a suspicious nature?
“I haven’t decided.” A faint ding from her watch saved Coralee from further explanation. “Mercy! KD’s plane has landed and
