“Bud, he had a heart flush, eight through queen. And Jack? Four deuces.”
Pausing, Tate shoved back his hat, shook his head. “Four deuces, and that was that. Jack took the pot, but he wouldn’t take the pup. That pup belonged to the boy, and there was no meanness in Jack. He said he’d rather Bud buy him a steak dinner, and that’s where they left it. Everybody went home, a little drunk and lighter in the pocket but for Jack—and myself, as I broke even, and that was as good as a win under the circumstances.”
Tate looked away toward the mountains, then straight into Callen’s eyes. “I heard how somebody shot that pup dead the very next day. Now Bud, he can be a hard man, but he’d never have put a bullet in a pup.”
Callen could see it, had seen that mean in Clintok even back when they were twelve.
“Why did you take him on as deputy, Sheriff?”
“He served his country, and he came back home. I figured, from what I could see, Garrett had outgrown that streak of mean. I’m not saying he can’t ride the line now and then, but I can’t say I’ve had cause to complain about him, either. But him and me? We’ll be having a talk, because a woman’s dead, and nobody who works for me is going to use that to satisfy an old grudge.”
“I’ve got no issue with him. If he stays out of my way, I’ll stay out of his.”
“That’s how we’ll keep it. You give your mother my best when you talk to her next.”
“I will.”
Alone with the horses, Callen gave some thought to bitter young boys—he’d been one—and to a father who’d never been mean, but weak enough to lose everything. Including his son’s respect.
*
In her office, Bodine pushed through the steps, handling the work that couldn’t be put off, but stopping everything whenever one of the resort crew came in for comfort or with questions.
She worked through it with a fist in the pit of her stomach and a headache brewing behind her eyes.
Jessica paused in the doorway, tapped her knuckles on the doorjamb.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.”
“No, it’s okay. I was going to come get you in a bit anyway. Saves me the steps.”
“Have you eaten anything?”
“What?” Momentarily blank, Bodine rubbed at her stiff neck.
“That’s what I thought.” Taking charge, Jessica simply picked up the phone on Bodine’s desk, pushed the extension for the kitchen.
“Hi, Karleen, it’s Jessica. Would you send a bowl of the soup of the day and some chamomile tea down to Bo’s office? Yeah, that’d be nice. Thanks.”
“What if I don’t want soup?” Bodine said when Jessica hung up.
“You’ll eat it because you’re smart enough to know you need it. The same as Rory is, and your mother.”
Bodine worked up a smile. “Are you taking care of us?”
“Somebody has to. You look worn-out, and I happen to know there’s been a steady procession of people coming in here today looking to lean on you, like there’s been in Rory’s office, and Maureen’s. But more streamed in here.”
“Big boss.”
“That’s right. They need you for comfort, so you need soup. Now, tell me what I can do to help.”
“I’ve been working on a couple of things, and … Didn’t you have a consult on the Rhoder Company’s conference set for right about now? And an interview today?”
“I rescheduled them. It wasn’t a problem. We’ve had a death in the family.”
Now Bodine’s aching eyes burned with tears. As she pressed her fingers against them, Jessica turned back, shut the door. “I’m so sorry, Bodine. I didn’t know Billy Jean very well, but I liked her. Let me take some of this off your hands. I know Sal generally picks up your slack when you need it, but … she’s a wreck right now.”
“They were really good friends. I could use your help with a couple things. And I know you’ve got plenty on your hands right now, too.”
“Chelsea’s every bit as good as you and I thought she’d be. Adding her to my team’s freed me up enough I can take some time.”
“I can fill it. First, I’ve written up a statement for the press. I’ve already had to use it twice with reporters who’ve called about what happened. I want to make sure it hits the right notes.”
“I’d be happy to look at it.”
“We need one for guests, too. Those who are here, those who are booked and might contact us about this. I’ve got that drafted up. You didn’t know her very well,” Bodine added, “so you’ll be more objective. I’m not sure I haven’t gone too far toward the brisk and brief because she was my friend and I’m overcompensating.”
“All right.”
“And finally, we need to hold a memorial for her. Here. I spoke with her mother already.” Bodine paused, blew out a breath. “We offered them cabins here, and drivers, whatever they need, but they’re going to stay in Missoula, and they’re going to take her back to Helena, back home, when they can. The memorial will be for all of us, all of us, resort and ranch and anyone around who knew her and wants to come pay respects.”
“Let me take that. I’m not being flippant when I say a memorial’s an event, and events are my area. You just tell me when you want to have it, and where on the property, and I’ll put it together.”
Grateful, Bodine let that weight slide away. “I think it has to be indoors, as we can’t trust the weather. The Mill’s the best place.”
“I agree.” Jessica rose at the knock on the door, opened it. “Thanks, Karleen, that’s just perfect.”
She brought the tray to the desk, set it down. “Eat.”
“Stomach’s in knots.”
“Eat anyway.”
On a weak laugh, Bodine picked up the soupspoon. “You sound like my grammy.”
“A towering compliment. Give me a general idea of what you want, and I’ll work the details.”
Flowers, because Billy Jean had loved them. And country-western music. As she sketched it out, Bodine ate. The soup had been a good choice, as it sort of slid right in and down without much thought.
“I think we’d need to have it open for four or five hours, with someone from the family there. We can work that out,” Bodine said. “But I’d want to give everyone who works here a chance to come in, spend a little time, and there’s no day coming without bookings. I thought about shutting down for a day.”
Jessica, still taking notes, didn’t bother to glance up. “Then you thought about ruining the plans of people who’d not only booked a cabin but maybe airfare, taken off work.”
“It wouldn’t be right. But everyone needs to have the chance to come in. It’d be easier to do at the ranch, but—”
“She was resort family.”
“I can’t get it straight in my head.” Though her throat clogged, Bodine pushed the words through. “I can’t get that this could happen straight in my head. It’s not that we never have trouble. A guest getting a little out of hand or staff getting bitchy with each other or even some tussles at an event. But something like this? I can’t get it straight in my head.”