Page 135 of The Killing Plains

Niall hung back respectfully as Colly picked her way among the graves until she reached a trio of stones that were whiter than the rest. She stood by Willis’s for a few moments, then moved on to Randy’s and Victoria’s. After a little while, she sat down on the grass in front of them and waved for Niall to join her.

“Beautiful spot,” he said quietly, sitting beside her. “What was he like, your husband?”

“Funny, sweet.” Colly smiled. “Stubborn as hell. All the Newlands are.”

“And your daughter?”

“She was just like him. And so talented. Wanted to be a chef.” Colly brushed some bits of dried leaves from the engraved letters of Victoria’s name.

“Is it hard to be here?”

“This is my first time since the funeral. Time heals all wounds, supposedly. But it doesn’t. The pain just becomes your new normal, and you figure out how to live with it.” She paused. “It’s ironic. I came here for closure. I thought I could pay my debt to the Newlands, work off my guilt, and be done with them. But everything’s messier than ever. Satchel loves it here. He’s begging to come back. Iris is already knitting him a stocking for next Christmas. One big happy family at the ranch.”

Niall laughed. “Forget it. You can’t get closure with family—that’s not how it works.”

“Randy warned me they were like a spiderweb.”

“There’s strength in a web, I guess.”

Colly sighed and ran her fingertips over a cluster of olive-green shoots poking through the brown grass, their tiny leaves splayed out like wheel spokes.

“Are those bluebonnets already?” Niall asked.

Colly nodded. Soon the hillside would be draped in a disheveled riot of purple-blue splashed with red and pink clusters of firewheel and evening primrose. “This place is gorgeous in April. But I’m not waiting around to see it.” She scrambled to her feet and dusted off the back of her jeans.

Niall followed suit. “Maybe next year.” He reached out suddenly and, taking her hand, he squeezed it tightly.

“Maybe.” Colly returned the squeeze. Then, after a brief inner tussle, she pulled her hand reluctantly away. Better to keep things simple—for now, at least.

She looked up. A few early stars were shining through the live oak’s dark, smooth leaves. “Time to go back,” she said.

“Grandma!” A shrill voice brought Colly suddenly back to the present. In the rearview mirror, Satchel’s face was flushed with sleep, but his eyes were wide awake.

“What is it, buddy?”

“I miss Maisie.”

“Who?”

“My horse, the black-and-white one. Grandma Iris said she’s mine, but she’ll keep her for me when I’m in Houston.”

“That was nice. Did you say thank you?”

Satchel shot her a reproachful look. “I’m sad we’re leaving.”

“We’ll come back soon.”

“You say that when you hope I’ll forget. But I won’t.”

“Satchel, we’ve been gone less than an hour.”

“Can we visit in July, for my birthday?” He was glaring at her in the mirror, his mouth set in a determined line that reminded her sharply of Victoria at that age.

Three weeks with the Newlands and he’s as pigheaded as the rest, Colly thought, looking back at the road. The sun was higher now. The asphalt shimmered beneath it like a golden ribbon unspooling itself across the plain. She cracked the window and let the cold air rush in, flooding the car with the chalky sagebrush-scent of the scrubland—a bracing odor, clean and sharp.

Colly laughed suddenly. “Fine, Satchel—you win. We’ll come back in July.”

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