Page 88 of Heart Like a Cowboy

But Alana wasn’t plucking because she was reasonably sure that any question she could ask would have answers she didn’t want. Questions like should she try to call—and she could fill in the blank here—Tilly, Melinda... Egan?

If the daisies said yes, then what good would it do? Tilly probably wouldn’t speak to her, and Alana considered that a good thing since she didn’t especially want to speak to her, either. Other than to make sure Jack’s mother hadn’t harmed herself. But Tilly had friends to verify that. Friends to hold her and help her get through this.

And Melinda? Well, if the petals urged Alana to call her, what else was there to say that wouldn’t involve conversation about Jack and the woman having had sex? Alana could possibly tell Melinda that Easton was a beautiful child, but Melinda already knew that.

That left Egan. Except in his case, she couldn’t ask the all-knowing flower petals if she should call him but rather if she should return his call and “just checking on you” texts.

All six of them.

The call and texts had come over the past twenty-four hours since the melee at the life celebration. He was worried about her, no doubts about that, and she had sent him a short reply to let him know she was okay-ish. But she didn’t need a lazy daisy to tell her that both of them needed some time to try to sort through the aftermath of what’d happened.

After the sorting, well... Alana had no idea what would happen, and it was too complex a question to even start with the opinion of wildflowers. Still, she didn’t want to let go of the flowers just yet in case she changed her mind. That’s why she gathered them back into a bunch when she stepped from her car.

She glanced around to make sure she had the place to herself. She did. There were no other vehicles around, and the volume of mud should keep people away for at least another day or two.

The storm had hit fast and had lasted for hours, and it’d left its mark on the grounds of the park. The cleaning crew obviously hadn’t had a chance to come in yet because there were hastily dropped life celebration flyers smushed into the ground, and the rain had turned them into paper-mâché stepping stones. She caught glimpses of still-visible words.

Hero.

Jack.

Life.

A few of the flyers had landed just right for her to see the photo of Jack’s smiling face that had been on the back of the flyer.

The podium was still there, too. More or less. The fabric skirting and awning were gone, probably whipped away by the wind. The food and the paintings were gone, too, but she guessed that Tilly had maybe salvaged the one of Jack in the hero mode. The other might be buried under the mud. But Alana immediately had to rethink that theory when she saw it.

And when she saw the woman.

Tilly was standing beneath the big oak, the mud caking her shoes and even part of her ankles, and she was holding the painting. She looked up, spearing Alana with her gaze. Alana speared her right back, letting her know she wasn’t going to take any more of her crap.

Then, both of them sighed.

Apparently, crap-taking was over for both of them, and this seemed to be some kind of truce.

“I saved the other painting,” Tilly said. “I told Anton to leave this one here. I thought the storm would destroy it.”

Tilly turned the painting so that Alana could see that there hadn’t been much destruction at all. There were a few mud splatters on it, but Anton must have coated the canvas with some sort of sealant because there was Jack and Egan.

Double heroes.

Of course, Jack had tarnished his heroic halo somewhat by landing in bed with Melinda. But Egan probably felt the same about the bed landings with her.

“It’s a beautiful painting,” Alana said, figuring that could cause Tilly to launch into a tirade.

It didn’t.

“Yes,” the woman murmured. She lifted her eyes from the canvas and looked at Alana. “Melinda offered to let me meet Easton. I’m going to do that. I just thought you should know because people will be talking about it.”

Alana shrugged. “They already have so much to talk about that anything additional will have to be worked into the current chatter. You could probably have sex on Main Street with the mayor and only garner a tiny mention.”

Tilly didn’t smile, and Alana had no idea why she’d attempted any lightheartedness. Not when she had so many more important things to say.

“You should see Jack’s son,” Alana spelled out. “You should work hard to build a relationship with Melinda. And you should stop thinking of me as Jack’s wife. Because I have. I’ve let go, Tilly.”

Alana heard the words and was surprised, and pleased, to know they were true. She didn’t need the lazy daisies to tell her that.

“Jack loved you,” Tilly said like some kind of accusation.

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