* * *
Evening passed while Jessica got to know Mary and intermittently checked on a restless Clint.
Mary rose from the kitchen table, groaning a bit with the effort after sitting so long. And no wonder. She'd told Jessica she'd been alone up here for over ten years since her husband's death. Heaven knew, Montana weather wasn't known for being easy on the bones, especially those of a solitary widow.
Jessica glanced at the darkness framed by the kitchen window and shivered. "Don't you ever go mad with loneliness up here?" Her hand flew to her mouth, but it was already out. Another impulsive, foot-in-mouth question.
"Oh, honey." Mary turned a kind eye to Jessica. "As it happens, a special guest is due to arrive in ten days. Her very first trip to Roy's spread. Can you imagine? All that time gone by . . . but now she's coming, and that's what counts."
There was such delight in Mary's face, Jessica couldn't help but smile back. "Who is it?"
Mary beamed. "My granddaughter."
"All by herself? I mean . . ." Jessica tried to imagine a young girl navigating a road filled with rogue grizzlies and hungry mountain cats. "How old is she?"
Mary looked at her quizzically, then guffawed outright. "Lands, child, you do me a great service thinking me young like that. But no, Rose Marie is one of those liberated women. Educated, sophisticated, as bold and beautiful as they come. Last I saw her, I was at her college graduation, and she was just stunning . . .
Mary prattled on, but Jessica had stopped listening. Maybe because of the ringing in her ears or the dread that seemed to bolt her to the floor. Maybe because this felt like God's devastating answer to prayer. Clint would never be hers, but he would be someone's, at least for a time. It didn't take a genius to figure out who that next someone might be.
Jessica clumsily excused herself from the table, only dimly noticing the shadow of concern between Mary's eyebrows. "It's nothing," she mumbled as she crossed to her cot. "Just tired." So tired of her heart being twisted till it tore in half like dry straw.