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“Lydia Armstrong, she?—”
When she starts coughing and doesn’t stop, a cacophony of alarms sets off. Nurses rush in and push us out butGrand-mèregrowls, “I’m dying, you fools. I need to speak with my?—”
Colton drags me outside until they get her settled. He holds me against him, his hand cupping my head whileMamiebarks cusswords at the nursing staff as they make her comfortable, but she doesn’t stop grumbling until I’m back with her.
This time, when her hand grabs mine, it’s fierce. She’s clinging on. I can feel it. Whatever she has to share with me, she needs to impart before she dies.
We’ve never gotten along, but the prospect of being in a world without my strong-willed grandmother has soft sobs wracking my frame.
“Listen to me, child,” she whispers, her tone feverish. “Lydia was blackmailing me. Said she had proof your mother was fooling around withhim. Said she’d prove that Clarisse was a whore.” Her eyes narrow. “No one casts aspersions on my family unless it’s me.
“I paid because I couldn’t let anyone tarnish Clarisse’s name, then one day, I went into town and there she was, waiting to be served in that old fool’s bakery. A smug smile on her face. I wanted to smack it off her. In my younger days, I would have. But I didn’t.
“I knew the boys’ truck was at the garage, but it was lunchtime and the damn thing’s key is stuck in the ignition so I knew I could start the engine. And as luck would have it, she was walking down Main Street.
“When no one saw me, I just drove off. I don’t know what I was thinking. Mostly, I wanted that smile to be gone.” Her eyes flare. “One of the happiest moments of my life was when I ran her over.”
I gape at her. “Mamie, you can’t…”
“She was threatening your mother’s reputation. Threatening yours too. Casting aspersions on her name cast aspersions on you all. I fought too long to let that happen. I didn’t sell you to that bastard for your name to be raked through the mud after you were married.
“I’m sorry, Colton. I’ve hated your family for so long and I was acting on instinct when I dumped the boys’ truck on your land. I saw that big stockhorse of yours roaming around. I’ve watched you on him. You let him loose and he always comes back. I stole him and rode off to the Bar 9, knowing he’d wander back.
“When I got home, that’s when I realized how foolish I’d been.” She taps her temple. “I knew this was going, but that was proof of it. The panic set in because I’d used the triplets’ truck. Of course they were going to be blamed. I dumped it on your land! You’d be suspected. It was a nightmare.
“Then, Lydia did me a favor.” She chuckles and it’s cold and mean and cements all her words into reality. “She must have hated Clyde more than she ever hated me.” Her gaze locks on mine. “I looked at her like I’m looking at you, child. She couldn’t mistake me, but the whole town knows she was mumbling about Clyde when she died. That was when I realized everything would be alright.”
Colt clears his throat. “Why are you telling us this?”
“So that you know and if he appeals and worms his way out of the sentence, you’ll fix it so that this dying woman’s wish comes true—I want him to rot. I want that prissy little bastard to suffer. I don’t know what your mother was doing with him, but it can’t have been any good.
“He’s the reason you left, Sus—Zee. The second I heard about the fire, I knew Clyde had something to do with it. Never loved the land. Not like Clayton. Clayton would have died first rather than let his horses perish in a fire.
“When I heard Clyde just stood there, watching, I knew. Bet he killed that Marcy girl too.” Her words slur even more. “Evil man. Evil. I’m no good. But he’s evil. Want him to suffer. Want him to know what it’s like for no one to believe you. To hurt—” She jerks awake and her hand tightens around mine to the point of pain. “Promise me, child. Promise me.”
I think about the years of suffering Colt endured, of what Clyde put Lindsay through, of Callan’s persistent fear. I think about Loki burning to death and Clyde stealing the ranch, of him framing his flesh and blood by dumping another blackmail demand in Colt’s office.
Somehow, it’s the easiest thing in the world to whisper, “I promise.”
“And you, boy?”
Colt doesn’t even have to think. “I want him to rot in a jail cell as much as you do, Juliette.”
Righteously, she nods. “Knew I picked right. Only the best for my Susanne. Always loved her. She looked and acted like me too. Bossy little thing.” Her milky eyes drift. “Do you know my Susanne, dear?”
I rear back at her question, but Colt’s there to prop me up. “Yes, we know your Susanne, Mrs. McAllister.”
“She’s a fancy paralegal down in New York,” she boasts, making my stinging eyes widen at the pride in her voice.
Pride she never once showed me before now.
The thudding of footsteps pounds outside the door and when my brothers come skidding in, somehow, I know it was just in the nick of time.
“Such a good girl. Not like my boys. Always naughty. Up to mischief. Oh, Walker, where are you? Where is he?” she cries, her hand turning into a vise. “My boys. My girl.”
“Mamie!” Calder shouts, his hand gripping hers as Colby jostles the bed as he half-jumps on it in a panic.
Carson stands by the door, his face like ash as he watches on as Juliette McAllister, the old bitch of the Bar 9, drifts out of this world and into the next with her family surrounding her.