Page 66 of Head Room (Caught Dead in Wyoming #15)

As the light softened toward dark and with everyone fed seconds and more, I spotted my dad standing by the fence of the closest corral, his back to it, elbows hooked over the top rail, relaxed and serenely surveying the party.

I headed toward him, stopped only a couple times on my way.

“Hey, Maggie Liz.” Then, as if he’d heard my earlier thoughts, he added, “It’ll get better.”

“Will it?”

“Maybe. But you’ll do fine if it doesn’t. You and Tom and Tamantha. Just fine.”

I wanted to beg him to go on in that vein for an hour or two.

I didn’t. Sometimes self-respect is a burden.

As I replicated his stance beside him, I switched the topic. “You looked awfully pleased with yourself.”

“I am. And pleased with your mother.”

“Aren’t you always?” I teased him.

“Especially pleased with your mother.”

“Okay, I give. Why?”

“Because of what she’s done for you.”

“She — and Tamantha — have done a lot of work to get all this ready and I do appreciate—”

“Oh, she’s done far more than a lot of work. She’s restrained herself. She’s restrained herself mightily. All for love of her daughter.”

I looked toward the deck, where Mom had a grandson on her lap and a hand on Tamantha’s shoulder beside her.

“Got it, Dad.”

“It?”

“The message about being appropriately appreciative.”

“Take another look at Tamantha, Maggie Liz, and put her in your shoes, yourself in your mom’s.”

I truly got that — I’d do anything for that child. It wasn’t about appreciation. “Message received.”

“It’s not one-way,” he added, sounding satisfied. “I know what you’ve given your mother, too, and that it’s been difficult for you.”

He kissed the top of my head.

“Something else. When you married Wes, I took him aside and told him I’d kill him if he hurt you.”

“Dad!”

“And I would have if the timing had worked out.”

“Dad!”

“When I saw him turning into a jerk—” Clearly not his first word choice. “—and making you doubt yourself around the edges, you thought you were still in love with him. You wouldn’t have approved—”

“Of murder? No.”

He ignored my interruption. “—and you’d have mourned him and not only the marriage. Later you knew you weren’t in love with him, even though the divorce knocked you for a loop. But it wasn’t about Wes anymore, so no sense killing him.”

I knew he meant metaphorically. He had to. But I couldn’t stop another “Dad!”

“I didn’t know all that about how you were feeling, though I spotted him becoming a — jerk. The rest of it, your mother saw.”

Both of us looked toward my mother. Of course she did.

Another thought jerked me upright. “Dad, you haven’t—? You’re not going to—? Tom—?”

“Take him aside? No.”

I relaxed back. “Don’t. Ever. In fact, I might never leave you two alone again.”

“Don’t worry. No need to take Tom aside. And — yes — your mother told me that.”

* * * *

Mom called me over to the porch, where she and Tamantha were talking with Vanessa Burrell.

A glance around showed me her husband with three other men of his generation sitting with beers at the outer rim of those around the bonfire.

“Tamantha and I were going to get dessert,” Mom announced immediately. “Which one would you like? No, don’t answer. You two stay here and we’ll bring you back choices.”

Have I mentioned my mother is sneaky?

“We’re so glad you were able to come,” I said, then wanted to kick myself. I’d said that before.

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

There were currents in that I could guess at but didn’t know, so guessing could get me pulled under. I nodded.

After a pause that dipped into awkwardness, Vanessa turned to me.

Although Tom physically resembled his father, I could see her in him, too, especially around the eyes.

Her mouth wobbled slightly.

“Tommy smiles more.”

My first instinct was to say I was glad. I held it back, instead turning to meet her gaze. “So do I.”

Slowly, she nodded. “That’s the way it should be.”

Okay, Dad was right. It would be okay.

At least half of it would.

* * * *

Yes, it was my wedding night. But Tom and I decided with all that was still to come, we’d spend this night in our separate beds.

So I was alone in my bed, staring at the ceiling.

Not thinking about my groom, but about a bad cop trying to evade his past and the register that exposed it.

Register.

Registered agents.

And there I was, back to the death of Nance.

Shelton was satisfied. Was that why I had doubts?

I must have fallen asleep between my question and an answer.