"To find Ring. They're old buddies," Love said.

"You like snap peas?" Polly asked Rett when she walked up to the porch.

Rett hesitated a moment, then said, "Not really, ma'am."

Polly smiled at her. "No matter. We have lots of other things for dinner. I'm a.s.suming you do like roast chicken and mashed potatoes?"

Rett nodded and smiled back. "But I really like desserts."

"Got plenty of those." Polly stood up and opened the screen door. "Help me set the table. Love, August is in the barn with Mel. Tell 'em that dinner will be served in ten minutes."

"Thanks, Mom," Love said, winking at Rett, though Rett wasn't sure why.

Rett liked helping Polly set the table with the flowery, mismatched dishes and worn silverware. Since Polly missed church that morning, she asked Rett to tell her about Rocky's sermon. Once she starting talking, Rett realized that she'd absorbed more than she realized. She gave her great-grandma the highlights, while they moved platters and bowls of food to the table: pepper-scented roast chicken, b.u.t.termilk mashed potatoes, snap peas, corn, baking powder biscuits and three kinds of pickles in a crystal condiment dish.

"He talked about unanswered prayers and how sometimes what we pray for isn't what G.o.d wants for us," Rett said, "or for other people, so that's why he doesn't answer." She stuck a small sour pickle in her mouth. It made Rett's lips purse, and Polly laughed. "Well, Rocky says he does answer, but it's not always what we want to hear. And some stuff about how people have free will, so even if we pray for changes in their life, they, like, have to allow the changes to happen."

"How well I know that," Polly said, setting a bowl of black olives next to the pickles. She wiped her hands down her blue and white checked ap.r.o.n.

"So, then, why bother praying?" Rett heard herself ask, then wished she'd kept quiet. The last thing she felt like doing right now was getting into some kind of theological argument.

Polly put both hands on her hips, and Rett thought, Oh, no, here it comes. But her great-grandma surprised her.

"Well, I don't really know, Rett," she said. "I always figured that G.o.d told us to pray, and if I don't always see what good it does, that doesn't change the fact that he told us to do it. It's like being the rancher as compared to the ranch hand. When you're the rancher, you see the whole picture of what you know the ranch needs to prosper. So you tell the hands, you work on this fence, you clear out this bunch of brush, you doctor the cattle. The hands don't know everything that's going on, and if they just up and said, I think I'd rather clean tack today or rebuild the corral, they're messing with the overall plan that you have for the ranch."

Rett set out forks and knives, contemplating what Polly said. "What if the rancher sees things wrong? What if he-"

"Or she," Polly said, chuckling.

Rett smiled. "Okay, or she, totally has things all screwed up and is doing things wrong. What do you do then?"

Polly wiped her hands on her ap.r.o.n and said, "If that's the case, maybe you shouldn't be working for a rancher you don't trust."

At that moment, Love, August and Mel came into the house, stomping their feet and laughing. Ace darted into the kitchen, immediately lay down in front of the refrigerator and barked. Ring bounded in seconds later and joined Ace.

"They want cheese," Polly explained, opening the door and reaching into a drawer. "It's our ritual." She broke off two small pieces of cheddar cheese and fed one to each dog.

In a flurry of talk and removing jackets, everyone eventually found places around the table. After a quick prayer of thanks, they started eating, with Ace and Ring moving from one person to another, noses upturned in hope.

"We'll decorate the tree after lunch," Polly said. "I have all the ornaments out." She turned to Rett. "You'll be with us for Christmas, won't you?"

Everyone turned to stare at her, waiting for her answer. "Uh, I don't know yet. I . . . maybe I'll go back to . . ."

She stopped, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to let Polly think that she was for sure going to stay here. She had absolutely no intention of going back to Tennessee. She just couldn't look Patsy in the face right now. But staying here felt weird. To be honest, she just wished that she could skip Christmas this year. It was too full of emotional minefields. She stared down into her pile of mashed potatoes, watching the pat of b.u.t.ter melt into a murky yellow pond.

"Well, you know, I think I'm going to have to call the police," August said, biting off a large chunk of biscuit. "Pretty darn soon."

Everyone turned their faces from Rett to August. She exhaled in relief.

He looked over at Mel, then at Love, his face serious; his blue eyes seemed as clear and still as a mountain lake.

"What?" Love said, voicing what they were all thinking.

For one crazy moment, Rett thought he meant he'd have to call the police on her for stealing Dale's banjo. Had Mel told him she was hiding it at the feed store?

"I can't figure it out," August said, shaking his head.

"Figure out what?" Mel asked, carefully placing her fork across her plate.

"Aliens," he said. "They're writing all over the walls of Big Barn."

TWENTY-ONE.

Mel Everyone was shocked silent. Mel was the first one to speak. "August, are you pulling our legs?" She reached over and gently punched his shoulder. Please, she thought, make it be a joke.

His deeply creviced face remained unsmiling. "Now, why would I be doing that? They're writing all over the walls of Big Barn, and I'm telling you, I'm sick and tired of it."

"Who wants pie?" Polly said, standing up. She picked up her half-full plate and started for the kitchen. "I've got peach and pecan. Vanilla ice cream or whipped cream. There's more chicken too." She bustled through the swinging kitchen door, Ace and Ring trailing behind her.

Mel focused on August's face, hoping he'd suddenly grin and laugh. August had fooled them before.

"What does it say, August?" Mel asked in her calmest voice, the voice she used when dealing with people wearing tinfoil crowns who claimed there were talking dragons in their vegetable bins.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you." He took an aggressive bite from his chicken leg. "I don't know what it says. That's why we need to call the police. They have people who know these kinds of things, secret codes and whatnot."

Mel glanced over at Love, whose face looked like a cameo. Not a muscle moved, her lips set in a frozen smile.

"I'm good with codes," Mel said, keeping her voice casual. "How about after we have dessert, I ride up there and take a look."

"I'll saddle up the horses-" he started.

"I'll ride with her, Pops," Love said. "I think Polly and Rett could use help hanging the lights." She glanced over at Rett and raised one eyebrow a fraction of an inch.

"We do," Rett said without hesitation. "I don't really like ladders, so you have to do the high stuff."

Quick on the draw, Mel thought. Her opinion of the girl went up a notch.

August smiled at Rett and raised his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows. "Afraid of heights, are you? Did you know your daddy was too?"

"No, I didn't," Rett said, smiling back at him.

August launched into a long story about Tommy getting stuck in an oak tree when he was ten, how it took August and Cy two hours to talk him down. Mel watched, amazed, as August completely forgot about the alien writing on Big Barn and told one story after another about Tommy's escapades as a boy.

Rocky and Magnolia arrived a few minutes later, while Polly and Love were serving pie and ice cream. Love whispered something to Magnolia, and they went to the kitchen with the excuse that they were fetching more napkins. Mel figured she was probably cluing Magnolia in on the story about the alien writing.

After dessert, Rocky walked with Mel and Love out to the barn, telling the others he just wanted to say h.e.l.lo to the horses, that he'd be back to help them decorate the tree in a few minutes.

"That's just like a preacher," August grumbled good-naturedly. "Leave the hard work of untangling the lights to us common folk."

"August, be nice," Polly said, patting her husband on his arm. Magnolia was pulling out boxes of ornaments, telling Rett about the time she helped Tommy make a set of clay bells to give to Love for Christmas.

Out in the corral, Mel caught both horses while she listened to Love tell Rocky what August said at lunch.

"I don't understand how it could be happening so fast," Love said, a catch in her voice. "He seemed fine a few weeks ago."

"Dementia patients often change quickly," Rocky said. "We really need to get him in for a medical workup. Have you talked to Polly about it?"

Love shook her head no, grabbing Daisy's lead rope from Mel. "I think she's just trying to ignore it, hoping it'll go away. I sure understand that."

Rocky sighed. "Do you want me to talk to them?"

Love led the horse over to the hitching post next to the tack room. "I'd appreciate that so much. Do you think we can wait until after Christmas? I mean, with Rett here and all. I don't know how long she'll stay and, well, I'd just like things to be . . . normal. It will likely cause a huge fight. You know how August feels about doctors and change."

"I do," Rocky said. "We'll have to be vigilant on watching him until we can convince him to see the doctor."

"I can't ask you and Magnolia to do any more," Love said, currying and brushing Duke's dusty back before throwing on a saddle pad. "Especially this time of year and with your own family . . ."

"Don't worry about it. I'll put out the word in the church and see what we can come up with. I think I could talk Zane into coming out here for a few weeks. He told me his mom and great-aunt were closing the clinic for a week and going on a cruise over the holidays. He's not going because he has a couple of gigs in San Celina over the Christmas holidays. He could stay out here nights. I could cook up a story about him being thrown out of his apartment or something. You know that Polly would let him stay with them if she thought he was homeless."

Mel walked up leading Duke. "Isn't it double bad when a preacher lies?" she asked.

Rocky grinned at her. "I think the Lord might forgive this particular bending of the truth."

"It sounds workable," Love said, throwing the saddle over Daisy's back. "We'll pay Zane, of course. Right now, Mel and I just need to think up something to tell August about Big Barn."

"Check it out first," Rocky suggested. "It might all be in his imagination. There's also a good chance he's already forgotten about it."

Love turned her back on Rocky to buckle the cinch and pull it tight. He couldn't see her face, but Mel, tacking up Duke, could. Bright tears glistened in her friend's eyes. Mel felt sick, wishing she could do something to help Love.

"I hate this," Love said. "To quote my granddaughter, it really sucks."

Rocky walked over and patted her shoulder. "I know it does. Be careful on your ride."

For the first ten minutes, Mel and Love didn't speak. They kept the horses at a walk up the narrow cattle path toward Big Barn, about a mile ride from the house. The air was clear and sweet-smelling, the sky a crisp metallic blue. Mel started to relax, and her thoughts of August and Patrick and everything that was going on seemed to melt away with each step Duke took. She knew that this was only a short respite, that these things would need to be faced, but right now, all she wanted to do was inhale this honey air, watch the red-tailed hawks circle overhead and feel the sun on her face. But even the perfect moment she was experiencing right now couldn't replace the memory of her vandalized garage door. It had only taken her fifteen minutes to paint over it, but the word was burned into her brain like a brand on a calf.

She glanced over at Love. "You okay?"

Love gave a half smile. "As okay as I can be under the circ.u.mstances. I knew this was going to be another hard Christmas, but if you'd told me three months ago what we'd be facing, I might have locked myself in my house and not come out until January."

"How're things going with Rett?" Mel clicked softly under her breath when Duke slowed down and attempted to sample some gra.s.s. "Let's go, boy. We got miles to go before we sleep."

"Robert Frost," Love said, smiling.

Mel's eyebrows went up. "What?"

"Who you just quoted. Robert Frost. The poet."

Mel gave a wry smile. "I didn't really know that. I think I heard it on a TV commercial. For a car."

Love laughed. "Things are going pretty well. But, until she settles this thing with Dale, I'm not sure she can move on."

Mel picked a burr from Duke's coa.r.s.e black mane. "It's certainly complicated." Mel thought that, maybe, not having siblings wasn't so bad.

"To say the least. Patsy's pregnancy is something we haven't really discussed in great detail yet. But returning this boy's banjo and making sure Rett doesn't end up in jail are first on our agenda right now." Love shifted in her saddle, the creaking leather a comforting sound to Mel. It occurred to her that it was a sound she'd only become familiar with in the last few years.

From a small rise, they could look down on Big Barn. Next to the tumbledown structure was a wooden, half-rotted corral. In an earlier era, the barn had been used to store extra hay and shelter young heifers. In faded pictures that August once showed Mel, there had been a rustic cabin on the other side of the corral. August told her about nights he'd camped out there with his father when they worked the cattle until long past dark. The only thing left of the cabin was its cracked foundation and a soot-stained stone chimney that looked to Mel like the saddest thing she'd ever seen.

"Let's tie up the horses here," Mel said, hopping off Duke. "We should walk in." It occurred to Mel that August might be seeing some kind of illegal activity. Many of the remote sections of ranches in the county had been used by people setting up portable meth labs and marijuana farmers cultivating their crops. They caused no shortage of headaches for ranchers as well as law enforcement, since cleanup was always on the rancher's dime. An old barn on the ranch of an elderly couple who didn't ride around their land much anymore would be the perfect spot for drug activity.

"Stay here," Mel said, pulling her little .38 pistol from her jacket pocket.

"I didn't know you were packing heat," Love said. "And I will not stay behind. I'm coming with you."

"Packing heat?" Mel said, giving a low laugh. "What is this, Drag-net ? Just keep behind me then."

"Yes, ma'am. We might need this." Love held up a small flashlight.

"Good idea," Mel said. The sun was still out, dusk an hour or so away, but it would likely be hard to see inside the barn.

When they reached a tree near the barn, she took the flashlight from Love. "Stay behind this tree for a minute. Let me check things out first. Really, it's safer this way. I'm trained for this."

"Okay," Love said, moving behind the oak's thick trunk. "But be careful."

"Count on it." Mel crept up to the barn, staying low. When she reached the building, she carefully moved around its perimeter, her gun held low to her side. She peered through gaps in the boards, unable to see much in the murky interior. But there was no sound coming from the barn, and no light likely meant that no one was inside.

After she walked completely around the building, she came back to Love, who stood next to the tree, her cell phone ready.

"Well?" Love asked.

"Doesn't look like anyone's in there," Mel said. "Still, we'd better be careful going inside. Pull the door open and keep to the side."

When Love pulled the rickety barn door open, Mel stood on the other side and shone the flashlight into the barn's dim interior. It was empty except for a few old pieces of farm equipment. Unseen birds rustled in the rafters. A startled mouse scampered across a moldy hay bale.

"Clear," she called to Love.

Love was at her side in seconds. "You know, this might not be the smartest thing we've ever done. I tried my cell, and the signal came and went. What if someone was actually in here doing something illegal?"

"Too late now." Mel forced her voice to be nonchalant, though she knew Love was right. They probably should have called the sheriff. But she also knew that something this ambiguous would get low priority. She flashed the light around the walls. Pale December sunshine leaked through the wide boards, zebra-striping the dirt floor. When the flashlight's beam hit the north wall, she let out a small, surprised oath.

"Oh, my stars," Love said, gazing up at the wall. It was covered with a long row of markings in blue, green, red and florescent pink. "It does look like some kind of code." She c.o.c.ked her head, studying the colorful marks. "I think . . ." She reached up, touched one of the bars and brought her fingers to her nose. "Yep, smells greasy. It's paint sticks."