"Lauren, life is in the variables. Things change. Things don't go according to the plans we make. There's a bigger picture, and it doesn't always make sense until you're looking back on it." Who was this Dr. Phil wannabe talking through my head? "When I moved out of LA, I thought the key for me was to leave it all behind-the movie business, the partying, Justin and the insanity he manufactures. I thought the solution was to take myself out of it, go someplace quiet where I could focus on writing something really good, something that would make a difference to people."

I remembered that logic now. I remembered the exact moment, the morning after Justin almost drove us off the cliff, when I woke up with an adrenaline hangover and the realization that, but for the grace of G.o.d and a good set of brakes, I could have been in a morgue with my watch and wallet in a Ziploc bag no one would pick up.

I packed my stuff and headed north that day, found Mammoth Lakes nestled in what seemed a safe place, miles from my old life. "But now I realize you can't impact something you don't touch. The world marches on, and to have input in the direction it goes, you have to join the parade. You've got to work with the instruments you're given. I've got The Shay, whether I want him or not. I've got the contacts in the business, even though they come with temptations attached. I've got the ability to write, despite the fact that I've been a sellout because the money's good. And I've got a history that makes me understand what that foster shelter could mean to the kids who come there."

Lauren's fingers tightened around mine. She watched our intertwined hands, then searched my face. I had the sense that she understood what was inside me, that she could relate to the yearning in a way no one else ever had. Her lips parted and I focused there, had a vision of kissing her to seal the bargain.

A door creaked and slammed shut upstairs, and the ghost knocked on the joists overhead. Lauren came out of her trance and glanced toward the stairs. Whatever she was about to say, whatever had been about to happen, evaporated like cooling steam.

"Guess we'd better get back to work," she said, the words accompanied with a resigned sigh. I felt the unmistakable chill of a wet blanket as she slipped out of her chair to cross the room. "How about a fresh c.o.ke?"

"Sure." In the mirror, I watched her face as she put ice in the gla.s.ses and poured soda. I studied her expression, her hair falling over her cheek, the way it hid her eyes.

She's probably just trying to let you down easy, dude. Give it up. Don't be pathetic. You're not her type. She probably likes big, burly guys who can ride a horse all day and dance the two-step all night. Strong, silent types like the horseman. You're about as far from that as it gets. No woman dreams of falling in love with a writer. ...

It occurred to me to wonder what her husband was like-if the horseman in the script reminded Lauren of him. There was a rather large black hole attached to that line of thinking, so I nixed it. Stretching back in my chair, I grabbed a stack of index cards and went back to work.

Lauren got tired early. After a period of watching her fight dozing off with her chin braced on her hand, I suggested she head up to bed, since it looked like I might be pulling an all-nighter. By tomorrow, I had to have a bang-up proposal in Justin's hands. By tomorrow night, we'd be e-mailing a proposal packet to Dane.

This was probably as good a time to panic as any.

Justin showed up shortly after Lauren went off to bed. He seemed a little less tightly wound than he had been the last several days, and maybe a little low, which worried me. For the first time since we'd come here, he wasn't trying to drag me out to some all-night poker game. I hoped he wasn't headed for a crash right before Dane was due in town.

"You okay?" I asked as he rummaged through the plates of homemade goodies even Frederico had given up trying to resist.

Fred looked like he'd gained a few pounds since arriving in Daily, even though he'd taken up partic.i.p.ating in the daily exercise cla.s.s at the Hair and Body with Imagene, Lucy, and Donetta.

"Yeah," Justin muttered as he poured himself a soda. "Dane's had some scheduling conflicts. He'll be here tomorrow evening at five."

"Come again?" Hold the phone. We're not really stepping up the time frame by fifteen hours, right? "He's supposed to be here Monday morning, not tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know. His wife had something come up. They have to be back in LA on Monday. No big deal. E-mail him the proposal packet by tomorrow morning. He'll read it on the plane."

"No big deal?" A golf ball went down my throat and bounced around my chest at high speed. Heavens to murgatroid, Batman, we're doomed.

Don't panic. You'll scare the talent.

"You can handle it." Something in his tone stopped me just before I was about to say something dire. There was a flat, listless quality, a lack of enthusiasm in those words that brought back a host of dark memories.

"You okay?" I asked again.

"Yeah. Just wiped. Sick of looking at the rear end of a stupid horse all day. I'll be glad when Dane gets here and we bag this thing." It sounded simple when he said it. I didn't point out that after Dane came, if by some miracle we were successful in our newly shortened time frame, there would be weeks of meetings ahead, then months of casting and filming, most of which would involve horses' rears of different varieties.

"Lauren says it's going pretty well with you and the horse," I said. Justin looked like he needed some encouragement.

He shrugged. "Amber thinks so. She came and watched today."

"That's good." But it really wasn't. After a few days of being tied up with publicity, Amber was around town again. Justin was moody and distracted.

"Yeah, her stupid fiance's coming Monday." Ah, bingo, the reason for Justin's melancholy state this evening. "He just gets in the way."

"Well, if I had a fiancee that looked like Amber, I wouldn't leave her alone too long, either."

The Shay flashed an irritated look at me in the mirror. Support for Amber's engaged state wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"You do anything about getting in touch with Stephanie?" Time to redirect the conversation. Let's talk about Steph-the real reason you're mooning over some twenty-year-old girl who's engaged to another guy.

"She's unlisted." He stirred his soda with a finger, watching the ice swirl around. "I e-mailed Marla for her number."

"You e-mailed Marla?" The security alarm went off in my head. The last thing we needed was for Marla to figure out where we were. She and Randall would crash our little party like warthogs at the ballet.

The Shay snorted. "Relax, dude. I didn't tell her anything.

Marla'll never figure out where we're at."

"Okay." But the eerie sensation creeping up and down my spine said otherwise.

Justin stared out the window, the streetlights reflecting against his face. Directors would have loved that vulnerable, pensive, slightly broken look on him. "I'm going on to bed. I have to get up for church in the morning."

I almost choked on my drink. "Seriously?" Although on second thought, prayer probably is a good idea at this point, since we need a miracle.

"I missed last Sunday because we were busy with the horse."

He gave me one of those looks intended to let me know I wasn't adapting fast enough to his latest personality change. "Amber's singing there tomorrow morning."

"Ohhh," I said. I get it now. You're out to impress a girl. Except for the years Mama Louise had dragged us down to the Victory Lane Fellowship, and a short stint of involvement with the new-age theology of Shokahna (which had also been about the pursuit of a girl), Justin hadn't ever been much of a spiritual seeker. Aside from that, he needed to be in his room studying what there was of the proposal packet and getting ready for the meeting with Dane.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He gave me a snarky sneer.

"What?"

"Oh-h-h." He did a melodramatic, and fairly lousy portrayal, of me. I hated it when he got in this kind of mood. Stephanie used to call it the blue muggies.

"Just that rolling out of bed on Sunday to go to church isn't normally your thing, and you've got the proposal packet to study."

"I go a lot when I'm here on Sundays," he defended. "It clears my mind. I'll look at the proposal after church. Dane's not coming till evening."

"Cool." I went back to my work, feeling a weird shift in the world I knew-not a bad shift, just weird. Still, this new reality seemed ominously positioned on a narrow pedestal, ready to come crashing down at the slightest change in the wind.

Justin walked a few steps away, then hovered by the exercise machines. "You can come if you want. To church, I mean."

"We'll see." I couldn't help recalling the time he'd tried to get me involved in his stint with Shokahna. It was rally day and he needed a prospective member to bring. "I've got a long night ahead. I'll have the rest of the treatment and some key scenes for you in the morning. I'll go over it with you, and then you need to make time to study it."

"Okay." Justin didn't sound too excited about getting the packet. "I hope Willie likes it."

I didn't know how to respond to that. Since when were we banking major decisions on Willie's opinion?

"See you in the morning," Justin said, and wandered off, leaving the conversation feeling unfinished.

I poured my attention into the script, keeping focused, like a college kid on the night before finals. Tomorrow was it. The big one. Do or die.

Sometime around four in the morning, I lay down on the Jetsons-era vinyl sofa by the exercise room and closed my eyes just for a minute to visualize a scene. As the floor joists overhead sang a chorus of creaks and moans, I felt myself sinking deeper. I knew I should get up, collect my papers, finish a few last edits so everything would be ready to email to Dane in the morning. ...

I dreamed about the horseman. He stood at the center of a vast corral, his back to the camera. A white horse circled him, its mane and tail streaming, its strides light and free, its hooves barely touching the sand. It was a magnificent creature, strong, powerful, yet it had the wide, gentle eyes of a fawn. Suddenly, I was the horseman. The white horse circled and circled, never coming closer, never moving farther away, always watching. Finally, I held out my hand, and it drew near, blew softly over my fingers, its breath the breath of peace.

Along the fence railing, Mama Louise and all the little foster kids cheered. Pastor Harve and his wife, Miss Beedie, saluted me with an enormous platter of unidentified fried objects as Miss Lulu's choir rocked back and forth and sang "He Leadeth Me" in golden choir robes. Beside the old pastor and his wife, my grandmother and grandfather stood just as I remembered them. My grandfather smiled and waved. My father was with them. He motioned to me and called my name. For the first time in years, I could clearly see his face.

"Nate ... Nate, hon. Na-a-a-te ... hon? Wake up." My grandfather's voice turned high and shrill, took on a tw.a.n.g. "Yer just out li-ike a light. Did ye-ew sleep here all ni-ight?"

My eyes opened like window shades stuck down with goo. Donetta was a blur of tall red hair and bright crimson lips. She backed away a step as I sat up.

"You hungry this mornin'?" she asked as I tried to figure out why I was waking up on the beauty shop couch. My body ached in strange places, and a combination of pressure and sweat had plastered the clothes to my back.

"I'm not sure." A zap of adrenaline rocketed through me as I pushed what had become sandy-colored dreadlocks out of my face. "What time is it?"

"Oh, it's early yet." Giving my knee a rea.s.suring pat, Donetta set a pan of pecan rolls on the counter by the coffee pot and started making coffee. "I just thought I'd deliver some rolls over before everyone stirred around. Justin said y'all would be up with the chickens, gettin' your script out to Mr. M. Harrison Dane before church." She concentrated on measuring coffee, then added, "Did Puggy go on up to bed last night?" I caught a curious backward glance.

"Yes, she turned in early. Guess she was tired." There was more disappointment in that than I meant to convey. I was a little out of it this morning. The strange dream about the horseman swirled around my head, making everything else fuzzy. "There wasn't much more she could do, anyway. Last night was just a matter of fine-tuning some things and getting the proposal together."

"Oh, that sounds excitin'." Donetta sat on the sofa beside me while the coffee brewed.

"I can't wait to see the movie," she said finally.

Stretching the back of my neck, I chuckled. "It's a long way from film right now."

"You'll git there. Lauren says you're just an awful good writer."

I was surprised how good that felt. "The proposal wouldn't have come together without her."

"You two are a good team." Donetta stood up and walked to the coffee pot. "I haven't seen her so excited about anythin' in a long time."

"It's an exciting project." Surprisingly enough, I really felt that way, even on two hours' sleep, and with Dane coming this evening.

"I wasn't talkin' about the movie. I was talkin' about you and Puggy." I could feel Donetta watching me from the corner of her eye as she poured two cups of coffee and put the pot back to catch the sizzling stream. "I've got a sense when it comes to these things, hon." A penciled-on eyebrow rose over one eye, and she turned toward me with stirring sticks in hand. "Cream or sugar, darlin'?"

"No thanks." I sensed that we were about to get down to the real reason Donetta was hanging around this morning. I figured I might as well save her the time. "We had a talk about it. She's not interested."

Donetta's lips twisted on one side as she crossed the s.p.a.ce and handed me my cup. "Oh, hon, she's interested." She sat down again, her long red fingernails tapping the handle of her mug. I felt like I was in the princ.i.p.al's office for having failed to complete an a.s.signment. When Donetta Bradford got down to business, all the sugar crust disappeared. She was five feet eight inches of big hair and determination.

"Sometimes you just have to figure the chemistry's not right,"

I said.

"Nate"-lowering her chin, she peered at me over the top of her gla.s.ses-"you're old enough to know better than that. Anybody within six foot'a you two kids can see things cracklin' like fatback on a griddle."

"She says she's not ready." Now I knew how those talk show guests felt. Dr. Donetta was on to me, and she wasn't letting go.

"Honey ... " Leaning back in her seat, she hitched up her gla.s.ses and gazed at the old, wavy plate gla.s.s windows as the sun slowly rose over Main Street and the long shadows faded in the light of a new day. "You can fool a lot of people, but you can't fool a hairdresser. I know who's got roots, who's got big ears, whose scalp's flaky, who buys cheap shampoo, and who's got lipstick on their shirt collar. I know when I spot a match, and I know Puggy. I hadn't ever seen her look at anybody the way she looks at you ... ever. Now, sure, she feels like if she lets go the guilt about the accident, if she moves on and finds happiness again, it'd be wrong of her, but the thing is, her standin' with her feet in the mud isn't gonna change anythin', or bring anybody back. I know Harvard Jr. wouldn'ta wanted that, and I don't think Danny, as sorry as he was most of the time, G.o.d rest his soul, woulda wanted it either."

"Maybe you should try telling her that."

Donetta batted a hand and spat a puff of air. "Pfff. Hon, I have tried. A million times. That girl's stubborn as a sow and twice as hard to move."

The a.n.a.logy made me laugh, but Donetta didn't laugh along with me. She was staring at the front windows, squinting as if she saw something in the play of light and shadow on the wavy gla.s.s. "You know, Nate. I'll tell you somethin' I learned a lot of years ago. If you wait for the perfect time, most often it ends up you waited too long. Sometimes G.o.d puts a new path under your feet, not because you think you're ready to walk it, but because He knows that's the way you need to go." Her lips curved upward into a smile, and she added, "She'll come around."

Chapter 19.

Lauren Eldridge The room was cool and shadowy. The last thing I wanted to do was get out of bed, but Aunt Donetta was sitting beside me, stroking my hair and trying to awaken me gently. I'd always loved Aunt Netta's tender morning voice. At home when we were kids, there was no ceremony with my dad. Mornings began with the sound of his boots echoing across the floor and the screen door slapping as he went out to dump yesterday's coffee grounds in the flower bed or bring in logs for the woodstove. If you didn't hop up by the time he finished putting on the coffee or stoking the fire, you were likely to get a cup of ice dumped in your bed. When we stayed over at Aunt Netta's, things were much more serene, and we could languish in a state of foggy bliss while the sweet scent of pancakes and bacon filled the house.

My mind sifted through childhood memories, sprinkling them over the pillow like white flour as she tried to rouse me. After a night spent pacing the floor, letting worry and frustration defy every sleep-inducing technique known to man, I was groggy and bleary-eyed. It took me a minute to realize I was in the hotel, all grown up, and Aunt Netta wanted me to rise for church. She'd brought an a.s.sortment of clothing, just in case I hadn't thought to pack church clothes myself.

Reality fell like a lead overcoat. Last Sunday, by sneaking out to check on Lucky Strike and his goat, I'd avoided the issue of accompanying Aunt Netta to Sunday service. Now that I'd been here over a week, the idea of my skipping out of church a second time was unthinkable, but the idea of going was unthinkable, too. I couldn't picture sitting in the third pew on the left, in the church where a small memorial service for Danny had taken place before his parents had his ashes transported to Dallas. If I'd been able, I might have protested their plans. Danny was the black sheep in his family. He hadn't spoken to his parents since he dropped out of vet school, took up full-time rodeoing, and married me. I didn't know how he'd feel about the big funeral in Dallas or the family cemetery as a final resting place. We'd never talked about anything like that.

By the time I was fully aware of things in the hospital, two weeks had pa.s.sed, and it was already done. I was in too much pain to argue-physically and emotionally. Aunt Netta told me all about the memorial services. I guess she thought it would help me gain closure. If she could have suffered through the surgeries, the head injury, and the broken bones for me, she would have done that, too.

Which meant, of course, that there was no choice really, but to go sit in the family pew at Daily Baptist and try to focus on the sermon while friends and neighbors cast sympathetic glances my way. Afterward, we'd shake hands and they'd offer up kind words about Danny, and I'd act like we had been the happiest couple in the world.

You can't keep hiding forever, a part of me said. It's time.

The words were true enough. After coming upstairs early, I'd paced the floor all night, frustrated with life, frustrated with myself, frustrated with my inability to move forward. ...

Aunt Netta smoothed back my hair and kissed my forehead. "It's a beautiful mornin'," she said, then got up and opened the blinds, letting pink light spill into the room. "Start of a brand-new day. Rise and shine, darlin'." She bustled around, straightening things and dumping a half-used cup of water into the bathroom sink. "I just found poor Nate asleep on that hard old sofa downstairs. He'd been up workin' all night, bless his heart." She hawkeyed me when she mentioned his name. "He said you turned in early. You feelin' all right, darlin'?"

"Sure," I said, and then realized I'd just surrendered my last possible excuse for staying home this morning. I could hardly claim to be sick now. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason." Aunt Netta casually fluffed a heavy velvet drape that was dusty and crinkled with age. "Just if I were a single girl and I had a fella downstairs who looked like that, I wouldn't be calling it an early night."

"Aunt Netta," I admonished, but then I didn't know what to say next, what excuse to give. "He lives in California."

"So." She shrugged, arching a brow. "It's a smaller world all the time-I saw it on Good Morning America. These days, people meet on the intra-net, and they fall in love before they ever even seen each other in person. I did hair on a girl like that. She was just pa.s.sin' through on her way from Austin to Omaha, Nebraska. She'd met a fella online. Wheat farmer. I gave her the Amber Anderson special. She wanted to look like a star when she met her beau."

"Nate and I are just working together, Aunt Netta," I answered flatly. With The Horseman preparations coming to an end, the Daily Lovelorn was getting desperate to make something happen before we all parted ways and returned to normal life.

Unfortunately, that very possibility was what had kept me up all night. I couldn't stop thinking that in a couple days, Nate would be gone and I'd be back at work in Kansas. I wouldn't wake up anymore looking forward to our walks together, or go to bed thinking about his silly jokes, trying to conjure the exact way he smiled-just a little twitch at one side of his lips that slowly spread until his eyes sparkled with it.

"Oh, they were, too-that intra-net couple I did the hair for, I mean." I had the feeling Aunt Netta was making up the story as she went along, but with her, you could never tell. The things that happened to her were often stranger than fiction. "They were working together for ... well, some big comp'ny I can't think of right now. But that's how they met, and then they got to chattin' over the intra-net, and the rest is history. They fell in love. Isn't that just wonderful? Somethin' like that don't happen every day- you meet someone and just know it's right, I mean."

"I guess not," I said blandly. "I'd probably better get ready for church. I need to wash my hair this morning."

"I could do it for you downstairs."