“I ended up in Seattle, where—as you know—I still live. At first I worked in a hotel,” she said with a grimace. “As a cleaner. Not what you’d call challenging or…unfamiliar work. You might recall that Reba and I both did it, back in the Painted Pony days. But I managed to get a scholarship to art college in Seattle and after that, I started working as a graphic designer. Got married. Didn’t last, but we’re still friends. Sort of.” She paused. “What about you?”

“Similar. Married, didn’t last. She’s out East now, in Brooklyn. And we’re not friends.” He paused. “However, I’ve been involved with horses, thanks mainly to my grandpa. Business-wise, I’m doing okay.”

“Obviously. I, uh, learned about Hollister Horses on the internet. And social media. You have quite the presence,”

“I’ve got a good publicity team.” Cord leaned down to alternate between stroking Bandit’s head and Smoky’s. “So, on another subject, how’s your cousin Russ? Any idea? I never run into him.”

“I saw him briefly. Seems all right. Much the same really.” With a shrug she added, “The place is a mess, though.”

“Then I guess that’s much the same, too.”

She didn’t disagree.

“And Bethanne?”

“She was doing well. I’m not sure what’s happening now. She got married, moved to Texas, had her own business—but we haven’t been in touch in two or three years. I should’ve asked Russ…”

“He probably wouldn’t have a clue.”

“Yeah,” Shallie said with a sigh. “I’ll try to get hold of her at some point, see what’s going on.”

Their next topic of conversation had to do with her interest in horses. “I became familiar with them through a friend in Seattle. Emma Grant. She teaches therapeutic riding, and I’ve occasionally helped her out and, in fact, I’m hoping to join her business. But—” she smiled widely “—I love all animals.”

“I can tell.”

“Not always the human kind, though…”

They caught up on life in Painted Pony Creek and on personal news, then discussed a variety of other topics, ranging from politics to global affairs. An hour later, ten o’clock by then, Tina and Carly entered the kitchen. Once again the dogs bounded to their feet. And Shallie looked at the girl with an expression of deep shock. “Who are you?” she asked. “You remind me of someone I used to know—and love.”

“I’m starting to hear that a lot around here,” Carly replied.

Shallie stood, insisting on a hug. “You look so much like my friend Reba from years ago. Reba Shannon.”

“She was my mom.”

“What do you mean, was?”

“She died. I’m on my own now. How did you know my mom?”