She shook her head. “I’m in a weird mood today.” They were at a straight path and she nudged Xander a little faster. It didn’t take much to make him gallop.

By the time she got to Dr. Carl’s office, she felt better. She went in the back way so no visitors would see her.

“Didn’t expect to see you here today,” Dr. Carl said. He was tall and thin and had gray hair. The people of Mason unkindly said his wife had given it to him.

“Adam Hatten kidnapped my sister and...” Kelly shrugged. There was a German shepherd on the table. “What’s wrong with Sergeant?”

“The kids fed him chocolate, so he has a tummy ache. How’s Adam taking his father’s death?”

“No idea, but it doesn’t seem to be bothering him.”

“What’s he going to do about Robbie?”

“I don’t know!” Kelly snapped, then said, “Sorry. He rode up on Xander and took Vera away. I don’t know anything. Maybe they’ll leave for Nepal or wherever tomorrow. Robbie be damned.”

Dr. Carl looked at Kelly. “You’re going to miss her a lot, aren’t you?”

Kelly sat down hard on a chair against the wall. “Do you ever feel like you have no control over your life? That everything has been planned for you and you have no choice about any of it?”

“Every day,” he said softly.

Kelly saw the sadness in his eyes. His first wife had died of cancer. Two years later, he’d gone to a convention in Dallas and had returned with a wife who had a son. He’d been ecstatic, floating on air, as he told people how happy he was. It was a year before all the air had gradually left his balloon. His new wife didn’t like small-town living, his stepson was in his own world and, worse, his wife had told him that birth complications had made her have a hysterectomy. There would be no more children. One night, after Dr. Carl had had too many beers, he told Kelly she was the child he was never going to have. If he remembered it the next morning, he didn’t mention it.

Kelly was about to say something when the door burst open. It was Mrs. Carl. She was plump but squashed into a girdle that prevented any part of her from moving. She was like a statue by Rubens that could turn its neck but the rest was immobile.