Shay raced to Skyler Beach’s only hospital, driving so recklessly that it was a miracle she didn’t have an accident and end up in the intensive care unit with her mother.

Rosamond had arrived several minutes before her daughter, but it was some time before Shay was permitted to see her. Lying there, she looked small and incredibly emaciated, and there were so many tubes and monitoring devices that it was difficult to get close to her.

Shay had expected this to happen, but now, standing beside her mother’s hospital bed, she found that expecting something and being prepared for it are two very different things. She wept silently as she kept her vigil and, toward morning, when Rosamond passed away, there were no more tears to cry.

Shay walked out of the hospital room, down the hallway, into the elevator. She drove home in a stupor—there was a storm gathering in the sky—and somehow gathered the impetus to dial the telephone number Garrett had left for her. The first person to learn of Rosamond’s death, besides Shay herself, had to be Riley.

After talking to a housekeeper and then a secretary, Shay was finally put through to Garrett, who told her that Hank and Riley were on another part of the ranch, participating in a roundup.

As the storm outside broke, flinging the rain and the wind at the walls of her tiny house, Shay sank onto her sofa, the telephone balanced on her knees. “Garrett, it’s Rosamond. She—she—”

Garrett waited, probably guessing what was coming, for Shay to go on.

“She died early this morning. Pneumonia. Will you tell Riley for me?”

“Of course,” Garrett answered gently. “I’m sorry, Amazon. I’m really sorry. Have any arrangements been made?”

“Not yet. I just—” Shay paused, pushing rain-dampened hair back from her forehead. She didn’t remember getting wet. “I just got home.”

“Are you all right?”

“I think so.”

“Call someone. You shouldn’t be alone.”

No, I shouldn’t, Shay thought without any particular emotion, but I am. “I think I’ll be all right. You’ll—you’ll bring Hank home right away?”

“Right away, sweetheart. Hang tough; we’re as good as on the road right now.”

Shay mumbled a goodbye and hung up the telephone. Then she got up and made her way into her room. Clydesdale, her carousel horse, stood in one corner, his head high, his painted mane flowing.

Shay rested her forehead against his neck and this time she wept for all the happiness that might have been.

Chapter Eleven

Of all Rosamond’s husbands, only Riley came to the funeral. A tall man with rough-hewn features and a deep melodic voice that echoed in the hearts of his hearers, he seemed, after all those years of fame, perpetually baffled by the attention paid him. Looking uncomfortable in his dark suit, he delivered a simple and touching eulogy to the remarkably small gathering. It seemed apt that the sky was dark and heavy with an impending storm.

Ivy and Todd were there to offer moral support, though neither of them had really known Rosamond at all. Marvin and Jeannie Reese, recently returned from their trip and still showing signs of jet lag, were present, too, also for Shay’s sake. That left Riley, Garrett and Shay herself as true mourners. Garrett’s wife, Maggie, was looking after the children.