“He was from Dallas,” he continued. “He had a small ranch in Texas that he inherited from his grandfather. He and my mother met at the Calgary Stampede. He trained horses and he’d sold several to be used at the stampede. She had an uncle who owned a ranch in Alberta and also supplied livestock to the stampede.” He stared at her small hand in his. “Her people were French-Canadian. One of my grandmothers was a member of the Blackfoot Nation.”

“Wow!”

He smiled.

“Then, you’re an American citizen,” she said.

“Our parents did the whole citizenship process. In short, I now have both Canadian and American citizenship.”

“My dad loved this Canadian television show, Due South. He had the whole DVD collection. I liked the Mountie’s dog. He was a wolf.”

He laughed. “I’ve got the DVDs, too. I loved the show. It was hilarious.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have to go. If you aren’t going to run over me, I’ll have to fix supper in case she comes home to eat. It’s going to be gruesome. She’ll still be furious about the stamp collection.” Her face grew hard. “She won’t find it. I’ve got a hiding place she doesn’t know about.”

He smiled. “Devious.”

“Not normally. But she’s not selling Daddy’s stamps.”

He let go of her hand and got up from his chair. “If she hits you again, call 911.”

“She’d kill me for that.”

“Not likely.”

She sighed. “I guess I could, if I had to.”

“You mentioned your minister. Who is he?”

“Jake Blair. Why?”

His expression was deliberately blank.

“Do you know him? He’s a wonderful minister. Odd thing, my stepmother was intimidated by him.”

He hesitated, and seemed to be trying not to laugh. “Yes. I’ve heard of him.”

“He told her that his daughter was going to pick me up and bring me home from church every week. His daughter works for the Jacobsville police chief.”

“Cash Grier.”

She nodded. “He’s very nice.”

“Cash Grier?” he exclaimed. “Nice?”

“Oh, I know people talk about him, but he came to speak to my civics class once. He’s intelligent.”

“Very.”

He helped her back into the truck and drove her to her front door.

She hesitated before she got out, turning to him. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever been so depressed. I’ve never actually tried to kill myself before.”

His liquid black eyes searched hers. “We all have days when we’re ridden by the ‘black dog.’”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He chuckled. “Winston Churchill had periods of severe depression. He called it that.”

She frowned. “Winston Churchill...”

“There was this really big world war,” he said facetiously, with over-the-top enthusiasm, “and this country called England, and it had a leader during—”

“Oh, give me a break!” She burst out laughing.

He grinned at her. “Just checking.”