“No way,’’ I tried to interrupt.

“. . . a little help with matters of the heart,’’ Mama continued. “I do have to say that making time with Trey Bramble in the woods probably isn’t the best way to get Carlos back.’’

Damn Maddie and her big mouth.

I steered us onto safer conversational ground. “How’s Shotgun behaving?’’

She leaned to pat the horse’s neck. “He’s a good horse, aren’t you, boy? I thought I’d take him up by the wagons, see how he handles. We’ll get Maddie, and ride together ’til lunch.’’

That sounded like a good plan. I had a bone to pick with my blabber-mouth sister.

“You’re looking good, Mama,” I called out.

“Show him who’s boss,’’ Maddie added.

I hadn’t had time yet to dress Maddie down for telling my secrets. Shotgun had gotten a little skittish when the three of us drew close to the wagons. He didn’t behave as badly as Carlos’s thoroughbred had, but bad enough that Mama had to show him a firm hand. She spun him around a few times. Then she urged him once to the rattling wagon, and then back again.

A retired rodeo cowboy named Del, relegated by age and injuries to riding a lawn chair in the back of a mule wagon, watched as Mama worked with Shotgun. Del lifted a plastic cup to his mouth, spit a stream of tobacco juice, and then spoke.

“I’ve seen worse riders, I’ll tell you that.’’ His voice sounded like a truckload of rocks being dumped into a pit. “In fact, this here little ol’ gal’s a better rider than a buddy of mine, back in rodeo. One time, a bronc threw him up so high that a bird had time to build a nest between his hair and his hat before he hit the ground.’’

Del spit in the cup again.

“That’s the God’s honest truth.’’

As we all laughed, I wished Marty had been up to riding with us. I felt a rush of love for Mama and my sisters. I was even willing to forgive them for sticking their noses in my business. We were bonding on the Cracker Trail, just like Mama said we would.

I just hoped nothing happened to make us lose that warm, family feeling.

___

“Where are you?’’ Maddie shouted into her cell phone. “This signal’s awful out here.’’

So much for Florida pioneer authenticity. I wasn’t going to complain in this case, though. Maddie was talking to Marty—or trying to, anyway. And I was anxious to see how our little sister was doing.

We’d made it to the lunch site, a wide pasture ringed by hickory trees, sabal palms, and big live oaks. The smell of grilled sausage with green peppers and onions drifted our way. We sat on the ground in the shade, our horses tied nearby, as Maddie tried to decipher if Sal and Marty were going to meet us in time to eat.

“What are they saying, honey?’’ Mama asked.

Maddie waved her hand in irritation. “Shush, Mama. I can barely hear her as it is.’’

She yelled into the phone, “We’re to the left of the food trailer as you come into the pasture. There’s a big red pickup parked about twenty-five feet away from us.’’

Marty may not have heard her, but everyone else at the lunch site had. A couple seated on a fallen log frowned at Maddie before they moved to enjoy nature’s glories somewhere else.

“I lost her.’’ Maddie shook the phone and held it to her ear. “Yep. She’s gone. Damn it.’’

“Language, Maddie,’’ Mama said.

We always got a kick out of Mama telling us that, seeing as she could cuss a blue streak when she felt like it. But she always asked Jesus for forgiveness afterwards.

“Sal knows where he’s going, right?’’ I asked Mama.

We were relying on him again, with Marty’s help, to move vehicles and gear ahead so we’d have everything once we rode into the evening camp.

“Well, of course he knows, Mace. Sal’s made a detailed map,’’ Mama said.

He had a map yesterday, too, and managed to get lost. I had the feeling without the Bronx Zoo or Yankee Stadium as landmarks, Sal missed his bearings.

“Well, I think we should go ahead and eat,’’ Maddie said.

As soon as we agreed Maddie and Mama would line up for our food while I stayed with the horses, they were off. My sister always manages to move fast when food’s at the finish line.

“Get me a lemonade,’’ I called after them. “And extra onions on my sausage sandwich.’’

“I guess that means you’re not planning on kissing anyone this afternoon.’’

Startled, I looked up to see Wynonna smiling down at me. Maybe I was distracted by my stomach grumbling and the horses moving around in the woods, but she moved with surprising stealth for a woman in red alligator boots with heels.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,’’ she said. “Mind if I sit down?’’

I motioned at the ground across from me. “Be my guest.’’

As she sat, she grinned and said, “So, how’s your mama getting along on Shotgun?’’

“He’s great,’’ I smiled back. “We sure appreciate you letting her ride him.’’

Wynonna waved her hand as if to say it was nothing. Then her grin faded, replaced by a serious expression.

“I wanted to ask you about Trey, Mace.’’

Uh-oh.

“I wondered if you’ve had a chance during the ride to really talk with him?’’

I studied her, trying to determine her game. She returned my gaze with guileless eyes, wide with concern.

“Why?’’ I hedged.

“Because I’m worried about him, that’s why. Your mama told me you two went to school together. I thought maybe he might have said something to you about what he’s going through.’’

“Well, he’s grieving for his father, of course.’’ I was still being careful.

“Of course,’’ Wynonna said. “What about his drinking, though?’’

“He said he wants to quit.’’

“Well, I don’t think he has. He disappeared about forty-five minutes into the ride this morning. Nobody’s seen him since. Trey always goes off alone when he wants to get good and drunk.’’

I wasn’t sure what to say. I hoped she was wrong, for Trey’s sake. A backslide right now sure wouldn’t boost his confidence. Not about his ability to quit drinking, and not about his fitness to step into his daddy’s shoes. Was Wynonna driven to talk to me by compassion for her late husband’s son, or by some other emotion?

An image of her caressing Trey’s chest came into my mind. I wanted to question her about that night. But I had to tread cautiously, knowing she’d just lost her husband. Where was Marty with her soft touch when I needed her?

“Wynonna, please don’t take this wrong, but is there something going on between you and Trey?’’

Shock made a brief appearance on her face, followed by a flush of anger. “What the hell do you mean by that?’’

Looks like I hadn’t been cautious enough. I explained how I’d seen them on the couch.

“Are you sure about that?’’

I nodded, but now I remembered the lights in the ranch house were dim that night. Had I really seen what I thought I saw?

“Mace, I was half-crazy with shock and grief. I was exhausted. I don’t even remember sitting next to Trey, let alone rubbing on him. Doc Abel gave me something to help me calm down. Maybe it made me act crazy. Or maybe I fell asleep and dreamed I was with Lawton, like I’ve done ever since he died.’’

She looked wounded. I started to apologize. But Wynonna, rising and brushing bits of dead grass from her jeans, didn’t give me the chance.

“Not that I feel much like eating lunch now, but I’ll be on my way. I can see you’re like all the others, Mace. Judging me.’’ Her voice sounded more disappointed than angry. “But it hurts worse with you. I thought you and your mama were becoming my friends, you know?’’