“Carlos …’’ I called as he got into his unmarked cop car.

“Your cowpoke is waiting for you.’’ I heard the sneer in his voice. “Maybe you two can saddle up and ride off together into the sunrise, after he sobers up.’’

With that, he swung the door shut and gunned the engine. The Crown Vic spit grass and gravel as Carlos tore out of my yard and out of my life.

Watching him go, I caught sight of Jeb weaving drunkenly on the porch steps. As Carlos roared past, Jeb turned his head to look. That made him lose his balance, and he tumbled backward to the ground.

“Hey, darlin’, how ’bout a little help?’’ Smiling a dopey grin, Jeb reached out a hand for me to pull him up.

I stepped over him without a word, somehow resisting the urge to aim a kick at his head. I stomped up the stairs and through my front door. Then I slammed it on my drunken first love and the rest of my regrets.

The next morning, the mood on the movie set was subdued. Long faces, hushed voices, very little chatter. Maybe everyone was feeling the effects of the previous night’s bash at the Eight Seconds Bar.

Or maybe I was just looking at the world through depression- gray glasses.

I’d been holding a private pity party since Carlos peeled rubber out of my yard. Jeb must have gotten tired of banging at the locked door. When I peeked out the window, he was snoring on the front porch. I heard him start his truck and drive away just after six a.m.

Good riddance. I was furious at him for ruining my reunion with Carlos. Jeb’s timing always was better in the rodeo than it was in real life.

“What’s wrong, Mace? You haven’t even touched your breakfast.’’

Marty’s soft voice brought me back to the present, and the table outside the food tent where I sat with my sisters. She picked up my fork and handed it to me. I laid it down again beside my uneaten scrambled eggs.

“Are you going to finish those home fries?’’ Maddie asked.

I pushed the plate her way. “Knock yourself out.’’

The sight of Maddie dousing everything with ketchup made the coffee I’d swallowed roil around my otherwise empty stomach. “I’m not feeling very well.’’ I started to rise, when Marty tugged at my sleeve.

“Sit down, sister. Tell us what’s wrong.’’

“Nothing wrong with these potatoes,’’ Maddie said around a mouthful of mostly ketchup. “What’s put you off your feed this morning, Mace? Not that I’m complaining.’’

“I don’t want to talk about it.’’

“Carlos?’’ Marty asked.

To my horror, I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes again. I don’t think I’d cried so much since we had to put down my favorite dog when I was ten.

Passing me a folded napkin, Marty waited for my answer. Her blue eyes were full of sympathy.

Finally, I nodded yes to her question.

“Oh, honey!’’ She scooted close and rubbed my back.

“Could you pass the salt, please?’’ Maddie said.

Marty slammed a hand down on the tabletop.

“What?’’ Maddie looked up from her—formerly my—breakfast plate. My dejection finally seemed to register on her radar.

“Well, why didn’t y’all say something? I’m not a mind-reader.’’

Marty rolled her eyes. “Honey, tell me what happened with Carlos. I bet it’s nothing that we can’t fix.’’

“Well, that’s one bet you’re going to lose, Marty,’’ I said.

I filled them in on everything that had happened, beginning with Carlos dancing with Kelly at the bar. I continued through the romantic make-up session at my cottage, minus the multiple X-rated details. Then, I ended with the interloping ex-beau plummeting off my porch.

“So, did you invite Jeb to sleep over then?’’ Maddie picked at a few remaining pieces of greasy, charred onions on the plate. My stomach clenched.

“I don’t love Jeb, Maddie.’’

“That hasn’t stopped you before.’’

When Marty saw I wasn’t rising to our big sister’s bait, she stepped in. “Can’t you see Mace is really hurting? She needs encouragement, Maddie. Not criticism.’’

“I wasn’t criticizing,’’ Maddie said. “I was stating a fact.’’

“Well, cut it out!’’ The heat of Marty’s glare was so unaccustomed, so intense, it raised a guilty look like a welt on Maddie’s face.

“Sorry, Mace,’’ Maddie said, adding an awkward pat of my hand.

I shrugged and then heaved a big sigh. I hated this sad-sack version of me, but I couldn’t seem to help it. All I wanted was to go back home and pull the bedcovers over my head. But I couldn’t. The horses had to be cared for. If Jeb was still on a toot, or sleeping it off, he might not show up to handle his cattle. I might have to do that, too. Not to mention, Mama’s dancehall scene was scheduled for shooting later in the day. She’d kill me if I missed it. I may be miserable, but I didn’t want to be murdered.

I sighed again.

Now, both my sisters were staring at me in that sad way you look at someone in the hospital who you know won’t be coming home. Suddenly, Marty brightened. “You need a distraction!’’

Maddie clapped her hands, like a first-grade teacher promising finger-painting. “Exactly! Let’s see if we can figure out who killed the producer.’’

“I don’t care who killed him,’’ I said.

“Really? You don’t care if a murderer gets away with it? You don’t care that the same person may have tried to kill you by rigging that light to blow?’’

Maddie searched my face. “Aha!’’ she cried. “I saw that spark of interest in your eyes just now. Of course you care.’’

I toed the dirt under the bench seat with my boot. “Maybe a little.’’

“Excellent,’’ Marty said. “Let’s survey the suspects.’’ Her head swiveled to all sides of the base camp. “Greg Tilton, at fifty paces.’’

Maddie and I shifted to follow the direction of her nod.

Tilton was talking to a couple of crew members, a cup of coffee in his hand. When he noticed us looking, he saluted with the cup and gave his trademark smirk. All of us quickly looked away.

“Well, I for one don’t trust him.’’ Maddie spoke under her breath. “What’s he hiding behind that annoying grin?’’

“You’re still mad because of the way he tried to force himself on Mace,’’ Marty said.

“Aren’t you?’’ Maddie asked.

Before Marty could answer, I said, “The man has problems. He’s said he’s sorry. He probably never meets anyone who says no.’’

“Excuses!’’ Maddie said.

Marty sneaked another glance at Tilton. “He even stopped me on my way in this morning. He wanted to tell me how sorry he was. He said he’s changed, and asked me to make sure Mace knows that.’’

“She’s been there, heard that,’’ Maddie said. “I wonder why he didn’t talk to me?’’

“Probably scared off by the way you scowl at him. Kind of like you’re doing now,’’ I said.

Maddie snapped her head back toward us. “Why does everyone say I scowl?’’

“Because you do.’’ Marty patted our big sister’s cheek. “Anyway, he was a perfect gentleman.’’

“Humph,’’ Maddie said. “So was Ted Bundy.’’

“It was so weird this morning,’’ Marty said. “I stood there, staring at the guy I daydreamed about all through middle school. I must have filled a whole notebook, practicing my future signatures: Marty Tilton. Mrs. Greg Tilton. Greg and Marty Tilton.’’

Maddie said, “I drew lace-bordered hearts around the name of my crush: Scott Baio.’’

I groaned. “Not the guy from Joanie Loves Chachi?’’

“He was adorable,’’ Maddie said. “Whose name did you practice, Mace?’’

“John W. Jones Jr.’’

My teen crush garnered blank looks from both sisters.

“Three-time world champion rodeo bulldogger in the 1980s,’’ I said. “Plus, he had dreamy eyes.’’

They laughed, and I joined in, feeling a bit more like myself again. I looked around, and my gaze settled on Sam Dobbs, knocking on the door of the production trailer. Kelly wasn’t with him. I tried not to imagine her off somewhere, keeping company with a certain detective.