Crack. Crack. Crack.

As Savannah snapped the whip, Mama grabbed the shovel. She raced toward the gate. “Get back, cows! Go on, now! Get back!’’

With Savannah in pursuit on horseback, wielding that whip, the animals paid little heed to Mama.

Dropping the shovel, she fell to her knees beside me. The hem on Ruby’s dress dragged through a puddle of rain and cow manure. Her small, nimble fingers worked at the ropes that bound me. They were the same fingers that had treated my tomboy injuries; patched the childhood clothes I ripped by playing too rough.

Hooves thundered on the other side of the fence. Mama picked and pulled at the knots. Her breath came in short, frantic gasps. Rain streaked down her face. But when I looked into her eyes, I didn’t see a trace of fear. There was nothing there but steely determination and a mother’s devoted love.

I saw Savannah, starting to shift the horse’s position. We had only seconds before she’d move the cattle, pushing them through the gate and out the enclosure. Mama gave a final tug, and I was free. I enfolded her into a protective embrace, wrapping my arms and legs around her.

“Roll!’’ I shouted, taking us both to the sodden ground.

Entwined like two TV wrestlers, we tumbled over and over, trying to get away, as the animals thundered past. Their huffing breath filled my ears. My arms stung from bits of rock kicked up by their flying hooves. I tucked my head tight over Mama’s and held on, feeling her racing heartbeat clear through her back.

I wasn’t even certain we were in a safe place, until, suddenly, the cows were gone. Knowing I had to move fast, I let go of Mama. By the time Savannah got herself clear of the stampede and turned to see the results of her deadly plan, I was off the ground and onto the fence. Snatching one of the coiled ropes from a post, I climbed up to straddle the top rail.

She was in range. I’d get only one chance. Would my muscles remember those endless hours of roping practice, all through my childhood and the years of high school rodeo?

Coils in one hand, loop in the other, I flipped the rope over my wrist and swung it in circles over my head. Then I let the loop end fly. It floated toward Savannah, seeming to hang forever right above her head. Then the loop dropped, just where I intended it to.

I jumped from the fence and pulled the rope taut. Savannah was so surprised at being lassoed like a Corriente steer, that she dropped the horse’s reins. With both hands, she tried to free herself from the rope, now tightening against her midsection. Still holding on, I moved hand-over-hand along the rope as I closed the distance between us.

Meanwhile, Mama grabbed the shovel and used it to goose the horse’s sensitive flank. The Appaloosa bucked, and started to bolt. Savannah’s boots flew from the stirrups.

That was the moment I needed. I yanked on the rope with all my strength. She tumbled from the saddle and hit the ground.

Standing over her, I jerked tight as she strained against the loop. “Don’t struggle, honey,.’ I repeated the words she’d used on me. “It’ll just make it worse.’’

Mama came up beside me. Jamming the shovel’s blade into the muddy ground just inches from our captive’s face, she said, “Looks like this was your last roundup, Savannah.’’

“I tell you girls, when that shovel smacked me, I saw stars!’’

At the horse corral, Mama brought my sisters up to speed on what happened. My fingers explored what felt like a small mountain range of bumps on the back of my head.

“It was only the handle that hit you, Mama.’’

“Still …” she cut her eyes at me, and continued her story, “I didn’t know if I’d be able to stand up, until I heard Mace calling out for me to rescue her.’’

Not surprisingly, in Mama’s tale she had the lead, not the supporting, role. I didn’t care. Fact is, if she hadn’t stumbled onto the scene, I might not be here. I’d be torn and trampled; maybe even dead.

My sisters had been stuck in a backup on State Road 98, after a tractor-trailer jackknifed across both lanes of the highway. Mama and I were drying out, after the storm’s fierce winds blew the weather system north. The rain clouds were probably pouring misery over Disney World right now, derailing the vacation dreams of legions of tourists.

The security guard we’d met on the first day of filming had accompanied Maddie and Marty to the corral. “You can’t be too careful,’’ he’d said, with a smitten glance at my little sister. “It’s getting dark, and I didn’t think these ladies should be out here alone. Not with a murderer on the loose.’’

That’s when Mama and I pointed across the pasture to the cow pen. Savannah was trussed up and tied to the fence. Once the guard picked his eyeballs off his chest, he radioed base camp to call the cops. Then he went to stand watch over Savannah, who made it pretty clear her confessional mood was over.

“That woman is crazy,’’ she shouted, gesturing toward me with her chin. “I want her arrested! She tried to kill me.’’

Since I was the one with the goose eggs on the back of my head, and the welts where I’d been hogtied, the guard looked doubtful about Savannah’s claims. The fact that Marty vouched for my non-homicidal character only confirmed his initial decision.

Now, word seemed to be spreading. One of the Teamsters was easing a big generator truck into the pasture, as crew members hurriedly laid cable and set up movie lights. Soon, dusk would seem as bright as noon.

Tilton loped toward the corral. Toby was right on his heels, followed by a loose knot of cast, crew and production types. There was Jesse, and Johnny Jaybird; Kelly, and her love-struck shadow, Sam. I didn’t see Barbara or Paul. I wondered if Norman’s ex-wife was even now turning over the director to the law? Or, was she so obsessed with the man she was helping him escape?

I ran my thoughts past my sisters and Mama. “Savannah said Paul did what she told him to do. He helped kill Norman, and stage the other threats and ‘accidents.’’’

“Maybe so,’’ Maddie said, “but he probably didn’t agree to share a murder rap.’’

“I don’t know, girls.’’ Mama, watching the stars approach, patted her hip through the fabric of Ruby’s gown. Had she hurt herself rolling on the ground? “Paul didn’t seem like a bad sort to me. He wore a cross in his ear.’’

Catching my eye, Marty shook her head and grinned.

As Tilton drew near, I could see him waving something over his head. “Mace!’’ he yelled.

My sisters whirled at the sound of his famous voice. Mama’s fingers scrabbled at her hip through the voluminous folds of the dress.

“Put out your hand,’’ Tilton said, as he reached my side.

Considering the red outline revealing how hard I’d whacked him with the mane comb, I expected a handshake shock, or maybe a poisonous spider. There were plenty of witnesses, though, so I flipped my wrist and opened my palm.

In the center, he laid a chocolate and pecan treat, still in its plastic package. Savannah City Confections, the wrapping said.

“This was in the food basket with the sandwiches I gave to the cops. I forgot I’d taken it out, and put it away for a late-night snack.’’

“Maddie, run get that gift bag off the horse trailer.’’ I pointed to Savannah’s beribboned present, now sodden and bedraggled.

She gave me a look.

“I could have a concussion, sister!’’

Marty nudged her, and she hurried to get the bag. When she brought it back, I shook out a collection of treats with the same label I’d seen before. Pralines, pecan clusters, and chocolate chunks with veins of marshmallow.

“It was Savannah,’’ Tilton said, “She tried to poison me.’’