“How ’bout that rodeo cowboy?’’ I vaguely heard one of the women say. “Didn’t he leave Mace way back when for the homecoming queen?”

“He gambled something awful, I heard. Good-looking guy, though,’’ another one of Mama’s friends added.

“Honey, the bad ones always are.’’ Phyllis chuckled.

I was half-listening, half-watching the music minister as he took a seat next to the soprano and handed her a coffee. I’d learned long ago it wasn’t worth interjecting when Mama and her church pals got going on a topic, even if this one happened to center on me.

“Wasn’t there a little something she had going with Lawton Bramble’s boy, too?’’ someone asked.

“That was the awful year we did the horseback ride on the Florida Cracker Trail. Even Carlos had to understand Mace wasn’t in her right mind when she started messing around with Trey Bramble. That’s what happens when somebody’s trying to kill you.’’

“Rosalee, you mean trying to kill you, right?’’ one of the women said.

“Well, both of us, the way it turned out.’’

“Awful sad about what happened to Lawton, though.’’ All the women nodded at the redhead who spoke. “Just proves you can be as rich as Croesus in cattle and still wind up dead, face first in a vat of cow-hunter chili.’’

Their momentary silence was broken when Phyllis gasped, her eyes as wide as collection plates: “Speaking of murder, what if one of Mace’s exes had something to do with that poor girl at the dump?’’

“Don’t be ridiculous!’’ Mama slapped Phyllis’s arm. “None of my daughter’s loser boyfriends ever committed anything more than petty crimes. Plus, now she’s engaged to a police detective, one of the good guys.’’

A newcomer to the conversation turned my hand to peer at my ring. I feared a stress fracture at the wrist from the repetitive motion.

“Murder is a nasty business, y’all.’’ Mama clucked her tongue. “Now, about Mace’s love life …”

Someone interrupted her, drawing talk back to the deadly fate of the unlucky Camilla. A gruesome homicide with sexual overtones would always trump rocky romance. Mama realized she’d lost her audience.

She hooked an elbow through mine and pulled me aside. “Honey,

I just want to make sure you’re not going to jack around that man of yours again. He won’t take it another time.’’

I sighed. “Carlos is the one, Mama. I’m certain.’’ I held up my hand. “I’ve got the ring to prove it. It’s settled.’’

The engagement ring really was lovely. Not so the skin around my wrist, which was starting to redden from all the church ladies tugging at my hand.

Mama looked dubious. She eyed the assembled crowd, stopping when she located a knot of church folk gathered by the coffeepot. “Maybe you should have a backup in case things go wrong. A Plan B Man.’’

My eyes followed hers, which were focused on the choir’s geeky baritone. I snorted. “That man is fifty years old if he’s a day. And he still lives with his mama. Plus, he rides a three-wheeled bicycle to work, bagging groceries at the supermarket.’’

I waved my ring under her nose. “I am a happily engaged woman, Mama. I don’t need a Plan B.’’

She batted away my hand. “There are plenty of rings on fingers out there. Plenty of bad marriages, too. That ring doesn’t mean a thing if you—or your husband—end up with a broken heart.’’

I thought about Mama’s aptitude for understanding romance. Did she sense something about me I myself didn’t know? Maybe having witnessed her series of marital train wrecks spoiled me for commitment. I saw Maddie’s tear-streaked face in my mind. I couldn’t help thinking about Kenny; about their twenty-plus years of marriage, now endangered. Carlos and I weren’t even married yet. Things could go bad. Maybe I did need a backup plan.

For some reason, an image of the gorgeous golf pro flitted behind my eyes. That was immediately followed by a rush of guilt. I don’t know why. It wasn’t like I planned to do anything with the guy. I was just thinking. Harmless daydreaming. It wasn’t like I was considering making Jason—or was it Josh?—my Plan B Man.

Was I?

thirteen

My mouth watered. The aroma of meat on the grill drifted through the dining room at the golf course. They don’t call Himmarshee County the buckle in Florida’s beef belt for nothing. Speaking of which, my own belt might need a new hole if I managed to finish the still-sizzling slab of steak in front of me.

“Hand me that steak sauce, would you Mace?’’ Sal pointed his fork at the house brand bottle on the table.

“Try it before you douse it. You can’t beat the taste of a fine cut of meat, simply prepared.’’ Sawing off a hunk from my own Porterhouse, I held it up for Sal’s inspection. “Nothing but meat, a nice marbling of fat, and some salt and pepper.’’

He plucked it off my steak knife and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm-hmm,’’ he said, chewing.

“What’d I tell you?’’ I grinned. “Carnivore nirvana-vor!’’

My sister Marty, likely the only vegetarian in a twenty-five-mile radius, speared a cucumber from her salad. She chomped on the celery stalk garnishing her virgin Bloody Mary. “You’d both be a lot healthier if you’d cut back on the meat, and bulk up on your greens.’’

Catching the waiter’s eye, Sal tapped the rim of his empty glass to signal he wanted a second martini. “Do olives count as greens, Marty?’’

She shook a finger at him. “Not when they’re soaked in gin.’’

Mama looked at her watch and frowned. “It’s one o’clock. I thought Maddie would be here by now.’’

I’d been so distracted—studying the menu, selecting my steak, lecturing Sal on the virtues of un-sauced meat—I’d forgotten to mention my big sister wouldn’t be joining us.

“I talked to Maddie on my cell on the way here, Mama. She can’t make it.”

“Why not?’’ she asked.

The truth was Maddie was too upset over this mess with Kenny to enjoy the family’s company, not even with the added bonus of dessert. But I wasn’t about to reveal that.

“She’s not feeling well,’’ I said.

“What’s wrong with her?’’ Marty asked.

Mama snatched a French fry from my plate, leaving her own healthy serving of rice untouched. I thrust my steak knife at her in warning.

“She’s just a little under the weather,’’ I answered Marty.

“How so?’’ Mama asked.

Now, even Sal had put down his fork and was awaiting my update. Nothing gets my family interested like evasiveness. I glanced around at the nearby tables and lowered my voice to a whisper.

“She has her period, okay?’’

Reddening, Sal changed the subject. “Hey, I think I see the mayor and his wife coming in. You know them, don’t you Mace?’’

Mama interrupted before I could answer him. “I gave Maddie some special raspberry and chamomile to make Time of the Month tea. That should help her cramps. Isn’t she using it, Mace?’’

“I’m not sure, Mama. I’m not in charge of monitoring Maddie’s herbal tea intake.’’

Mama slipped her cell phone from her purse. “I’m going to call her right now. I have to make sure she remembers to drink that tea.’’

“No, don’t!’’ I said, more sharply than I intended.

All three of them stared at me. “I just meant don’t bother her. She said on the phone she was going to fill a hot water bottle and take a nap. She’s probably asleep right now.’’

“I remember my own periods.’’ Mama happily shifted the focus to herself.

Sal tugged uncomfortably at his collar. She continued.

“Cramps so bad it felt like somebody crushed my uterus in a vise. An unnaturally heavy flow, too. I mean, I’d go through a package of tampons …’’

“Here comes the mayor,’’ Sal blurted, jumping up from our table.

“Oh, joy,’’ Mama muttered as Marty giggled.

Sal, looking relieved, stretched out his big paw for a shake. “How are you today, Mayor Graf? And Mrs. Graf, too, of course. Join us!’’