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  Which was why, suddenly, he was filled with a deep sense of dread. There were things he needed to tell her before whatever was going on between them went too much further. Painful things that he had already put off saying for too long. Things she needed to know.

  He hated the thought of dredging up all that anger and bitterness and dumping it on her. But if he didn’t, the unspoken words would hang between them and might eventually ruin any chance they’d have to build something lasting. Maybe this was the time to clear the air—away from her family, stuck in a moving car in the middle of nowhere, with all the time they needed to talk it through. But he couldn’t just blurt it out.

  “Why so solemn?” KD asked as he started the car. “Sad to leave our little love nest?”

  “I am.” He looked at the closed door of Room 114, thought of all that had happened over the last few days, and wondered if they’d ever recapture that magical joy of discovering each other. “It was good, wasn’t it?”

  “You say that like you think it’ll never be as good again.”

  He turned to find her studying him with a tentative smile that didn’t hide the puzzlement in her eyes, and he realized now wasn’t the time for confession. But if he saw an opening, he promised himself he’d take it. “I’m hoping it’ll be even better.”

  “Practice makes perfect.” Grinning, she sat back and snapped on her seat belt. “As my sister, Joss, says, ‘What say we blow this pop stand?’ ”

  “Where to?”

  “West to Lampasas, right onto US 183, and north toward the panhandle.”

  After they drove past the Hood gates, she turned to watch the sprawling base disappear behind them, then settled back in her seat with a deep sigh. “It’s weird, not being a part of that anymore. Not having the army be the total focus of my life.” She turned her head and looked at him, that wrinkle of worry between her dark brows. “What do I do now with the rest of my life?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. The army was everything. I’ve never thought of doing anything else.”

  “Well, now you’re free to be anything you want.”

  She gave him a sad, crooked smile. “Except be an army officer.”

  “It’s overrated.”

  She was silent for a moment, then said, “Now that I think about it, I don’t know if I’ve ever been truly free. Seemed there was always somebody chasing after me, waving a list of expectations. Mama, my teachers, coaches, the army. They were always there, telling me what to do next. Without them, I feel sort of . . . lost. Is it the same for you?”

  “Yeah. It’s called freedom. We’ll adjust.”

  “We’ll have to. By the way, I want to wait until tomorrow to tell the family I’m out of a job. I’d like at least one meal without the pitying looks.”

  “Up to you.” Reaching into his shirt pocket, Richard pulled out a wad of bills. “Here’s my half of the room charge,” he said, holding it toward her.

  She pushed his hand away. “I’d planned to stay there anyway.”

  “I thought you were a feminist. That cuts both ways, doesn’t it?”

  “I am a feminist. That’s why I let you do all the cooking. But if it’ll make you feel any better, you can pay for the gas.”

  “I already did. Twice.”

  “Then you can pay for the food, as well.”

  “I already did that, too.”

  “Sounds like I owe you.”

  “Damn, you’re a hardheaded woman.”

  She grinned. “Yes, I am. Argue with me at your peril.”

  With reluctance, he stuffed the money back into his pocket. Seemed he had a lot to learn about the new non-dating rules.

  When they reached the interchange, he merged onto US 183 North and accelerated to the posted speed limit. Since it was Saturday, traffic was heavy with soldiers out for the weekend. “How was group?” he asked, settling in for the long drive.

  “Enlightening.” She told him about the horse therapy idea the psychologist had mentioned. “I’ll need to look into it, but it sounds interesting. Why are you driving so slow?”

  He glanced at the odometer. “I’m going the speed limit.”

  She laughed. “This is Texas. We normally drive ten percent above the posted speed.”

  “That’s allowed?”

  “That’s expected.”

  He adjusted the cruise. “Tell me about Rough Creek.”

  “Not much to tell. A dozen shops along Main Street, a feed and farm implement co-op out by the highway, two bars to keep the devil busy, and enough churches to keep God happy. Texas is in the Bible Belt, you know.”

  “How big is it?”

  “Population-wise? Hard to tell, since it’s difficult to get everybody in the hardware store at the same time to do a head count.”

  “You serious?”

  “Oh, you want serious. Well, it’s not as big as Dime Box, but bigger than Bug Tussle. Does that help?”

  “Not at all.”

  KD laughed, and spent the next twenty minutes explaining the rural realities of wide-open cattle country.

  She told him Rough Creek was situated in the southwestern part of the county with a sizable creek running through it and a state park on a lake outside of town. It catered mostly to ranchers and farmers and a few aging roughnecks left over from the oil drilling days. “Eventually it’ll either wither and die,” she added in a wistful tone, “or be eaten up by larger towns. But we love it.”

  She went on to say that although Gunther County covered a huge area in northwest Texas, it didn’t have a large population. After the short-lived oil boom ended two decades ago, the population had shrunk even more. There was talk of putting in a wind farm nearby, but nothing had come of it so far.

  “Not that many changes come to Rough Creek, good or bad,” she said. “It’s the kind of town where everybody knows everybody else, and gossip runs rampant. But overall, it’s good people. In addition to the stores along Main Street, there’s also a town square and, at last count, two rodeo arenas.”

  “Sounds . . . quaint.”

  “It is. A veritable hotbed of manure-scented, aw-shucks, God-fearing quaintness.”

  Richard hoped her smile meant she was joking.

  “For serious shopping,” she went on, “you can go to nearby Gunther, the county seat, or up to Lubbock, or east to Dallas and Fort Worth. Or you could do the save-the-planet thing and not add to all the cow-generated methane by driving four hundred miles to get a dress and, instead, just order one online, like everybody but Mama does.”

  “What’s the ranch like?”

  “They don’t have ranches in Washington?”

  “Sure. But I doubt they’re as big or fancy as Texas ranches. Most of the open land east of the Cascade Mountains is tied up in orchards, wineries, wheat farming, forest service lands, and Indian reservations. What’s your family’s place like?”

  “Grazing land, same as most ranches. Except the Whitcomb Four Star Ranch is named for the four precious Whitcomb daughters. It’s smack-dab in the middle of the county and one of the bigger outfits in the area. Not the biggest,” she assured him. “We’re not totally decadent. Although I will say that the Whitcombs are easily the most prominent family in the area due to my daddy’s shrewd investments before he died. Since then, Mama has maintained our prominence by keeping her finger in the proverbial town pie, changing churches twice a year to keep up social contacts and making generous donations to various deserving organizations and politicians.”

  “Like Senator Roy Bob Tomlinson?” Richard asked. “I believe that was the name Stranton mentioned when he was advising me to seek other employment.”

  “The same. An old family friend. And another admirer of my mother. She does love to interfere. Sorry you had to find that out the hard way.”

  “Will she be
okay with me showing up?”

  “You mean you showing up with the intention of sleeping with me?”

  “Yeah. That.”

  “Let’s find out, shall we?” Pulling out her phone, she punched in a number. As soon as it rang through, she put it on speaker and winked at Richard. “Be strong. This won’t hurt for long.”

  “KD, darling!” her mother cried, making KD wince. “Where are you? Are you on your way yet? I told Maria to cook your favorite baked chicken. When will you get here?”

  “North of Lampasas—yes—yummy—in time for supper.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, we’re on our way, Mama, and we should be there by six or so.”

  “We?”

  “Don’t you remember? I’m bringing the CID guy, Richard Murdock, with me. You didn’t forget, did you?” KD rolled her eyes at Richard.

  “Of course not. We’re delighted to have him.”

  “And don’t worry about cleaning out Len’s room for him; we can stay in the guest room downstairs.”

  “Together?”

  “No, in shifts. Of course, together.” This time she winked at him. “Will that be a problem, Mama?”

  “Well—”

  “If it is, we can stay at the motel out by the Roadhouse.”

  “Lord, no! That place is no better than a brothel. Of course he can stay here. With you. If that’s what you want.”

  “Great.” It was all KD could do not to bust out laughing. Richard almost felt sorry for her mama.

  “Well. All right, then, dear. Drive safe. We’ll see you soon.”

  After KD ended the call, she rocked back in the seat, unable to hold in her laughter. “Now you see what I have to put up with?”

  Richard wondered if that would be his future, too. He gave her a scolding look. “You’re mean.”

  “Yes, I am. I’m also old enough to have babies, vote, drink, and go to war. In addition, I’ve been shot, killed a man, and have already lost my first job. So I think it’ll probably be okay if I have sex with you, too.”

  “Too? Who else have you been having sex with?”

  “Oh, God! Men!” And she started laughing again, so hard Richard thought she might choke. She was still snorting and snickering a few minutes later when they stopped for lunch at a mom-and-pop diner in a little town south of Abilene.

  * * *

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, they were back in the car. As they put Abilene and the last of the hill country behind them, the land flattened on high plains. Caliche outcrops covered with scrub cedar gave way to rolling hills with gnarly-branched oaks, pecans, and farmland. Which, in turn, gave way to wind farms, oil pump jacks—some still nodding, others rusted in place—and finally to endless vistas of prairie grass dotted with grazing cattle. And wind. Steady, constant wind pushing against the car. Reminded Richard of Afghanistan. Farm entrances soon became ranch gates with cattle guards. There were fewer dead deer by the road and more possums, skunks, and armadillos.

  When they sped past a big black lump on the grassy shoulder, vultures exploded into the air. “What the hell was that?” Richard asked, twisting to stare back at it. “You don’t have bears, do you?”

  “Worse. Texas is overrun with feral hogs. They do hundreds of millions in damages every year. We’re even starting to get them at the ranch.”

  “What do you do about them?”

  “Try to fence them out. Trap them if we can, or shoot them if we have to. They’re pretty wily. Do you hunt?” Another thing she didn’t know about him. In so many ways, Richard was a mystery to her. She didn’t even know if he had hobbies.

  “Only lawbreakers,” he answered. “But I like to fish.”

  Boring. But for Richard, she might give it another try.

  In the distance, windmills churned in the steady wind, dribbling water into huge round metal tanks or shallow man-made ponds. Wide-open spaces grew even wider and the cottony clouds hanging overhead stretched down to the curve of the earth.

  KD had never been to Washington state, but she’d heard it rained all the time, and in addition to mountains and tall fir and spruce trees, it had lots rivers, lakes, and waterfalls. This flat, treeless landscape must seem like another world to Richard.

  “So what do you think?” She gestured to the prairie beyond the window.

  “Where did the trees go?”

  “Where the water is. What else?”

  “It’s flat. And windy. And a little boring. Except for the variety of road kill.”

  “It certainly can be. It’s the people in Texas that make it a great place, not the topography. But if it makes you feel any better, we have lots of trees on the ranch because Rough Creek runs through the middle of it. And we have outstanding people, too. What about Washington state?”

  “The opposite. Outstanding topography, people okay.”

  “Probably cranky because there’s not enough sun.”

  “On the west side there isn’t. But east of the mountains it’s a lot like this. Hot, dry, rattlers, although winters can be snowy and dip below zero. There’s more farming than grazing there, too. Orchards, wheat, hay, vegetables, dairy farms. And since they legalized it, marijuana farms, too.”

  She gave him a look. “Are you a hemp head?” As soon as the words were out, she wanted them back. She’d forgotten that his brother was an addict.

  He shook his head. “I hate that stuff. I’ve seen up close the damage drugs can do.” He looked at her, the question in his eyes. “You?”

  “I tried cannabis once. Almost passed out, coughing. Then I vomited.”

  “Well . . . you’re are a hell of a vomiter.”

  “I am. Yet lately, that only seems to happen when you’re near. I wonder why?”

  “Probably suppressed sexual arousal.”

  “Then, glory be! I’m cured!”

  “Maybe. But I suspect you’ll need several boosters. Luckily, I’m certified to give them.”

  As the landscape sped by, KD tried to see it with new eyes, even though it was country she had lived in since she was born. Like Afghanistan, there was a savage loneliness to it. But here, there was life and, in the limitless horizon, a sense of hope. She loved it with a fierceness she had never felt anywhere else. The openness. The wind that sent dust devils dancing along the dirt ranch roads. The vastness that diminished yet renewed her energy.

  “I need to look around more often,” she announced decisively. “Rather than looking backward at my regrets and mistakes.”

  “What regrets?”

  “Too many to list, I’m afraid. What about you? Do you have regrets?”

  “Sure. Lots of them.”

  “Like what? Tell me the worst.”

  It was a long time before he answered. “It’s a long, sad story.”

  She could see he was hesitant, which only made her more curious. She’d found Richard to be a straight-arrow guy. Not one to equivocate, or skirt an issue. If he was reluctant to tell her something, it must be because he thought she might not like hearing it. He’d already told her about his brother. What could be worse than that? “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “I’m divorced,” he finally said.

  Not what KD had expected him to say. She’d anticipated more sad revelations about his brother. But a previous marriage? A third of the people she knew had previous marriages. But judging by the tension in Richard’s voice and his grim expression, she guessed there was more to it than just a previous marriage.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No. I want to forget it ever happened. But . . .” He took a long, deep breath, let it out in a rush, then glanced over at her. “But after these last days—and nights—and the way I’m starting to feel about you, KD, I think you should know.”

  “Okay.” She waited, her heart pressing against the wal
ls of her chest, her mind conjuring up terrible scenarios to prepare herself for what he might say.

  Maybe his wife had died. Something prolonged and painful and devastating. Daddy’s death had hit all of them hard, but it had been sudden, and more shocking than agonizing. Plus, they’d had Mama to get them through it. Hearing what Richard had gone through with his brother and parents had been an eye-opener. But now there was more?

  Unsure how to react, or what to say, she reached over the console, took his free hand, and laced her fingers through his, hoping he would take comfort in the contact, even if she didn’t know the words. The way his fingers gripped hers showed he did.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “We met at Washington State in our senior year about the same time Kenny started using the hard stuff. Emery—that’s her name—was very consoling. Definitely took my mind off the troubles at home. By Christmas, she had moved into my apartment. By Valentine’s Day, she was talking marriage. I had already started making my weekend trips home to try to help Kenny, which put a crimp on things, but we managed. She and WSU were my safety lines. As long as I was with her or in class, I could put Kenny’s problems out of my mind. Not a great basis for a relationship.”

  And not that much different from what she and Richard were doing now, KD realized. But was that wrong? Weren’t people supposed to help each other through the rough spots?

  Out there, in the vastness beyond the car window, the fight for survival went on as it always did—coyotes chasing rabbits, hawks swooping down from the sky, a rattler striking at a curious calf. But inside the car, in air-conditioned safety, there was only the sound of Richard’s deep voice and the warmth of his broad hand gripping hers. Here, they were safe. In no danger from anything.

  Except the past.

  “Go on,” she prodded.

  It took him a minute. “In spring, we started sending out résumés and going to job fairs and setting up interviews. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after graduation. I’d started in pre-law, then switched to criminology. Emery was straight business, so her prospects were better than mine. But we kept at it. By March, she was getting calls for second interviews. Then she found out she was pregnant.”