J. Jance - Rattlesnake Crossing

She smiled at Butch and rested one hand on his knee. "I believe my heart is remarkably guilt-free."

"Whew," he sighed in obvious relief. "Am I ever glad to hear that! When I woke up and found you gone, I was afraid you were out here brooding and wishing some of what happened hadn't."

"No," Joanna said, "not at all. But be advised, we won't be able to pull stunts like this once Jenny gets home. To say nothing of my mother. Eleanor is going to take one look at my face and know I've been up to no good, although as far as I'm concerned, she and George don't have much room to talk. And then I'm worried about what my in-laws might think-that somehow I'm not honoring their son's memory. I wouldn't want to hurt Jim Bob's and Eva Lou's feelings."

"Me, either," Butch agreed. "What that means, then, is that as soon as all these people show up on the horizon, you and I are going to have to be the very souls of discretion. Absolutely above reproach. Over and above the people you've already named, are there any others we need to worry about offending?"

"I don't know about offending," Joanna said. "But there might be spies."

"Who?"

"Marliss Shackleford, for one."

"You mean she might have a paid informant on top at the Copper Queen who could provide nightly bed checks to make sure I'm properly locked in at night and staying in my designated room?"

Joanna giggled. "Maybe not, but only because she hasn't thought of it yet. If she did, I wouldn't put it past her. It sounds just like her."

"Great. Big Sister is watching." Butch stood up. "How's your coffee?" he asked.

"It's fine."

"No, it's not fine. It's almost empty. Let me get you some more."

Butch disappeared into the house. He returned a few minutes later, wearing a shirt, carrying both cups filled to the brim. They sat quietly for a while, letting the morning age around them, watching the sky turn from lavender to orange to blue.

"Bartenders don't see many sunrises," he said. "It's pretty, but it still seems like an odd time of day to be up."

"Early morning is when I do my best thinking," Joanna told him. "It's my most creative time."

"Really. Well, there may be a lesson in that. Our new friend F. W. should sit up, take notice, and start setting his alarm." He looked off across the valley. "Not a cloud in the sky," he noted. "Does that mean the rains are over? Have the monsoons come and gone for the summer?"

"I don't know. Before the end of August, they could come back and take another crack at us."

"Let's hope," Butch returned.

Joanna took one of his hands in hers. "There are other things we should probably be talking about," she ventured quietly. "Other things that need discussion besides the weather."

"Like what, for instance?" he asked.

"Like why you got divorced," she answered. "Like why you got divorced twice."

He winced and made a face. "Just lucky, maybe?"

She squeezed his hand. "No jokes, please."

"It wasn't really two divorces," he said. "The first one was an annulment. Debbie's parents got that one on religious grounds. We weren't much more than kids, either one of us. Looking back, I'm sure it was just as well."

"And the second one?"

"That one was ugly. Faith-I always liked the irony in that name-left me for my best friend," he said. "Worked me over real good in the process-mentally, financially, you name it. She managed to convince all concerned, including most of my relatives, that the whole deal was my fault. That I had somehow caused my wife to fall in love with some body else."

"No wonder you took Jorge Grijalva's part," Joanna remarked, referring to a man who had been the prime suspect in the murder of his estranged wife, Serena. It was during the course of that investigation that she had first encountered Butch Dixon.

"Right," he said. "No wonder."

"And are they still together?" Joanna asked.

"Who?"

"Your former friend and your former wife."

Butch shrugged. "Beats me, although I suppose so. There weren't any kids, so Faith and I don't exactly stay in touch. I could probably ask my mother, though. The two of them are still thick as thieves. I'm sure my mother would be more than happy to give you an update."

"I'll pass," Joanna said with a smile. "But even with that had experience," she added, "you're still willing to give romance another try?"

Butch looked at her. "You mean with you?"

Joanna nodded.

"I didn't have a choice," Butch told her. "You walked into the Roundhouse. I'm a sucker for redheads. As soon as I saw you, I was smitten. That's why they call it love at first sight."

"Come on," Joanna said. "Don't give me a line…"

"It's no line," Butch insisted. "The moment I saw you, my goose was cooked. 'Butch, old boy,' I told myself, 'here's the one you'd better not let slip away.' And nothing that's happened since has changed my mind."

He swallowed the last of his coffee. "So how about letting me whip you up a little breakfast?"

"You'll spoil me."

He grinned. "That's the whole idea."

"Well, Jenny's been gone for a week now. I doubt there are any groceries left in the house."

"Not to worry. I know there's still some of my bread left over from last night. And I believe I saw both milk and eggs in the fridge. With bread and milk and eggs, I can make dynamite French toast. What time do you have to be at work?"

"Eight."

He glanced at his watch. "Hey," he said, "as far as I'm concerned, eight is still a very long time from now." "What's that supposed to mean?"

Butch put one arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. "Guess," he said.

Hand in hand, they rose and, with no further discussion, made their way back into the bedroom. Afterward, with time growing short, Joanna disappeared into the bathroom while Butch went to start breakfast. By the time Joanna was dressed, the homey fragrance of frying bacon filled the house.

Out in the kitchen, Butch was standing watch over the stove as Joanna attempted to slip by him to collect another cup of coffee. He turned and touched her cheek with a glancing kiss as she went past. "Nice perfume," he said.

Joanna took her coffee and ducked into the breakfast nook. She had barely seated herself when Butch set a plate of food in front of her. "See there?" He beamed. "Admit it. There are some definite advantages to becoming involved with a man who's run a restaurant most of his adult life. I make a hell of a short-order cook."

"I notice you have one or two other talents," she said. "I can see why a girl might want to keep you around."

Joanna had managed barely two bites of French toast when the telephone rang. Realizing she'd left it on the counter in the bathroom, Joanna hurried to answer it.

"By the way," Butch called after her, "it drives me crazy when I cook food for people and they let it get cold. Did I ever tell you that?"

Coming back with the still ringing phone, Joanna held a finger to her lips to silence him before she answered. "Hello."

"Joanna?"

"Yes, Jeff, it's me. How are you? You sound awful."

"We've had a pretty rough night here," Jeff Daniels told her. "Esther's come down with pneumonia."

"Oh, no!" Joanna managed.

"The doctors don't know whether they'll be able to save her," Jeff continued. "Because of the transplant, they've pumped her full of immune suppressants. But now…" His voice trailed off.

Joanna took a deep breath. "How is Marianne doing in the face of all this?" she asked.

"Not that well. Right now she's down in the room with Esther. She didn't want me to call you, Joanna, but I thought I'd better. It's bad, real bad. I tried calling her folks. I talked to her dad on the phone, but not her mother. Even after all these years, Evangeline is still so pissed at Marianne that she wouldn't talk to me. I know she won't come, not even if Marianne needs her."