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environment. I know this is the kind of place I wish had been available when I had MBP,” she said, referring to the business consulting firm she’d founded and run for years before the economy sank. “Of course, first we need to get it ready for business.”
    Dulcie put her hands on her hips and looked around, squinting. “It would really do wonders for Saddlestring and revitalize the downtown,” she said. “Right now, this place just sits here like an old drunk on the corner. I’m trying to picture what it could be like.”
    “You really need to use your imagination,” Marybeth said, deadpan.
    There was so much work to be done inside—battered plaster wallboard would have to be replaced, ceilings raised, new plumbing and electricity installed—although they’d recently been encouraged when a structural engineer confirmed that the foundation’s overall structural integrity was solid. In order to keep costs low, Marybeth planned to do as much of the preliminary work herself with help from Joe at night and on weekends. Matt Donnell wasn’t much of a hand when it came to carpentry or renovation, although he certainly put in the hours. Matt was better at dealing with local, state, and federal agencies that required permits and approvals. In fact, Matt was meeting with the building inspector and state fire marshal that afternoon. He’d confided to Marybeth that he had great relationships with the right people who could sign off on the permits.
    Dulcie pointed at a large bouquet of flowers on the mantel of the old fireplace. “Those brighten up the place,” she said. “Who sent them?”
    “Read the card.”
    Dulcie read: “‘Congratulations on your new hotel, Marybeth. I’m proud of you. Love, Joe.’”
    “Awwwww,” she said.
    “I told him we can’t afford flowers right now, but it’s nice.”
    “This is the kind of place where I’d love to work,” Dulcie said, imagining it. “It would be so much better than those cells they give us in the county building.”
    The Twelve Sleep County Building was also a relic of the 1920s, and it housed her office, two courtrooms, the road and bridge department, and the sheriff’s department.
    Dulcie said, “Although I have to say the atmosphere is better there now that Sheriff McLanahan is gone. There isn’t as much secrecy and good-old-boy nonsense.”
    Marybeth nodded. McLanahan had been defeated by fewer than ten votes the year before by his deputy Mike Reed. Although Reed was confined to a wheelchair—he’d lost the use of his legs after an on-duty assault—he had a dutiful and sunny personality that buoyed those around him. Plus, he was friends with Joe.
    —
    B OTH OF THEIR cell phones erupted simultaneously, and when they realized it, they smiled at each other before taking them. Dulcie turned and walked out of earshot, and Marybeth saw the incoming call was from her house.
    It was Lucy, her fifteen-year-old daughter.
    “Mom, can Hannah stay with us tonight?”
    Marybeth did a quick calculation of the food available in the freezer and refrigerator, and except for the game meat Joe provided in volume, she didn’t have enough items for dinner for six.
    “Yes, but I need to stop at the store on the way home,” she said.
    “Maybe you can pick up pizza?”
    “Maybe. Why is Hannah staying with us again?”
    “She’s my best friend, Mom,” Lucy said, put out.
    “I know that,” Marybeth said, rolling her eyes. “Is it okay with her mom? She’s stayed over at our house twice already this week.”
    “It was her mom’s idea,” Lucy said.
    “Oh, really?” That sounded odd to Marybeth. Pam Roberson managed the office for the small construction company she co-owned with Butch, but she took pains to be involved in her daughter’s life and activities, and she kept a fairly tight rein on Hannah, her only child. Like Lucy, Hannah was bright and attractive, although Marybeth had noted a change in her recently. Hannah had expressed an interest in horses,