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standing right there. Neither had moved, but she felt invisible to them.
    “It’s bad,” Logan said. He kept his eyes on the ground, face hidden under the brim of his hat. “She’s still not waking up. Austin’s okay, but we’re afraid we’re gonna lose—” His voice choked off.
    The skin on the back of her neck prickled. Something awful was happening to this family.
    “Mom’s falling apart—” Logan stopped again.
    “I’ve got this,” Jett said. His voice was low. “You need to stay with your family.”
    Marlee peered down at her boots. Already, a film of dust covered them so the rhinestones barely winked out at her.
    Logan nodded. “I can’t do that,” he said. “You’ll be short three full teams.”
    Jett cleared his throat. “I’ll handle it.”
    He put his hand on Logan’s shoulder, and bowed his head and began to pray. “Lord, we don’t understand why this is happening, but we know You love us and we need Your help.”
    Marlee froze in place. Jett’s prayer was simple. Straight-forward. Unashamed.
    She wasn’t used to people praying aloud for her, though it would feel nice.
    Inside, she prayed with them.
    After the prayer, Jett and Logan drifted into the barn.
    And then Jett came back out, alone. Like always, he was a man on a mission.
    “You can’t meet the woman who hired you,” he said as he stalked past Marlee. “She’s in critical care.”
    Marlee blinked. That’s the woman they were talking about? The woman they’d prayed for?
    Cassie Paycoach was in Intensive Care?
    Marlee hurried to catch up with him.
    “You could have told me.”
    “I just did.”
    “Yeah, but I mean before, when—”
    …when she hadn’t yet made a fool of herself?
    But she couldn’t argue with the look he gave her.
    Now was not the time to stand around talking about who should have done what.
    “Is there anything I can do to help them?”
    “You can get your tail end up in that chuck wagon and hit the trail.”
    She frowned.
    “Right now, we got a late start going, and the only hold-up is you.”

CHAPTER SIX
     
    At first, Marlee tried sitting up front, squeezed onto the hard wooden seat between Crazy Hoss and Fern.
    As the wagon jolted over ruts and rocks, every bump bruised her tail bone. It was awfully hard to concentrate on what Fern and Crazy Hoss were saying.
    They were telling her all about chuck wagons and ranching history and about how lots of ranches like the Paycoach’s still used horses and authentic chuck wagons when running their cattle.
    “It’s a lot less stressful on the cattle to have horses herding them,” Crazy Hoss said.
    The wagon hit something in the road, and pain shot through Marlee’s spine. Had anyone ever thought about how stressful chuck wagons were on humans?
    “Some ranches use ATVs to herd, but that stresses the cattle,” Fern added.
    “Stressed cattle means skinnier cattle,” Crazy Hoss said. “And then the ranch loses money.”
    “But surely you could drive one of those food trucks up here for cooking,” Marlee said. “I could easily feed an army out of one of those things, and you wouldn’t have to use it to herd cattle.”
    Crazy Hoss chuckled. “Them things are expensive. Besides, trail cookin’ doesn’t need to be complicated. And we like the chuck wagon. It’s a tradition.”
    Who in their right mind would enjoy a tradition that was full of so much punishment and pain? Her rear end was aching so badly, she finally crawled into the back and settled onto the bedrolls. They were piled nearly to the canvas roof, so she sat with her neck hunched over, grabbing onto anything to steady herself as the wagon rumbled along.
    Marlee couldn’t imagine either of her sisters in this situation. Maybe she should have given her career in accounting one more shot.
    “Tell me about the Paycoach family.”
    “That’s a sad story if there ever was one,” Fern said. She shook her head, eyes tearing up. “Silas and Thelma Paycoach knew they were made for