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once-over. “You’re late.”
    I open my mouth to protest, as Joanne had assured me she’d handle this part, then snap it shut and smile tightly instead. “DeeDee?”
    She rolls her eyes at the men and then gestures for me to follow her. “Let’s get you to hair and makeup.”
    I follow her to a small trailer tucked between a U-Haul truck and a white equipment truck. The trailer is already too crowded with models in various states of dress and undress. It’s also noisy, thanks to the chatter of half a dozen voices and the air conditioner chugging out cool air.
    DeeDee introduces me to Marna, who apparently is doing hair and some makeup. “This is our model, the one we’ve been waiting for.”
    Marna frowns as her gaze sweeps me up and down. “ This is our grandmother?”
    DeeDee shrugs. “It’s who the agency sent. Age her. Put a wig on her or spray some gray on the hair. Do what you can.”
    My heart sinks as DeeDee exits the trailer. I’m not a young adult or a young mom. I’m playing Grandma today. Lucky, lucky me.

Chapter Three

    I t’s one-thirty in the afternoon and I’m standing on the bottom step of the Highland Park Tudor-style mansion holding a stack of brightly wrapped Christmas packages, dressed in a silver turtleneck, black pants, a black merino wool jacket, and black leather boots, with a long black wool coat on top. And despite the packages crammed in my arms, tight wig on my head, and the scratch of itchy wool fabric, I’m smiling up at my adorable grandchildren, who are running out of the house to meet me.
    Unfortunately, the adorable grandchildren can’t smile in the same frame, which means we reshoot again and again. And the sun’s a little too direct overhead, which means we keep repositioning the lights and reflector screens. And heck, it’s only eighty-nine degrees without the wig, turtleneck, jacket, coat, boots, lights, and silver reflectors.
    A bead of sweat slides down my rib cage. And then another.
    The photographer pauses to check his camera and then the light meter. DeeDee sends the little boy and girl back onto the top step. I close my eyes and count backward from ten. I am not hot. I am not sweating profusely. I am not suffocating.
    DeeDee and the photographer talk, and then DeeDee claps her hands. “Let’s do it again,” she calls. “And Shey, a little more expression. These are your grandbabies, and it is Christmas.”
    The sweat slides down the small of my back. My cheeks feel tight, like a papier-mâché puppet’s. “You got it, DeeDee.”
    I finish just before three-thirty, but it means I won’t be in Mineral Wells for another two hours and I’ll need Brick to pick up the boys. I call him and start to apologize for needing the favor, but he cuts me short, saying he’d planned on picking them up and was already in Mineral Wells at a feed store, so everything was under control.
    “But how’d it go?” he asks. “Did you knock their socks off?”
    I’m just starting my truck, and it’s hotter than hell inside after baking in the sun all day. I pause to scoop up my hair and twist it into a knot on top of my head, using one of the boys’ pencils to secure it in a bun. “They want me back tomorrow. We’re doing the making-holiday-cookies-with-Grandma shots then.”
    “Holiday cookies with Grandma?”
    “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I’m Grandma.”
    Brick barks a laugh, and I make a face as I pull away from the curb and head down the street. Blue’s house is just two blocks from here, and I’m not sure if I should swing past it to see if anyone is home or just head back to the ranch. “Do you know if Blue is out of town? I called him earlier to let him know I’m in the neighborhood but never heard back.”
    “I don’t think he’s gone anywhere.”
    “Think I should stop by?”
    “Only if you want to listen to Emily moan about how hard her life is, and how Blue hasn’t amounted to anything.”
    Brick likes everybody, but even he finds Blue’s