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holidays. She’s honest as God and has a reputation of a saint. She ran the ranch and took care of her grandfather, Marvin, who died last week with cancer.”
    “She comes off as that sort of woman,” Greg said.
    “Sassy or shy?” Jeremiah asked.
    “Confident. She knows ranchin’, but like you said today, she’s got this notion that she can make a livin’ on a hundred acres in west Texas. That will just barely support five cows, not a herd big enough to make a livin’. It’s that sentimental stuff we talked about.” Greg laughed.
    “And she ain’t but what, twenty-eight or so?”
    “That’s about right. Thanks for checking up on her, but I’m not surprised at what you found.”
    Jeremiah’s tone changed. “Just thought you’d want to know. Don’t tell Mama or Clarice. They’d say that they already knew she was bona fide, but I had to have some solid proof. Got to go. Stacy and I are catching a late dinner together.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of telling anything. Have fun.”

Chapter 3
    Emily threw off the covers and slid out of bed with a yawn. Ranch work was never done, and it always, always started before daybreak. She started toward her closet and ran into a chair before she realized that she was not in her bedroom at Shine Canyon. She plopped down in the chair, turned on the lamp beside it, and put her hands over her eyes.
    She’d been caught up in the moment when she agreed to this job. Gramps had said that she needed time away from ranching so she could sort out what she should do with her life. Working on a ranch, even as a glorified assistant, would put her right back where Gramps didn’t think she should be. If she wanted hard work, she could do it on Shine Canyon. Staying on Lightning Ridge was pure crazy, but she’d given her word and a Cooper’s word was as good as a signature on an affidavit.
    She dressed in jeans and a knit shirt and unzipped a duffle bag holding all her shoes: sandals, platform heels, a pair of sneakers, and her comfortable cowboy boots. According to the television meteorologist it was forty-five degrees, so she pulled on her boots.
    She needed coffee, at least two cups to even open her eyes in the morning. Why wasn’t anyone up and around? It had to be close to daylight.
    “Bunch of sluggards. Out in west Texas, we have to work to make a living. We don’t get to sleep until noon,” she mumbled as she made her way to the kitchen.
    She opened several doors before she found the coffee and filters, started a pot to dripping, and sat down at the bar to wait. The sticky notes took her attention. She knew Clarice’s handwriting from the envelopes in the box and most of them belonged to her. Some had a reply at the bottom in a tight, stingy script that had to belong to Dotty. And then there were some with the same masculine scrawl as the ones on the two pictures.
    We will be working on bazaar tomorrow.
    No, shit!
    Emily giggled.
    Think up something different for us to make for the bazaar.
    I need drugs to do that.
    Emily laughed out loud and searched until she found the ones with Greg’s handwriting. They were mostly in plain yellow and were reminders.
    You promised you’d hire someone this month, Nana.
    Month ain’t over yet.
    And another one.
    Haircut on Friday.
    It’s about time!
    They lived in the same house, talked to each other all the time. Why in the hell would they stick notes to the refrigerator? Her eyes were drawn to a yellow note from Greg in a bunch of green ones.
    Glad to be home.
    Her heart did a flip and she leaned over to study it more. If he was all business, then why in the devil did he participate in the sticky note campaign? Gramps would have called it a bunch of sentimental bullshit.
    The coffeepot gurgled at last. While she was filling a mug she noticed the clock on the stove.
    “Ten minutes to five,” she groaned. She’d set the alarm wrong on the clock beside her bed. No wonder no one was up and around. It was too early.
    She filled a mug