Chapter Three

      Ann had once owned numerous pairs of boots, but she’d thrown them all away, convinced that such masculine attire should no longer be tolerated. She wondered if her sister had done the same, however. Long ago she and Meri had worn the same size shoes. In fact, they’d worn the same size everything, then Ann had experienced a sudden growth spurt during her freshman year in high school and shot up several inches. Everyone had expected Meredith to follow suit, but she never had. Still, looking in Meri’s closet was worth a shot.

      Though Meredith’s surviving cat had traveled to Oklahoma City with Meri and their father, Ann opened the door to her sister’s bedroom with some trepidation. Meredith had an apartment in the city and, while on temporary leave at the moment, worked as a nurse in the very hospital where Wes was even now receiving his chemotherapy. Generous to a fault and sweet, Meri was, nevertheless, manic about her cats, one of which had been accidentally killed on the day of Rex’s wedding.

      Her room showed her obsession. Every kind of cat contraption imaginable filled the space. Connecting tubes, scratching posts, toys, feeding stations and an elaborate litter pan/carrier thingy. Meri even had framed photos of her cats, including the dead one. Meredith still blamed the local veterinarian for not saving the poor thing. Ann certainly would not have done away with the cat, but one cat per house seemed quite adequate to her. Meredith claimed that Ann just didn’t understand, and Ann supposed that was true. She was more of a dog person, really.

      The intelligent face of Donovan Pryor’s dog came to mind with its perky, twitching ears and alert black eyes. That dog certainly seemed smart and playful, a great companion for a little boy.

      This space was too small for the amount of cat junk crammed into it, Ann noted. There was hardly room enough for the bed.

      After searching her sister’s closet, Ann found three pairs of Western boots. All proved too small, so she reluctantly accepted defeat before carefully closing the bedroom door behind her.

      Her next step took her into War Bonnet, but Mrs. Burton’s Soft Goods had long since closed, and the local grocery sent her to the Feed and Grain, which offered nothing more than work gloves and tool belts. She stopped at the gas station to refuel her BMW coupe for the drive out of town, and that was where she ran into the one person she had most hoped to avoid.

      Jack Lyons had been a fixture at War Bonnet High for at least two decades. So far as Ann knew, he had never married. All indications were that he ate, drank and slept sports. Yet it was common knowledge that he had turned down positions with much larger school districts, and for that he was greatly revered by the local populace. Coach Lyons had spotted Ann’s athleticism early on, but he hadn’t offered her extra batting practice until she’d buckled down and gotten serious about improving her stats and landing a softball scholarship. The extra practice had meant working out with several of the guys on the baseball team.

      Those practice sessions had involved lots of teasing and laughter, but Ann hadn’t cared. Like every other kid who played for Lyons, his respect meant everything to her. She hadn’t always managed to hold her own against the guys, but she’d done so often enough to be good-natured about it when she failed. This had prompted Lyons to tag her with the Jolly nickname, a play on her middle name, Jollett. Ann had done her best to live up to the label.

      Under his tutelage, the softball team had won their district championship four years in a row, with Ann as the team’s number-one slugger. Coach Lyons had written her glowing recommendations, and she’d managed to win a minor scholarship to Southeastern State in Durant, where she’d studied business management and marketing. For the next three years she’d driven home as often as she could, and she’d never failed to stop by the school and say hello to Coach Lyons. He’d always seemed happy to see her. Then, near the end of her junior year, she’d stopped by the field house just in time to overhear a conversation between Lyons and another teacher.

      “Saw Ann Billings pull into the parking lot a minute ago.” It had sounded, strangely, as if the other teacher, Caroline Carmody, was warning Coach.

      He had sighed and said, “Guess that means she’ll be here soon.”

      Ann had paused beside his office door to listen, puzzled.

      “What’s the deal with her?” Caroline had asked. “She’s been out of school for years. Why is she still coming around?”

      “The awkward ones are like that sometimes,” the coach had opined.

      “You think she’s awkward?” Caroline had asked.

      Jack Lyons had snorted. “She’s taller than half the male population. She could outhit most of the teenage boys I’ve worked with, and if you cut off her hair, I’m not sure you could tell the difference.”

      Horrified, Ann had slapped a hand over her own mouth to keep from crying out in pain.

      “It’s true she’s not the most feminine girl I’ve ever known,” Caroline had said with a chortle. “If she comes back to War Bonnet after college, she’ll probably wind up an old maid out on that ranch with her mom and dad.”

      Lyons said something else, but Ann hadn’t stayed around to listen. She’d run as quickly and quietly from the field house as possible.