Long Range (Joe Pickett Book 20)(26)

They found themselves getting closer, reconnecting, having more conversations, and getting to know each other again.

Well, he smiled, it was just Joe and Marybeth—and now Nate, apparently, since his car was there.

The garage was too nice for the WYDOT pickup, so Joe parked outside and climbed out. Daisy, his yellow Labrador, had heard him pull in and her blocky head parted the curtains of the picture window. He could hear her heavy barks when she realized it was an unfamiliar vehicle. He was glad he’d left her home for his brief sojourn to Jackson, or he’d be without both his pickup and his dog.

Joe carried the weapons he’d had with him into the mudroom and propped them in the corner. He was tired of carrying them from place to place all day. He kicked off his boots, placed his cowboy hat crown-down on a shelf, replaced it with a King Ropes cap, and hung his jacket on a peg. Daisy bounded into the room and he cradled her head in his hands and rubbed her ears while she shimmied in place. She was happy to see him and he felt just the same.

“Joe?” Marybeth called out.

“Yup.”

“What are you doing?”

“Saying hi to Daisy.”

Marybeth sighed loudly. “Maybe you two should get a room. Meanwhile, we’ve got guests.”

“I see that,” he said.

“You need to light the grill,” she said. “We’re all getting very hungry.”

He heard them talking as he walked down the hallway toward the dining room. Both walls of the hall were covered with photos of their daughters and the entire family at every stage of their lives together. Marybeth had been working on framing and hanging the collection since September. Often, he stopped to study the photos and reminisce.

Sheridan, twenty-three, was tiring of her job as head wrangler on an exclusive guest ranch resort near Saratoga, Wyoming. She said she was restless and getting ready for the next stage of her life, once she could figure out what that would be. Joe and Marybeth had been more than a little surprised that their oldest daughter was having a tough time deciding what to do next. She’d always been the most decisive, always had everything planned out and organized. Her detour from college graduation to the Silver Creek Ranch had been complicated by her attraction to a fellow wrangler named Lance Ramsey, but they’d recently broken up for good, although both still worked on the ranch.

In a discussion the month before with Marybeth, Sheridan had compared her time at Silver Creek to the long European break that some kids took between college and graduate school. She’d mentioned possible future degree pursuits of wildlife and resource management or a law degree. Joe had blanched at the words “graduate school.”

April, twenty-one, was in her last year at Northwest Community College in Powell. Although she’d been by far the most challenging of the girls to raise and live with—April had a storied past and was the most mercurial and unpredictable—she seemed to be clear-eyed when it came to what she wanted to do with her life.

It had come as a mild shock to Joe and Marybeth when April had announced that she wanted to devote her life to “putting pukes away where they belong.” “Pukes,” to April, meant criminals. She wanted a career in law enforcement. April had always been quick to judge and quicker to condemn and demand retribution, but an assault several years before had sharpened her worldview. The world, to her, was black and white and without nuance. Joe hoped she would become a cop and not a bounty hunter, although he’d be happy with something in between. Her aim, she said, was to become an intern in a law enforcement agency or a private investigations firm the coming summer so she could learn on the job.

Lucy, nineteen, was in Laramie. She was as beautiful and popular as ever and had adapted easily to college life. A bit too easily, Marybeth had observed, and she admonished her youngest to keep her grades up and maybe dial down her very active social life. Lucy was still seeing Justin Hill, although Marybeth sensed a cooling off between them without being told about it.

Lucy had grown into her role as the central communications and emotional hub of the entire family. She was the only one who kept in frequent contact with her siblings and her parents, and she made it a point of being there for anyone at any time. She even texted Joe to see how his day was going, and Joe found himself responding to her on an adult-to-adult basis, which was both satisfying and vaguely unsettling. Lucy was wise beyond her years.

The one thing in common with all of their daughters, Joe noted, was that they were their own people, they were doing well, and they were no longer home.

They were missed.

*

MARYBETH WAS IN the act of pouring red wine into glasses for Liv and herself when Joe entered the dining room. His wife cradled baby Kestrel in her other arm while she did it. The baby was content.

The name Kestrel had been chosen, Nate had explained, because a kestrel was the smallest species of falcon but was also known for its tenacity and willfulness.

“You haven’t lost a step,” Joe said to Marybeth.

“Holding this baby makes me want one of our own,” she responded. When Joe froze, she said, “I mean a grandbaby.”

Liv said to Marybeth, “You can come over and hold her as much as you want, you know.”

“Maybe I will,” Marybeth said.

Nate raised a glass of Wyoming Whiskey to Joe, paused, and said, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Joe said back.