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gotta know you ain’t goin’ to win this battle,” Web told him. “I’d save your strength for wranglin’ with your insurance company.”
    Mitch grimaced, but Web was right. It was obvious he couldn’t refuse this invitation without hurting Mamie’s feelings and somehow, despite his reputation for being a stone-cold bastard, he just couldn’t do that.
    He said as meekly as though he was still a shy and backward country boy, “Thank you, ma’am.”
    Mamie nodded as though the outcome had never been in doubt. Maybe it hadn’t.
    For a time there was only the sound of forks scraping on plate. The food was very good, as food made with fats and salt always was. Mitch hadn’t realized how hungry he was.
    “I got to get goin’,” Web finally announced, pushing back his chair. “Those outlaws don’t catch themselves. You want a ride into town, Mitch?”
    No, he surely didn’t. But what else was he going to do? Anyway, Mamie was an effective buffer. “Thanks. If you could drop me off at the car rental place that would be great.”
    “I told Mary Ann Royce to pick me up here.” Mamie was at the sink, squirting dish-washing soap into running water. “She’s going to drive me over to Kingsland for the Genealogical Society meeting, so if you don’t mind I’ll just wait here for her.”
    So much for his buffer. Mitch studied her ramrod-straight back, looked automatically to Web, whose expression was just a little too grave to be real. Okay. So Mitch was making a fool out of himself. No news there.
    “Well, if it’s no trouble.”
    “No trouble,” Web replied.
    “Okay. Fine. I mean, thanks.”
    “Perfect!” Aunt Mamie gave the soap bottle a final squeeze. The bubbly raspberry it made seemed to Mitch to pretty much sum up the situation.

Chapter Three
    “It was nice seeing Mamie again.” Mitch broke the silence of the last few miles as they entered Llano’s city limits.
    Web assented.
    That was the extent of their conversation since leaving the ranch.
    Mitch tried to think of something neutral to talk about. The silences were starting to get to him. Not because he minded silence. In fact, one of the best things about being with Web was that they had never had to talk to understand each other. But that was back then. The silences between them now were not easy. In fact, they seemed to brim over with things unspoken.
    In the old days Web had been the one to broach the difficult subjects.
    Mitch gave up the whole idea of polite chitchat and gazed out at the shop windows decorated for Christmas. Green wire garland shaped like stars and bells stretched across the streets. All the time he’d been growing up, he’d had been focused on getting out, but in the years since he’d been touring with the American Ballet Theater, Mitch had discovered that small towns had their charms too. Llano was small—its population just over 3,500—and surprisingly pretty. Founded in 1855, conscious effort had gone into preserving the past, and a number of buildings from the 1800s had been restored or were in the process of being restored. It had a rustic, western charm, and there were still plenty of art galleries, wineries, antique shops, and gift boutiques for the tourists. Not quite like he remembered it. Not at all, in fact. Was that because Llano had changed so much or because his memories had not been accurate?
    “City Yoga?” he commented as they drove past a renovated building.
    “Yep. How ’bout that?” Web’s eyes were on the road. “Next thing you know we’ll have noodle shops and a Pottery Barn.”
    Mitch snorted. “You’re going to turn into one of those old farts sitting in front of the general store and talking about the Civil War—or their high school football days—if you don’t watch it, Eisley.”
    Web’s mouth twisted into something more grimace than grin. “You could be right at that.” His gaze slanted toward Mitch. “I guess there’s nothin’ wrong with noodle shops.”
    Mitch’s mouth