Carbon Copy Cowboy. Arlene James

tell you that,” she’d insisted.

      He’d watched helplessly as she’d wheeled the horse and ridden away. Grinding his teeth, he had stamped his foot like a spoiled child as Mouse had stretched out with her long, graceful legs, racing across the ground. Belle and the horse were just tiny figures in the distance when suddenly the horse had stumbled, going to its knees. Jack remembered all too well the horror he’d felt as Belle had sailed over the horse’s head. He’d yanked out his cell phone and called for help even as he’d begun to run toward her. Thankfully, Doc had been close by that day, but Jack would never forget seeing his mother lying there in a crumpled heap, her head bent forward beneath her. She’d been in a coma ever since.

      God, forgive me, and heal my mother. Please, please bring her back to us. I’ll never ask her another question about the past, I promise.

      Sucking in a deep breath, he opened his eyes—and saw Kendra slip out of the living-room door into the courtyard. She wore the same shoes and jeans as the day before, but this time she wore a dark blue tank top beneath one of Violet’s chambray work shirts, the tail of which she’d tied in a knot at her waist. She’d rolled the sleeves, which were probably too short for her, to her elbows. Her long, golden hair waved buoyantly from a casual center part to flow across her shoulders.

      She looked beautiful, achingly so, without a bit of makeup or artifice. Glancing around at the cool, terra-cotta tiling and outdoor furniture scattered about in groupings beneath hanging plants, she jammed her hands into her pockets and wandered deeper into the courtyard. Jack kept expecting her to spot him, but he must have sat too deeply in the shadow of the oak.

      Drawing to a stop, she turned her face upward and prayed, “Father, I’m so confused and frightened. I have nowhere to go, nothing to do, not a cent to my name... What is to become of me?”

      Jack didn’t have answers for her, but he felt compelled to let her know of his presence, so when she said nothing more, he chose an obvious topic and spoke up.

      “Sleep okay last night?”

      She jerked, her gaze targeting the tree. After a moment, she began to saunter slowly toward him. “Actually, I did. I had some weird dreams, but I can’t recall much about them now, and I do feel rested.”

      “That’s good,” he said, adding offhandedly, “are you usually such an early riser?” Too late, he realized the futility of asking such a question.

      Wincing, she sighed. “I wish I knew.”

      “Sorry. Should’ve thought before I spoke.” That seemed to be a real problem with him lately.

      “It’s not your fault,” she told him.

      She, of course, didn’t know about his temper, and he found that he didn’t really want her to know. He decided to change the subject.

      “How’s your head?”

      “My head?” Her hand lifted to the bandage on her forehead. “It’s fine. I don’t even remember it’s there most of the time.”

      “That’s good.” Lifting his mug, he said, “Lupita won’t start breakfast for another hour or so, but there’s coffee in the kitchen, if you’re interested.”

      “Maybe later,” she told him, gesturing at a chair near his. He waved a hand and shrugged to let her know that she could sit anywhere she liked. She sank down, rubbing her hands over her thighs and knees. “Your sisters are wonderful.”