Iron Will. B.J. Daniels

all right between you and Hank?”

      She smiled as she leaned into the kitchen counter. She loved this kitchen with the warm yellow color, the photographs of family on the walls, the clichéd saying carved in the wood plaque hanging over the door. There was a feeling of permanency in this kitchen, in this house, this ranch. As if no matter what happened beyond that door, this place would weather the storm because it had survived other storms.

      “It’s hard on him being back here because of Naomi,” Frankie said.

      “Of course it is,” Dana said on a relieved breath. “But he has you to help him through it.”

      She smiled and nodded. “I’m here for him and he knows it. Though it has put him on edge. But not to worry. I’ll stand by him.”

      Tears filled the older woman’s eyes as she quickly stepped to Frankie and threw her arms around her. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that Hank has you.”

      She hadn’t thought her generic words would cause such a response but she hugged Dana back, enjoying for a moment the warm hug from this genuine, open woman.

      Dana stepped back, wiping her tears as Stacy and Jordan’s wife, Liza, came in with the rest of the dirty dishes and leftover food. “We best get that cake out there or we’ll have a riot on our hands,” Dana said. “If you take the cake, I’ll take the forks and dessert plates.”

      * * *

      “I’M SORRY,” HANK SAID when they reached their cabin and were finally alone again. Dinner had been unbearable, but he knew he should have played along better than he had. “You were great.”

      “Thanks. Your mother was worried we were having trouble. I assured her that coming back here is hard on you because of Naomi. Your family is nice,” she said. “They obviously love you.”

      He groaned. He hated lying to his mother most of all. “That’s what makes this so hard. I wanted to burst out with the truth at dinner tonight.” He could feel her gaze on him.

      “Why didn’t you?”

      Hank shook his head. He thought about Frankie’s kiss, her nuzzling against him. He’d known it would be necessary if they hoped to pass themselves off as a couple, but he hadn’t been ready for it. The kiss had taken him by surprise. And an even bigger surprise had been his body’s reaction to it, to her.

      He turned away, glad it was late so they could go to bed soon. “I think I’m going to take a walk. Will you be all right here by yourself?”

      She laughed. “I should think so since I’m trained in self-defense and I have a license to carry a firearm. You’ve never asked, but I’m an excellent shot.”

      “You have a gun?” He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised and yet he was. She seemed too much like the girl next door to do the job she did. Slim, athletic, obviously in great shape, she just kept surprising him as to how good she was at this.

      If anyone could find out the truth about Naomi, he thought it might be her.

      * * *

      AFTER HANK LEFT, Frankie pulled out her phone and looked again at the photographs she’d taken earlier from the ledge along the cliff. Standing up there being buffeted by the wind, her feet on the rocky ledge, she’d tried to imagine what Naomi had been thinking. If she’d had time to think.

      Hank was so sure that she’d been murdered. It was such a strange way to murder someone. Also, she suspected there were other reasons his father believed it was suicide. The killer would have had to drag her up that trail from the bridge and then force her across the ledge. Dangerous, since if the woman was that terrified of heights, she would have grabbed on to her killer for dear life.

      How had the killer kept her from pulling him down with her? It had been a male killer, hadn’t it? That was what Frankie had imagined. Unless the couple hadn’t gone up to the ledge with murder in mind.

      Frankie rubbed her temples. People often did the thing you least expected them to do. Which brought her back to suicide. What if Hank was wrong? What if suicide was the only conclusion to be reached after this charade with his family? Would he finally be able to accept it?

      The door opened and he came in on a warm summer night gust of mountain air. For a moment he was silhouetted, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. Then he stepped into the light, his handsome face twisted in grief. Her heart ached for him. She couldn’t imagine the kind of undying love he’d felt for Naomi. Even after three years, he was still grieving. She wondered at the size of Hank’s heart.

      “I’d like to talk to Naomi’s mother in the morning,” she said, turning away from such raw pain. “Lillian Brandt, right?”

      “Right.” His voice sounded hoarse.

      “It would help if you told me about the things that were going on with Naomi before her death, the things that made the coroner and your father believe it was a suicide.” When he didn’t answer, she turned. He was still standing just inside the door, his Stetson in the fingers of his left hand, his head down. She was startled for a moment and almost stepped to him to put her arms around him.

      “There’s something I haven’t told you.” He cleared his throat and looked up at her. “Naomi and I had a fight that night before she left the ranch.” He swallowed.

      She could see that this was going to take a while and motioned to the chairs as she turned and went into the small kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, she called over her shoulder, “Beer?” She pulled out two bottles even though she hadn’t heard his answer and returned to the small living area.

      He’d taken a seat, balancing on the edge, nervously turning the brim of his hat in his fingers. When she held out a beer, he took it and tossed his hat aside. Twisting off the cap, Frankie sat in the chair opposite him. She took a sip of the beer. It was icy cold and tasted wonderful. It seemed to soothe her and chase away her earlier thoughts when she’d seen Hank standing in the doorway.

      She put her feet up on the well-used wooden coffee table, knowing her boots wouldn’t be the first ones that had rested there. She wanted to provide an air of companionship to make it easier for him to tell her the truth. She’d learned this from her former cop uncle who’d been her mentor when she’d first started out.

      “What did you fight about?” she asked as Hank picked at the label on his beer bottle with his thumb without taking a drink.

      “It was stupid.” He let out a bitter laugh as he lifted his head to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t ready to get married and Naomi was.” His voice broke again as he said, “She told me I was killing her.”

      Frankie took a drink of her beer before asking, “How long had you been going out?” It gave Hank a moment to collect himself.

      He took a sip of his beer. “Since after college. We met on a blind date. She’d been working as an elementary school teacher, but said she’d rather be a mother and homemaker.” He looked away. “I think that’s what she wanted more than anything. Even more than me.”

      She heard something in his voice, in his words. “You didn’t question that she loved you, did you?”

      “No.” He said it too quickly and then shook his head. “I did that night. I questioned a lot of things. She seemed so...so wrong for me. I mean, there was nothing about the ranch that she liked. Not the horses, the dust, the work. I’d majored in ranch management. I’d planned to come home after college and help my folks with the place.”

      “And that’s what you were doing.”

      He nodded. “But Naomi didn’t want to stay here. She didn’t like the canyon or living on my folks’ place. She wanted a home in a subdivision down in Bozeman. In what she called ‘civilization with sidewalks.’” He shook his head. “I had no idea sidewalks meant that much to her before that night. She wanted everything I didn’t.”

      “What did she expect you to do for a living in