ll the next day, Winona told herself he wouldn’t call, but still she looked longingly at the phone, jumping a little every time it rang.

One day.

That was all it had been since she’d sat with her once-best friend in a porch swing at night. One day. Of course he wouldn’t call yet. Or at all. She was as big as a house, after all. Why would a man as good-looking as Luke Connelly want to go out with her?

“Focus, Winona,” she said, looking over the paperwork he’d given her last night. She’d made plenty of notes—things she needed to discuss with him, precautions he should take to protect his interests. In addition to her legal opinion, she had some thoughts as to the viability of becoming Woody Moorman’s partner; the man was well known to be a heavy drinker and he’d lost a lot of customers over the years.

When she’d made all her notes, she closed the Connelly file and opened the Smithson interrogatories. For the next few hours, she concentrated on work, until finally, at five o’clock, she shut down the office and went upstairs.

Usually she loved the evening news, but tonight she was restless, caught up in waiting for the phone to ring, and she couldn’t stand it, so she threw on a pair of jeans, a white turtle-neck sweater, and a thigh-length black vest.

A quick check of the weather told her it was one of those rare January evenings when the sky was plum-colored and cloudless. Bundling up, she decided to walk over to Water’s Edge. The cold air might clear her head, and God knew she could use the exercise. It was less than a mile from one door to the other.

Pleased with her decision (it was so much better than watching TV alone), she headed down to Main Street.

Oyster Shores was set up like so many western Washington waterfront communities, in a T-bone pattern. The end of town was a four-block stretch of road that ran along the Canal’s gray shoreline. That was where the touristy shops were located—the kayak rental place, the ice-cream shop, the fish bar, and several souvenir-type stores. In the four-block by seven-block radius between the Canal and the highway lay the bulk of Winona’s childhood. She’d spent much of her youth in the library, reading Nancy Drew and Laura Ingalls Wilder; at Grey Park, she’d learned to play soccer and softball; on warm summer days, she and her sisters had often walked to King’s Market for Pop Rocks and Tabs.

Even though she’d seen it all a million times, she couldn’t help pausing at Shore Drive, drinking in the spectacular view. In other parts of the world, places more settled and less wild, a canal was a thin, lethargic strip of slow-moving water, a thing to be navigated at leisure in flat-bottomed boats. Not here; this was a wide and wild blue inlet of Puget Sound that ran inland for fifty miles, the only true fjord in the lower forty-eight states.

She turned left and walked out of town. As she passed the Waves Restaurant, the streetlamps came on, sent pretty golden patches panning out on the gray sidewalks and black pavement. In this cold season, when boats were scarce and tourists even scarcer, the street was still, maybe even a little forlorn. A mermaid wind sock hung limply from the flagpole in front of the Canal House Bed and Breakfast. In June the summer people would swarm these streets, taking over parking spots and cutting in line at the beach park boat launch, but for now it was quiet. The town belonged to the thirteen hundred people who called it home.

The ranch’s entrance was indicated by a rough-hewn wooden sign, carved by Winona’s great-grandfather in 1881. Passing it, she turned onto the long, rolling gravel driveway. On either side of her were green pastures lined in ragged four-rail fencing. Gullies of brown water bracketed the road. Dying black maple leaves lay stuck to the gravel, and potholes were everywhere, oozing gray rainwater. The place needed repairs.

Why wouldn’t her father see that she could help him? She was going over the humiliating meeting with him—again—when she noticed Luke’s truck.

She stopped and looked around.

There they were, on the porch, Luke and her father, talking together like old friends. She followed the wet, muddy driveway past the barn and down toward them.

As she approached, Luke laughed at something Dad had said.

Winona saw her dad smile and it actually brought her to a stop. It was like seeing the ocean turn suddenly red, or the moon go green. “Hey, guys,” she said, stepping up onto the porch’s bottom step. The old wood buckled beneath her weight, reminding her simultaneously that she was fat and the steps needed repair.

Luke reached out and put an arm around her, pulling her into a side embrace, out of which she stumbled a moment later feeling dazed. “If it weren’t for Winona here,” he said to Dad, “I never would have become a vet. She did most of my English homework in high school.”

“Yeah, she’s a brainy one, all right. Her latest big idea was for me to sell the land my family homesteaded.”

Winona couldn’t believe he’d bring that up in front of Luke. “I was just trying to protect your future.”

Dad ignored her and looked at Luke. “When Abelard left Wales he had fourteen dollars in his pocket.”

“Come on, Dad. No one wants to hear the old stories—”

“And Elijah lost his leg in the war and then came back to a dead wife and a dying son and land too wet to grow anything in, but he still managed to hang on to every acre through the Depression. He left his son every damned acre he’d inherited.”

“Those were different times, Dad. We know that. We don’t care if you leave us the same amount of land you inherited.”

“How did I know you’d say that?”

“I didn’t mean that. I just meant we want you to be comfortable. That’s what matters.”

“You can’t understand loving this land like Vivi and I do. It ain’t in you.”

How easily he culled her from the herd and set her aside.

“The place looks great, Henry,” Luke said into the awkward silence that followed. “Just like I remember. And I want to thank you for maintaining the fence. I’d like to pay you for that, by the way. Somehow Mom and I forgot to keep up on it.”

Dad nodded. “I wouldn’t take a dime from you, son. That’s what neighbors do.”

Son.

It was a tiny slice of pain, the way her father included Luke so easily, like sticking your hand in soapy water and finding a sharp knife blade. You didn’t even realize you’d been cut until you drew back and saw the bead of blood on your skin.

“It’s Vivi Ann who done most of it, anyway; her and whatever hand she’s found to help her around here. This land is her soul.” Dad looked at Winona when he said that.

“I hear she’s a fine barrel racer.”

“Best in the state,” Dad said.

“I’m hardly surprised. I don’t think I ever saw her when she wasn’t on that mare of Donna’s, riding at the speed of sound.”

“Yeah,” Dad said. “She and Clem are quite a team.”

Winona held her tongue while Dad went on and on about Vivi Ann. What a great horsewoman she was, how everyone came to her for help, how men lined up to date her but she hadn’t found the right fella yet.

Finally, Winona couldn’t take it anymore. She actually interrupted the conversation to say, “I better go. I just came by to—”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Luke said, taking her arm. “I want to treat you and Henry to dinner in town.”

“I can’t,” Henry said. “I’m meetin’ some of the boys down at the Eagles. But thanks.”

Luke turned. “Winona?”

Don’t think anything of it. He asked your dad, too. The advice rang clear in her head, but when she looked up at him, it left in a rush, and the worst emotion swept in to replace it: hope.

“Sure.”

“Where should we go?” he asked.

“The Waves is good. On the corner of First and Shore Drive.”

“Let’s go.” Luke reached out and shook Dad’s hand. “Thanks again for everything, Henry. And don’t forget my offer: if you ever need to use my pasture, just say so.”

Henry nodded and went back into the house, closing the door solidly behind him.

“Asshole,” Winona muttered.

Luke grinned down at her. “You used to call him a jerk.”

“I’ve improved my vocabulary. I could think of a few more choice words, if you’d like.” Smiling, she walked across the front yard and got into the passenger side of his big truck. The minute the engine turned over, the stereo came on loudly. “Stairway to Heaven” was playing.

She looked at him and knew they were remembering the same thing: the two of them at the Sadie Hawkins Dance, moving together—or trying to—beneath a silvery disco ball.

“We sure showed those popular kids how to dance, didn’t we?” he said.

She felt a smile start. Somehow, in the flurry of his return, she’d forgotten how they’d come together in that first year after her mother’s death—a fat, quiet fifteen-year-old girl who lived in her own head and a gawky boy with a bad complexion who’d lost his father in a boating accident nearly a decade before. It gets easier. That was the first thing he said to her that she really noticed. Before that, he’d been just the son of her mom’s best friend.

After that, for two years, almost everything he’d said had been right. Then he moved away, without ever even kissing her, and he hadn’t called. They’d written back and forth for a while, but then that had been lost, too.

He pulled up in front of the Waves Restaurant and parked along the curb. A spotlight near the front door illuminated a yard full of ceramic gnomes that looked cute in the summer sun and oddly macabre on this winter evening. She led the way into the Victorian-home-turned-restaurant. On this evening, they were the only people under sixty in the whole restaurant, and the hostess led them to a corner table overlooking the Canal. Below, a discolored bulkhead held the water back, revealing a stretch of gray sand that was covered with broken white oyster shells and strands of bronze kelp. A tangle of harbor seals lay on the restaurant’s wooden dock.

In moments, they had their drinks—him a beer, and her a margarita.

“To old friends,” he said.

“To old friends.”

Then he said, “Did you get a chance to look over the paperwork?”

“I did. As your lawyer, I’ll tell you that everything looks to be in order. I’d make a few changes, but nothing major.” She looked across the table at him and lowered her voice. “But as your friend, I’d tell you that Moorman doesn’t have the best reputation. He’s struggled with a serious drinking problem for years; well, actually, he hasn’t struggled with it. Mostly he’s given in to it. A few years ago he brought in a young vet to be his partner and word is that he screwed the kid pretty badly.”

“Really?”

“Honestly, Luke, I think you’d do better to open your own practice. People around here would welcome you with open arms. You could set up an office in your house and fix up that four-stall barn on the property. Then, in a few years, maybe you’ll be ready to build a new facility.”

Luke sat back. “That’s disappointing.”

“I’m sorry. You asked for my opinion.”

“Sorry? Are you kidding? I’ve always loved your mind. And I know I can trust you. Thanks.”

She didn’t hear anything after the word loved.

Vivi Ann was in the staging area, waiting her turn in the short round. There were only fourteen girls and women around her, all on horseback, who had also made the top fifteen. Run times were blaring through the PA system; tabulations were under way, starting with the slowest time and working to the top. She’d been in Texas for almost a week, and it had been one of the best rodeos in her life.

She leaned down and stroked the mare’s sweaty neck. “Hey, girl,” she said. “You ready to win this thing?”

The mare’s heart was pounding like a jackhammer. Clem was ready.

Moments later, Vivi Ann heard her name through the giant black speakers and a jolt of adrenaline coursed through her, erasing everything from her mind but this moment.

Vivi Ann pulled her hat down low on her forehead. Clem leaped forward, bounding toward the gate. Vivi Ann tightened the reins, holding the mare back until they were positioned correctly for the first barrel.

Then she leaned forward and released Clem, and they were off, heads down, racing forward into the arena so fast that everything around them was a blur of sound and color. All Vivi Ann saw were the three barrels waiting for them in the dirt, set up in a bright yellow triangle. All the way through the pattern, around the barrels, she was kicking Clem’s sides and urging her to go faster. The seconds passed with frightening speed, but Vivi Ann experienced it in a kind of slow motion—the way Clem snaked around the first barrel and then the second, and then they were hurtling forward for the last barrel, sliding sinuously around it and running back down the arena. When they passed the timer, Vivi Ann gently pulled back on the reins, bringing Clem to a bouncing trot.

She heard their time announced through the speakers and she grinned, then laughed.

14.09.

It would be a tough time to beat. She tried to do the math in her head, to see if she would win the average, but it was too difficult. She’d already won one of the two prior rounds. Only a couple of women even had a chance to beat her, and even so, it was unlikely. She had just run very close to a new arena record.

“Good job, Clem,” she said, leaning forward to stroke the mare’s neck. She slid out of the saddle and led the way back to the trailer. Giving Clem a bucket of water and some molasses-soaked oats, she unsaddled the mare and tied her to the side of the rusted old trailer.

Smiling, practically running, she headed up into the stands. Some of the other contestants were already there, especially those who had not made the top fifteen this time. Pam. Red. Amy.

“Nice run, Vivi,” said Holly Bruhn, scooting sideways to make room.

Vivi Ann smiled. “Clem was hot for an old broad, wasn’t she?”

“She sure was.” Holly reached down into the ice chest beside her and produced a cold beer. “Here. But you can only drink it if your time holds.”

“Ha!” Vivi Ann took the beer and tilted it to her lips.

Holly handed Vivi Ann a piece of paper. “This is for you.”

Vivi Ann looked down at the flyer in her hands. It was the sort of thing she’d seen a hundred times in her life, maybe more. A list of barrel-racing events. The only new twist was that it was for a series of weekends, with a high-point money winner at the end.

“We’re trying out a winter series,” Holly said. “Now that the barn is up and running, we need to start generating some income. I’d love it if you’d come. Tell your 4-H girls.”

And there it was: the idea. It came to her fully formed, so obvious a solution she couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t seen it before. “How many people have signed up?”

“So far we have about ninety. You can see the different fee schedules. And divisions for the kids, too. You have to attend four of the eight to be eligible for prizes, so you’ll have to make all of the next events to qualify—since you’d be starting late, I mean.”

“You’re giving away money and prizes?”

Holly nodded. “Prizes at the end, money along the way.”

“And you’re still doing the team penning and roping jackpots?”

“Every Friday. It’s starting slow—people are just discovering the arena—but every week is better than the one before.”

From that moment on, Vivi Ann could hardly think of anything else. Even that afternoon, when she picked up the saddle and prize money she’d won, she was too distracted to say much. Instead of hurrying out with her friends, maybe line-dancing down at the local roadhouse, she loaded Clem into the trailer and headed for home. On the long drive up from Texas, while Garth Brooks sang to her, she looked at the idea from every angle, trying to find a flaw in her reasoning. But there wasn’t one. She had finally come up with the answer her father needed.

She had come up with it. That made her smile almost every time she thought it.

Oh, she knew what people thought of her. Even her sisters, who loved her, saw her as a pretty decoration who could ride a horse like the wind but wasn’t good at the heavy lifting in life.

Now, finally, she could show everyone that she was more than just a pretty face.

That thought, that hope, accompanied her on the lonely drive home. When she finally pulled into Water’s Edge at midnight on Saturday, she’d corralled all her ideas and figured out how to present them to the family.

She couldn’t wait. They would all be so proud of her.

Pulling up to the parking area, she turned off the truck’s engine and climbed out of the driver’s seat, then went around to open the trailer door.

“Hey, Clemmie,” she said, patting the mare’s big hindquarters. “Are you as tired as I am, girl?”

Clem turned and nuzzled her side, nickering quietly.

Vivi Ann snapped the lead rope onto Clem’s nylon halter and backed her out of the trailer. “No more stall for you,” she said, leading her horse to the pasture and unhooking the halter. After smacking the quarter horse’s butt, she watched Clem bolt away. Within seconds, the big mare was rolling in the grass.

Leaving the trailer to be swept out tomorrow, she closed the door and started toward the house, until she noticed that someone had left the barn door open.

She went inside, just to make sure everything was okay, and found a mess. The stalls were filthy and several horses were out of water.

Vivi Ann cursed beneath her breath and walked up the dirt and grass driveway toward her grandparents’ old cottage. For years it had been used as a bunkhouse—for the men they hired to help out around the place. She knocked several times and got no answer, so she opened the door.

Inside, she found an even bigger disaster than had been in the barn. The small kitchen was piled high with dirty dishes and pans layered with drying food. Empty pizza boxes and beer cans covered the tables, and clothes lay across the sofa and chair.

She could hear a man snoring in the bedroom. Charging through the small living area, she shoved open the bedroom door and turned on the light.

Travis lay sprawled across the brass bed, asleep in his clothes. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his cowboy boots, so there was dirt smeared on her grandmother’s chenille bedspread.

“Travis,” she snapped. “Wake up.”

She had to say his name several more times before he rolled over and looked at her through bleary, bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, Vivi.” He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair, making it stand up on end. His cheeks were chalky pale and dark shadows circled his eyes. There was no doubt in her mind that she was getting him at the tail end of a two-day drunk.

“The stalls are a mess, Travis, and the horses are out of water. Did you even feed them today?”

He struggled to sit up. “I’m sorry. I jus’... Sally has a new boyfriend.” He looked as if he were going to start crying and Vivi Ann sat down on the bed beside him, unable to be angry. Travis and Sally had been in love since high school.

“Maybe you’ll work it out,” she said.

“I don’t think so. She just... don’t love me anymore.”

Vivi Ann didn’t know what to say. She didn’t really know about the kind of love that tore you in half; except that she believed in it. “We’re young, Travis. You’ll find someone.”

“Twenty-five ain’t young, Vivi. And I don’t want no one else. What am I gonna do?”

Vivi Ann’s heart went out to him. She knew what she should do right now, what Dad or Winona would do, but she wasn’t built that way. She couldn’t just tell him to suck it up and get back to work. She’d learned early in life that a broken heart had to be treated carefully. It was a lesson every motherless girl knew. “I’ll feed and water today but I want you to strip down every stall tomorrow, okay? There’s fresh shavings in the loafing shed. Can I count on you?”

“Sure, Vivi,” he said, already sliding back down to go to sleep. “Thanks.”

She knew she couldn’t count on him, but what else was there to do? With a sigh, she left the cottage, turning off the lights as she went. As she walked back down to the barn, fighting the wave of exhaustion that was trying to pull her under, it started to rain.

“Perfect.”

Flipping up the collar of her jacket, she ducked her head and ran the rest of the way.

On the first Sunday of every month the Grey family walked to church. It was a tradition begun generations ago; then it had been a necessity, a response to winter roads turned into muddy bogs by rain. Now it was a choice. Rain or shine they came together at the farmhouse in the midmorning and set out for town. It was important to their father, crucial even, that the Greys be respected in town, that their contribution to the creation of Oyster Shores be remembered. So they walked to church once a month to remind people that their family had been here when buggies couldn’t navigate sawdust-covered winter roads.

This first Sunday in February, Vivi Ann got up an hour early to feed the horses so that Dad wouldn’t know about Travis’s recent breakdown. On this of all days she didn’t want to listen to him complaining about her hiring skills, or lack thereof.

Not today, when she was going to surprise him with her perfect plan.

When she finished her chores, she returned to the house and showered and got ready for church. By the time she came downstairs, dressed in a white eyelet skirt and blouse with a wide belt and her good cowboy boots, the whole family was already on the porch.

Aurora and Richard were together, trying to keep the twins from breaking something, while Winona leaned against the porch rail, looking up at the pretty glass and driftwood wind chimes their mother had made.

Dad walked out into the yard and did his usual weather check. “Let’s go.”

They fell into formation, with Dad out front by at least ten feet, walking fast. Richard and the kids tried to keep up with him. The girls came together at the rear, walking elbow to elbow, as they’d done for the whole of their lives.

“I see Dad’s setting his usual Bataan Death March pace,” Winona said.

“I will never understand why I have to drive to the farmhouse to walk to church,” Aurora said. It was a variation of the complaint she made each month. “How was the rodeo?”

“Great. I won a saddle and fifteen hundred bucks.”

“Good for you,” Winona said. “God knows this place could use some cash.”

Vivi Ann smiled at that, imagining again her triumph when she revealed her plan to make money. For the first time, Winona would see how smart her youngest sister really was. “Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

There was an almost imperceptible pause. Then Aurora said, “Luke Connelly came back to town.”

“The kid from next door? Wasn’t he in school with you guys?” Vivi Ann tried to draw up a memory of him but couldn’t do it. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s a vet,” Aurora answered. “Winona—”

“Is helping him out,” Winona cut in.

Vivi Ann frowned; something seemed odd. It felt as if her sisters knew something she didn’t. She glanced from one sister to the other and then shrugged. She had too much on her mind right now to sift through nuance for fact. “I don’t really remember him. Is he good-looking?”

“You would ask that,” Winona said crisply.

For the rest of the way, they kept up a steady stream of conversation. More than once Vivi Ann wanted to just blurt out her idea, but in an unusual display of personal restraint, she waited.

After the services, they milled among their friends and neighbors, gathering in the basement for coffee and muffins as usual. Luke Connelly’s return was the topic of conversation. His unexpected reappearance brought up stories about the old days, back when Vivi Ann’s mom and Luke’s mom had been the prettiest girls in town. Ordinarily, Vivi Ann would have listened to those stories greedily—any mention of her mother was special—but today she had too much on her mind to relax and enjoy the conversations, and since Luke wasn’t at church, she lost interest in him quickly.

A little earlier than usual she herded her family together and encouraged them to head home. “Before the rain hits,” she said, and that was enough. They’d walked home in the rain often enough to know it wasn’t fun.

Back in formation, they walked through town and turned onto their driveway. On either side of them were bright green pastures, their boundaries marked by four-rail fencing. At the end of the driveway sat their pretty yellow farmhouse, with its white wraparound porch. Behind it, the Canal, the sky, and the distant mountains were all muted by mist, turned gray so that it was all shadows within shadows.

Clementine whinnied at their approach and galloped toward them.

Vivi Ann hiked up her eyelet skirt and slipped between the fence rails.

“Not again,” Winona said from behind her.

Laughing, Vivi Ann swung up onto Clem’s broad back. Without a lead rope or bridle, she technically had no control of her mare, but her faith in Clem was absolute. She squeezed Clem’s sides and the mare took off, running through the pasture toward the house. Vivi Ann leaned forward, hanging on to Clem’s mane. Her eyes watered at the speed; her hair whipped across her face.

She loved this. Any second Clem could throw her or stop suddenly or veer so fast Vivi Ann couldn’t hang on.

As they neared the house, she whispered, “Whoa, girl. Whoa,” and stroked Clem’s soft neck.

Vivi Ann was on the porch to greet her family when they finally arrived.

“Way to be a role model,” Aurora said. “I hope you’ll stop that when Janie starts lessons.”

“She should be in lessons now,” Vivi Ann said. “We were three when Mom started our lessons, remember?”

“You were three,” Aurora said. “The prodigy. I was five and Winona—”

“Let’s not talk about Winona and horses,” Winona said.

Laughing at that, the three of them went into the house and headed directly to their stations: Vivi Ann on lead, with Winona doing whatever prep work was asked of her—usually cutting vegetables and making the salad—while Aurora set the table. The kids went upstairs to watch videos and Dad and Richard stood silently in the family room, drinking beer and watching whatever sport was in season.

For the next two hours the girls talked and joked and laughed as they got supper ready. By the time the pot roast was done, they’d finished off a bottle of chardonnay and opened another.

Sunday supper began as it always did, with Dad leading them in prayer. Immediately thereafter, the conversational free-for-all began. Vivi Ann tried to wait for a natural lull in the talking to pitch her idea, but now that she was seated, she couldn’t wait any longer. Her enthusiasm was too high.

She just blurted it out: “I’ve been thinking about something. A way for the ranch to make some money.”

Everyone looked up.

Winona frowned. Apparently she’d been in the middle of a story, but Vivi Ann hadn’t noticed.

“In Texas I spent a lot of time with Holly and Gerald Bruhn. They just built that big arena down in Hood River, remember? Anyway, Holly is running a winter barrel-racing series. Eight weeks, every Saturday. They’re giving away money and prizes.”

“You always win those things,” Aurora said.

“No,” Vivi Ann said. “You don’t get it. I want to run a series here at Water’s Edge.”

Dad shrugged. “Might work.”

Vivi Ann grinned at the encouragement. “If it does, we could branch out to team pennings and ropings. Holly said last week they had over four hundred teams at the roping jackpot.”

She had her father’s attention now. “That costs money.”

“I did some checking around. We could probably do it for about one hundred thousand dollars.”

Winona laughed. “Is that all?”

Vivi Ann was surprised by that, and a little hurt. “We could get a loan. Mortgage the place.”

That shut everyone up.

“We’ve never had a mortgage,” Dad said.

“Times are changing, Dad,” Vivi Ann said. “I really think we could make a go of this. All we’d need are some steers, a groomer, a new tractor, and—”

Winona was not smiling. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Lord knows I’m tired of shoein’ horses all day and worrying about taxes,” Dad said, “and now that Luke Connelly is back we can use his acreage. We could keep the steers there, so we wouldn’t need a big trailer.”

Winona made a great show of rolling her eyes. “But if you can’t make a mortgage payment you’ll lose your property. You know that, right?”

“I ain’t stupid.”

“I didn’t suggest you were,” Winona said. “But this is crazy. You can’t—”

“You gonna tell me what to do again, Winona?” he said. On that, he left the table and headed for the study, where he closed the door behind him.

Vivi Ann turned on Winona. “Way to be a bitch. You’re just mad because it’s not your idea. Miss Brainiac couldn’t think of shit.”

“And what happens if you suck at doing all this, Vivi? What happens if no one comes and Dad has to find a thousand bucks a month to cover this new mortgage? You going to stand by his side and watch him lose this place? It’s all he has.”

“What if he’s already losing it?” Vivi Ann demanded, determined to stand her ground.

“It’s just like Clem,” Winona muttered, and Vivi Ann had no idea what her sister meant by that.

“You’re just jealous that I came up with the idea,” Vivi Ann said.

“Yeah, I’m jealous of your intellect,” Winona snapped back.

“Come on, you two,” Aurora said. “Let’s not go down that road.” She looked from one to the other. “It’s a good idea. Can we figure out how to make it work?”