can’t let it define the rest of our lives,” Emma said.
“Amen to that, sister,” Arty agreed.
“Your mother said that to you?” Filly laid an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t talk ugly about your mama, but, honey, that ain’t normal. She should have gone gunnin’ for those sumbitches even after all these years.”
“Mother isn’t capable of loving anyone but herself—at least that’s the way I see it,” Emma explained.
“Guess you’re showin’ her that you’re nothing like her, ain’t you, child?” Arty said. “And, honey, I’m still tuckin’ in that little gun. If you have any doubts, you just flick the safety off and shoot! You are not stupid and you’re damn sure not delicate. And that horrible thing that happened to you wasn’t your fault. You are an artist, and that makes you different and special. Don’t ever forget it.”
“Thanks, Arty.” Emma felt empowered by his words.
Arty nodded. “You two kids go get the sleeping bags and whatever else Josh can think of. Tuck in her art supplies, and me and Filly will have the food ready to load at dawn.”
“Thank you.” Emma smiled. “For everything. And if you’ve got any connections”—she rolled her eyes toward the sky—“you might put in a word for me. Other than a night in Josh’s cave, I’ve never spent a night out under the stars.”
“You’re goin’ to love it,” Josh said. “Even though you need to get her out and painting again, I’ll miss you, Em. Take the food inside and grab Sophie’s keys and an armload of canvases. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
His words put an extra beat in Emma’s heart, and knowing that she would be missed sent a surge of happiness through her. “One more time, thank you, Josh,” she said.
He eased out the door, and she grabbed a fork and carried the food back to Sophie’s room. “Hey, it’s time to wake up and eat something. You’ll be sick if you don’t start—”
Sophie waved her away with a flick of the wrist. “Go away, I’m fine.”
“No, you are not,” Emma told her, “but you will be. If this food isn’t eaten by morning, I’ll call Rebel.”
“I already did,” Sophie said. “I told her I was just fine and that you would take care of me.”
“Well, since you told her that, then I suppose it’s my job,” Emma said. “Eat your supper.”
“Later,” Sophie said.
“Okay, have it your way.” Emma left the room and went straight to her bedroom. She packed a tote bag with two changes of clothing for each of them, took the SUV keys from a hook beside the kitchen door, and headed outside with canvases under one arm and the bag slung over her other shoulder. Josh met her at the back of the car with two sleeping bags and a lantern of some kind that she hoped Sophie knew how to light. She hit the button to open the hatch, and he began to load things.
“I’m putting these matches”—he held up several small books—“in the glove box. You’ll park close to your campsite, and if it happens to rain, you don’t want them to get wet.”
“You thought of everything,” she said.
“I’ve been out in the desert a lot at night,” he explained as he took the bag and canvases from her and loaded them. “I learned by my mistakes. Can I help you carry anything else?”
“Yes, and thank you.” She nodded.
“Want to have a beer with me on my back porch when we get done?” he asked.
She wished that she’d known him before she went to college, that they’d gone to the same high school together and maybe even dated. Everyone knew her story now, and no one seemed to be ready to send her packing for being stupid. Knowing that someone believed in her, and that Josh would miss her even when he knew what had happened, made her feel like she was walking on air.
“I’d better take a rain check, so I’ll be close if Sophie decides she wants to talk,” she answered.
“Don’t forget to take your pillow in the morning,” Josh said as they went into the trailer. “Just grab Sophie’s and yours and take her to the vehicle. I’ll put Arty’s and Filly’s stuff inside for you and leave the keys in the ignition. The less you have to do, the more likely you’ll get her out of the house.”
When they finished taking out the last load, he walked her back to the porch. He brought her hand to his