“Maybe it’s the hormones, but the thought of everyone leaving is making me weepy.”

“It’s gotta be the hormones cuz we’re all a pain in the ass.” Katie nudged Jessie’s shoulder, knowing full well that none of them were difficult.

“And I’m worried about her.”

The doctors had put Monica’s leg in a walking cast after four weeks. Not that she was ready to go back to work, but she felt the need to get back to California to fight for her job.

Jessie didn’t need to elaborate who she spoke of. She and Katie had a few quiet conversations about Monica’s disposition since she had returned from Jamaica.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Katie scolded.

“Do what?”

“Make me worry any more than I’m already doing. She’s a mess, isn’t she? I mean, you’d know better than I would.”

“She’s not joking, smiling… finding any reason to get out of the house.”

“Maybe getting back to California and fighting back will help.”

“I think whatever is bugging her has something to do with what happened in Jamaica and less about her job.”

Katie placed a hand over Jessie’s shoulders. “She did nearly die.”

Jessie winced. “I can’t even think about it. You think it’s some kind of post trauma crap?”

“Maybe. What else could it be?”

Jessie thought about the question for a minute. “Has she said anything to you about the guy she was in the cave with? Trent?”

“Only that he bolted as soon as he was discharged and didn’t say good-bye.”

Jessie waved at Danny who managed to stay on the back of his horse despite the trot and uneven gait of the animal. “Don’t you find that odd? I mean, even if they didn’t hit it off, wouldn’t someone you’d damn near met your maker with deserve some kind of see ya later? Have a nice life. Something?”

Katie seemed to consider the question for a while.

“And it’s not like Monica to not call a guy on their bullshit. I’m taken aback by the fact she hasn’t tried to call him out.”

“Call him out on what? Not being into her? Can’t blame anyone for not feeling the same way. Look at that John guy. He keeps sending flowers and she’s not led him on at all. Maybe she’s worried about that conversation when she gets home. Or maybe she’s worried she won’t get her job back. I’ve tried to tell her that we’d help her out if she needed money.”

“Monica won’t accept it.”

“I know,” Katie said. “I’ve tried. I had to go behind her back when I lived with her last year to pay the landlord directly.”

Jessie pulled her cowboy hat farther down her face to keep the Texan sun from burning her nose. “Monica hates depending on anyone. And if that anyone has a penis, forget it. That’s the by-product of growing up without a dad and having your mother keep a revolving door of wannabe replacements nearby.”

“Funny, I always thought it would be better if my dad dated after my mother left him. Now I’m thinking I was wrong.”

“We had all, you had nothing. There’s got to be something in the middle. Divorce happens. That doesn’t mean the end of your life.”

Katie nudged her again. “Not that you’ll ever have to worry about that.”

“Said the pot to the kettle.” Jessie sighed. “God I love your brother.”

Katie giggled. “Married life is the best. Now if we can just help Monica find the right guy.”

Jessie rubbed a hand on her still flat belly and smiled. “Yeah.”

The beer in Trent’s fist had become a constant companion. At least when his mind traveled to the island… to her.

Which was daily.

The door to Glen’s home slammed, telling Trent his brother was home.

“Jesus Christ, Trent.” Glen’s profanity barely made Trent lift his eyes to his brother. “What the f**k are you doing in the dark?”

“It’s not dark.” Well, actually, the curtains were drawn and there wasn’t a light on in the masculine den. The only company came from the radio that knocked out heavy rock. But there was still a glow from the outside to drive away the dark.

Glen crossed to the stereo, jabbed a finger down on the knob, and turned off the sound.

Ginger, who had been curled up by the couch, snapped her head up and barked.

His brother tossed his jacket over a chair and glared at him. “Enough! I’m not going to watch you do this to yourself.”

“Do what?” Trent dropped his feet from the table and reached to set his empty beer aside.

“Do nothing. Drink all the f**king time. Sit in the dark. Is this what you did in Jamaica?”

No. Well, in the beginning there had been a lot of drinking. Eventually he found his rhythm again. Maybe that’s why he escaped to the island, to mourn in peace. His brothers wouldn’t have allowed him to find the bottom of a bottle for long.

“I could have died in Jamaica.”

“But you didn’t!” Glen yelled. “Do you think that little blonde number is soaking up her liver like you are? She sure as shit had it worse than you.”

That may have been, but Monica had someone to share the night with.

“Fuck you.”

“No, f**k you.” Glen turned around and slammed his fist against the light switch. “And turn on a f**king light.”