Free Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 01 - Gunfight at Grace Gulch by Darlene Franklin Page A

college. And Dina’s always known the truth. But when Jenna comes home, it’s like I don’t exist.”
    “Like the father visiting his kids every other weekend. Party time.”
    “Exactly.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. It was foolish to harbor anger at my elder sister. “Dina gets into trouble with this shooting, and there’s Jenna, swooping in to rescue her. Even if she had already planned to come for Land Run Days.” Why hadn’t Dina come to me with her troubles?
    The rain had stopped, leaving the early evening sky crisp and clear. Audie stuffed the bags in the trunk of the car and put his arms around me.
    “Oh, Cici. You don’t have to prove anything. To Dina. Or to me.”
    I felt safe and secure in the circle of his arms. Safe enough to cry. So I did. Audie didn’t say anything. He rubbed my back and let me cry, my tears soaking the front of his shirt more surely than the afternoon’s rainstorm. Eventually I stopped. I lifted my face to his and looked into those beautiful blue eyes. He leaned down and kissed me, once, lightly, on the lips. Then he dug in the pocket of his jeans and dabbed a monogrammed handkerchief on my face, wiping away the traces of tears.
    “I would kiss away every tear,” he said. “But then we might be here all night.” He managed a weak smile and stepped back. “Are you okay?”
    His words broke the wonder of the moment. “I’m fine now.” My voice didn’t quiver, and I opened the passenger door to prove my point. “We’d better get going, before they send the posse after us.”
    A few minutes later, we were back at the house. Jenna and Dina worked in the kitchen, cubing the chicken. Cool, damp air carried spicy aromas from the grill, into the house. Jenna raised an eyebrow at our odd assortment of fruits and vegetables, but didn’t comment. Audie took on the task of chopping the araza for the salad. He handed each of us a piece to try it. It tasted a bit like banana.
    “We decided to create our own recipe,” I explained, stirring the fruit into the mix. “It’s a California A-plus Salad.”
    Dina giggled.
    “I like it.” Jenna shook olive oil and lemon juice in a cruet but left the Catalina dressing in the bottle. “No need to be fancy.” She did the honors of tossing the ingredients together in a huge ceramic bowl that she sent us from New Mexico one Christmas. Made by Native Americans, of course. I reminded her that Oklahoma prided itself on its Indian heritage. She had retorted that the Navajo and Apache cultures were very different.
    Before long we sat in our comfortable kitchen, the window open to let in the rain-cleansed air, mismatched silverware adding a family touch to the table. Dad stared at the fruit salad, searching his extensive bank of memorized proverbs for an appropriate quote. “The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life.”
    “Proverbs 11:30. I love the end of that verse. ‘And he who wins souls is wise.’ ” Audie could match Dad, verse for verse.
    Dad beamed. “Will you say the blessing, Audie?”
    Audie spoke a brief prayer, and we passed the salad.
    “You two disappeared after the concert,” Jenna said. “People wanted to get a picture of us, the three Wilde sisters together.”
    “Yeah. Maybe we could have used it as a publicity photo and gone on tour.” Dina giggled.
    I bit off the response to the outrageous suggestion that sat on the tip of my tongue. I knew Dina was joking. “We had to make a stop.” I saw no need to explain the conversation we had overheard between Chief Reiner and Cord. Audie took his cue from me and didn’t expand on my explanation.
    Jenna took a bite of the improvised salad. “Mmm, perfect. You’ll have to tell me the name of that fruit again. This is even better than my standard California salad recipe.”
    Dina heaped her plate full with salad and crisp French fries and her own specialty, flaky biscuits. She must be hungry after her appetite-deprived lunch. We addressed ourselves to