The Widows of Wichita County. Jodi Thomas

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      A special thank you to…

      My two coffee drinking buddies at the donut stop

       who told me tales of the early oil days and set the background for this story. Thanks Norman Dysart and Bob Izzard. I love you both.

      Thanks to a wonderful professor and nurse at

       West Texas A&M University who spent one rainy afternoon teaching me about burns. Thanks, Debra Davenport.

      To Jay Wilson, a friend and a pharmacist

       who answered endless questions. Thanks Jay.

      To Natalie Bright and the wonderful ladies of the

       Desk and Derrick Club. Thanks for your support.

      A special thanks to my cheerleaders in Houston

       who’ve been with me from the first as I told stories of books to come. Thanks TESA ladies.

      To the Panhandle Plains Historical Museum and to

       Cornette Library on the West Texas A&M University campus. Thanks for giving me a home.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Begin Reading

      Prologue

      The last day of August

       Clifton Creek, Texas

      Randi Howard pressed the fold in the marriage license with one long ruby-red fingernail and slipped it into her huge leather purse.

      “Good luck with this one,” the clerk said without smiling. “Sorry we misspelled your name and you had to come pick up another copy.”

      Randi waited for her to add, “see you again in a few years,” or “I’ll remember it’s i next time around.” But the clerk moved away without another word.

      Suddenly in a hurry to leave the aging courthouse, Randi pivoted on the heels of her red boots, letting the fringe of her jacket fly. The place gave her the creeps; everything echoed off the scrubbed floors and pale marble.

      “There won’t be a next time,” she whispered to herself as she patted the license hidden away in her purse. “I swear on my mother’s grave—if she has one by now.”

      She hit the latch on the door at full speed, letting her long legs carry her straight into the wind and toward Jimmy’s truck parked half a block down at the café. He would be her salvation this time. He would live with her long enough for the glue of marriage to stick. She would be thirty in two years and she planned to be married, not looking for husband number four. At best, Jimmy would make her happy. At least, he would stay around.

      Which was more than she could say for the last two good old boys who had also swept her off the bar floor and into a wedding bed. By the time she’d changed the sheets, they were gone.

      But Jimmy had promised to give it a good try. He owned his own trailer home outright. He had a good job and a rich uncle. No one in town had a bad word to say about him and, in the three months they had lived together, he had not hit her once. That, for Randi, was some kind of record.

      She closed her eyes against the sting of the wind whirling dust devils across the West Texas parking lot. This time, if the marriage failed, she would have no one to blame but herself. Jimmy was solid and kind. He married her even after everyone in town tried to talk him out of it. He drank a little, but then she usually finished at least two beers by the time she spread on her makeup. And he loved her. At least she thought he did. He told her so once and once seemed enough.

      Randi slowed as she passed the long windows of the town’s only bank. Her image reflected back at her from the smoky glass. Wild red hair, too much eye liner for daylight, Western clothes cut tight to show off her endless legs and square shoulders. Randi smiled. She was a bar light beauty and she knew it.

      A woman inside the bank stepped to the window. For a moment, their images blended and both looked through the other. They stood, the smoky glass separating them, seeing only themselves.

      Randi blinked, almost crying out as the fine young woman’s expensive clothes and regal carriage mingled with her own frame. She wore breeding and grace for the first time in her life. For one instant, she saw another Randi, one that might have been or maybe one that might yet be. She saw a lady, not a throw away cowgirl who had to fight sometimes just for the right to keep breathing.

      Finally, Randi raised her gaze to the beautiful woman’s huge dark eyes.

      Truth delivered a solid kick in her gut.

      The lovely woman in the expensive clothes had looked at Randi and must have seen the same blending of images. She saw what she might become if she continued to live in Clifton Creek. Only unlike Randi’s pleasure, the lady appeared horrified.

      Unable to stare a second longer Randi ran toward the café, wiping tears she СКАЧАТЬ