CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SINCE HE KNEW the mayor’s big news was meant to annoy him, Boone struggled hard not to grin, punch the air with one fist and yell, YES!
He’d been looking for an excuse to fire Treat McQuillan since the day he’d taken office, and now the matter had been taken out of his hands by the gods of municipal government. Of course, McQuillan might turn out to be a bigger pain in the ass as police chief than he’d ever been as a sheriff’s deputy.
“Well,” Boone drawled, finding it extra difficult to maintain his straight face and, for that reason, not daring to glance in Becky’s direction, “I reckon that was bound to happen sooner or later. Is this going to be a one-man operation?”
Hale looked a mite let down at Boone’s reaction, or lack thereof. The old man loved a good ruckus, which tended to make for some lively town council meetings. “We’re starting out small,” the mayor said, bending to pat Scamp on the head and thus proving that even cantankerous curmudgeons have some good in them.
“How small?” Boone asked mildly. McQuillan with no backup would be worse, in terms of law enforcement efficiency, than no Parable Police Department at all.
Hale forgot about the dog, nodded tersely to Becky, who was, after all, a voter, and replied, “I’ve given Treat leave to hire three men, all of them part-time, at least at the beginning.” He paused to swell up a little, like a rooster smack in the middle of a flock of hens. “Unlike many communities—or even the U.S. government, I dare say—Parable’s budget boasts a sizable surplus. Our first priority is to build a facility, and a committee will be duly appointed to oversee construction.”
Boone hoped the mayor wasn’t fixing to ask if the new police department could share his office and jail cells in the interim, for two reasons. First, it would suck, bumping shoulders with Treat McQuillan all day every day and, second, because this was the county courthouse, not the town hall. “You have a site picked out?” he asked, idly tapping a file folder against the palm of his left hand.
“We do,” Hale replied, looking pride-swollen again. “Thanks to those damn vandals who tore down the water tower—and don’t think I’m going to let that go, Boone, because I’m not—we’re all set. Groundbreaking will be within a month.”
“And in the meantime...?” Boone ventured. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Becky sitting up very straight in her office chair, ears practically perked forward, she was listening so carefully.
“Treat and the others can work out of my study until their own building is ready,” Hale said. He paused and looked Boone straight in the eye, as if daring him to counter what he meant to say next. “In the event someone requires detainment, we’ve asked the county commissioner for permission to borrow one of your empty cells.” Another pause. “They’re empty most of the time, anyhow.”
Boone’s jaw tightened a little, for he knew what the old coot was implying: that there were all kinds of criminals running loose in Parable County, courtesy of the sheriff’s department’s—his—low arrest rate. He’d be a fool to take the bait, though, and since the mayor already had the county commissioner on his side, there was no real point in arguing.
It galled him, though, to know that McQuillan, that pompous ass, would soon be swaggering around town, flashing his badge and locking up everybody who jaywalked or spit on the sidewalk, and right here in his jail.
“Parable County has a very low crime rate,” Becky put in snappishly, rising to Boone’s defense. She was undependable and not all that efficient in her office skills, but at least she was loyal. “Thanks to Sheriff Boone Taylor and his deputies.”
Boone made a mental note to send Becky flowers on Secretary’s Day—whenever that was. His office assistant usually just skipped the middleman—Boone himself—and ordered her own bouquet at county expense.
“Of course I’ll have to replace Deputy McQuillan,” he said, all business. As if the local paperboy couldn’t have done a better job than good ole Treat. “When can I post the employment notice on the county website?”
Boone hoped he hadn’t sounded too eager; it would be just like Hannibal Hale to prolong McQuillan’s hiring process just to spite his favorite adversary.
“I’m sure you’ll want Deputy McQuillan to give at least two weeks’ notice,” Hale said. For the first time since he’d blown into Boone’s office like a dust devil off the prairie, he didn’t seem all that confident.
“I wouldn’t want to hold up the process,” Boone said generously, at last allowing himself to grin. “Your Honor, Treat McQuillan is all yours, with my compliments.”
And my sympathies.
* * *
“IT’S HARD TO BELIEVE I used to live here, isn’t it?” Kendra said with a slight smile as she and Joslyn and Tara pulled up in front of Casey Elder’s mansion in Tara’s vehicle just before noon. Shea, having the day off from her job at the community center’s day care facility, had taken Elle and Erin over to Three Trees to have lunch and see a movie, while the Carmodys’ new nanny, Bella, looked after Madison and little Shannon out at Whisper Creek Ranch.
Joslyn smiled, a little wistfully, Tara thought. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about myself,” she said.
Tara shut off the SUV and gave both of them a look. Joslyn had grown up in the elegant monstrosity, still known as the Rossiter house back then, and Kendra and her first husband, Jeffrey, had eventually purchased the place and moved in. “Guess that makes me odd woman out,” Tara teased, pretending to envy the others. “I’m the only woman in our friendly foursome who’s never lived in this house.”
Joslyn made a comical face as she climbed out of the backseat and stood on the sidewalk, looking slender and cool in her summery yellow cotton dress and sleek sandals. Kendra, who was probably a walloping ten pounds overweight, post-baby, wore a pink-and-white-striped caftan that would be too big for her in another week or two.
“Poor Miss Penthouse Overlooking Central Park,” Joslyn joked good-naturedly. “You’ve been so deprived. Stick with us, kiddo, and we’ll show you how the fancy folks roll.”
Tara laughed, though with anyone else, she probably would have retorted that the penthouse had never really been her home—it had always belonged to James. It was still a sore spot, she realized. Before she could think of a comeback, though, Casey appeared on the porch.
Tiny, with cascades of naturally red hair, now pinned up in a bulky ponytail, and impossibly green eyes, the famous singer looked almost ordinary in pressed jeans and a royal-blue silk shirt. Her feet were bare and her two cats, both coal-black and fluffy, curled around her ankles, purring wildly. Part of a litter born to Joslyn’s near-human feline, Lucy-Maude, they bore no resemblance whatsoever to their mother, nor to the three other kittens from the batch, all of whom had gone to loving homes.
Joslyn, in charge of finding families for Lucy-Maude’s thriving offspring, wouldn’t have had it any other way.
“Howdy!” Casey called out, paying the cats no mind. “Come on in, ladies, the coffee’s on and lunch is almost ready!”
With that soft Texas accent of hers, she could have been standing in front of a log cabin or a remote ranch house instead of the fanciest home in Parable County, Montana. Casey’s down-to-earth ways, like her wholesome looks and her staggering talent for music in any form, were part of her charm—and charm was something she had aplenty. Men liked her, and so did women, children and all manner of critters.
Tara, Joslyn and Kendra all waved back, juggling purses and shutting doors, and then stepped through the gate and headed single file up the front walk.
Joslyn was carrying a big bouquet of roses, red and yellow and white, plucked from her garden out at Windfall Ranch. “Opal says hello,” she said, mounting the front steps and handing the flowers to Casey. “Coals to Newcastle,” she added, “since you’ve got one of the most amazing gardens I’ve ever seen.”
Casey waved off the compliment and readily accepted the roses, cradling them in her arms like a beauty queen. “I was hoping Opal could join us,” she said, after taking an appreciative sniff of the bouquet. “And, by the way, there’s no such thing as too many flowers.”
“Opal has a hot date with the Reverend Dr. Walter Beaumont,” Joslyn replied with a twinkle. “Though she claims it’s just business as usual, overseeing choir practice and helping to compile the new church directory.”
Just then, the cats bolted, zipping into the shrubbery near the front door in pursuit of unsuspecting prey, and Casey stepped back, gesturing for her three visitors to precede her inside.
The entryway was massive, with light spilling through magnificent skylights high overhead, but the house might have been a split-level rancher for all the heed Casey seemed to pay to its grandeur.
Three chocolate Labrador retrievers, all adopted, dashed up the spectacular stairway, right behind Casey’s son, twelve-year-old Shane, and her daughter, Clare, who was thirteen. The dogs barked loudly and the kids laughed, egging them on.
“Try to pretend you’re civilized,” Casey called after the stampede with feigned exasperation. “We have company, in case you two haven’t noticed!”
“Sorry, Mom,” Clare shouted over the din, which subsided as the pack reached the second floor and headed for parts unknown.
Casey shook her head. “Those kids,” she said, but she was smiling the whole time, and her eyes were soft with love. “They learned their manners from the roadies and the guys in the band, I guess. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken them on the road with me so often, but, darn, I couldn’t just leave them for weeks at a time.”
“They’re wonderful,” Tara said, meaning it. Shane and Clare were bright, friendly and intelligent, as well as full of mischief, and despite Casey’s remark about their manners, they addressed men as “sir” and women as “ma’am,” among other unusual acts, like opening doors and carrying heavy things without being asked.
Which was not to say Casey’s life, or the lives of her children, were the proverbial open books. Though she was officially a part of their group, Casey had still had her secrets—no small feat, given that the tabloids and stringers from numerous trash TV shows featured her often, showing no particular compunction to tell the truth, and were constantly on the prowl for the next scandal—and those secrets mainly centered around her children.
Though she had never been married, Casey’s name had been romantically linked with various men in the music industry over the years. She’d gone into seclusion for both pregnancies, and she flat-out wasn’t saying who the father or fathers were.
Given that Tara hadn’t shared much of her past until recently, close as she’d been to Kendra and Joslyn, she wasn’t inclined to judge—or pry. Casey would confide in them when and if she was ready, and that was good enough for everybody. Intimacy mattered in their four-way friendship, but so did privacy.
After crossing through the massive and sparkling clean kitchen, Tara saw that the table had been beautifully set on the screened-in sunporch at the back of the house, overlooking glorious gardens and a charming little guesthouse, where Joslyn had lived briefly before her marriage to Slade Barlow. The uniformed housekeeper, Doris, greeted them with a smile and a tray of rolled-up washcloths, steaming hot, cheery as a flight attendant in first class.
Everybody took one, wiped their hands, and set the cloth back on Doris’s tray to be whisked away.
“Have a chair, you all,” Casey commanded warmly. “Let’s get the iced tea—and the girl-talk—flowing.”
The chairs were fashioned of white wrought iron, and the cushions were as brightly colored as the gardens outside, as though someone had captured samples of zinnias and roses, daisies and ferns, and woven them right into the fabric.
They sat, and Tara took a moment to admire the china place settings, each piece rimmed in exquisitely painted morning glories, and the crystal glasses twinkled as if there were tiny fairy lights hidden in their stems.
She sighed with contentment and almost instantly relaxed.
“Everybody in Parable appreciates what you’re doing for the McCullough family, Casey,” Kendra said with quiet sincerity. A cool and classically beautiful blonde, she made an intriguing contrast to her husband’s rough-and-tumble cowboy ways. “Lending them your jet—putting on benefit concerts—you are truly and totally amazing.”
“Here, here,” agreed Joslyn and Tara in unison, lifting their ice-filled glasses in a toast, though the tea hadn’t been poured yet.
Casey blushed slightly. “I’m not the only one helping out,” she said modestly. “Opal’s church is planning at least one event, and some folks from the community center are gearing up to build wheelchair ramps at Patsy’s place, and widen some of the doorways, too.”
“Still,” Tara insisted. “You’re making an incredible contribution, and you deserve some credit.”
Casey’s hand shook a little as she reached for the handle of a crystal pitcher, filled with brown tea and slices of lemon, and her smile wobbled slightly on her full lips. “I’m no stranger to trouble myself,” she said, very quietly, not looking at any of the other women as she filled their glimmering glasses. “Besides, I’ve been so blessed in my life that giving back is the least I can do.”
“You’ve been blessed,” Kendra agreed gently, “but you’ve also worked very, very hard, and you have a great deal of talent.”
Casey seemed to relax a little, putting down the pitcher and sweeping up her guests in a single friendly glance tinged with amusement. “You know what my old granddaddy used to say about talent?” she began. “It’s not worth a heap of rusted bottle caps if you don’t work like hell to develop it.”
Doris reappeared just then, serving them each a luscious salad, sprinkled with fruit and walnuts and dried cranberries, before slipping away again.
Casey called a quiet “thanks” after the middle-aged woman, then picked up her fork and said, “There goes one of my biggest blessings. Doris runs this whole outfit—she’s like a mama to me and a grandmama to the kids. She even fusses over the band and the road guys.”
“Who would have thought there could be two Opals in the world?” Joslyn smiled.
“Amen to that,” Kendra agreed. “If they ever joined forces, it would be the end of war, poverty and tabloid talk shows.”
Everybody laughed, and the conversation turned to the “girl-talk” Casey and the rest of them had been anticipating all along.
There was no agenda—another refreshing thing, to Tara’s mind—and nobody mentioned her “date” with Boone Taylor, which was fine with her.
She still couldn’t believe she’d said yes, thereby opening a floodgate of disquieting possibilities—like sex with the cowboy sheriff. She’d never been much of a party girl—when it came to lovers, James and a grand total of two other men made up her entire dance card.
And she hadn’t wanted a one of them the way she wanted Boone Taylor.
She colored up at the images and sensations that practically swamped her then, and she ducked her head a little, concentrating on the delicious salad—a concoction of greens, feta cheese, walnuts and dried berries of some sort—and on not choking, thereby requiring the Heimlich maneuver.
Kendra and Joslyn clearly noticed, but neither one offered a comment.
Just one of the many reasons she loved her friends—though there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t grill her once they were all back in the SUV and driving away.
“Do you have another tour coming up soon?” Joslyn asked Casey after the second course, a cold pasta dish with pesto and pine nuts, had been served by the bustling Doris.
Casey shook her head. “I’m taking a year off,” she said. “At least where going on the road is concerned. I’ve parked the tour bus and given all the road people a long vacation with pay, though the band and the techs are living here, so we can rehearse and do some recording.”
It was common knowledge in Parable that Casey was in the process of converting the former wine cellar and recreation room downstairs into a state-of-the-art studio, complete with a small soundstage, specially designed computers and the latest digital equipment for making and transmitting videos. Folks weren’t overimpressed with her celebrity, admired though she was—movie stars and captains of various industries came and went, in both Parable and the neighboring town of Three Trees, buying or building spectacular hideaways and showing up only rarely to interact with the townspeople—but they were impressed by her down-home personality, small-town values and genuine interest in the community as a whole.
In addition, of course, that renovating meant a spate of regular paychecks, an important perk in an area mostly geared to raising cattle and the crops to feed them. Although all of the larger ranchers employed crews, the pickings were slim come winter, and there weren’t enough service jobs to go around.
Casey Elder was putting food on the tables of ordinary, hardworking people, without acting like Lady Bountiful in the process, as some of the out-of-towners did, and they not only liked her, they were grateful to her.
Dessert, again brought in by the tireless Doris, was orange sorbet, formed into perfect balls and decorated with a sprig of mint. After dessert came coffee made from freshly ground beans, and after the coffee, the party began to wind down.
Kendra said she needed to nurse the baby soon, and Madison would be getting out of her summer program over at the community center in under two hours.
Joslyn had a toddler at home, and she started glancing at her watch and saying, “Look at the time.”
Tara, with her stepdaughters at the movies with Shea, had no particular reason to hurry, unless you counted sweet, patient Lucy, who probably needed to go out, and the chickens, waiting for their sprinklings of poultry feed.
Everyone thanked Doris and, of course, Casey, as they took their leave. On the porch, Casey reminded them about the backstage party that would follow her benefit concert, saying they were all invited.
Maybe it was the reminder of the concert—Tara didn’t know. But as soon as she was behind the wheel of her SUV again, with Kendra riding in the back this time and Joslyn taking the shotgun seat, they took their opportunity.
“What are you planning to wear? On your date with Boone, I mean?” Joslyn inquired, sounding like a reporter at a presidential press conference rather than a close friend riding in the back of an SUV.
“Clothes,” Tara quipped, but the joke didn’t quite fly.
“Not for long, I’ll bet,” Kendra remarked, pleased as a cat just presented with a bowl of cream.
Tara reddened slightly as she pulled away from the curb in front of Casey’s place, honked a farewell to her, since she was still standing on the porch, waving goodbye. As full as her life was, with her glamorous career, her beautiful children and her rollicking band of cats and dogs, she looked strangely lonely standing there, watching as her lunch guests drove away.
“Just because you and Hutch could never keep your hands off each other,” Tara said sweetly, darting a brief glance in Kendra’s direction, “it doesn’t mean I’m planning on jumping Boone Taylor’s bones the minute we’re alone.”
Joslyn giggled and leaned forward to land a reassuring pat on Tara’s shoulder. “Chill out,” she said. “We’re on your side.”
“There are sides?” Tara asked fretfully, biting her lower lip. She headed for Windfall Ranch first, since Whisper Creek, Kendra and Hutch’s home, was nearer her farmhouse.
“Naive girl,” Kendra teased, almost purring. “There’s the male side, and the female side. And you can bet Team Boone—that would be Hutch and Slade—are coaching him to bring condoms and pour on the charm.”
“And you two are Team Tara?” Tara’s tone might have been a touch on the snarky side.
“Believe it,” Joslyn confirmed.
“Given that you both seem as invested in getting Boone and me into bed together at the earliest possible moment, I can’t really tell where one team ends and the other begins.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” said Kendra.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Tara shot back, navigating Parable’s homey side streets as she wound her way toward the highway.
“You sound like a nun,” Joslyn put in, straining at her seat belt as she leaned forward, her head poking between the two front seats. “Pardon me for saying so, but you’ve been through a pretty long dry spell, unless you’re keeping something from us. You must be beyond ready for some sweaty, sheet-tangling, OMG sex.”
“Is that how it is for you?” Tara asked, bemused. Had she missed something? With James, sex had been—well—nice. Soft orgasms, but never anything that twisted sweaty sheets into knots or made her cry out, Oh, my God!
“Better,” said Joslyn.
“By a long shot,” Kendra added.
“We haven’t even kissed,” Tara said, and then blushed again.
“You’re kidding,” Joslyn marveled.
“We didn’t exactly strike sparks when we met, you know,” Tara pointed out.
“Right,” Kendra scoffed, in a tone that might have been sarcastic if it hadn’t been so gentle.
“We were there, if you’ll recall,” Joslyn said. “He looked at you, you looked at him and fireworks lit the sky.”
They had passed beyond the Parable town limits by then, and Tara was relieved. Nothing but open road ahead of her. “Fireworks did not light the sky,” she said. “Unless you and Slade sparked them, or Kendra and Hutch. I was an innocent bystander, and Boone couldn’t have made it clearer what he thought of a New York city slicker in the chicken ranching business.”
“Kiss him,” Kendra suggested, without preamble.
Tara nearly drove off the road. “What?”
“Kiss Boone Taylor,” Joslyn contributed, from the backseat. “Just kiss him, and you’ll know.”
“Know what?” Tara bit out, blushing again. Were her two best friends so complacent in their admittedly red-hot marriages that they believed love—not that whatever she had with Boone was love, of course—would reveal itself through one simple kiss?
“Just kiss him,” Kendra urged.
“I dare you,” Joslyn added.
“Have I mentioned that you two are no help at all?” Tara retorted, flustered. Suddenly, just imagining what it would be like to kiss Boone Taylor made her warm all over—too warm—and she turned on the SUV’s powerful air-conditioning system with a poke of a button.
Kendra and Joslyn laughed.
“She’s got it bad,” Kendra said.
“Oh, yeah,” Joslyn agreed.
For her part, Tara was glad when she pulled into Joslyn and Slade’s driveway. Their house, recently renovated with a much bigger family in mind, rose majestically from a grassy rise. There was a new barn, and lots of horses wandering around in the pasture, which went on for acres and acres.
“Thanks for the lift home,” Joslyn said as Tara stopped the SUV near the house.
Joslyn and Slade’s dog, Jasper, rushed to meet her, as did Lucy-Maude, the cat, though she was more sedate in her exuberance.
Joslyn laughed, waved goodbye to Tara and Kendra, and bent to scoop up the big gray feline into her arms, nuzzling between its ears as she headed for the back door. Jasper jumped and yipped, overjoyed, at her side.
“Her life is perfect,” Tara mused, and then wished she hadn’t spoken aloud.
Kendra reached over to touch Tara’s arm. She’d been in a teasing mood before, but now she looked solemn and gentle and very tender. “No,” she said quietly. “But it’s very, very good, and yours can be that way, too, Tara. Give things a chance—give Boone a chance.”
Tara backed up the SUV, tooted her horn in farewell to Joslyn, even though she’d disappeared into the house by then, and made her way toward the main road at the base of the driveway. “Is there a reason why you and Joslyn are so convinced that Boone Taylor is the man for me?” she asked, her tone fretful and even a little impatient.
“Call it intuition,” Kendra replied, smiling softly as she nodded.
Tara needed a while to digest that one.
Twenty minutes later, with Kendra safely deposited at Whisper Creek Ranch, Tara headed for home. She had a few extra hours on her hands, with the twins off in Three Trees, eating lunch and catching a movie.
Once she’d reached her own place, Tara let Lucy out of the house to run wildly around the yard for a while, drunk on the celebration of freedom, checked on the chickens, watered and weeded the garden, and found herself with way too much time on her hands, anyway.
When Boone drove up, less than half an hour after she’d finished her chores, she was sitting on the front porch, sipping iced tea and watching Lucy make good-natured attempts at herding the chickens from one part of the yard to another.
She wasn’t having much success, silly dog, but she seemed to be enjoying the process, and the chickens must have known she was harmless, because they just went about their business.
Tara’s first reaction to Boone’s arrival was gut-clenching alarm. Had something happened to the twins, to Shea? An accident, maybe? Why else would the sheriff of Parable County be pulling into her yard at a little after two in the afternoon?
She stood up.
Boone, out of the cruiser by then, must have read her body language, because he raised a reassuring hand. “Nothing’s wrong, Tara,” he said, and she gave him a few points for being unexpectedly perceptive. “I just stopped by to ask if you’d be willing to donate some chickens for the fundraising event at Opal’s church—the one to help with some of the McCullough’s hospital bills.”
Tara put a hand to the hollow of her throat, still playing catch-up. She’d heard about the project through Joslyn, but for some reason, she did some mental stumbling—in the privacy of her own head, she hoped—Kiss him, she heard Joslyn say, a friendly challenge in her voice.
Kiss Boone Taylor, and you’ll know, Kendra had told her, in so many words.
Boone was standing at the foot of the porch steps by then, greeting an exuberant Lucy with a chuckle and some serious ear-ruffling.
“Are you okay?” he asked, watching Tara. There was a mischievous light in his eyes, and it got to her, as surely as if he’d reached out and stroked her cheek, traced the line of her lips with the pad of a calloused thumb, or even caressed one of her breasts.
She swallowed hard. “What are you doing here?”
Kiss him, kiss him. Then you’ll know.
That’s stupid.
Tara Kendall, you’re a coward.
The internal bantering—with herself, no less—rattled her even more.
“I just told you,” Boone replied, his voice low. “I came to ask for chickens.”
Tara blinked. “People would eat them?” she heard herself say, and in the next instant, she wanted to bite off her tongue. If Boone ever found out she’d never killed a single chicken, or even signed a figurative death warrant, he’d think she was a fraud—a tenderhearted, skittish female posing as a real farmer.
“That’s the general idea,” Boone said. Something flickered in his eyes—the beginnings of a grin, maybe? Was he on to her? “Is it a problem?”
Tara was a few moments catching her breath. Her heart skittered and she kept noticing that Boone’s shoulders were wide, his eyes a piercing brown, his hair dark and silken, inviting her to plunge her fingers into it.
That was when, as she would claim ever-after, the devil made her do it.
She launched herself at Boone Taylor, right from the top step of the porch, wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him. Hard.
He caught her in strong arms, rested his hands at either side of her waist, and kissed her right back, tentatively at first, but then with increasing boldness and a hunger that sent thrills rippling through every part of Tara. Soon, their tongues were involved and the sensations compounded themselves to the infinite power—each of them distinct and wildly delicious—and she uttered a little moan as Boone deepened the kiss.
OMG, Tara thought wildly, while the planet jolted off its axis. Oh. My. God.
This was so good.
This was so bad.
She was in so much trouble.
For all her native common sense, Tara knew there had been a mutiny—her body had wrested the controls from her mind, taken over.
She was vaguely conscious of Lucy, of Boone’s little dog, apparently content to remain in the cruiser, of the chickens pecking at the ground around her feet.
It was time to get a grip, stop herself, put down the mutiny and batten down the hatches.
Except that Boone kissed her again, and she was utterly lost.
When he finally tore his mouth from hers, he looked deep into her eyes, chuckled once, then turned her gently around, steering her over the threshold, leaving the door open to the summer afternoon.
She half pulled him up the stairs, along the hallway to her room.
This is crazy, prattled that voice in her head, feverish now, and flimsy. Stop, now!
No way, Tara thought, in direct response. This is it, and there’s no going back.