The folks relived all the highlights of Kevin Allen's football games and decided his years on the team were the best they had seen. J. D. Whitworth moved from retired soldier to town hero and several wondered why they had never recognized him as such. There was talk of putting up a memorial.

And Davis Montano, Carlo would tell Anna over and over, was like a son to them all. Fifth generation in the town. And that is as deep as roots go in Clifton Creek. Not just four men died in that fire, Carlo would say, but a part of the town's heart burned that day as well.

Anna rode the fringes of the ranch in the sunny mornings that followed, but the memory of steel-toed shoes and cowboy boots washed over with mud remained in her thoughts. She found it odd that she could not remember a single man's face.

In the afternoons Anna escaped, as always, to her tiny studio that had once been a sunroom. There, amid neglected plants, she painted. She caught herself still hiding her work as if expecting Davis to stop by and criticize her at any moment. He hated the dark mood of her paintings. Now the mood seeped off the canvas and into her life.

Shelby Howard's son, Trent, was among those who came to see the ruins of the rig. He stopped at the house to tell her how sorry he was about Davis. Carlo insisted she talk to the man. After all, Trent was Shelby's only son and the two families were forever connected by the tragedy.

Trent opened the conversation by informing her that the explosion and fire were not related to anything Howard Drilling had done. He implied the sheriff suspected no foul play, but when she questioned him about the reasons for the fire, he did not seem to have enough information or knowledge to say more.

Trent reminded Anna of a buzzard with his thin frame and long nose. She played a game she had found helpful around most American men. Anna acted as though she did not understand the language, so he had to spend most of his time talking to her brother. In truth, except for a slight stutter, Anna had spoken four languages fluently by the time she was eighteen, but by then she had discovered that most men were not worth talking to.

The few men her father had allowed her to date while she was home on school vacations were usually the sons of old friends. They talked of horses and little else.

Only two people called before Davis's funeral. Randi Howard, to say she would be leaving town sooner than expected. She planned to stay until all the husbands were buried, but she'd heard of a job offer in Memphis and did not want it to slip away.

"Everyone knows Memphis is as good a place as Nashville to become a star." She laughed a little too loud. "I'll sing my way across the state."

Anna agreed with her just to be kind.

Randi had Jimmy cremated the morning after the accident. He wanted no service, and since he always talked of traveling someday, she put his ashes in the glove compartment of her Jeep and figured she would take him to Memphis with her.

Anna promised to keep in touch, but she had a feeling she would never see Randi again. Randi was a cowgirl who had probably never ridden a horse, and Anna was a horsewoman who had never danced the two-step. A stranger might think them alike, but here in ranch country they were polar opposites.

Helena Whitworth was another story. She called every morning. Anna attended J.D.'s graveside service at dawn two days after the accident. The ceremony carried full military honors. Half the town surrounded the tent staked over a grave where the dirt and the grass were the same color. Many cried, but Helena sat so still and silent she could have been one of the statues in the cemetery. Not a white hair out of place. Not the hint of a tear on her cheek.

The next day, Helena returned the kindness by sitting behind Anna at Davis's funeral.

It amazed Anna how many people came to Davis's service. In the five years she had been here, she had met very few who called him friend, yet the townspeople missed work to pay their respects.

Flowers lined the small Catholic church, making the air musty and damp. The incense and candles reminded Anna of the smell of the fire. She fought not to gag as she waited for the service to be over.

Carlo sat beside her, weeping openly during the entire funeral. She might have lost a husband, but he lost his brother-in-law, friend and boss. Being ten years older than she, Carlo slipped easily into the father role. Anna let him, glad to have someone take care of details.

Though he saw no need to tell her of ranch business, he did mumble complaints about Trent Howard as they waited in the family room. Carlo said Trent didn't want to bother with a full investigation. Accidents were just a part of the oil business, he said.

In Italian, Carlo ranted about how he would insist on the sheriff looking into every detail. After all he would not allow Davis's name to be smeared in any way. If the sheriff found someone responsible for the deaths, Carlo swore he would see that they paid even if he had to kill them himself.

Anna was pleased when Helena lingered after the service, for she dreaded the ride back to the ranch with Carlo. Though the women were almost forty years apart in age, they bore their grief in the same way. Silent. Without tears.

Anna had parked her car downtown in the bank's garage so after the graveside service, she rode with Helena to the hospital to visit Shelby. Carlo offered to go with them, but looked relieved when Helena stepped in and said she would look after Anna. He quickly backed away, mumbling about all the work that had to be done before dark. Funeral or not, he had a ranch to run.

As they crossed the town, Helena talked of how nice Kevin Allen's funeral had been in the big, new Baptist church. Every student Meredith had ever taught must have been in attendance. The bank employees were all pallbearers. His old high school football team sat together.

Anna barely remembered Kevin's funeral. She and Carlo had arrived a few minutes late because Carlo insisted on driving her. They sat at the back of the church, unable to hear. Anna was glad to know the funeral was nicer from Helena's view near the front. She had a feeling doing everything right might be important to Meredith Allen.

When they entered the hospital ten minutes later, Helena straightened her shoulders and walked right past the No Visitors sign. Anna followed, her head down.

Two nurses watched from the desk, but did not say a word.

A middle-aged woman in white met them at Shelby's door. Anna knew the moment she spoke that the woman was not from Clifton Creek. Though she had the same accent as Helena, the nurse did not know the town's great lady. No one, not even Anna, who kept to herself, could live in Clifton Creek and be unaware of Helena Whitworth.

The nurse introduced herself as Marge Landry from Parkland's Burn Unit. She explained that they could stay only a moment and must not pass a curtain dividing the room unless they planned to put on masks and scrubs. Her disapproval was evident. "No one…no germs can be allowed in," she ended. "There should be a glass, not just this thin curtain."

They walked silently into Shelby's room. Crystal slept in an old, armless recliner pulled close to a curtain blocking most of the area from view. Her hand held the cotton divider like a child holds a security blanket.

The nurse cleared her throat, and Crystal jumped awake. "Any change?" she asked as she blinked sleep away.

"No," Nurse Landry answered with a great deal more kindness than she had shown Helena and Anna. "You have company. I'll get back to the patient." She disappeared behind the curtain.

Crystal stood, rubbing her eyes. "Shelby's been so quiet, I must have fallen asleep."

Anna almost did not recognize Crystal. Her eyes were puffy and black-rimmed, her hair dull and dirty, her clothes wrinkled gray rags. It seemed impossible that a woman could change so drastically in four days. The day of the accident Crystal could have been a model for workout clothes in her brightly colored outfit. Now, the sweatshirt and baggy pants she wore looked as if they belonged to someone several sizes larger.

"Thank you for coming." Her voice sounded hoarse. "We've seen very little change in him, but he's still alive, thanks mostly to Nurse Landry. She came in from Dallas by car when the storm delayed the helicopter. When she learned he wouldn't be moved, I talked her into staying a few days. She got us tons of equipment and special private duty nurses coming in for twelve-hour shifts. She may look all starch and proper, but she's an angel for sure."

Helena hugged Crystal for a long while without saying a word.

Anna could do nothing but stare at the glimpses of Shelby through a break in the curtain. Tubes came out of him in several places. The exposed skin was the red of a horrible sunburn. Some places looked black beneath the light covering of cotton and others as white as ash. A thick tube ran out his mouth past lips swollen several times their normal size.

"I can't leave him," Crystal moaned as she noticed Anna watching through the tiny slice of light. "The hospital lets me sleep out here since this is a makeshift ICU room. As long as I stay out of their way while they check on him, I can remain."

Helena moved closer and whispered, "He's so swollen. I can't even tell it's Shelby. His eyes look completely shut."

"W-will he live?" Anna asked, as gently as she could.

Crystal nodded. "Nurse Landry says as long as there's a heartbeat, there's hope. There may be damage to his spine. but right now he has more serious problems to worry about. The doctor thinks he may have had his back turned to the explosion. But the fire burned both sides."

"One of the workers from the rig stopped by yesterday. He'd been burned on his face and hands trying to help after the explosion. He said Jimmy ordered all the field workers to take a break. They had headed for the cooler of beer in Shelby's trunk when the accident happened."

"Of the five men left on the platform, Shelby's the only one who survived, but there could have been more killed if the workers had been close by."

She lifted her head forcing words out. "He's been resting quietly since they degloved him. They must have finally given him enough drugs to let him sleep."

"He was wearing gloves?" Anna asked a moment before the horror of what Crystal meant sank into her mind. They had removed dead skin as completely as if they pulled ofl a glove.

Panic climbed up Anna's spine. None of this was real. Not the fire she had watched in the distance. Not the hospital wait. Not the funeral. It was only part of a play she had been acting in for years. She knew all the parts: act happy, act interested, act as if you are loved. But the man dying only a few feet away made everything real. She spent a lifetime not feeling and suddenly, with this stranger, she knew his pain. She smelled it in the air, heard it in the drone of the machines, saw it in the agonizing way he fought not to move as he breathed.

Anna concentrated on Crystal, staring at the young woman's shaking hands, memorizing every detail as only an artist would. Slowly, like water trickling through her body,

She forced the horror of the fire and Shelby's burns to the side and once more stepped onto her own private little stage. The whispers of the pain that circled in the corners of her mind threatened to come forward and haunt any peace proclaimed. The thoughtful scenes she painted in her imagination grew cloudy.

Crystal took a long breath. "I have to be here when he comes to. 'Course, he can't talk with that ventilator down his throat, but I figure he'll know I'm close."

"I understand," Helena whispered. "You do what you think is right, child. Don't let anyone push you around, even this nurse."

Crystal smiled. "Thanks. I needed someone to say that. But Nurse Landry has been great. She's about the only one who seems to know I'm here. The others just walk around me."

While they watched, Shelby's fingers twitched, as if feeling along the bed for something.

Crystal grabbed her scrubs. In seconds, she had put on all the gear and rushed to his side. "What is it, honey?" she whispered close to his ear.

His bandaged fingers found her hand and closed around it slightly.

"I'm right here." Tears filled her eyes. "I'm right here."

She looked back at Helena and Anna. "He likes to hold my hand when the pain's bad. It calms him if I talk to him. Funny, before the accident, I don't remember him ever more than half listening to anything I had to say, but now he seems to want me to talk."

Helena glanced around the private room with eyes as sharp as a health inspector. "You'll need a more comfortable chair. If the hospital doesn't have one, I'll send one out."