Excerpt of Outlaw Mountain by J.A. Jance

Chapter One
Easing the porch swing back and forth, thirty-year-old
Sheriff Joanna Brady closed her green eyes and let the
warmth of an early-November Sunday afternoon caress her
body. Nearby, on the top step, sat Joanna's best friend
and pastor, the Reverend Marianne Maculyea of Canyon
United Methodist Church. Without speaking for minutes at a
time, the two women watched their respective children-
Joanna's eleven-year-old Jennifer and Marianne's three-
year-old Ruth-at play.

Both sets of mothers and daughters were studies in
contrast. Joanna's red hair was cut short in what Helen
Barco at Helene's Salon of Hair and Beauty called a figure-
skater cut. On this Sunday afternoon, Marianne's long dark
hair was pulled back in a serviceable ponytail. Jenny's
fair, blue-eyed face was surrounded by a halo of tow-
headed white hair while Ruth's shiny black pageboy gleamed
in the warm autumn sun.

The last week in October, a surprisingly fierce cold snap
had visited southeastern Arizona, bringing with it a
frigid rain that had threatened to drown out most of
Bisbee's Halloween trick-or-treating. Two days later, when
bright sunlight reemerged, the cottonwood, apple, and
peach trees on High Lonesome Ranch seemed to have changed
colors overnight. In the sunny days and crisp nights
since, dying leaves had drifted from their branches and
had fallen to earth, carpeting the yard in a thick mantle
of gold, red, rust, and brown.

For little Ruth, recently rescued from life in a desolate
Chinese orphanage, the crackly, multicolored leaves were a
source of incredible wonder and delight. Together the two
girls raked great mounds of leaves into piles, then dived
into them with a chorus of shrieks alternating with
giggles.

For a while both of Jenny's dogs-Sadie, a bluetick hound,
and Tigger, a comical-looking half pit bull/half golden
retriever-had joined in. When Sadie tired of the game, she
retreated to the relative quiet of the porch along with
Joanna and Marianne. With a sigh, the dog lay down on the
top step and placed her smooth, floppy-eared head in
Marianne's lap. Tigger, however, continued to throw
himself into the festivities with all the antic energy of
a born clown.

On Jenny's command to "stay," the dog, quivering with
eager anticipation, would lie perfectly still and allow
himself to be covered with a mound of leaves. When Jenny
shouted "okay," the dog would erupt from the leaves, tuck
his tail between his legs, and then race around the yard
as though pursued by a pack of ravenous coyotes.

Each time the game was repeated, Ruth clapped her hands in
childish delight. "Again, Jenny," she crowed. "Do again!"

Watching the simple game and enjoying the gales of gleeful
laughter, Joanna Brady found herself nodding and smiling.
She was about to comment on the beautiful afternoon and on
the two girls' unrestrained joy. When she looked in
Marianne's direction, however, she saw a single tear snake
its way down her friend's solemn face. Seeing that tear,
Joanna opted for silence. For the space of another minute
or so, neither woman said a word while Marianne's hand
absently stroked Sadie's soft, velvety muzzle.

"What is it, Mari?" Joanna asked finally. The question
wasn't really necessary because Joanna knew exactly what
the problem was. In August, Marianne's other newly adopted
daughter-Esther, Ruth's twin sister-had died of
complications following heart-transplant surgery. It
seemed certain to Joanna that watching two little girls at
play on this warm, jewel-clear afternoon had reopened
Marianne's aching wound.

Joanna Brady herself was no stranger to the grieving
process. The death of her husband, Andy, had thrown her
own life into a personal hell of pain and loss. She
understood how a perfect moment in a gemlike day could
darken and then be dashed to pieces by the sudden
realization that someone else was missing from the
picture, that a certain loved one wasn't present to share
that special moment. At times like these, the perfection
of the present would fade to a muddy gray, shrouded behind
an impenetrable fog of hurt. Watching one daughter at
play, Marianne had no doubt been stricken by a terrible
longing for the other child, one who wasn't there and
never would be again.

Convinced that she knew exactly what was going on with
Marianne, Joanna was confused when, after another minute
or so, she heard her friend's clipped response. "I'm going
to quit," Marianne said.

At first Joanna didn't make the connection. "Quit what?"
she asked.

"The ministry," Marianne replied. "I'm going to resign
effective immediately."

Somehow Joanna managed to stifle her gasp of
dismay. "Surely you don't mean that!" she said at last.

"I do," Marianne said determinedly. "I've never meant
anything more in my life. My letter of resignation is all
written. It's sitting in the computer waiting to be
printed. There's a church council meeting on Wednesday
evening. I'll probably turn it in then."

Stunned, Joanna fell silent. Through the turmoil following
Andy's death, Marianne Maculyea and her husband, Jeff
Daniels, had been never-failing sources of comfort and
support. With their help and encouragement, Joanna had
slowly battled her way back to emotional stability. They
had walked her through months of painful grieving-through
the inevitable stages of denial and anger-until she has at
last achieved a measure of acceptance.

That summer, when tragedy had visited her friends in the
form of Esther's death, Joanna had done her best to return
the favor. She had strived to provide the same kind of
understanding and strength for them that they had given
her. Now, Joanna realized that her efforts had fallen
short. She must not have done enough. Why else would
Marianne be sitting on the front porch, basking in the
warm afternoon sunlight, and drowning in despair?