DeeDee sends the little boy and girl back onto the top step. I close my eyes and count backward from ten. I am not hot. I am not sweating profusely. I am not suffocating.

DeeDee and the photographer talk, and then DeeDee claps her hands. “Let’s do it again,” she calls. “And Shey, a little more expression. These are your grandbabies, and it is Christmas.”

The sweat slides down the small of my back. My cheeks feel tight, like a papier-mâché puppet’s. “You got it, DeeDee.”

I finish just before three-thirty, but it means I won’t be in Mineral Wells for another two hours and I’ll need Brick to pick up the boys. I call him and start to apologize for needing the favor, but he cuts me short, saying he’d planned on picking them up and was already in Mineral Wells at a feed store, so everything was under control.

“But how’d it go?” he asks. “Did you knock their socks off?”

I’m just starting my truck, and it’s hotter than hell inside after baking in the sun all day. I pause to scoop up my hair and twist it into a knot on top of my head, using one of the boys’ pencils to secure it in a bun. “They want me back tomorrow. We’re doing the making-holiday-cookies-with-Grandma shots then.”

“Holiday cookies with Grandma?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I’m Grandma.”

Brick barks a laugh, and I make a face as I pull away from the curb and head down the street. Blue’s house is just two blocks from here, and I’m not sure if I should swing past it to see if anyone is home or just head back to the ranch. “Do you know if Blue is out of town? I called him earlier to let him know I’m in the neighborhood but never heard back.”

“I don’t think he’s gone anywhere.”

“Think I should stop by?”

“Only if you want to listen to Emily moan about how hard her life is, and how Blue hasn’t amounted to anything.”

Brick likes everybody, but even he finds Blue’s demanding wife exasperating. Emily comes from old Dallas money, and although Blue has made some serious dough during their marriage, it’s still not enough for her. She wants Blue to be like her daddy, and unfortunately he’s not. Blue’s just a millionaire, not a billionaire.

I stretch, try to get more comfortable as I’m still wired from the shoot. “I’ll head home, then. I should be there around five if traffic isn’t too bad.”

“You might want to stop somewhere and do some shopping instead of coming straight back.”

“Why?”

“Because once I get the boys home, I’m going to have them help me with some chores. They probably won’t like it and they’ll probably bitch and you’ll get all worked up. Better you let me handle it.”

My anxiety returns. “What kind of chores?”

“Basic ranch chores, Mama Bear. Stacking hay bales. Unloading feed sacks. Shoveling manure. Cleaning out the water troughs.