Zeke announced one morning in January. “I just got off the phone with her.” Carlin kept her expression calm, but panic squeezed her stomach. Libby! The famous, perfect Libby—here. In what was now Carlin’s domain. She couldn’t have been more terrified if the ranch were being invaded by the Huns. “That’s nice,” she managed to say. “When?” “Next week. I’ll pick her up at the bus stop in town.” Men. “Exactly when, next week? Monday? Thursday? I need to plan the meals, so I’ll have to time the grocery shopping.” That sounded reasonable, didn’t it? “And how long is she staying?” “A week, tops,” he replied, answering her second question first. “And she’ll be here on Tuesday.” Today was Thursday. She had five days to prepare. Suddenly, five weeks didn’t sound like enough time for all she had to do. The place had to be perfectly clean—good luck with that, considering she had to deal with Zeke the Laundry-Making Monster—and, please God, don’t let her burn anything when she was cooking!
