“The horse won. Not me.”
“You did good. I appreciate it all, Cotton.”
She stepped across the room and admired some of the paintings. He’d known her a long time. They’d been through so much together. He owed her more than he could ever repay. He also knew that she hadn’t come all the way to Italy because of the Pledge of Christ. Something else was wrong.
So he waited.
“What are you going to do about your supposed daughter?” she asked him.
“I’m still not sure. Maybe that ghost should be left undisturbed.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I’m not sure what I want. I’m still processing.”
“You know what I would do.”
He did. “And I’m leaning in that direction.”
“I have a problem, Cotton. A big one.”
Finally. To the point.
“I hate to ask. But I need your immediate help.”
His answer was never in doubt.
“You’ve got it.”
