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Belle lifted the camera to her eye again and shot something arty through the flames of the campfire. Jack used that moment to plead he had business elsewhere. He escaped, leaving Belle and me alone.

“How long have you been taking pictures?’’ I asked, making conversation.

She turned and shot another frame of me, then lowered the camera. It dangled from a strap around her neck.

“As long as I can remember,’’ she said. “Photography has always been my escape valve. Whenever anything was going wrong in my life, I’d get my gear and head for the woods. I’ve always been able to lose myself behind the viewfinder.’’

I could relate. Shooting photos must be Belle’s version of tossing rocks into the water.

“I’d love to get a picture of you with your family, Mace. Would you mind?’’

I hesitated. I’m not a big fan on my best day of having my picture taken. But she was making an effort. What was I going to say? No?

When I didn’t answer immediately, Belle said, “Listen, Mace. I know you don’t like me very much.’’

I started to protest, but she held up a hand. “I can tell, and it’s all right. You can’t be friends with everyone. I just want to make sure you don’t dislike me for the wrong reason.’’ She paused. “You know, there’s nothing going on between Carlos and me.’’

Now she had my attention.

“It’s just that he’s a good listener,’’ she continued, “and I’ve been so sad. It helps to talk to somebody else who’s been through an awful loss. You know about his wife, right?’’

I nodded.

“He’s a good man, Mace. And he’s still hurting. You ought to cut him a break.’’

I was too surprised to speak.

She lifted the camera back to her eye and smiled slightly as she snapped off three or four quick pictures. I looked where she aimed, and saw a teen-aged cowboy flirting with a pretty girl. He was teasing her with a blackened marshmallow on a stick. Their young faces were laughing, and rosy in the firelight.

“Nice photo,’’ I said, thinking of Carlos and me eating S’mores.

“Yep,’’ she said. “That’ll be a good one. Happy times.’’

We sat in silence for a few moments. Her eyes never stopped roaming, looking for scenes she could capture. I wondered how it would feel to have that kind of talent, to know instinctively what would make a good picture. Whenever somebody asked me to take a snapshot, I always aimed wrong and cut off significant body parts.

I reconsidered posing for her with Mama and my sisters. Belle was a professional, with her photos on exhibit in fancy galleries in Stuart and Palm Beach. It might be nice to have a memory of us together on the Cracker Trail. No telling when we’d ever make the ride again.

“Belle,’’ I finally said, “I’d be honored if you’d take my family’s picture.’’

I was rewarded with a smile that transformed her somber face into something approaching happy. “Glad to do it. And I’ve got another idea, too.’’

I raised my eyebrows.

“I’ll get some shots of you and Carlos.’’

“I don’t really think . . .’’

“I won’t take no for an answer. From you, or from him. Trust me. It’s a great way to get the two of you back together. I’m good at this. I can make anybody comfortable in front of a camera. You two will forget I’m even there. You’ll be laughing and fooling around before you know it.’’

“I’m not sure . . .’’

“We’ll do it in the morning,’’ she cut me off, “before the ride starts. The light will be perfect. You two will be perfect. You’ll see.’’

Belle was so determined, I ended up agreeing to meet her by the mule wagons before breakfast. She said she’d handle getting Carlos to show up. I was blown away by this side of Belle. She made Maddie the Bulldozer look reticent.

Within fifteen minutes, Belle was moving Mama and the rest of us around, instructing us to relax. Which, of course, was the cue for us to do anything but. Mama primped. Marty fastened her eyes on the ground. Maddie looked annoyed at being told what to do. I clenched my jaw into a smile that felt more like a grimace.

“This isn’t working, y’all.’’ Belle sighed. “Mace, you look like the governor just signed your execution order. Marty, honey, you’re a beautiful girl. Don’t you ever look anybody in the eyes? And Rosalee, I’m shooting old school, with black-and-white film. No digital, no color. Nobody will know whether you have one coat on or six of that orange lipstick.’’

Mama snapped shut her compact and returned her tube of Apricot Ice to her pocket. Maddie gave an exasperated sigh. Belle told us to go ahead and sit down while she thought of another way to get us to pose without looking like somebody’s prisoners. Just then, Sal returned, with desserts for all of us.

“Oooooh.’’ Mama lifted her hands and squealed. “Butterscotch pie. My favorite.’’

Whir, snap!

Maddie took a plate and handed Marty and me one. We all dug in.

Whir, snap!

“That’s perfect,’’ Belle fired off frame after frame, her face shining with glee. “Now, y’all look like a family!’’

Figures food would be the secret ingredient to get us all to relax.

___

The air was growing colder; the evening winding down. After she took what seemed like an album’s worth of pictures, Belle went off, alone, with her camera. We’d finished dessert.

Carlos hadn’t returned to the campfire. I pictured him lurking outside the interview trailer. He was probably making himself crazy over how badly Sheriff Roberts’ deputies were bungling the investigation into Doc Abel’s shooting. I hoped that, in at least one tiny corner of his brain, he was chewing over that image of me looking skyward with Jack Hollister. I wondered how Belle’s plan would go to get Carlos and me back together, at least inside a picture frame.

“That was some camera Belle had around her neck.’’ Sal tossed his toothpick into the fire, and extracted a fresh one from his neon-blue breast pocket. “Must have cost a fortune.’’

Maddie edged her boots closer to the campfire. “It’s not like the Bramble family can’t afford it.’’

“Still,’’ Mama said, “you’d think she’d want to take better care of it. When I saw her before, she had it protected inside a leather case that hung around her neck. Suppose she hit the camera against something, or dropped it? There goes a couple hundred dollars.’’

“More like a thousand, with that special lens,’’ Sal said. “My son’s into photography. It’s an expensive hobby.’’

“I don’t think it’s a hobby with Belle,’’ I said, remembering how shooting pictures had transformed her. “I think it’s more than that.’’

Later, on our way to Maddie’s tent, we decided to swing by the dinner site. My sisters and I were still curious about Johnny Adams and that “burn’’ on his hand. If we saw him, I planned to flat-out ask him if he’d been stung by some bees.

Our secondary goaclass="underline" Seeing if we could scare up another slice or two of butterscotch pie before bed.

As we drew closer to the food trailer, I heard murmured voices. They were almost drowned out by the loud hum of the generator. But it sounded like a man and a woman.

I held up my hand to my sisters to stop, and put a finger to my lips. They cocked their heads to listen, and we crept closer.

The site was spic and span, not a stray utensil or slice of pie in sight. Everything looked cleaned and closed up for the night. The voices were coming from the dark side of the food trailer, shadowed from the generator-powered lights. We stuck close to the trees, staying out of sight, as we worked our way to the rear of the food camp.

I recognized Johnny first, facing us and tossing a long-handled serving spoon from palm to palm. The woman’s back was to us. Her slight shoulders shook with what looked like sobs. I couldn’t see her face, but I definitely knew those boots: Brown, with a leather fringe up the sides.