The highly anticipated sequel to #1 New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr’s What We Find transports readers back to Sullivan’s Crossing. The rustic campground at the crossroads of the Colorado and Continental Divide trails welcomes everyone—whether you’re looking for a relaxing weekend getaway or a whole new lease on life. It’s a wonderful place where good people face their challenges with humor, strength and love.

For Sierra Jones, Sullivan’s Crossing is meant to be a brief stopover. She’s put her troubled past behind her but the path forward isn’t yet clear. A visit with her big brother Cal and his new bride, Maggie, seems to be the best option to help her get back on her feet.

Not wanting to burden or depend on anyone, Sierra is surprised to find the Crossing offers so much more than a place to rest her head. Cal and Maggie welcome her into their busy lives and she quickly finds herself bonding with Sully, the quirky campground owner who is the father figure she’s always wanted. But when her past catches up with her, it’s a special man and an adorable puppy who give her the strength to face the truth and fight for a brighter future. In Sullivan’s Crossing Sierra learns to cherish the family you are given and the family you choose.

Any Day Now

Robyn Carr

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Quote 1

Chapter 1

Quote 2

Chapter 2

Quote 3

Chapter 3

Quote 4

Chapter 4

Quote 5

Chapter 5

Quote 6

Chapter 6

Quote 7

Chapter 7

Quote 8

Chapter 8

Quote 9

Chapter 9

Quote 10

Chapter 10

Quote 11

Chapter 11

Quote 12

Chapter 12

Quote 13

Chapter 13

Quote 14

Chapter 14

Quote 15

Chapter 15

Quote 16

Chapter 16

Quote 17

Chapter 17

Quote 18

Chapter 18

Quote 19

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.

—Robert Frost

Chapter 1

SO, THIS IS what a new life looks like. Sierra Jones opened her eyes on a sunny Colorado morning to that thought.

She had given this a great deal of consideration. Colorado had not been her only option but she decided it might be the best one. Her brother Cal, with whom she shared a deep bond, was making a life here and he wanted her to be part of it. Sierra needed a new place to start over. A place with no bad memories, where she had no history and yet, had a strong emotional connection. Her big brother was a powerful pull.

When she was a child, it was Cal who’d protected her, loved her unconditionally, cared for her, worried on her behalf. He was eight years older but had been more than just her brother. He had been her best friend. And when he’d left home, or what passed for home when she was ten years old, she’d been adrift.

When she’d finally made up her mind to give this place a chance, Cal wanted her to come directly to his house. His house in progress, that is. But that didn’t sound like a good idea; there was only one bedroom finished so far. And, more important—she wouldn’t be a burden to anyone, and absolutely did not want to be in the way of a new couple who were just feeling their way into marriage. Cal and Maggie had been married less than six months and were living in the barn they were converting into a house. Sierra thanked them kindly and said she’d prefer to find her own lodgings and live on her own. A very important part of creating a new life was independence. She did not want to be accountable to anyone but herself.

That’s what she’d told them. The truth, hidden protectively in her heart, was that she was afraid to depend on Cal again as she had when she was a little girl. He had a new family, after all. She remembered too well the pain from her childhood when he’d abandoned her. It was awful.

Independence was a little frightening. But, she reminded herself, she did have her brother near and willing to lend a hand if she needed anything, just as she was more than eager to be there for Cal and Maggie. She was thirty years old and it was high time she built a life that reflected the new woman she was becoming. This was a joyful, challenging, exciting and terrifying change. If a little lonely at times...

She had a short checklist of things she wanted to settle for herself before seeing Cal. First—she wanted to look around the area. Timberlake was the town closest to where her brother and Maggie lived and she thought it was adorable. It was a little touristy, a little on the Wild West side with its clapboard shop fronts and Victorian-style houses, surrounded by the beauty of snow-topped mountains and long, deep fields. The first day she spent in the small town there was a herd of elk cantering down the main street. One big bull was bugling at the cows and calves, herding them away from the town and back to grazing land. They were at once majestic and klutzy, wandering in a little confusion through the cars. An old guy standing in front of a barbershop explained to her that with spring, they were moving to higher elevations, cows were giving birth, grazing was found in different areas. And in the fall, he said, watch out for rutting season. “Those bulls get real territorial.”

That was all it took for Sierra to begin to hope this would be the right place for her, because her heart beat a little faster just watching that grand herd move through town. The old guy had said, “You don’t see that every day.”

She’d found a comfortable, clean, cheap hostel that would let her pay by the week and they were just starting to get an influx of students and adventurers who wanted to take advantage of the Colorado springtime. She’d have to share a bathroom, but it wouldn’t be the first time; she wasn’t fussy and it would make decent housing until she could find something more permanent. The owner of the hostel, a woman in her sixties called Midge, had said there were rooms and apartments being let by local homeowners all over town.

The best part about the hostel—there were people around, yet she would be on her own.

She’d found a part-time job right away—the diner needed early-morning waitstaff help a couple days a week. They’d lost their main morning waitress and the owner’s wife had been filling in. As it happened, Sierra loved the early morning. The money wasn’t great but it was enough to keep her comfortable and she had a little savings.

The most important thing she’d researched before coming to Colorado was locations and times of AA meetings. She even had an app for her phone. There were regularly scheduled meetings everywhere. In Timberlake and in all the small towns surrounding it from Breckinridge to Colorado Springs. They were usually held in churches but there were some in community centers, in office buildings, hospitals and even clubhouses. She would never be without support.

Sierra was nine months sober.

Sierra had reconnected with Cal about seven months ago, right before he and Maggie married. He’d visited her twice since and called her regularly. He’d begun lobbying for her move to Colorado a few months ago. For the eight years previous they’d been in touch but not much a part of each other’s lives and for that she had regrets. Those years had been especially difficult for Cal; the past five years had been brutal. His first wife, Lynne, had suffered from scleroderma, a painful, fatal disease, and had passed away three years ago. Cal had been a lost soul. If she’d been a better sister, she might’ve offered her support.

But that was in the past and the future was her opportunity. She hoped they could rebuild the close relationship they’d once had and become family again. Right before she’d started the long trek south to Colorado, Cal had shared a secret—he was going to be a father.

Sierra was thrilled for him. He would never know how much she looked forward to a baby. She would be an auntie. Since she would never have children of her own, this was an unexpected gift.

* * *

Cal Jones lay back against the pillows, his fingers laced behind his head, sheet drawn to his waist. He watched Maggie preen naked in front of the full-length mirror, checking her profile.

“We got a thing going on...me and Mrs. Jones...” he said, his voice husky.

She really didn’t show much yet. Just the tiniest curve where her waist had been. She kept smoothing her hand over it. “I passed the dreaded first three months with no issues,” she said. She beamed at him, her eyes alive. “I’m not sick. I feel great. I’m going to tell my dad it’s okay to tell his friends now.”

“Don’t be too surprised if you find he already has.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

He watched her with pride. Thin as a reed with that little bump that he put there, her smile wistful and almost angelic. She wanted the baby as much as he did; she thrilled with each day it grew in her. This baby had healed something in her. And it filled him with a new hope. She was more beautiful now than she’d ever been.

“Mrs. Jones, you have to either get dressed or come over here and do me.”

She laughed. “I already did you. Magnificently, I might add.”

“I said thank you.”

She reached for her underwear, then her jeans, then her sweatshirt. The show was over. Now he’d have to wait all day to have her alone again.

“It’s time for you to get to work—I need a house. Tom will be here anytime. I’m going over to Sully’s store,” Maggie said. There was much cleanup and restoration to do at her dad’s general store and campground at Sullivan’s Crossing. It was the first of March, and it wouldn’t be long before the campers and hikers started coming in force.

Cal and Maggie were living in the barn they were renovating into a big house with the guidance of Tom Canaday, a local with some amazing carpentry and other building skills. Tom had good subcontractors to help, speeding up the process. Maggie and Cal had married last October and, while the roof and exterior were being reinforced and sealed, dormers added to what were once haylofts, the wiring refreshed, the interior gutted and windows installed where there had been none, they’d been living at Sully’s, in his basement. Tom, Cal and a few extra hands had finally finished off a bedroom and functional bathroom along with a semifunctional kitchen. That bedroom on the ground floor would eventually be Cal’s office when the house was finished. The proper master bedroom would be upstairs. They had a good seal on their temporary bedroom door so they could sleep there and not be overcome by sawdust or the dirt of construction. They’d been in residence two weeks, thanks to warmer weather and a good space heater.

Maggie spent most of her free time at the store helping her dad. Then there were those three or four days a week she was in Denver where she practiced neurosurgery. On her practice days she stayed at the Denver house she’d owned for several years. During her days away, Cal and Tom did the things that were noisiest, smelliest and messiest—the pounding and sawing, cutting granite and quartz, applying the noxious sealer, installing the floors, sanding and staining. Every time Maggie came home it was like Christmas—she’d find new stairs to the second floor, a bathtub, a new kitchen sink, ceramic tile on the kitchen floor, half a fireplace. But the most precious addition of all was the Shop-Vac. That little beauty kept dirt, sawdust, spillage and debris manageable. It was their goal to have the house finished before the baby came, due in October.

Tom Canaday was at the house, his truck backed up to the door, before Cal had finished making Maggie breakfast—very likely by design. Cal got the eggs back out and started making more breakfast.

Tom brought his twenty-year-old son, Jackson; something he did whenever Jackson had a day free of classes. In the cavernous great room they sat at a long picnic table. Tom had thrown it together and it became the table they ate at, spread plans on, used as a carpenter’s bench, a desk when they held meetings. They met with subcontractors there, spread material samples or design renderings on it, looked through catalogs. It was truly multipurpose.

Once Maggie had gone to Sullivan’s Crossing, the men were still seated at the picnic table, finishing a second cup of coffee when there was a knock at the door.

“She forget something?” Tom asked.

“Maggie wouldn’t knock,” Cal said, going to the front door.

Standing just outside on the step, was a pretty girl with light brown hair streaked with honey. She had peachy skin and a pretty mouth stretched into a smile. She wore tight jeans with fashionably torn knees, but Cal guessed hers weren’t purchased that way. Her hoody was tied around her neck. The sight of her made his eyes glitter with happiness.

“Well, you finally got around to me,” he said. He lifted her off the ground with his hug. “How are you?”

“Good. Brand-new. I love this place.”

“You might get a little tired of it this month—March is pretty sloppy.”

“Yeah, that happens,” she said.

He looked beyond her to the little orange VW parked on the road. Not new, that’s for sure. He thought he saw a piece of twine holding the front bumper in place. Then he looked back at his sister. “The pumpkin,” she said with a smile.

“You must’ve looked hard for that thing,” he said.

“She came at a good price.”

“Hard to believe,” he said facetiously. He always forgot how beautiful she was. She was thirty now but still looked like a girl. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face to look into her clear brown eyes. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Never better,” she said. “Really.”

“Are you going to stay here until you find something?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Found something already. It’s temporary, but clean, safe, comfortable and convenient. The hostel in town. It’ll keep me very well while I look around some more.”

Sierra looked past him. Wires were hanging from the ceiling and sticking out of walls, building debris was scattered everywhere, stacks of wallboard, tarps, doors leaning against walls, piles of supplies from plumbing fixtures to hinges. “Love what you’ve done to the place, California.”

Someone cleared his throat and Cal turned to see Tom and Jackson staring at Sierra with open mouths and wide-eyed wonder. “Oh, sorry, guys. Tom, Jackson, this is my sister Sierra. Sierra that’s Tom and his son, Jackson. We’re building together. Remodeling the barn. Like I told you the last time we talked—it’s going to be our house by the time the baby comes.”

“Amazing,” she said, looking around the massive interior. “Put up some walls, California. You don’t want to be living in an arena.”

“Right,” he said, smiling. “Listen guys, Sierra and I have some catching up to do. I want to take her over to Sully’s to see Maggie. I’ll be gone for a couple of hours but I’ll be back. You okay without me?”

Jackson grinned. “Sometimes we’re better without you.”

“Way to pump my ego,” Cal said. “See you in a while.” He pulled the door closed and steered Sierra toward her car. “Can I drive?”

“The pumpkin? I guess... But she’s very sensitive. You’ll have to be gentle. Don’t grind the gears or pump the brakes.” She pulled a key out of the pocket of her tight jeans. “But why?”

He grabbed it. “Indulge me. I want to see how it handles on these mountain roads.”

She slid into the passenger seat. “Okay, but no matter how much you love her, you can’t have her.”

The first thing he did was grind the gears. “Sorry,” he said. She groaned.

He was smoother then, driving around the foothills. There were a lot of sharp turns, uphill and downhill grades, narrow roads that briefly widened and some amazing mountain vistas. At a widened lookout, Cal pulled the pumpkin right up to the edge and stopped.

“Not bad, Sierra,” he said. “Kind of creaky, isn’t she?”

“She likes me better,” Sierra said. “I have a sweet touch and you’re a clod.”

“It suits you, this little orange ball. How was your drive down?”

“Pretty. A little rainy. Colorado is beautiful.”

“I worried, you know. Thinking about you making that drive all alone when I could have ridden with you...”

She laughed outright. “God, I needed to be alone more than you’ll ever know! Do you have any idea how rare time alone was for me the last nine months?”

“That wasn’t one of the things I thought about,” he admitted. He’d spent all his energy fearing her relapse. Or worse.

“I’ve been living with people for nine months, first in rehab and then in a group home. It taught me a lot, I’m the first to admit that. But it also drove me crazy. For a long day on the road, I could actually hear the inside of my head. My first day in Timberlake there were elk right in the town. On the main street, weaving through the cars.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that. I’ve heard it happens but never saw it.” He gave her knee a pat. “Tell me if there’s anything you need. If there’s anything I can do to make this move, this transition, easier for you.”

She shook her head. “Nothing at the moment. I planned it very carefully, down to the tiniest detail. If I need anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“You’re being very brave,” he said. “You left your support system and came all the way to—”

“I have a phone, Cal. I’m in touch with my sponsor and will be going to meetings now and then, looking for a local sponsor. I’m in touch with a couple of the women in recovery I lived with the last six months. We shore each other up and...” She took a breath. “And I’m not fragile, all right? See—no sweaty palms. It’s all cool. I’m excited about being here.”

“You never said what did it? What finally got you in rehab?” Cal and his late wife, Lynne, had tried an intervention, offering support if she’d consider sobriety, but it was a failure. Sierra wasn’t interested. She said they were overreacting.

“Listen, something you should understand, I didn’t know I had a problem, okay? I should have, but I didn’t. I thought I drank a little too much sometimes, like everyone. I kept meaning to do better but it wouldn’t last long. I mean, I hardly ever missed work, I never got a DUI, never got DT’s when I didn’t drink and even though I did things I regretted because of alcohol, I thought that was my fault, not the booze. I decided to give rehab a try but I honestly thought I’d go into treatment and learn that everyone else had a problem and I was actually just an idiot who didn’t always use good judgment. But it didn’t work out that way. Now I know all the things I should’ve known a long time ago.” She chuckled and looked out at the view. “Imagine my surprise.”

“I thought you were doing a lot of drugs,” he said.

“Hardly ever,” she said. “I didn’t need drugs. I was busy drinking.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “I’m really proud of you,” he finally said. “Nine months is good,” he said.

“It’s excellent, to tell the truth. And I’ll be honest, in the early days I wasn’t very confident of nine days. But here we are. Now you—tell me something—what does it feel like, knowing you’re going to be a daddy?”

He felt his face grow into that silly smile he’d been wearing lately whenever he thought about Maggie. “Unbelievable. Overwhelming. I was getting used to the idea this wouldn’t happen to me.”

“But it’s not a surprise, is it?” she asked. “The baby?”

“Nah, we wanted a family. Maggie’s way more fertile than she bargained for—it happened right away. We’re still getting used to the idea, but it feels great. You’ll see someday...”

She was shaking her head. “I don’t think so. Don’t get me wrong, I look forward to being an auntie but I’m not all that into the mommy scene. I didn’t grow up looking after little kids like you did.”

“You saying you don’t like kids?” he asked.

“I love kids,” she said. “When they’re someone else’s. But... Can I ask a personal question?”

“Sure. Be gentle with me,” he said, but he smiled when he said it.

“Do you ever worry about the schizophrenia thing?”

Their father, Jed, was schizophrenic and he wasn’t medicated. Rather, he was self-medicated—he smoked pot every day. It kept the delusions a little quieter. Jed was, quite honestly, crackers. And schizophrenia sometimes ran in families.

“I worry about everything, including that. It appears Jed didn’t inherit his disease or pass it on, unless someone’s holding back information. But I have Maggie. She’s much more logical and pragmatic. She began listing things we could worry about—the list was long. It covered everything from childhood cancers and illnesses to teenage pregnancy and she suggested, firmly, that we deal with each problem as it appears. You have to remember, Maggie handles catastrophic head injuries and brain tumors for a living—you can’t scare her. And if mental illness is one of our problems, trust me—we’ll be managing it in a different way than Jed does.” He paused. “How are they?”

“I saw them briefly before I left and they’re exactly the same. Mom said she was glad I was going to be around you, that you probably needed me. I have no idea where she got that idea. I told her not to tell anyone but Sedona and Dakota where I was. I don’t know who would ask but I want to cut ties with that old life. I mean, I still have my Des Moines support, but we don’t give out information on each other. Mom was fine, Dad was getting ready for a big security briefing of some kind. In other words, he’s in Jed’s world. You call them, don’t you?”

“I haven’t talked to them in a couple of weeks—I’ve been busy with the barn. I’ll check in. Sierra, are there debts to clear or something?”

“No,” she assured him. “I just don’t need anyone from rehab or my old party days tracking me down. I’m good.”

“If you have issues like that, tell me. Better to straighten it out than ignore it.”

“I don’t have those kinds of issues, Cal.”

“Okay. But if I can help... Just get settled.”

“I worry about them, too, Cal,” she said.

“But there’s nothing we can do,” he reminded her. “Let’s go find Maggie. She’s dying to meet you in person.”

* * *

Sierra drove the pumpkin, following Cal’s directions to Sullivan’s Crossing. As she oohed and aahed at the scenery, she thought one of the great things about rehab had been learning she was not the only person with a totally screwed-up family. Given the fact that her sister Sedona and brother Dakota were living functional and what appeared to be normal, conventional lives, it seemed to boil down to her parents, and all because Jed didn’t want to be treated for his schizophrenia and Marissa, her mother, didn’t push him. Crazy parents weren’t unusual in rehab. In fact the number of people who had been drinking or drugging their way through delusions was astonishing.

She had told a small lie. She’d told it cheerfully and with good intentions. Truthfully, she wished she could have children. But there were multiple problems with that idea. First, she had a very bad history with men—she chose the worst ones imaginable. And second, not only did she have to deal with schizophrenia in the family tree but also addiction, which also tended to run in families. How could she risk cursing a child with such afflictions? Add to that, you’d have to trust yourself a great deal to be a good parent and she wasn’t even close. Self-doubt was her constant companion.

“You get to see this scenery every day,” she said to her brother. “I was mainly coming here because you and Maggie are here but it’s an amazingly beautiful place.”

“I wonder if you ever get used to it,” he said. “I still can’t believe I’m lucky enough to live here.”

“How’d you end up here?” she asked.

“You know,” he said. “Wandering. Trying to find myself, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I was roaming. It’s in our genes. Plus...” He hesitated. “I was looking for a place for Lynne. A place for her ashes. I gave her my word—I’d leave her in a beautiful place and then I’d let her go.”

“And did you?” Sierra asked.

He was quiet for a moment. “I found a beautiful place. By that time I’d met Maggie. And my life started over.” He reached over and touched her knee. “Your turn to start over, kid.”

“Yeah,” she said, suddenly feeling tired. Scared. It came upon her at the weirdest times, that fear she’d turn out to be a failure. Again. “Right. And looks like a great place to do that.”

“I think of this as home,” Cal said. “We never really had a home.”

“We had the farm,” she said. “Sort of.”

“You had more of that than I did,” he said.

Their parents, who described themselves as free spirits, hippies, freethinkers and nonconformists, raised their family on the road, living in a bus converted into an RV, but it was really just a disguise. Jed was sick and Marissa was his enabler and keeper. Marissa’s parents had a farm in Iowa and they landed there quite often, all of them helping on the farm and going to school in Pratt, Iowa, a small farming community. Then they’d take off again, on the road. By the time Sierra was eight they’d settled on the farm full-time, taking care of the land for Grandma after Grandpa passed away. Cal finished high school there.

Then he left to seek his fortune, to go to college with the help of scholarships and loans. She had been only ten. He passed responsibility for her on to Sedona, next oldest. When Sierra was twelve, Sedona left for college. She got herself a full ride and went to a hoity-toity women’s university back East and though she called, she rarely visited. When Sierra was fifteen, Dakota left, enlisting in the Army at the first opportunity. Then it was just Sierra. Sierra with Jed and Marissa. Counting the minutes until she could get away, too.

Not long after they all left her she discovered beer and pot.

* * *

The Crossing, the place where Cal had found his woman and his second chance, did not look anything like Sierra had expected. It was a completely uninhabited campground. Little dirt pads were separated by trees, the foliage just beginning to turn leafy. The sites were dotted with little brick grills here and there. The picnic tables were all lined up by the side of a big old store with a wide porch that stretched the length of the building. There was a woman sweeping the porch—had to be Maggie. She stopped sweeping, stared at them, smiled and leaned her broom against the wall. She descended the steps just as they got out of the little car.

“Sierra!” she said, opening her arms.

“How did you know?”

She hugged her and then held her away to look at her. “You couldn’t be anyone else. You belong to your brother as if you were his twin. Maybe I’ll have a daughter and she’ll look exactly like you.”

Sierra blushed. “Would that be a good thing?”

“That would be perfect,” Maggie said.

Difficulties strengthen the mind, as well as labor does the body.

—Seneca

Chapter 2

SIERRA LEARNED SHE’D arrived at the Crossing in the middle of some serious cleanup. A skinny old guy named Frank was cleaning and stocking shelves; his wife, Enid, was giving the kitchen and pantry a good scouring; Sully was cleaning the rain gutters and when he was done with that he’d begin repairing and painting picnic tables. Maggie was going to hose down the porch, and then she was intent on raking up the patch of garden behind the house so they could get planting.

But everything stopped when Sierra arrived. They gathered on the porch. A table was wiped off, warm buns and hot coffee were brought out for a little visiting, getting to know Sierra.

“Don’t you do too much,” Cal said to Maggie. “Just take care of the bump.”

“We don’t let her do too much,” Enid said.

“I got my eye on her,” Sully said.

“Don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Frank said. “Women been doin’ it since Eve. Exercise is good for her. What?” he asked when he noticed everyone was glaring at him. “I just speak the damn truth!”

“That’s a first,” Maggie said. “I agree with Frank.”

“And I bet Frank just stays in trouble, don’t you, Frank?” Sierra said.

“Young woman, I been working like a farmhand every day it don’t rain,” Frank informed her.

“’Bout damn time,” Sully said. “Tom Canaday is rounding up some boys from that county road crew he works with. Some fellas who need a little extra cash and can bring their own equipment. They’ll give the grounds a good grooming, clean out my trench for the runoff from the snowpack melt and cart off some heavy trash when they leave. I can fix and paint the picnic tables, spruce up the lavatory, showers and laundry room. And while the yard crew is here, I’ll get ’em to till up that garden.”

“I always thought running a campground would be easier than this,” Sierra said.

“Mud season,” Maggie informed her. “When the snow melts and the rain plagues us, there’s a lot to do to restore the place before the campers start showing up again. We’re coming up on spring break and Easter weekend and from Memorial Day through summer, it’s full almost all the time.”

“Maybe I can help out,” Sierra said.

All eyes turned to her. It was quite a while before Sully spoke. “Could you use a little extra money, girl?”

“I was thinking of being helpful,” she said. “I have a job, but it’s only part-time. I’m happy about that—I want some time to explore and...you know...get settled in. I’d be happy to help out.”

“That’s very sweet,” Maggie said. “Are you going to stay with Cal and me?”

“In the construction zone?” she asked. “Thanks, but I have a place.”

“Oh?” three people said at once.

“A hostel in town,” she said. “It’s very nice. It’s next to a bookstore. It’s across from the diner, where I’m going to work a few mornings a week.”

“Midge Singleton’s place?” Sully asked.

“That’s it,” Sierra said.

Sully leaned forward. “Girl, that woman will stack bodies end on end, stuff as many people as she can in that place.”

“It seems decent enough. She seems very nice,” Sierra said defensively.

“I didn’t say she wasn’t nice,” Sully said. “I’ve known Midge over thirty years. She opened up that place when her husband died a long while back and she means to make a good living on it. You got extra beds in your room?”

“Just one,” Sierra said. “For a female in my general age range. She promised to let me have the room alone as long as she could and that’s just how a hostel works. I’d like to think she means that...”

“I’d like to think that, too,” Cal grumbled.

“Here’s another option,” Sully said. “You go ahead and try that hostel, but watch your stuff. Let Midge lock things up for you—she’ll do that. If you don’t like it so much, I have empty cabins. There’s a shower and bathroom in each one.”

“That’s awful nice, but—”

“You can have one of ’em if you want,” Sully said. “I ain’t gonna put another camper in your bed with you, no matter how full up we get.”

Cal laughed and Maggie winced. “What’s the rent on one of those cabins?” Sierra asked.

“Well, let me think,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Bathroom needs regrouting. Picnic tables need paint. Porch on the store and at the house need sealer painted on. Garden needs work and tending. And there’s stocking daily in the store. Fifteen or twenty or so hours should cover a week. Easy. Then there’s always the rumpus room, which is free. But you’d have to share a bathroom with an old man.”

“Rumpus room?” she asked.

“Our old apartment,” Cal said. “It’s in the basement. The pipes clang sometimes but it’s comfortable. And no roommates.”

They visited for almost two hours when Sierra noticed that Sully was getting a little fidgety. Very likely he wasn’t used to sitting around, swilling coffee and yakking. “I think it’s about time I got Cal back to the barn and to work or Maggie will never get her house. And, Sully, give me a couple of days to figure out my schedule and the town and I’ll come around to lend a hand.”

“I’m capable if you have better things to do,” he said, standing up from the table and giving his jeans a yank up into place.

Out of habit, Sierra picked up cups and napkins along with Maggie, carting them back to the kitchen. She stopped to look around a little bit, intrigued by the supplies that ranged from food to ropes to tools. There was even a bookshelf full of secondhand books.

“This place is a popular stop off for campers and hikers,” Maggie said. “Through-hikers who have taken on the Continental Divide Trail count on this place to restock and rest for a day or two. There’s even a post office—they can pick up mail here.”

“Are there a lot of them?” Sierra asked.

“All summer,” Maggie said. “They’re amazing. It’s quite a conquest, the CDT.”

“Is it a long trail?”

“It’s 3,100 miles from Mexico to Canada.”

Sierra gasped. “Are you kidding me?”

Maggie shook her head. “It’s a pretty interesting group that passes through here in summer—everyone from hikers and rock climbers to families camping for vacation. There are quite a few RVs and fifth wheels here from spring through fall—lots of people enjoying the wildflowers and then later, the autumn foliage. It’s a beautiful place.”

“You’re so lucky to have grown up here,” Sierra said.

“I didn’t grow up here. My parents divorced when I was only six. I didn’t see my dad for years, then only as a visitor. I lived for some time here. I’ve always loved this place. And now, I’m going to raise a family here.” She absently ran a hand over her stomach.

“Pretty soon, too,” Sierra observed. “I hope you get the barn remodeled in time.”

“Hopefully before the first snowfall on both. I’m going to have to make sure Cal gets a plow...”

* * *

Sierra went back to Timberlake and continued her exploration of the town. The hostel was right next door to The Little Colorado Bookstore and, like everyone in the Jones family, she felt the promise of books pulling her in. Books had always been their salvation, their only means of learning while they traveled, the only real entertainment they had.

This store was tiny and packed to the rafters, specializing in books about Colorado—livestock and ranching, wildlife, history, mining, plants, crops, insects, anything and everything Colorado and its history, including lots of maps. They also carried fiction pertinent to the state. She learned that it wasn’t a busy store, but the customers were steady. The owners were the Gibsons—Ernie and Bertrice, a couple in their fifties. They were more than eager to tell her all about the store, founded by Ernie’s father a long while back. They liked to work the weekends when tourists were around because they were experts on both the state and the merchandise.

They also did a big mail-order business—people contacted them from all over the world to find specialty books and other collectible volumes, valuable maps and papers that the owners had curated over the years.

The store had four leather armchairs spaced around the stacks where people would sit to page through special books and there was a long table in the back of the store where patrons could look at maps or loose papers. She noticed a man tucked back in a corner with a big book of maps balanced on his lap. He must have been in his fifties or maybe older, but he had a familiar look about him. His hair was sparse on top but he had a ponytail. He wore a T-shirt with a peace symbol on it, the popular local fashion of khaki shorts, hiking boots with white socks and a pair of glasses balanced on his nose. With a start she realized he looked a little like her father, at least in style—he had that aging hippie aura about him.

Growing up with Jed had been filled with challenges, but Sierra loved him deeply. He was like a lost boy at times and while he could go off on manic delusions for days on end—complex theatrics in which he was the star physicist or inspired prophet—she had always found him amazing. She was a teenager before she understood that inside his mind must be a maze of confusion. But Jed had always been a gentle man. They were all so lucky that way. He was nonviolent and, if you ignored the fact that his behavior was crazy as a loon, highly functional. And he was sweet to Sierra. She was the baby of the family and Jed and Cal both doted on her. It was kind of magical in a way. Jed was nuts and Cal was like the white knight, always making sense out of chaos.

The man in the chair looked up at her. Grumpy. So Sierra did what she did best—she smiled at him. He smirked but she knew she had melted him a little bit. Since she was a little girl she’d known how to charm her way out of a bad situation.

She walked around town a little bit, stopping in at the diner for a midafternoon ice cream. She chatted with the waitress Lola, a fortyish woman with two kids. Lola had been working in that diner for years—when she was married with small children, when she was divorced and a single mother, now still single, working two jobs and trying to finish her education by going to school part-time. Lola gave Sierra the gossip on the diner—what the boss was like, which fry cooks were dependable, who on the kitchen crew would back her up. She also told her where to buy the khaki shorts and white golf shirts that would be her uniform at the diner.

Sierra wandered the town after that, dropping in at the drugstore, checking out the small grocery. She noted two law offices, a small storefront clinic, a hair salon and barbershop. There was a furniture store—custom designs. There were three small art galleries, one liquor store, one jewelry store, a bank, a consignment shop that tied up some time as she browsed, two churches and the fire department. The guys were washing down one of the rigs in the drive—nice eye candy. The police department was just across the street from the fire department.

The next day she drove to Leadville to buy her uniform and spent the day looking around that town. She found a bigger bookstore and a great little grill that served wonderful burgers. She then drove out to the barn to check in with Cal who was up to his eyebrows in what appeared to be crown molding. There was a lot of hammering and sawing going on upstairs and Cal was painting the molding. She told him all about Timberlake and Leadville as if he didn’t know for himself. Maggie came back from Sully’s, dirty from gardening, and informed Sierra she would be joining them for dinner, then went off to shower and change.

The next few hours proceeded like a beautifully choreographed dance. Sierra ran the Shop-Vac around while Cal cleaned up his paintbrushes and folded up the tarps. Tom and his son came downstairs covered with sawdust and Sierra laughingly vacuumed them off. Tom and Cal had a beer, and some corn chips and salsa were put out. Sierra had a Diet Coke with Jackson while Maggie, refreshed, fixed herself orange juice. Cal began to putter in the kitchen getting chicken ready to put on the grill. Tom and Jackson left and the three of them were like a small, cordial family. Maggie told Sierra to be sure to check on Cal while she was in Denver working. The dinner of chicken and vegetables, casually thrown together, was delicious and nutritious. Then the dishes were cleaned up. It was like the fantasies Sierra had. Fantasies of a family, of feeling normal, of belonging.

She watched as Cal was kissing Maggie’s neck and rubbing her belly. Then she remembered it wasn’t really hers. It was their life and she was a guest.

Sierra borrowed trouble and darkness. It was a bad habit. A dirty little secret she kept. Deep inside you’re very lonely and unhappy, her inner voice reminded her.

“I have to get going,” she said. “Thanks for dinner and everything.”

“Don’t run off,” Maggie said.

“Don’t you have to get up early and head for Denver?” Sierra asked.

“Not that early,” she said.

“Get some sleep,” Sierra said. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

As she drove back to Timberlake she asked herself, Can I make this work? Must I always feel like some weird outsider? She knew that Cal and Maggie weren’t doing that to her.

When she got back to town, still early in the evening, there seemed to be a lot of activity in the hostel. Sure enough, a group of young girls had come in and they were loud. There was lots of laughing, shouting, talking at the top of their voices. She got to her room and saw a duffel on the second bed in her room, but the rambunctious girls were just a room or two away. Well, Sierra wasn’t going to undress for bed in that case. Most of her belongings were in her car and she had only her backpack with her. She’d go back to her car in the morning for fresh clothing and shower and change then. This was the downside of staying in a hostel—it was a busy young people’s kind of place and one traded privacy for cheap housing.

She sat on her bed and dug around in her backpack for something to read. Out in the car she had several books on recovery that were nearly memorized by now. She didn’t feel like that tonight. She pulled out her copy of Pride and Prejudice. It was battered all to hell. Sierra carried three novels—Pride and Prejudice, Forever Amber and Gone with the Wind. That pretty much established her as a tragic but hopeful romantic. It had been hard to leave Wuthering Heights behind and that was telling. No happy endings for Sierra. Not yet.

The noise escalated and Sierra hoped someone would complain. Mrs. Singleton didn’t stay the night in the hostel—she had her own small house in town. The young man who was left in charge for the night was pretty social; he might not mind the noise. Or the girls. When Sierra had checked in there were no single rooms and Mrs. Singleton said that chances were good no one would need a bed in a double and if anyone did, it would most certainly only be let to a woman.

She opened her book, midway, hungry for a little of Mr. Darcy’s evolution from aloof snob into a real hero. She put her smartphone on one of her music downloads, her earbuds in her ears and settled in to ignore the noise of girls having fun. She didn’t last long. Less than an hour passed when she went downstairs and told John, the young man in charge, he’d have to do something about the noise.

“I’ve talked to them a couple of times,” he said. “College girls. I don’t want to ask them to leave if I can avoid it.”

A little bit later one of the girls stumbled into the room. She looked about eighteen. And she was drunk.

“Roomie!” she greeted with a slur.

“Crap,” Sierra said. “You’re drunk!”

“Jes a little,” she said, then hiccuped. She held out a fifth of whiskey. “Wanna little?”

Before Sierra could even answer, the girl fell on the bed. Facedown. Dropping the fifth so it spilled onto the rug.

“That’s that, then,” Sierra said, looking back at her book.

But the girl stank. The room smelled of whiskey. And she was, of course, snoring like a freight train. The odds were good she’d end up sick.

Sierra packed up her things. She went downstairs and right out the door without saying a word to John. She’d work it all out later, ask for a refund. Right now she was feeling like this whole idea, all this bloody do-it-alone crap, was the biggest mistake of her life. She was on the verge of tears, but Sierra never cried. She punished herself by holding it fiercely and stoically inside. She could call Cal and Maggie, but she didn’t want to. What would they think? That Sierra the emotional cripple was going to hang on to them forever and they’d never be free? That three days in Timberlake and she was falling apart? So much for independence! She’d always be the baby to Cal even though she was thirty and had done some hard living.

She sat on a bench outside the dark barbershop and called her old sponsor and former roommate, Beth. The phone went straight to voice mail. She said, “Just me. Everything is fine.” Then she disconnected.

Well, so much for that.

Her phone rang immediately. Beth.

“It’s late,” Beth said. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just a little screwed up. My head is on wrong. I’m staying in a hostel and got a drunk roommate—she can’t be twenty-one. Not that that ever stopped me. But I can’t be in that smell. I’m sitting on a bench on the main street of this little, dinky town and the only action is down the street at the only bar and grill and I can’t think. I can’t move. I don’t want this to be a mistake. Maybe I’m not ready. Jesus, it doesn’t take much to send me off the rails, I guess.”

“When did you last go to a meeting?” Beth asked.

“It’s been a while,” she said. “I’m not really settled in yet...”

“I guess you’re not if you’re staying in a hostel. Weren’t you going to be with your brother?”

“I never intended to stay with him,” Sierra said. “He’s just married six months or so and they’re pregnant. I’d be in the way. I want to see him a lot, not live with him. I have to figure this out.”

“Here’s what I want you to do. If there’s a meeting tonight—go to it. Then I want you to go to a motel. Worry about money later. Hit the first meeting of the day tomorrow. It might even be a two-meeting day. No more hostel business—you don’t want to be living with a bunch of college kids on a vacation bender...”

“The lady said they were strict...”

“Uh-huh,” Beth said. “Another thing that never stopped you. Talk to someone at a meeting about a sponsor. You shouldn’t fly solo in a new town. You should have someone you can call if only to go for coffee in the next few hours. Are you hungry? Tired?”

“Nothing like that. Just depressed. Why, I have no idea! My brother and sister-in-law pulled me right in, this place is beautiful, some drunk girl stumbled into my bedroom and stank up the place. That’s a good reason to be irritated not depressed!”

“We don’t need a reason,” Beth reminded her. “Find a safe, warm place tonight and call me in the morning. Find a meeting.”

“I will,” Sierra said.

“I’ll wait while you look,” Beth said.

Sierra gave a heavy sigh. She checked her phone app—a meeting locater. She did a little clicking. “Looks like I missed the last one...ten o’clock in Leadville, a thirty-minute drive. Midnight meeting in Denver—a long drive. But there’s a seven o’clock in the morning. I hate being the new kid.”

Beth laughed. “Come on, there’s a long list of things to hate.”

“I want to be strong,” Sierra said.

Beth laughed again. “Good luck with that. That one never works.”

We don’t pray for control, Sierra recited silently. We are powerless.

“Think you can make that early one in the morning?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Can you find a place to stay?”

“Yeah, there are places around. And there’s always my brother. One night wouldn’t kill him.”

“Or you?”

“Or me,” she said. “Okay, I think I have a handle on it now...”

Beth asked her to recite exactly what she was going to do. The little grocery was still open. She’d get some snacks, maybe a premade sandwich if they had some. Chips and a soda, maybe a cupcake or something. She’d find a warm, safe place to stay for the night, hit an early meeting, but by morning she’d feel a lot better and have a good plan.

It was amazing to her how fast that feeling of hopelessness could come over her. It was usually like this, a stack of relatively small issues—being the third person at a table, the odd one; her brother kissing his new wife and the envy she had that he had somehow managed to rebuild his life. She suddenly thought, I will never have that. Then the noise of partying in the hostel; the drunk girl. Any one or even two of those things wouldn’t have screwed up her head. Sierra was, if anything, resilient. She knew how to hunker down, breathe deeply, offer up a prayer or two, get through it. She worried that maybe she was given to some mental illness. Not the same as Jed’s—she didn’t have imaginary friends. But she believed she leaned toward depression.

She’d voiced that in a meeting once and at least five people said, Duh.

Impossible as it was for her to comprehend, she was still grieving the loss of her crutch, her best friend, her savior. Of course that crutch broke under her weight, that friend betrayed her, the savior cast her into hell.

She pulled her sleeping bag out of the trunk and put it in the pumpkin’s small backseat. Then she went to the grocery; they were just closing up so she turned on her fake smile and begged a favor, a few snacks if she could be quick.

“Got the munchies?” the clerk asked snidely.

A huff of laughter escaped her. “I’m not high!” she said, incredulous. “I’m staying at the hostel and there’s nothing to eat!”

“Make it quick,” he said. Clearly, he did not believe her.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” she said, heading for a refrigerated section that contained a few deli items. She grabbed a sandwich, a couple of hard-boiled eggs, a large Kosher pickle, and added a soda and bag of chips on her way out. As an afterthought, she added a couple of candy bars. She wasn’t even hungry, but she’d be damned if she’d be caught with nothing on hand. Just having some supplies made her feel more secure. There was no way she was going to Cal and Maggie, though she knew they’d be happy to find her a space. It was so important to her that Cal and Maggie think she had it together.

She decided to go to the Crossing. That Sully, he seemed like a pretty simple, straightforward guy. He wasn’t too deep or complicated, she could see that. And it was a campground. She’d camp. It wasn’t too cold, given her sweatshirt and sleeping bag. Her flashlight was charged, she had food and drink, there was a public bathroom... She’d snuggle up in the backseat, read her book and snack and if she ran into any trouble, like a bear or something, she could outrun it in the pumpkin. Or she could lay on the horn until Sully woke up.

That’s right, Sierra. Wake up a little old man to fight off your bear.

But nothing would go wrong. In the morning she’d just tell him the hostel filled up with college kids and she wasn’t the partying kind. She was more the kind to have a quiet and private night. Best to ask about that cabin; she’d be more than happy to work around the Crossing for a room.

Her first surprise was that she could even find the Crossing—it was awfully dark on these back country roads. It was after ten and she didn’t pass a single car. Fortunately there was a bright moon and Sully had some lights on at the grounds. There were a couple of small campers and a car parked by one of the cabins and even in the dark she could see progress had been made on the cleanup in just a matter of days.

She parked right between the store and Sully’s house where he would see her car first thing. She didn’t want to shock or worry the old guy. Then she crawled into the backseat, snuggled into her sleeping bag and looked at her phone. She still had plenty of charge for the night. She pulled out her nifty little book light that fit around her neck like a necklace shining in front of her. Her bag of groceries sat on the car floor on one side of the bump, her open backpack on the other. If nature called in the night the light on her cell phone would get her to the loo.

She pulled out Pride and Prejudice again. Just like her other favorite romances, the hero was very masculine and a little cruel. Just like real life, Sierra-style.

Her throat hurt a little as she fought the release of tears. She denied herself tears. It was her penance for all her sins—the pain of holding in the tears. Someday, when she’d suffered enough, she imagined the floodgates would open and she’d cry till she drowned. But not tonight. She drank some soda to take the ache away. It wasn’t long before she nodded off in her book, cozy as a bug in a rug.

She was roused in what seemed like seconds by a tapping on her window. Startled, she woke to see Sully tapping with his flashlight. It was still dark. Was he frowning? Beau, the yellow Lab, had his forelegs up on the door, panting excitedly. Beau seemed to be smiling. She opened the window a crack.

“Coffee’s on,” Sully said. He walked into the store.

The keenest sorrow is to recognize ourselves as the sole cause of all our adversities.

—Sophocles

Chapter 3

SIERRA TOOK A brief detour through the bathroom, backpack over one shoulder. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her hair.

She wondered if Sully was angry. It was a campground, after all.

She wandered into the store. In the back was the kitchen and a short breakfast bar with just three stools. Sully stood behind the bar, which also served as the checkout point for purchases. He was staring into a steaming cup of coffee. Behind him at the back door Beau was inhaling his breakfast in great, greedy gulps, tail wagging.

Sierra climbed up on a stool a little sheepishly. Quiet.

Sully took a swallow of his coffee, then slowly turned toward the little kitchen. He brought her a cup of coffee, then pushed the cream and sugar toward her.

“You mad?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her. “Ain’t worth a damn before my coffee.”

“Ah,” she said. So she left him to it. She stirred some cream and sugar into her cup and took a slow, luxurious sip. Excellent coffee, she thought. It would be slightly more excellent if the sun was at least up. Maybe if they became friends she could point out to him that he might like the morning better if he slept until the sun at least began to rise. As for herself, it was as she had predicted. She felt fresh and new. Apparently her demons decided to sleep in.

“How’s your neck?” Sully asked.

“My neck? It’s fine. Why?”

“You were sleeping like a pretzel. Wasn’t it a little cold?”

“Nah, I was toasty. I had my sweatshirt on and my sleeping bag is great. I wouldn’t have slept in the car if it was predicted to freeze.”

“You Joneses,” he said. “You really know how to make do.”

She laughed. “You were right about Mrs. Singleton’s hostel. It filled up with college girls who were oh-so-happy to be on a vacation. They were loud. And I scored a roommate—surprise, surprise. She was drunk and passed out on the bed. I used to be a lot more flexible.”

“That so?” he asked.

In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided. She was going to be asking for a cabin if he proved tractable. And he was Cal’s father-in-law. “Well, specifically, I was usually the one who passed out. Sobriety is kind of...startling. And at times inconvenient.” She took another sip. “You know about me, right?”

“Know what about you?” he said, refilling his half-empty cup.

She told him her story, the abbreviated version. She was a recovering alcoholic, sober nine months. She’d been reunited with Cal while she was still in rehab, right before Cal and Maggie got married. She was in AA, the second A standing for anonymous. “But I figured Cal would have mentioned something about me,” she added.

“Not a lot,” Sully said.

She gave a short unamused laugh. “Someday I’m going to learn to play my cards close to my vest like that. Did you or didn’t you know?” she asked directly.

“He mentioned you were in the hospital and he wanted to visit you before he and Maggie married. I think he wanted to know if you inherited your father’s malady. The mental illness.”

“I wanted to know that, too. I didn’t.”

“I guess that’s lucky, eh?”

“It’s not too late,” she said.

“That so? And how old was your dad when he succumbed?” Sully asked.

“As close as we can figure out, he was in his early twenties. But he had some symptoms he and everyone around him tried to ignore. Like he was... Well, he was brilliant. I think under his schizophrenia he’s still brilliant. It’s just all twisted up.”

“Your brother seems pretty smart. Is it possible those two things aren’t really connected?”

“Huh?” she asked.

“The smart and the crazy?” Sully asked.

She just shrugged. She’d asked herself that a lot. Because it was horrible to be afraid of intelligence, especially one’s own intelligence.

“I got the feeling they aren’t the same thing—smart and crazy. There’s some autistic kids from a group home come around in the summer. Not a one of ’em could pass an IQ test of any kind and some of ’em are just downright brilliant. You know? Memories like steel traps, math skills you wouldn’t believe, musical talents that knock me over. They’re a hoot, you should know ’em.”

“Do you know them?” she asked.

“Some,” he said. “I get on with the autistic kids just fine. That’s probably because I ain’t all that smart to start with but I have a talent or two. Not like them, that’s for sure. We open the grounds up to some youth groups now and then. You just don’t know how trapped they feel till you see ’em on the trails or in the lake—they cut loose.” Then he grinned in a way that showed the pure joy in him.

And Sierra fell in love. Right then.

“Who told you you weren’t all that smart?” she asked him.

The smile stayed. “Girl, no one had to tell me. More coffee?”

“No, this is good enough. I don’t want to get the wiggles. Listen, about that cabin...”

“It’s all cleaned up and ready for you,” he said. “I knew you’d come around. Besides, I think this place helps.”

“Helps what?”

He looked reluctant to answer. “I don’t know—helps what ails you. I see it happen all the time and people need all different things. Your brother, for example. I had no idea what he needed but he hung around, made himself useful now and again even before I needed a hand. And eventually he stole my daughter right out from under my nose. It worked for me, way back when I came home after the war. Course it took a while before I managed to get what I needed. I wasn’t that much older than you.”

“Oh? I’d love to hear about that,” she said.

“Well, I think it’s boring to everyone but me. I’ll tell you one or two things if you’ll eat a sticky bun.”

“Deal,” she said, smiling.

“Let me fetch one and put it in the microwave,” he said. “It’s better warm.”

He took a moment to do that. Then he took her cup away and refilled it anyway, bringing the coffee and pastry to her.

“My grandpa built this place. He left it to my dad. My dad planned to leave it to me. I didn’t have much interest in it, to be honest. I had bigger plans. But my dad needed me home, I could see that. My mother died while I was in Vietnam and the Red Cross got me home for that but it wasn’t till I was in my thirties that I found a wife and brought her back here. But she was a terrible wife and I was an even worse husband. In spite of that, we had Maggie. It took six years before my wife got fed up and left me.” He raised a thick, graying eyebrow. “Bored yet?”

She licked icing off her fingers and shook her head.

“She took Maggie. I’m the first to admit I was crap for a father. I sulked, yelled, wandered off without a word sometimes, argued over anything, didn’t know beans about school lessons or homework, had no patience, drank too much whenever I got irritated and I got irritated pretty often. I had a tone of voice, I’m told, that would scare bears off. I treated my dogs better than my family and it made no sense because I loved my family. Well...well, the truth is, I didn’t love Phoebe all that much after the first few months. But then, she didn’t love me much, either. We were wrong for each other from the start. I brood while she fusses. She needles and I yell. Then I sat out here in the store and drank until she was asleep.

“But I loved Maggie and I wanted to do right by her. So I had to start my life over. I reckon you have some experience with that, eh?”

Sierra nodded and licked the sweet icing off her lips. “How’d you do it?”

“The hard way. I fished a lot, worked till I dropped, suffered in silence, forced myself to do things I had no use for like making a bed and washing clothes. It was one thing to keep up the grounds for the customers—even I wasn’t too stupid to know I needed money to eat. But taking care of myself? Cleaning my own surroundings? That took willpower. It was a pretty horrible process. But there were some things I had to do if I’d ever have my family back.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I wasn’t too keen on having Phoebe back. Jesus, that woman’s the biggest pain in the ass. But I thought maybe if there was a God she’d get hit by a bus or something and Maggie would come back. I was bound to be ready if that happened. I tried to read.” He laughed at himself. “I was never gonna be as smart as Maggie or even that damn Phoebe but I was determined not to be a complete dunce.” He took a drink of his coffee. “I hung up the beer mug. No fanfare, no meetings, no bugles or drumroll. Just retired the mug.”

She swallowed. “Are you a friend of Bill W.’s?”

“How’s that?” Sully asked.

“Are you an alcoholic?”

“Hell if I know,” he said. “It probably depends on who you ask. I didn’t have a thing to drink for years, then I had a beer on a hot day and old Frank, he said I was a damn fool to even think about it. When I was a younger man I drank too much now and then...more than now and then. I was certainly headed for trouble. It was only a matter of time and I knew it. Nowadays I have limits. What I learned—what I wanted to tell you about—I learned I didn’t have to go through all the agony I went through, and I’m not talking about liquor.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked. What she wanted to ask was, “What does this have to do with me?”

“I didn’t have to do it all alone,” he said. “No matter who reached out to me, offered a hand, pulled up a chair to talk a spell, I froze ’em out and went my own way. It was every bit as terrible as I hoped it would be. I wanted to suffer, I guess.”

“But you and Maggie are together now...”

“It took a few years before I was in good enough shape to see her, to take care of her. She’s still pissed about that, by the way.” Then he laughed. “She’s a pistol. I guess she comes by it naturally. According to Maggie I didn’t fight for her. What she’d want with a father like me, I have no idea. But by the time Phoebe let her come to visit I’d laid most of my ghosts to rest.”

“How?” she wanted to know. “If you didn’t go to rehab or meetings or counseling or—”

“Did I say I never went to meetings or counseling?” Sully asked. “Maybe not the same ones you go to. There’s a group of Vietnam vets that look out for each other. That’s where I first met Frank and I ain’t got shed of him since! We try to do some nice things for the community, keep an eye out for our brothers. When I found out I was part of a group, things got better. Easier. Just so you know, little girl, you’re part of a group. You got people here.”

Sierra felt that raw scrape in her throat again and took another drink of her coffee to soothe it.

“And another thing—you got the land,” Sully said. “Now I’ll be the first to admit, I tend to take it for granted, but you get out there on the trail a little bit and you pray to whatever entity you want, whatever great being made these mountains and forests and I’m not kidding, answers come. I didn’t just make it up. All these lunatics that march through here all summer while they’re taking on as much of the CDT as they can manage will tell you the same. Your brother did that, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. “He got out on the trail and had a little nature, then he was square. His head wasn’t a corkscrew anymore.”

“Sully,” she said, laughing, maybe inappropriately. “He was looking for a beautiful place to let his wife’s ashes go.”

“He musta found it because he snatched up my daughter the minute he got back.”

“You’re not unhappy about that, are you?” she asked.

“Hell no. Those two are giving me a grandchild! If you want the truth, the last man Maggie got herself involved with, I actually feared what it might be if they had a child together!”

“I can’t wait to hear that story,” she said.

“That one ain’t mine to tell,” he said.

“Something tells me you’d take pleasure in it,” she said, finishing the last of her sticky pastry and licking her fingers.

“The thing that irritated me the most about Maggie’s last fella, he didn’t seem to take any notice of how lucky he was that Maggie gave him the time of day. Arrogant fool. I bet he’s suffering now.”

Sierra grinned. “Despite what you say, I bet you were a wonderful father.”

“I’d like to meet your parents,” Sully said.

“My parents?” she asked. “Oh, Sully. Hasn’t Cal told you about Jed and Marissa? They raised us mostly in a converted school bus! On the road. Sometimes we picked vegetables to make ends meet. We hardly went to school. Jed has a serious screw loose. Last time I saw him he was wearing an aluminum foil beanie on his head. He was the first person to give me a joint!”

“Yet the lot of you came up good. I met your other brother and your sister at the wedding. How do you suppose the lot of you managed to be so normal? And smart?”

She shrugged. “Aside from Cal, maybe we’re not. Sedona is so controlling we can’t visit longer than two days and Dakota—no one knows Dakota. He’s been to war so many times, he’s gotta have some serious issues. Then there’s me...” She decided to take another drink of her coffee rather than expound.

“You’re a little hard on yourself,” he said. “That’s okay, I understand that. But put that on your list of things to work out—what you got in your childhood to prepare you for this life. And, what you might do to give yourself a break.”

* * *

Sierra wanted to sit at that lunch counter and visit with Sully all morning, but she had made commitments. She promised to call Beth, for one thing. She met Beth in recovery and asked her to be her sponsor. Beth had five years under her belt but that was about all they had in common. Beth was forty-five, had two teenage sons, Talk about a reason to drink!, a mean ex-husband, a large extended family and her parents were elderly but healthy and active. When Sierra finally decided to move to Colorado, she and Beth talked about staying in touch, at least for a while, but Sierra had promised to find a sponsor in her new home.

There was a meeting in Leadville at seven. It was being held in a rec center and when she arrived, she read the marquee at the front door for the room number. There was also a sleeve of pamphlets that listed all the classes and activities for the center. AA, yoga, Pilates, water aerobics and a variety of other things. There were groups and classes for all ages all day long but in the evenings there was a veritable smorgasbord of support—solo parenting, grief group, singles, nicotine anonymous, AA, Al-Anon and Alateen.

She could smell the coffee. One thing about AA, the setting was almost always familiar—the folding chairs, the podium, the big box of doughnuts next to the disposable coffee cups. She was a little early and there were only a few people milling around. One of them was that sourpuss from the bookstore, so she smiled at him again. His expression softened only slightly, but he approached her.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said. “I’m Moody.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Didn’t you sleep well?”

“My name is Moody,” he said, clearly unamused.

Well, that would explain things. His mother named him Moody and he spent the rest of his life living down to it. She put out her hand. “Sierra,” she said. “I’m new in town. Well, not this town. I live near Timberlake, which is how I saw you in the bookstore.”

“How long have you been around here?” he asked.

“Just a few days, but I found a job at that diner across from the bookstore. My brother and sister-in-law are nearby and I was ready for a change. I lived in Iowa.”

“Coffee?” he asked. “Doughnut?”

“I’m about coffee’d out already,” she said. “I’ll just sit down and wait till the meeting gets started.” A few more people were straggling in. “Have you been coming to this meeting long?”

“Long,” he said. “Anything I can tell you about it?”

She shrugged. “I’m pretty familiar with the program. I’m nine months sober,” she said.

“Good for you!” he said. His expression became more open, but he was stuck with that dour countenance. “I’m happy for you,” he added. “You’re young. Would you like to meet a few people?”

“Maybe after,” she said, noticing still more people entering the room. “Thanks, though. That’s nice of you.”

She had hoped this might be a small meeting, five or six people. By the time Moody was ready to begin, there were at least thirty. He had his agenda, typed in large print and slipped between protective plastic sleeves—even that seemed almost universal. They had a prayer, recited the steps, called out to newcomers. Sierra jumped up, just to get it out of the way. She still hated this part. “My name is Sierra,” she said.

“Hi, Sierra,” they said in unison.

“I just moved to the area, looking for a meeting, just meeting people.” She explained she was in recovery nine months and they clapped for her. There were a few comments—this meeting was a good one before work, they called themselves The Sunny Side Up.

There were two more newcomers—a woman about fifty, fresh out of rehab, a guy about thirty, here by court order and needing thirty days of signed chits. And then a guy stood up and said his name was Mark. He didn’t add that he was an alcoholic but Sierra thought, We have a winner! His coloring was pale with splotches, he was trembling, his eyes were red and watering. He was a little stooped—his gut hurt. Chances were good he was just coming off a bender. They were going to corral him right after the meeting, she bet. Nothing more was required of him, just that he listen. And he might bolt, but they were already on to him. Something might’ve happened to get him to a meeting. His wife might’ve finally left him, he could’ve lost his job or spent one too many nights in jail. He didn’t look like he’d been in a fight. Just real hungover. As usual, she asked herself if she’d ever looked that bad.

When the meeting was over, people scattered pretty fast. This was, after all, a before-work meeting—convenient. She met a couple of women who welcomed her and told her they hoped she’d join them again and she said she probably would, but she wasn’t sure of anything except one thing—she was going to scope out the locations and times of the meetings around her so she wasn’t searching for one when she absolutely needed one.

Maybe she’d come again. She liked moody Moody for no apparent reason. He might be grumpy but he seemed steady.

She went to Cal’s to explain her new living space and, predictably, he was thrilled to hear she’d be staying at the Crossing.

The next morning she got up extra early knowing Sully would be up, but instead of rushing off to a meeting, she hung around at the breakfast bar until Enid and Frank showed up. After visiting with them for a while, she did a little cleanup in the store, then headed for the garden.

After two hours in the garden she took a nap, read her book for a while, washed some of her clothes and offered to cook Sully’s dinner. And she thought, My God, this is living. There was no television in her cabin, but Sully offered his if she wanted to watch TV. “Just lock the door when you go home,” he said.

“I’m surprised you lock doors around here,” she said.

“I forget most of the time. But lock yours. Every now and again we get a bad apple. Last spring Maggie shot a lowlife who’d kidnapped a girl.”

“Really?” she asked, astonished and impressed.

“I’ll tell you about that sometime when we run out of stories...”

She didn’t think they’d ever run out of stories!

Cal and Maggie were around the Crossing a little bit on the weekend, Maggie more than Cal. Cal worked on making a home every day.

Then came Monday morning and her new job began early. The diner didn’t open until seven but she was required to be there at six thirty to set up. There was training for her, but she’d waitressed on and off so many times over the years, very little instruction was required. There were several early customers who she learned were mostly locals or business owners and workers from the town and a bit later, a few tourists. It was steady but not what she’d call busy. There was competition off the highway and in surrounding towns—bigger places like Applebee’s and Denny’s.

And then at eleven who should come in but Moody. Just the sight of him had her beaming as though she loved him. Someday she’d figure out what it was about her and slightly mean men. Slightly if she couldn’t find a really mean one! She couldn’t put this on her brothers or father. Jed Jones might be nuts but he was sweet. Vulnerable. And the boys had always been kind, to women especially.

“Isn’t this a surprise,” she said to Moody.

“You aren’t hard to track down,” he said, sitting at the counter. “Coffee?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m pretty coffee’d out. Oh! Do you want coffee?”

“You’re very funny, aren’t you?” he asked, not cracking a smile.

“To some people,” she said, grabbing a mug from under the counter. She poured him a cup. “Anything to eat? Breakfast? Lunch?”

“Nah. Just the coffee.”

She took a breath. “You were tracking me down?”

He took a sip. “No, not really. But then I realized you told me where you worked and I come by here sometimes. I thought I’d let you know—there’s a meeting here in town. Seven on Thursday nights at the church. I go sometimes, depending what’s going on.”

“Is that early meeting your home meeting?” she asked.

“I get up early. I like getting it out of the way.”

“Is this a house call?” she asked, teasingly.

“We don’t make house calls,” he said. “We do reach out sometimes, but if you ask me not to—”

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s very nice, in fact.”

“Then I’ll take a chance and ask you if there’s anything you need. I’ve been around here a long time. And I’ve been in the program a long time.”

She’d heard at the meeting. “Thirty years,” she said. “That’s a long time, all right. Either you were pretty young or you’re pretty old.”

There was the glimmer of a smile, but it was small and showed no teeth. “Both.”

“Either you know the ropes by now or you’ve been a real tough case.”

This time he did show teeth. He even gave a huff of laughter. “Both,” he said again. “Think you’ll be around awhile?”

“I hope so,” she said. “My brother and his wife are expecting. I wouldn’t want to miss that. But this was a leap of faith. It’s quite a change. A beautiful change, but still...”

“You staying with your brother, then?” he asked.

She shook her head. “My sister-in-law’s dad owns a campground just outside of town and he loaned me a cabin. So I have a place of my own but I’m kind of with family at the same time. It’s private, but...”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Sully’s place?”

“You know Sully?” she asked.

“I think everyone knows Sully. Maggie is your sister-in-law?”

“And you know Maggie?”

“Sierra, I live here. In three weeks you’ll know everyone.”

“And you go to meetings here? In town?”

He nodded. “I think the word is out on me. I don’t talk about anyone else’s business. You going to stick to Leadville?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. I did notice they have a meeting for everything in Leadville.”

“That’s for sure,” he agreed. “So, you have a place to stay, know where the meetings are, have family around—that can be good or not, depending. Anything you need right now?”

“Not right now,” she said. “I’ll be looking for a sponsor, but for right now I still have my last sponsor by phone. We talk all the time.”

He took out a pen, grabbed a napkin and wrote his name and cell number on it. “While you’re checking things out and meeting people, here’s my number. Why don’t you use it sometime. Check in with me until you get a new sponsor.”

“I don’t expect to need anything, Moody, but—”

“Then just check in to say hello,” he said. “It’s a good idea to have an anchor or two. Floating around without connections can be risky.”

“Okay, sure,” she said, taking the napkin, folding it in half and slipping it in the pocket of her shorts. “But I’ll probably see you around.”

“How you doing on the steps?”

“Oh, I ran through the steps. I’m spending a little extra time on number eight. And ten—seems like there’s an endless amount of accounting.”

He sipped his coffee. “Remembering more or admitting more?” he asked. When she didn’t answer immediately, he said, “Maybe we’ll have coffee after a meeting sometime. Talk about the steps?”

“I thought that might happen after the last meeting but I guess everyone was either rushing off to work...or maybe busy with that guy who was having a hard time. Mark.”

“Mark shows up sometimes. I’m always glad to see him,” Moody said. And he said nothing more. It was like a contract. These stories were shared in the meeting but nowhere else. Not everyone played by the rules, but they were expected to, nonetheless.

The bell on the door tinkled and in walked Adonis. Well, except he didn’t have that black Greek hair. His hair was brown and his eyes so blue she could see them from the door. Sierra felt her heart catch. That meant he must be a bad idea. But the sheer height of him and the girth of his shoulders was almost shattering. His T-shirt was tight over his chest and arms; there was a firefighter’s emblem on one pec. She had to concentrate to keep from sighing. She wondered, not for the first time, if absolute beauty was a requirement to be a firefighter.

His eyes twinkled at her. But he said, “Hey, Moody.” And he stretched out his hand toward Moody. “How’s the weather?”

“It’s nice,” he grumbled. “But it’s bound to turn. Connie, meet a new waitress. Sierra this is Connie. Connie this is Sierra.”

“Conrad,” he said. “Connie for short. Nice to meet you.”

That big, meaty hand swallowed up her small hand.

And she gulped.

Life is thickly sown with thorns, and I know no other remedy than to pass quickly through them. The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater is their power to harm us.

—Voltaire

Chapter 4

SIERRA HAD AN unfortunate history of being involved with men who were not good for her, but a lot of that could be blamed on alcohol. Or maybe she started out with perfectly good men and destroyed the relationships with alcohol. At this point it was pretty irrelevant since there hadn’t been a man in her life in a long time. Nor alcohol. The last one, Derek, had been so toxic and dangerous she not only swore off men, she ran to rehab. No one could get to you in rehab. Just the people you put on your list as approved visitors.

She felt the calluses of Connie’s strong, large hand, looked into those blue eyes and told herself, It doesn’t really matter who he is—I’m off men. But she couldn’t deny it—there was a tingle as his hand enveloped hers.

“Nice to meet you. Do you prefer Conrad or Connie?”

“Everyone calls me Connie no matter what I might prefer. I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“I haven’t been here long.”

“And what miracle had you choose Timberlake?” he asked, smiling. Smiling like a man who thought he might get laid.

“Do you know Cal and Maggie Jones? I’m Cal’s sister.”

The big man’s smile vanished instantly. Nothing like an older brother to make a man rethink his objectives. Funny how that never went away even with age. Sierra was thirty and Cal thirty-eight. You’d think by now a guy wouldn’t be intimidated by a big brother, but it was just as well.

“How do you like it around here so far?” he asked. And there was obvious distance in his gaze. His warm blue eyes cooled way down.

“It’s great. Amazing, in fact.”

“You can’t be staying in that barn,” he said.

“You’re right, I can’t, but not because it’s an unfinished house. Because I really don’t want to live with my brother. They’re newlyweds, for one thing. And I’m crazy about Cal, but he’s my brother. I lived with him long enough growing up.”

Connie laughed. “I’ve felt that way about my brother. I’m here for an order. A big Caesar salad. You know about that?”

“Oh, that’s you? I’ll get it.”

She’d been told it would be picked up. It was ready in the kitchen. She put it in a bag and rang it up for him. He left with a casual “See you around.”

After a few moments passed Moody said, “Want to have coffee sometime when you’re not working? Talk about the program a little bit? Go over steps or something? Take each other’s pulse?”

Hers was a little amped up at the moment. She focused on Moody. “I was kind of looking for an older woman.”

“I get that. You never know. I might be good in the short term.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

Sierra was off work at two and was scheduled to work at least two mornings a week, no weekends unless one of the other waitresses asked her to cover for them. The weekends, she was told, were busier in the mornings and the tips better so the waitresses who had been there before she was hired wanted those shifts, particularly the students. Her schedule wasn’t the least bit taxing; she enjoyed meeting the locals. And of course most people knew her brother and absolutely everyone knew Sully.

Sierra had plenty of time after work to do things, like stop by Cal’s to check on the progress at his place, then get back to the Crossing to see what, if anything, she could do to help Sully. Most of the time all he wanted was a little company for dinner, which he sometimes convinced Sierra to make for them. “Just bear in mind, if it ain’t bland and tasteless I can’t eat it. I have to stay heart healthy. I won’t live any longer, it’ll just seem longer.”

“You’re in good hands,” she said. “I’m very healthy.” Now, she thought. And before two weeks had passed, she had Sully nearly addicted to her stir-fry—just chicken, vegetables, broth and some seasoning. She was allowed soy sauce but he was off salt; his indulgence was one drink before bed and she could not join him, of course. It seemed a reasonable trade to her.

Two weeks, though not very long, had revealed some marvelous changes in the land and in Sierra. First of all, she did contact Moody and they did meet for coffee a couple of times. As she learned more about him, she was glad she’d let him talk her into it. Moody’s name was Arthur Moody but no one ever addressed him as anything but Moody, including his wife. He was fifty-eight years old, a biology professor at a private university in Aurora and he was admittedly a late bloomer. “I was busy in my twenties when everyone else was trying to get an education and a start in life. My start came later, in my thirties.” She could do the math—he had been sober for thirty years. That meant that until the age of twenty-eight he was busy spiraling down.

She went to that Thursday evening meeting in Timberlake. She found a nice group waiting there—small, but significant. One of them was Frank, Enid’s husband. Frank was an old-timer, a vet, a man who earned his stripes the hard way. He might’ve been surprised to see her because he beamed, putting those snazzy false teeth on display for her.

She did not tell her story yet, even though she was starting to feel at home. But she couldn’t help thinking about her story. Every day.

* * *

“What was it, Sierra?” The therapist encouraged her to be honest. “What finally sent you running to rehab?”

“Well, there was an accident. I wasn’t driving but it was my car. He was driving. He took me out of a bar, took my keys and was driving me home. He said I was drunk and he was just taking me home. I think he put something in my wine because, seriously, it wasn’t that easy for me to get wasted like that. It was still early. I knew we hit something but I didn’t see it happen. He stopped the car and looked and got back in and drove away. He said it was a cyclist and he left him there. Left him. Left him to die.

“He told me he called the police and said he was a witness, that he saw a woman driver hit a man and leave him. I didn’t hear him call the police. I don’t know if he did. I don’t know if he hit a man or a tree branch or a dog. I was in and out. He told me what he said. I said, ‘But I wasn’t driving!’ And he said, ‘No one will believe you—you have a history.’ And then... And then he convinced me. In a brutal way. In a terrifying way. He said I would never tell anyone anything. Or I’d be sorry.

“So I left my car in the airport parking garage and took a bus to the bus depot. I ran. I went to the farm, the only place I could think of. Eventually I went into rehab, a place he couldn’t find me. Or even if he found me, he couldn’t get to me.”

* * *

Spring was upon the land and the afternoons were often warm and sunny. Just being at the Crossing was the best part. Sierra enjoyed watching her sister-in-law grow that little baby inside her and it filled her with warm family feelings. Being a part of Cal’s new family was precious to her. Cal was intent on working on his renovation but not so much that he couldn’t take a few breaks to see his sister. They often sat atop a picnic table by the lake and talked, or they went for a short hike into the thawing hills that surrounded the Crossing.

Tom Canaday stopped by the Crossing sometimes—maybe for a cup of coffee, maybe a beer after work. His son Jackson came by now and then, sometimes with his dad and sometimes to lend a hand. There were firefighters and search and rescue volunteers and rangers who dropped in on Sully because the drinks were cold and the atmosphere friendly and laid-back.

“This place just keeps getting better looking,” one of the firefighters Sierra had not yet met said, eyeing her keenly.

“Did I remember to mention Sierra is Cal’s little sister?” Sully asked.

There were a few groans in the group. But when Sierra turned her back someone said, “Hell, I can take Cal.”

“Be careful of those smoke eaters,” Sully said. “They come in two flavors—real gentlemen where women are concerned, or they’re dogs. Players. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

“We’re safe,” she said. “I’m not interested in either type.”

Cal and Maggie didn’t question Sierra’s assertion that she had no room for dating in her life right now. They had other things on their minds. Not only was picking out slabs of stone for countertops giving them fits, they were tending their bump.

“Do we know what we’re having yet?” Sierra asked when she noticed a book of baby names sitting out on the picnic table in their great room.

“Not yet. But soon,” Maggie said.

“No, I didn’t mean boy or girl,” she said with a laugh. “I meant state, city or mountain range!”

The Jones kids were named California, Sedona, Dakota and Sierra—in that order. “Hell no,” Maggie said. “We’ll be changing that trend.”

As the month of April drew near and the weather warmed, the wildflowers came out to play and were resplendent. Columbines, daisies, prairie phlox and coppery mallow grew along the paths and carpeted the hillsides. Hikers had begun to show up at the Crossing. Sierra found that—as Sully had promised—her own hikes worked wonders on her frame of mind. The exercise stimulated her and the sunshine renewed her. Freckles had begun to show up across her nose and on her cheeks. The time alone and all the thinking gave her a sense of inner peace. She felt closer to God and she’d had very little training in religion, except for that relatively short period of time her father had believed he was Christ.

As she came around a curve in the path she looked up to see three men climbing the flat face of the hill on one side of the mountain. She moved closer until she could actually hear them—a little talking, a few grunts, the soft whisper of their climbing shoes sliding along the rock face and wedging in. As she got closer still she realized she knew them—Connie, Rafe and Charlie. She’d seen them in town and they’d been around the Crossing a few times. They were from Timberlake Fire and Rescue. She wondered if they were training or playing; they weren’t wearing uniforms and there didn’t seem to be any fire trucks nearby. But those boys could certainly do lovely things to shorts and muscle shirts.

She watched the clever shifting of their hips to give them lift; the muscles in their calves and arms were like art. Little buckets hung off their belts in the back and they dipped into them for chalk, the sweat running down their necks and backs. My goodness they were a lovely sight, slithering up that rock face, their shorts molding around their beautiful male butts.

She couldn’t help herself, she was thinking about sex. She had so much mental and spiritual work to do she wouldn’t risk getting screwed up by falling for some guy. But it had been a bloody long time.

The last man in her life, Crazy Derek, should have cured her of all men the way he’d cured her of drinking.

She sat down on a rock to watch them for a while. She was achingly quiet and still lest she make a noise and one of them fell. She was afraid to even drink from her water bottle. One of them seemed to briefly dangle in midair by his fingertips as his feet found a crevice to toe into, giving him another lift up the rock face. She held her breath through the whole maneuver. That’s when she noticed he wasn’t wearing a harness. That was Conrad! The other two were all trussed up but he had no anchor. God, she was suddenly terrified. And exhilarated. The freedom of it, moving up a dangerous rock without a net. She couldn’t imagine how powerful he must feel, how uninhibited. It must feel like flying without a plane. It was the impossible, yet accomplished with an almost mellow gliding movement.

It didn’t seem to take them very long, or maybe it was because she was mesmerized by the steady climb, but soon all three of them disappeared over the top of the rock. She let out her breath and gulped her water.

She was exhausted and decided she’d had enough of a hike. She headed back to the campground. When she got there it was early afternoon, the camp quiet, and Sully was sitting on the porch eating a sandwich. She ambled over and sat with him.

“Good hike?” he asked.

“Beautiful. Isn’t it late for your lunch?”

“Aw, I got caught up in cleaning and painting trash cans. They were looking pretty awful.”

“There were three guys rock climbing,” she said. “That really big, flat rock face that looks like you shouldn’t be able to find anything to hang on to, yet they slithered up to the top like lizards. What does it take to do something like that, Sully?”

He swallowed a mouthful. “Insanity, if you ask me.”

“I assume you haven’t done that?”

“I’ve done a little climbing, not up a flat rock like that. I’ve climbed where you can get a good, solid foothold and grip, a decent angle. I’m not afraid of heights, but I’m not real comfortable with falling off a flat rock like that.” He shook his head. “They love that rock. Ever been to Yosemite?”

She shook her head.

“They climb El Capitan—it’s flatter and way steeper than that. They pound in their spikes and anchors to hold their tents and camp hanging off the side—it’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. Look it up on your computer—look up ‘climbing El Capitan.’ It’ll scare the bejesus out of you.”

“Watching them was terrifying and exciting, but I’m not afraid of heights. Cal doesn’t much like heights. He has trouble even looking at pictures of scary heights.”

Sully grinned. “When you get some pictures or a video, show it to him.”

“I wonder if I could learn to do that,” she muttered.

“No, you can’t,” Sully said. “I forbid it.”

So that’s what a real father sounds like, she thought. A normal father—sane, decisive, controlling.

She went to get her laptop and came back to the porch. Before she opened up and signed on she asked Sully if he had any chores she could do for him.

“Nah, I got nothing much to do,” he said. “Where you having dinner later?”

“I’ll be around here. Why?”

“I got some salmon, rice and asparagus. If I share it, will you make it for us?”

“I’d be honored. Where’d you find asparagus this time of year?”

“I paid top dollar at that green grocer in Timberlake, that’s where. I don’t know where it comes from but the stalks are fat and juicy and plump up like steaks on the grill. You like that idea?”

“I love that idea,” she said. “I’d love to share your dinner. I’ll cook it and wash up the dishes after. What time would you like to eat?”

“Since I’m just getting lunch, is seven too late for you?”

“Just right,” she said. “Gives me a little time to play on the computer and maybe read.”

It was about four when campers started coming back to the Crossing, washing up after their day of exploring. Then a big Ford truck pulled up and the three rock climbers piled out. They nodded to her and said hello as they passed to go into the store.

Connie came back, holding his bottled water in one hand and an apple in the other. Without asking, he sat at her table. “How you doing?”

“I watched you climbing that steep, flat rock.”

“Did you? We call that rock face Big Bad Betty. She’s mean as the devil. I didn’t see you, but we don’t look around much. You have to be pretty focused.”

She closed her laptop. “What does it sound like up there?” she asked. “When you’re hanging on by your fingertips, what does it sound like?”

He smiled at her. “There’s a little wind,” he said. “The swooshing of hands and feet as you look for a good hold. Breathing—the sound of my breathing is loud in my head.”

“Heart pounding?” She wanted to know.

“No. Just a good, solid rhythm. You have to like it, feel it, be safe in it or your diaphragm will slam into your chest, close it up and bad things happen. No pounding. It’s tranquil.”

“Does it make you feel powerful?” she asked.

“It makes me feel independent. Self-reliant.”

“Free?”

“Yeah, free. But it takes thinking. Planning. I’ve climbed that rock a lot and I planned ahead. I know where to go. Even when you climb a new rock you plan ahead—look at video, pictures, listen to what climbers say, try it with a harness and ropes first to see the lay of the rock. And even then you have to be flexible. Sometimes you have to improvise. But it feels so good. Every grip and hold has to be just right and when you get it, you know you got it. It’s a smart sport. No one can get too much of that feeling.”

“You weren’t wearing a harness. I didn’t see any ropes.”

“Free solo,” he said. “As climbing challenges go, it’s the best.”

“And when you get to the top?”

“Eureka. Hallelujah.”

“I saw you go over the top and disappear but I didn’t hear anything.”

He grinned brightly, his eyes twinkling. He had those sweet bedroom eyes sneaking a peek from behind lots of brown lashes. Young girls could buy lashes from him, he had so many. “Then we weren’t loud enough,” he said.

“Can I learn to do that?”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “Takes a lot of upper body strength. There’s a wall in a gym in Colorado Springs, a good training wall. There are a lot of climbing gyms in Colorado Springs. A lot of trainers.”

“Is it expensive?”

“It doesn’t have to be, but you should try a training wall before you do anything else. You might hate it. If you don’t hate it, Jackson climbs. I climb. Some of us have extra harnesses and other equipment. But first the wall.”

Just as he said this last bit, the other two men came onto the porch. They also sat down. People around here didn’t ask if they could join you, they just did.

“I’ll show you how,” Rafe said. “I’m Rafe. I think we met a couple of weeks ago. And this is Charlie Portman.” He peeled a banana, bit off a big chunk and seemed to swallow it whole. “I’ll teach you,” Rafe said.

“First the gym, Rafe,” Connie insisted.

“She’s little,” Rafe said. “Hardly any weight to pull up. I could take her up on my back.”

“It’ll go easier and you won’t waste anyone’s day off teaching you if you just try the gym first to see how it feels. That might be the beginning and end of it right there.”

“It just looks so cool,” Sierra said.

“Because it is,” Rafe said, tipping a beer to his lips. When he did that she noticed his wedding ring.

“Was it a training day for you guys?” she asked.

“Not for Timberlake station,” Rafe said. “For Rocky Mountain Volunteer Search and Rescue.”

“Sounds like you’re good people to know if I get in trouble,” she said. “I’ll be sure to let you know when I’m ready for a little training.”

“He’s married,” Connie said.

Rafe smiled handsomely. “No problem, Sierra. Lisa knows I’d never be interested in another woman.”

She sighed. “Do you have a brother?”

“First the wall,” Connie said. “Then I’ll show her.”

* * *

That was twice now, Sierra thought. Twice he was warm and friendly, almost flirty, then it shut down and he became distant and a little cold. The first time was when they met and Moody mentioned Cal, so she wondered if Connie didn’t like Cal. But that was crazy. Everyone loved Cal. Then, when Rafe offered to teach her climbing, his eyes went cold again. So probably he didn’t like her.

She didn’t have the best instincts, she knew that about herself. She wasn’t likely to ask Sully about a single guy, especially a firefighter. Sully had already passed judgment on those guys—half gentlemen, half dogs.

When a little more time passed and more evidence collected, she’d probably just ask Conrad.

* * *

The month of April was perfect for Sierra. She went to a gym in Colorado Springs on a couple of her days off and learned how to climb on the wall. Of course she overdid it and all her muscles ached, but it made her feel so smug. Who knew she could do that? She worked a few mornings and went to a few meetings. She had coffee with Moody and learned he had four grown children. She hung out a bit at The Little Colorado Bookstore getting to know Ernie and Bertrice and picking up a few details about her new home.

But the best part of her new life was Sully.

“Tell me about Maggie shooting someone,” she begged.

“It was a damn fool thing to do,” he said. “Her reasons were right but her follow-through could’ve used a little more thought. She saw a young girl she recognized as one of our camper kids in a pickup with a couple of low-life characters and could tell she wasn’t there by choice, so she tricked the driver into taking a cabin. She told him she’d give him a special deal and turned out he was as stupid as he was bad. Once she had him boxed in she called the police but she wasn’t inclined to wait on ’em to get out here, not with that girl in danger. She loaded up my old shotgun and kicked the cabin door in and fired on them.” He shook his head. “She could’ve called me or gone for Cal, but no. Maggie’s accustomed to do as she pleases, when she pleases. She had a roll of duct tape in her pocket and had ’em all trussed up before the cops got here.”

Sierra was speechless. Awestruck. “What a badass!”

“Those old boys were big and nasty. They could have rushed her, walked right through that shot and taken her down.”

“But she shot them first.”

“Well, one of ’em anyway. The shots brought me and Cal. It would’a been smarter to get us first.”

“And the little camper girl?” Sierra asked.

“Scared to death but otherwise unharmed. She was separated from her family on the trail north of Leadville and they grabbed her. I never heard of such a thing happening around here before.”

“That’s creepy, Sully. It’s not safe out there?”

“Up to that moment I’d have said there’s no safer place than our trails. I hear there’s a lot more Forest Service people out there these days than there used to be, on account of that incident. You got anything to protect yourself with?”

“I have a little can of pepper spray...the kind single women in the city are known to carry...” There were times she considered a handgun but in the end she was afraid to arm herself too much. What if she was incapacitated and it was used against her?

“Might have to fix you up with some real mace, just for my own peace of mind.”

“Should I stop hiking alone?”

He shook his head. “You’re not very alone. There are hikers out there, more of ’em every day. Just don’t get too far away.”

The mace appeared a few days later but Sierra was a little more vigilant, knowing that story. She admired Maggie more than ever. That’s what Sierra had always thought she was, had always aspired to be—a fighter. A fearless, ninja warrior. And it did seem the trails grew more crowded, especially on the weekends. She assumed summer would be nearly hectic for the wilderness.

Meanwhile, she enjoyed nature more than she ever had before. A herd of elk must have taken up residence on a piece of grazing land nearby because she saw some in the campground in the early, early mornings. And of course there were deer now and then, making her drive to Timberlake very cautious. With her work hours beginning right after dawn, she was bound to see a lot of wildlife, something that made the start of her day very special.

Now that the weather was warmer, she and Sully were taking their morning coffee on the front porch. Since he had the pot on before the crack of dawn and she had to leave for the diner by six fifteen, this became their morning ritual. She found herself rolling out of bed early even on days she didn’t have to work at the diner. Sully was reaching a part of her that had long been neglected. She kept very close track of her hours of helping around the store and grounds, proud to note that she was more than deserving of that free cabin. She was at the Crossing afternoons during the week and spent almost all weekend there. She could tell it worked out for Sully, since the campground was busiest then. And she still had time for herself and to check on Cal’s progress.

The last weekend in April the campground was over half-full of cheerful, enthusiastic campers. The wildflowers were in full glory, the lake was still icy cold but it didn’t scare off boaters or even some floaters. There were lots of kids, some dogs that Beau watched very carefully, but they were either friendly family dogs or they were penned and leashed. Beau didn’t mind sharing his territory with the occasional friend; there was a chocolate Lab who Sully said was a regular guest and she liked to swim with Beau. They played havoc on the ducks.

A family appeared with a fifth wheel on Friday afternoon who were new to Sully but he took notice of them right away because the nine-year-old boy behaved a bit oddly. Sully said he might be autistic. He clung close to his mother but seemed to concentrate on his fingers and mutter all the time. There was a little girl, maybe five years old, who had much more energy and attentiveness than her brother, and a golden retriever pup around a year old. The golden was trapped in a kennel that was much too small for her and when she was let out, she was wild and crazy. The man couldn’t handle her, had her in a choke collar that he pulled on relentlessly, shouting, “Down! Down! Molly get down! Sit! Sit!” Then he would just chain her to the trailer and she’d strain against her leash.

The mother, Anne, and the kids were exploring and playing by the lake, but the father, Chad, preferred his lounge chair under the camper’s canopy. The dog spent far too much time in the too-small kennel and her break time was limited to being chained. She was never taken for a run or a walk. And she had a lot to say, barking and whining. Well, she was confined all the time and didn’t get any attention or exercise and she was still a pup, though nearly full grown.

Chad constantly yelled at the dog. He was, in fact, more irritating than the animal. “Molly! Shut up!”

His name was Chad Petersen and he was on Sierra’s wrong side right off. He had a big fancy trailer but he clearly wasn’t camping for recreation, but for relaxation. He was overly friendly, had a big laugh and a loud voice, was very social with his neighbors and always had a beer in his hand. His wife was the one who took the kids walking to the base of the mountains to pick flowers or the edge of the lake where they could play with other children. It was his wife who put out the dinner and turned the burgers on the grill and fed the dog. It was Anne who picked up the dog droppings.

And when the dog got on Chad’s nerves she was stuffed into that too-small kennel. Molly whimpered and whined to be let out.

On Saturday afternoon Sully wandered down to the lake where Anne and the children were. He talked to a few of the women there, including Anne, and when he came back to the store, he reported what he’d learned. “Their boy is autistic, like I figured. He’s real antisocial. His dad thought a puppy would help—bring out his personality—even though his wife told him it might have the opposite effect. She’s not a service animal, for God’s sake. And now that the dog is big and dumb as a puppy, Petersen is frustrated and short-tempered and rather than admit he might’ve been wrong, he’s determined to whip that puppy into shape. I might’ve editorialized that last part, but ain’t it just obvious?”

“That poor little boy,” Sierra said.

“Doesn’t appear the boy knows what’s going on with the dog and his dad.”

Sierra stuck her neck out, probably where she shouldn’t. She approached Chad as he sat under his canopy. Beau was with her and sniffed Molly, who was on her chain. “If you invite the dog to have a swim in the afternoon when it’s sunny or take her for a really long walk up the trail, she’ll tire out and be less noisy,” she suggested.

“If you’d keep your dog away maybe mine wouldn’t bark so much.”

“My dog?” she asked. “This is the owner’s dog. This is Beau and it’s Beau’s campground. Besides, the dogs like each other. Molly’s only barking because she’s bored and lonely.”

“I’ll put her back in the kennel,” Chad said, standing from his lawn chair.

“No! No, please don’t. Anyone could see that kennel is too small. I just thought you could use a suggestion, that’s all. This place is family friendly and that includes pets as long as they’re not vicious. She’s just playful.”

“I’m thinking about drowning her,” Chad said. Then he grinned.

“Aw, jeez,” Sierra said in disgust. “Come on, Beau.”

She went back to the store and located Sully behind the lunch counter.

“Try to stay out of it,” he advised before she even said anything.

“They’re not okay,” Sierra said. “The wife and kids try not to get in his way, they give him a real wide berth, even that little boy. And the dog is barking and straining because she hasn’t had any training. And he said he was thinking of drowning her. I hate him.”

“Don’t waste your hate,” Sully said. “Nobody’s drowning anything at my campground. And how they conduct themselves is not our business unless they’re breaking the law.”

“He’s one inch from breaking the law, I can smell it on him,” she said.

The ruckus of the dog whining or barking and Petersen barking back continued while Sully and Sierra had their dinner on the porch. If a customer appeared one of them or the other jumped up to go inside and wait on them. The few campers who came to the store remarked on the barking dog and the man with the booming voice. “Don’t make the mistake of offering him advice,” Sierra said. “I did and he threatened to drown the dog.”

“Is there anything you can do?” one woman asked. “I think he’s more annoying than the dog!”

“There’s nothing we can do but ask him to leave and take his dog somewhere else,” Sully said. “I hate doing that. I apologize for the noise.”

Things seemed to quiet around the campgrounds as the sun was lowering and people were stoking their evening fires but every time a dog barked poor Molly was set to answer. Then would come the noise of her owner. “Shut up, Molly!”

Sierra was tormented by what was clearly animal abuse. The chain, the cage, the choke collar. A kennel, the right size for the dog complete with blanket and chewy toys, was a good training tool, even Sierra knew that, though she hadn’t had a dog, not really. There had been dogs on the farm when she was growing up, but that wasn’t the same as a pet like Beau. She knew Sully was right, she should just mind her own business.

He knows not his own strength who hath not met adversity.

—Samuel Johnson

Chapter 5

SIERRA BID SULLY good-night at about eight but she remained on the porch with a hot cup of tea. She took a great amount of comfort in routine—she usually got into bed with her water at her bedside and her book in her lap and read until she slept. But tonight her routine was screwed because she could hear Molly whimpering and her heart was breaking.

She wandered over to the Petersen campsite and saw that Molly was stuffed into her kennel outside while the family was inside. The dog cried and let out the occasional yelp. The bluish flickering that indicated a TV in the camper could be seen in the windows, which meant they probably could not hear Molly.

She was going to kidnap the dog.

No, Sully wouldn’t like that. And she was Sully’s guest. So...she would stay up until the dog finally went silent, and then she would sleep. In the morning she would report this abuse to someone, she’d figure out who. She would suggest to Mr. Petersen that he give her the dog to take to a no-kill shelter where she would surely find a wonderful forever home. Maybe she would stroke his ego and tell him he was a good man to take on the dog but it was okay if it didn’t work out with a pet, just do no harm. That’s what she’d do. One way or another she’d separate Molly from the Petersens before they left the campground.

She went to her cabin to get a blanket and pillow and she made herself comfortable in the hammock, just a couple of spaces away from the Petersens’ camper and a still very lonely and unhappy Molly.

Despite the sound of the whimpering dog, Sierra drifted off. She was wrapped up like a burrito in her blanket, snug as could be with the breeze rocking her when she heard a yelp. She jerked awake.

“Just shut the hell up!” Chad loudly demanded. There was another yelp. “I said, quiet!” The yelping grew louder.

Sierra bolted off the hammock and ran to the campsite where her worst fears were realized. Petersen held the dog by the chain collar and smacked her on the head again and again.

“Stop!” Sierra screamed. “Stop that!”

“Mind your own goddamn business,” he said, hitting the dog again.

It took a second to comprehend that he’d behave so, yell so, when he was literally living outside among a large group of campers. “Stop! I swear to God if you strike that animal again...”

He hit her again. Molly cowered and whimpered.

Sierra lost it. She threw herself at the man’s back, launched on him with her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist. “You’re the animal!”

“What the hell...?”

“Treating a defenseless animal so cruelly, how do you like it?” she said, tightening her arms around his neck.

The man shook her violently, but she hung on. He tried prying her arms from around his neck, but there was no give in her. “Beast,” she muttered. “Animal!”

“Sierra! Let loose of that man!”

At Sully’s command, Sierra let go and fell clumsily to the ground, landing on her ass. The fall jolted her for a moment, and then she regained her wits and saw that Anne and her daughter stood in the open door of the camper while Sully stood a few feet away, one hand leaning on a baseball bat.

Petersen huffed a bit to catch his breath. “Good thing you warned her,” he said. “I was close to forgetting she was a girl and give her what for.”

Sully hefted his bat. “You forget that was a defenseless animal, too?”

“It’s my animal!”

“More’s the pity. We got some pretty strict cruelty laws in this county and that was plumb cruel. I called the police.”

“Well, good for you,” he grumbled.

“If you don’t want that dog, I got a home for her,” Sully said.

“Bugger off, old man.”

“Police chief might take her. He’s got four goldens already but he’s mighty fond of ’em and might fancy another. They sleep with him.”

“Take her,” Petersen said. “It’ll save me the trouble of drowning her.”

Sierra got to her feet slowly, brushing off her rear end. The very first thing she noticed was Molly sitting docilely beside her miniature kennel, her head cocked to one side with what looked like a satisfied expression on her face. Sierra quickly went to the dog, took her collar in hand and led her out of the campsite.

Petersen went into his camper, out of sight.

“Come along,” Sully said, heading off for his house, not the store, leaving Sierra and Molly to follow. “I bet you were a lot of trouble to raise.”

“I was hardly noticeable,” Sierra replied.

“There’s a lot of bullshit if I ever heard any,” he said.

He didn’t go inside, but rather to the front porch of his house. He took a seat in one of the rocking chairs, resting the bat on the ground beside him.

“What are we doing?” she asked, standing there.

“Have a seat,” he said. “Just keep a hand on the dog till she decides it’s okay to lay down and relax.”

“Where’s Beau?” she asked, because Beau was usually close to Sully.

“I penned him in the bedroom for now. Molly doesn’t need the distraction.”

Sierra sat down next to Sully. They rocked in the dark and she kept a hand on Molly, gently stroking her. When she’d stop, Molly put her head on Sierra’s lap. She was docile as a lamb. “Why are we sitting here?” she finally asked.

“I’m awake,” Sully said. “Might as well sit up awhile longer and see if there’s anything to see.”

“See? See what?”

He sighed. “Just give it a few minutes. Patience, Sierra.”

After a few minutes, she quietly asked, “Do you think the police chief will take the dog?”

“I doubt it,” he said.

“But you said—”

“Girl, I say a lot of things.”

Sierra just fell silent, Molly’s head in her lap while she scratched behind the pretty girl’s silky ears. She couldn’t imagine what they were doing just sitting there but she took comfort in the fact that Molly wouldn’t be back in Petersen’s care. Then in about fifteen minutes it all began to make sense. Chad Petersen started his big, extended cab truck, backed it up to the fifth wheel, threw the lawn chairs inside the trailer and his family into the truck, disconnected his hookup, reeled in the canopy, attached the trailer to the truck hitch and pulled out.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Round about ten,” Sully said.

“Hey, you knew he’d do that! Didn’t you?”

“I had an idea.”

“You heard the noise when he was hitting her and it woke you?”

“Sierra, I’m over seventy. I sleep in my drawers. You really think I’m spry enough to get my clothes and my boots on and run on over to the campsite in under five minutes? I knew what was gonna happen and just like you, I waited on it.”

“Just like me?”

“Didn’t you take up watch from the hammock?”

“Well...yes! You knew that?”

He nodded in the dark. “Didn’t really surprise me.”

“You think the police will come now?”

“I didn’t call ’em,” he said. “Didn’t want to waste Stan’s time. I knew once I called Petersen on it he’d just pull out.”

“What does it mean? Does it mean you won’t get paid?”

“I wouldn’t care, if it came to that, but as it happens I took a nice deposit from his credit card. What it means, I reckon, is you now got yourself a dog.”

Sierra was elated for a moment, until she started thinking about how she didn’t know quite what to do with a dog. She knew what not to do. She’d never hurt an animal. But she was no expert in training one. It wasn’t until Sully stood up to go to bed, finally, that she asked. “Can I borrow some dog food?”

“Just take a bowl with you to your cabin for water and Molly can have breakfast with Beau in the morning. Time she got on a decent schedule.”

“Are you going to help me a little bit?”

“If I don’t, that dog will starve or run off,” he said. “Good night, Sierra.”

* * *

It should have come as no surprise, Molly had not had a proper grooming in a while. She slept with Sierra, snuggled up close, quiet and content and...smelly. Fortunately, Sierra had the whole day to herself on Sunday and could not only make sure Molly had a thorough shampoo but that the linens in her little cabin were also laundered. “We’ll just start over,” she confided to her new best friend.

Molly had to learn some manners for dining with Beau at breakfast—she wanted whatever he was eating, even though it was the same food. It looked like manners could take a while. But Sully coached her to show Molly what to do, then praise her, then praise her again, then let her perform again. “Someone should have tried that approach with me,” she muttered. But Molly, for her part, acted as though she knew who had rescued her. She sat still, wagged and smiled up at Sierra in a way that threatened to melt her heart.

Next it was spa day for Molly and she was prettified. Sully had an extra collar and leash and Sierra employed both to try to show her how to walk beside her, and that was going to take forever. Instead, Sully suggested they show her how to come when called. Molly sat beside Beau, Sully hanging on to both dogs while Sierra told them to sit and stay. Then she walked away, turned back, said their names and the command, “Come.” Molly very likely did what Beau did, but she did it. And both dogs got a small cookie.

“I have to go to work tomorrow,” she said. “How will you manage?”

“Lots of hands around during the day, Sierra. We’ll manage. And if you change your mind, there’s a great shelter not far from here. They’d treat her right until a home can be found.”

“I fought for her,” she said. “Let me try. But if it gets too much for you, do you promise to tell me?”

“Not a lot seems like too much anymore,” he said. “We all deserve a second chance. And I reckon Beau will help train Molly.”

Sierra came home from work with a few new toys for Sierra. She made sure her cabin was puppy safe—nothing left out to get into trouble with. She first walked her, worked with her a little bit, then put her in the cabin with water and two new toys, and left her for only twenty minutes. Then she rewarded her with lots of affection, paid attention to her for twenty minutes, and left her again. That went perfectly well three times.

Then Molly chewed off the handle of her circular brush, which had been sitting atop the bureau. Out of reach.

“Whose reach?” Sully asked.

“Oh God, this is going to take forever!”

“Takes a lot longer to raise a human. Be patient.”

The next day she brought home a new brush and two rawhide chews. The brush went in the drawer and the rawhide came out only when she left the cabin for a while, then it was put away again.

When she came home from work on Thursday afternoon, Frank was sitting on the porch with Molly. Sierra parked behind the cabin and walked over to the store. When she came around the corner Frank told Molly, “There she is, girl.” Molly burst out at a dead run and nearly tackled Sierra, jumping on her, licking her face, half barking, half crying as if Sierra had just returned from war. It brought Sierra to her knees. She crooned to the dog, “I’m home, I’m home, I love you, too.” And then she let Molly lick her face until she was covered with slobber.

“She scratch you or something?” Frank asked when she came up on the porch.

“No,” she said, wiping her wet face. “No one’s ever been that happy to see me.”

* * *

Tom Canaday was seen around Timberlake all the time since he lived in the neighborhood. He was as involved in the kids’ school activities as much as his schedule would allow and all the local businesses knew him even if he did travel a bit farther for most of his building supplies to get the best prices. He stopped in the diner now and then, maybe for a cup of coffee or slice of pie. Really, he was a very sociable guy without a lot of time on his hands to be social.

“Hey there, fella,” Lola Anderson said. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He sat up at the lunch counter and she automatically poured him a cup of coffee. “I didn’t know it was your day,” he said.

“I’m working at Home Depot tomorrow and the next day,” she said, speaking of her second job. “You have a day off?”

“I’ve been putting in a lot of time at Cal’s barn. I took the day to catch up on a few other things since Cal’s spending the day in Denver with Maggie. Her car’s in the shop and he drove her in on Wednesday and will bring her back tonight. While they’re there, they’re looking at tile, carpet and flooring.”

“It must be coming along nicely,” she said.

“Looking good. And pretty much on schedule. How’s school?”

“Slow and steady, but I only take a few credits a semester and I’m taking the summer off from classes. I have a kid starting at community college in the fall—I can’t believe that.”

“Tell me about it—Jackson’s twenty already and Nikki starts in the fall.”

“Pretty soon we’ll be empty nesters,” she said, leaning on the counter.

“Not for a while,” Tom said. “I’ve got younger kids at home. But if we ever get caught up, we should try meeting for a movie or an ice cream or something. Something adult but without kids.”

Lola smiled patiently. “I’ve heard talk like this before,” she said.

“I mean it. It’s just finding the time, that’s all.”

Lola shifted her weight to the other leg. “How’s Becky?”

“Fine,” he said. “Great.”

But Becky was neither fine nor great, he thought. And he knew exactly why Lola had brought her up. Tom and Becky had been divorced for years but everyone was of the opinion they were still a couple, that Tom was never going to be finished with that relationship. It was his own fault. He’d been letting Becky come around, visit and stay with him and the kids and people just assumed they were not quite divorced.

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