The Baileys’ front door burst open. Joan automatically reached for the sidearm she’d left behind in Philadelphia as her gaze shifted to the door. Two boys, who appeared to be about ten, stood in the entryway.
“Mom! I’m home! And Kyle is here!”
The child’s voice echoed up the stone walls toward the vaulted ceiling, framed by rafters and the mounted stuffed heads of deer and antelope. Joan knew the ever-watching trophies had been placed there decades ago by Ann’s father, who had built the place in the midseventies.
As she approached the boys, they skidded to a stop and regarded her with suspicion. She recognized the lean boy as Nate, from the family photo. The high cheekbones and blond hair came from his mother. Clarke’s contribution was the dark eyes, though they radiated Ann’s intelligence.
The other boy had a similar look, but he was taller and his build sturdier. His relaxed body language suggested he had been here many times and was comfortable in the Bailey home. His dark eyes looked almost familiar.
“Who are you?” Nate demanded.
“I’m Joan. You are Nate, right?”
“Yeah, and this is Kyle.”
“Nice to meet you both. I’m a friend of Nate’s mother.”
“Where’s Mom?” Nate’s voice was breathless, and his thick hair swept haphazardly over his forehead.
“She’s in the kitchen. She’s cooking dinner.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed. This one was not a trusting soul. “Mom!”
“In the kitchen, Nate,” Ann called. “You and Kyle wash your hands, and we’ll have supper.”
Both boys studied Joan just as she might a suspect. The look she shot back had made hardened criminals look away, but neither kid budged.
“How can you be a friend of Mom’s? I don’t remember you.”
“I knew your mother in college, before you were born.”
Doubt darkened Nate’s gaze. “She’s never talked about you.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember everything.”
“He does,” Kyle said. “Ask Aunt Ann.”
“Aunt Ann? You two are cousins?” Joan asked.
“Yeah.”
Ann had only one sibling, Gideon. And Gideon’s son had been born almost nine months to the day after Joan had broken up with him. She could not resent this kid. She had ended things with Gideon. He’d had a right to move on to a new woman.
Joan cleared her throat. “I’m here for a few days.”
“Why?” Nate asked.
“You’re very inquisitive,” she said.
“My teacher says the same thing. She said there are never enough answers for me.”
“For you and me both, brother.”
“You don’t have enough answers?” Kyle asked.
“Never.”
“What are your questions?” Nate asked.
“The list is far too long, pal.”
Both regarded her for another beat and then moved past her toward the kitchen. Joan followed them into the large kitchen, dominated by a rustic center island trimmed with barnwood that, according to Ann’s tour, had come from one of the original structures on the property. Ann had said her parents had tackled a major home renovation last year and were currently in Texas on their first vacation in thirty-five years.
The boys ran toward Ann, and she kissed them both. “I made hot and spicy chili, just the way you like,” she said.
Ann was wearing a denim apron and had pulled her blond hair into a ponytail. Joan remembered Mrs. Bailey had worn that apron and had always pulled her hair up the same way. If not for the Baileys, Joan seriously doubted that she would have made it through college. Breaking up with Gideon had meant losing not only a boyfriend but also a family.
Nate reached around his mother and grabbed a freshly cooked biscuit.
“It’s hot. Be careful,” Ann warned.
Nate bounced the biscuit from hand to hand, then tossed it to Kyle before he grabbed another. “It’s not too bad.”
“Do me a favor and wash up first,” she said, plucking Kyle’s biscuit out of midair. “Nate, where is your dad? I thought he had you both this evening.”
Nate snatched a second biscuit. “He dropped us off at Tim’s. Said a call came in.”
“What kind of call?” Ann asked.
“I don’t know.” Nate bit into his biscuit. “Can we build a fire in the firepit tonight? We could make s’mores.”
Ann arched a brow. “Sure. But after dinner. Like I said, wash up.”
“Okay.”
The boys ran off, leaving Joan to wonder about Clarke’s call. “Clarke’s a . . .”
“Fire chief. And very good at what he does.”
“And Kyle is Gideon’s boy.”
“Yes.”
No sense delaying the inevitable. “How’s Gideon doing?”
Ann set out four place settings. “It’s been a rough year. You know his ex-wife, Helen, died.”
“I did not.” She had broken up with Gideon, but that very quick marriage still stung more than it should have.
Ann frowned, as if she had realized another something that she should have shared. “I should have called you.”
Joan finished off the wine, hoping it would settle her simmering energy. “How did she die?”
“Cancer. Very aggressive. She was gone within five months.”
“How’s Gideon taking it?”
“There was no love lost between the two of them after the divorce. But Kyle took it hard.”
“Sucks to lose your mother. I feel for the kid,” Joan said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your mother.”
Joan glanced into her empty wineglass. “Not much to say. She left when I was two.”
“Didn’t she die when you were in high school?”
“Yes.”
“What about your dad?”
She sighed, realizing they had never talked much about her family because it was so damn depressing. “Dad drank a lot, but he did his best. When I was twelve, he fell asleep in his recliner with a lit cigarette in his hand. The place caught fire. We barely got out. He took off for good a couple of years later. I was raised by a friend of his who owns a bar.”
Ann studied
