God, Sasha thought. He really has changed.
The old Ryan would have either laughed her off, or gotten even more defensive.
Had he finally grown up? Had the boy who had wanted only to slide along smoothly, the only challenges he enjoyed coming from his beloved computers, finally realized that people were what really mattered?
She didn’t know. Couldn’t be sure, at least, not yet. Maybe he was just putting on a front of connecting with real people, knowing—because she’d told him so bluntly—that she thought him lacking that skill.
And there you go again, making it all about you. When did you get so stuck on yourself?
She lectured herself for another moment, ending with the truth that there was only one thing she could be sure of at the moment: that her own, deep-down reaction to the possibility was unsettling. She shouldn’t care, it shouldn’t matter, she’d left Ryan Barton long behind.
Hadn’t she?
Sasha was still pondering the changes in Ryan, wondering just how deep they went, when the GPS he’d been so enamored of announced their destination was one mile ahead on the right. She slowed, looking, and saw a long, low, red-barn-style building set back from the road. A smaller one was off to one side, and what had apparently once been a small house sat at the end of a long driveway behind a secured gate.
The traditional rail fencing was high, and screened on the inside to make it secure, but painted pristinely white so that the first thing you thought of was charm rather than serious function. The grounds were tidy and well kept, and the small pack of five dogs who raced along the fence to greet them, tails up and tongues lolling, gave a homey air to it all.
“They look happy,” Sasha said as she pushed the button on the gate beneath the small plaque with those instructions.
“Yeah. And healthy.”
The little house was clearly the office, and was surrounded with plants, trees and flowers that looked as happy and healthy as the dogs. Beside the house Sasha saw a path that led through a big, open field toward a thick grove of trees, where it disappeared invitingly into the deep shade.
They went up two steps to the broad front porch, and stopped at the bright red front door.
“This is quite a place,” she said as she looked around.
“We like it,” came a female voice from inside the door where they’d stopped. “Come on in.”
The interior of the office was as tidy as the grounds. Sasha couldn’t help smiling at the photos on the walls, images of animals captioned imaginatively in the vein of a popular Web site that she’d come across recently, the funny spelling contributing to the humor.
“Very nice place,” Sasha said. “I’m Sasha Tereschenko,” she added, offering her hand to the young woman coming toward them.
“I’m Sheila McKay,” the woman said, drying her hands on a bright blue towel before she held out a hand first to Sasha, then Ryan. “I sort of run this place, when the real boss is away.”
“Mrs. McClaren?”
Sheila blinked at Ryan. “Yes. You know her?”
“Of her. I work for Redstone.”
The smile that lit the woman’s face made Sasha reassess her looks; she’d thought her a bit plain at first, although her shoulderlength hair had a lovely reddish tint that went well with her fair skin and the faint sprinkling of freckles across a pert nose. But that smile could light up a city block, Sasha thought now.
“Bless Redstone,” Sheila said fervently. “We were nearly going under, a few years back. The rent kept going up, the county was threatening to rezone us, we could barely keep up with the maintenance.”
Sasha looked around. “Obviously that’s not a problem now. This place is perfect.”
“Well, not quite. But we own the land now—it was Emma’s wedding present from her husband—and Emma’s got big plans. An aviary, so the birds we get have room to fly, if they can. And her husband’s building a corral for us out back, because Emma wants to take on a couple of abused horses the county shelter doesn’t have room for.”
“He’s building it? Himself?” Sasha asked, startled at the idea of a man like Mac McClaren doing something so mundane.
“Yep. For a rich guy, he’s pretty handy,” Sheila said with a grin. “And we love him around here. He’s made it all possible. Anything Emma wants for this place, she gets. Including the county off our back, since they surely don’t want to make Redstone mad. Or have Mac McClaren, famous treasure hunter, talking to the press about their interference in our innocent, benevolent enterprise.”
“Wise,” Ryan said with a crooked grin back at her.
“Yes. Now, what brings you here? Do you need us to take an animal?”
“No,” Sasha said, “it’s something else.”
“Then how can I help you?”
“It’s my sister,” Ryan said.
Sheila looked puzzled. “Your sister?”
“Trish Barton.”
Sheila looked startled. “You’re Ryan?”
He nodded. Sheila looked him up and down, then smiled impishly. “Well, she was right. You are cute.”
Sasha smothered a grin as Ryan flushed. She knew that term grated on him. It always had. She sort of understood, cute was such a high school term. But he was cute, there was no getting around that. And she had the feeling that with his boyish face, he’d still be cute at fifty.
“Better than pretty,” she said to the room at large, and Sheila’s laugh got them through the moment, even though it made Ryan grimace.
“I don’t think we realized how hard Trish worked around here until now,” Sheila said. “I know I didn’t. I’m trying to pick up the slack, but the therapy program alone has me exhausted.”
“Therapy?” Sasha asked. “For the animals?”
“No,” Sheila said. “We started a program where we take animals to visit nursing homes and hospitals, to cheer up patients. Started with one dog, a very special one, and Whisper did so well we’ve now got three dogs, a cat, two hamsters and a ferret in the program.”
“A ferret?” Ryan said, distracted.
“Kids,” Sheila explained with a smile. “They love the dogs, but they’re fascinated with the more unusual stuff.”
“And…my sister did this?”
Sheila frowned. “Yes. You didn’t know?”
“I know she took the animals to visit their owners a lot, but not about this part.”
“You should be proud of her. She has built up that program almost by herself, from the moment Emma gave her a shot at it. She has more energy than the rest of us put together.”
“She is…happy here?” Sasha asked carefully.
Sheila looked puzzled. “Very. Emma always has to be careful to make sure she doesn’t neglect the rest of her life to do it, always nagging her about schoolwork, and telling her she should have a social life, too.”
She shoved a hand through her hair, brushing back a lock that stubbornly wanted to fall over her forehead. It looked like she was growing out bangs, Sasha thought, an annoyance she’d been through herself a time or two before she’d settled on the sleek bob she wore now.
“We were glad she finally took that advice.