as though he wanted to ask if she’d been taking her medications regularly. Fortunately for him, he didn’t. He merely tugged at the brim of his too-new hat and stepped back.
Olivia pulled the door closed, started up the engine, ground the gearshift into first and made a wide 360 in front of the barn.
“That certainly went well,” she told Ginger. “We’re going to be in each other’s hip pockets while the shelter is being built, and he thinks I’m certifiable!”
Ginger didn’t answer.
Half an hour later, the X-rays were done and the blood had been drawn. Rodney was good to go.
TANNERSTOODINTHE middle of the barnyard, staring after that wreck of a Suburban and wondering what the hell had just hit him. It felt like a freight train.
His cell phone rang, breaking the spell.
He pulled it from his jacket pocket and squinted at the caller ID panel. Ms. Wiggins, the executive principal at Briarwood. She’d certainly taken her time returning his call—he’d left her a message at sunrise.
“Tanner Quinn,” he said automatically.
“Hello, Mr. Quinn,” Ms. Wiggins said. A former CIA agent, Janet Wiggins was attractive, if you liked the armed-and-dangerous type. Tanner didn’t, particularly, but the woman had a spotless service record, and a good résumé. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner—meetings, you know.”
“I’m worried about Sophie,” he said. A cold wind blew down off the mountain looming above Stone Creek, biting into his ears, but he didn’t head for the house. He just stood there in the barnyard, letting the chill go right through him.
“I gathered that from your message, Mr. Quinn,” Ms. Wiggins said smoothly. She was used to dealing with fretful parents, especially the guilt-plagued ones. “The fact is, Sophie is not the only student remaining at Briarwood over the holiday season. There are several others. We’re taking all the stay-behinds to New York by train to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade and dine at the Four Seasons. You would know that if you read our weekly newsletters. We send them by email every Friday afternoon.”
I just met a woman who talks to animals—and thinks they talk back.
Tanner kept his tone even. “I read your newsletters faithfully, Ms. Wiggins,” he said. “And I’m not sure I like having my daughter referred to as a ‘stay-behind.’”
Ms. Wiggins trilled out a very un-CIA-like giggle. “Oh, we don’t use that term in front of the pupils, Mr. Quinn,” she assured him. “Sophie is fine. She just tends to be a little overdramatic, that’s all. In fact, I’m encouraging her to sign up for our thespian program, beginning next term—”
“You’re sure she’s all right?” Tanner broke in.
“She’s one of our most emotionally stable students. It’s just that, well, kids get a little sentimental around the holidays.”
Don’t we all? Tanner thought. He always skipped Thanksgiving and Christmas both, if he couldn’t spend them with Sophie. Up until now it had been easy enough, given that he’d been out of the country last year, and the year before that. Sophie had stayed with Tessa, and he’d ordered all her gifts online.
Remembering that gave him a hollow feeling in the middle of his gut.
“I know Sophie is stable,” he said patiently. “That doesn’t mean she’s completely okay.”
Ms. Wiggins paused eloquently before answering. “Well, if you would like Sophie to come home for Thanksgiving, we’d certainly be glad to make the arrangements.”
Tanner wanted to say yes. Instantly. Book a plane. Put her on board. I don’t care what it costs. But it would only lead to another tearful parting when it came time for Sophie to return to school, and Tanner couldn’t bear another one of those. Not just yet, anyway.
“It’s best if Sophie stays there,” he said.
“I quite agree,” Ms. Wiggins replied. “Last-minute trips home can be very disruptive to a child.”
“You’ll let me know if there are any problems?”
“Of course I will,” Ms. Wiggins assured him. If there was just a hint of condescension in her tone, he supposed he deserved it. “We at Briarwood pride ourselves on monitoring our students’ mental health as well as their academic achievement. I promise you, Sophie is not traumatized.”
Tanner wished he could be half as sure of that as Ms. Wiggins sounded. A few holiday platitudes were exchanged, and the call ended. Tanner snapped his phone shut and dropped it into his coat pocket.
Then he turned back toward the barn.
Could a horse get depressed?
Nah, he decided.
But a man sure as hell could.
A SNOWMANSTOOD in the center of the yard at the homeplace when Olivia drove in, and there was one of those foldout turkeys taped to the front door. Brad came out of the barn, walking toward her, just as Meg, her sister-in-law, stepped onto the porch, smiling a welcome.
“How do you like our turkey?” she called. “We’re really getting into the spirit this year.” Her smile turned wistful. “It’s strange, without Carly here, but she’s having such a good time.”
Grinning, Olivia gestured toward Brad. “He’ll do,” she teased.
Brad reached her, hooked an arm around her neck and gave her a big-brother half hug. “She’s referring to the paper one,” he told her in an exaggerated whisper.
Olivia contrived to look surprised. “Oh!” she said.
Brad laughed and released her from the choke hold. “So what brings you to Stone Creek Ranch, Doc?”
Olivia glanced around, taking in the familiar surroundings. Missing her grandfather, Big John, the way she always did when she set foot on home ground. The place had changed a lot since Brad had semiretired from his career in country music—he’d refurbished the barn, replaced the worn-out fences and built a state-of-the-art recording studio out back. At least he’d given up the concert tours, but even with Meg and fourteen-year-old Carly and the baby in the picture, Olivia still wasn’t entirely convinced that he’d come home to stay.
He’d skipped out before, after all, just like their mother.
“I have a problem,” she said in belated answer to his question.
Meg had gone back inside, but she and Brad remained in the yard.
“What sort of problem?” he asked, his eyes serious.
“A reindeer problem,” Olivia explained. Oh, and I got off to a fine start with your friend the contractor, too.
Brad’s brow furrowed. “A what?”
“I need to get out of this truck,” Ginger transmitted from the passenger seat. “Now.”
With a slight sigh Olivia opened Ginger’s door so she could hop out, sniff the snow and leave a yellow splotch. That done, she trotted off toward the barn, probably looking for Brad’s dog, Willie.
“I found this reindeer,” Olivia said, heading for the back of the Suburban and unveiling Rodney. “I was hoping he could stay here until we find his owner.”
“What if he doesn’t have an owner?” Brad asked reasonably, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair before reaching out to stroke the deer.
“He’s tame,” Olivia pointed out.
“Tame, but not housebroken,” Brad said.
Sure enough, Rodney had dropped a few pellets on his blanket.
“I don’t expect you to keep him in the house,” Olivia said.