.

of junk and not worth fixing up.”

      “He ain’t far off about the house, I’m afraid. But if you want to try, I’m here to do the job. And you don’t need no contract with me, neither. Round here, we don’t do business that way. Just give me the go-ahead and ’fore you know it, you’ll have a real nice bed-and-breakfast.”

      Harry shifted a toothpick around in his mouth.

      “’Course, I’ll need money up front for the initial supplies.” He threw a ten on the counter and stood. On his way out he stopped to talk to a couple of townspeople, then left.

      “Of course, always the money first,” she muttered, rearranging sizzling sausage with another batch of pancakes to try to get them all cooked through. The buzz of conversation behind her began to sound like a hive of angry bees.

      She remembered the stranger and his son. Turning around, she found the man watching her. The child colored on a place mat with one of the crayons from a small glass Sarah kept on each table.

      “Coming,” she said and hurried around the counter to their table. “I’m so sorry for the delays this morning.”

      “Don’t worry about it. He’ll take cereal and milk—” the man nodded toward the child, who didn’t bother to look up “—I’ll have a biscuit with gravy.”

      “No problem.”

      He glanced toward the griddle. “Your eggs are burning.”

      “Oh my gosh! I’ll be right back.” She raced over to the temperamental griddle, squelching an urge to kick the tar out of it. She doubted that would work and besides she might break a toe. Quickly she put together the order and carried it to the table, laying down the bill at the same time. When she thought to look again a few minutes later, the small booth was empty and payment for the meal rested on the receipt.

      IN THE CROWDED parking lot shared by the café and a veterinary clinic next door, Cimarron headed for his truck with Wyatt on his heels. Every step he’d taken for the past month, he’d been dogged by this miniature R.J., like the ghost of his brother constantly reminding him that he’d screwed up. Again. And it was driving Cimarron crazy.

      He hoisted Wyatt onto the seat in the cab. “Wait here till I get back.”

      Wyatt’s eyes widened in dread. “Where are you going?”

      “Just right up there to look at that house. I won’t be gone long. Stay in the truck and don’t touch anything.”

      This morning didn’t seem to be the best time to talk to Sarah James, but he could at least look at the old house, which was looming in a forlorn state of disrepair on the hillside behind the café. Square and bulky, three stories high, with dormers and tall chimneys sprouting from a slate roof, the structure’s classic bones had been altered over the years by clumsy additions to the sides and a utilitarian porch that hid the craftsmanship of the original molding around the front entrance. The front door stood open, beckoning Cimarron to explore.

      “I want to go, too,” Wyatt said, his eyes and voice pleading. He hadn’t liked to be alone for a minute since his daddy died.

      An occasional car passed on the two-lane highway leading out of town, the drone of tires on asphalt rising and then ebbing away to nothing as each vehicle disappeared around the bend. Cimarron hesitated with his hand on the door of his truck. Finally, he exhaled hard and put the kid back on the ground again. “Just don’t get in my way and don’t touch anything.”

      “Okay.”

      Always okay. Never any protest unless Cimarron tried to get out of his sight for two seconds.

      Cimarron shook his head and strode off, with Wyatt right behind. When he entered the musty-smelling parlor, a rush of images came to him, some faded, with tattered edges like old photographs long misplaced. This place had been a fishing lodge in its prime and Cimarron could imagine the boom of laughter as fishermen warmed themselves with whiskey and a roaring fire and told tall tales of their day in the stream.

      With a practiced eye, Cimarron assessed the condition of the once-proud room, which had deteriorated over time into a shadowy dust-covered ruin. The bad news? Rotting ledges at the bottom of two of the tall windows facing the mountains; holes in the plaster; dry, splintered floorboards that creaked under his weight as he crossed the room. The good news? The house had good bones and the problems Cimarron noticed at first glance appeared to be only superficial. He ran his hand appreciatively along the intricately carved mantel over the parlor fireplace before climbing the elegant staircase to inspect each of the six bedrooms and a miscellany of smaller rooms. Wyatt stuck to him like a shadow, but he’d given up trying to pry the child away weeks ago. Easier to just keep him pacified for the time being.

      Downstairs once more, he pulled a small pad and pencil from his pocket and sat on a windowsill in the parlor to jot down his thoughts and make note of a few measurements he’d taken. The morning sun warmed his back through the rippled glass panes. He was in no hurry to leave and had nowhere to go.

      CROWDING EVERYTHING on the hot side of the griddle, Sarah managed to finish the morning cooking without losing her mind. An hour and a half later, the last table cleared as a tourist family of four that had run her ragged finally left. At least her regular customers had understood her dilemma and been patient with the poor service, so she’d cut a percentage off each ticket, even though she needed every penny of income. As soon as the front door clicked shut, she grabbed the phone and called Aaron’s cell number. No answer. Furious now, she punched in another number and drummed her fingers on the counter waiting for an answer.

      “Hello?” she said in surprise when a woman answered. “I’m trying to reach Aaron. He didn’t show up for work today.”

      “I know, Miss Sarah.” The woman’s voice wavered. “I’m his mother, Martha, and I just got home. He’s so sick he can hardly lift his head off the pillow. He only managed to call me a few minutes ago.”

      “Oh, I see.” Sarah’s anger waned. “Does he need a doctor?” She didn’t know the family very well, only that Aaron worked and saved most of his money by living at home.

      “I think it’s just a stomach bug, but if he’s not better tomorrow he won’t be in.”

      “I understand. Please have him call me when he feels better to let me know when he’ll be back.”

      “I will. He really likes that job, so I know he’ll be there as soon as he can.”

      Sarah settled the phone into place on the wall cradle and leaned against the counter for a weary moment before tackling the messy tables. She filled a large garbage bag and hauled it out the back door to the Dumpster. Glancing up, she noticed movement in her uncle’s old house on the hill. She shaded her eyes against the bright sunshine and frowned. Somebody was definitely sitting in the window. Who was on her property and why?

      Several vehicles were parked at her best friend Kaycee Rider’s veterinary clinic next door, but on this side a lone black extended-cab pickup with a fancy camper shell sat in the parking lot. She glanced at the magnetic sign on the door, which sported a colorful “house” logo with the scrolled letters VRR intertwined and overlaid on a red C. Below that Vision Restoration and Renovation and an out-of-state phone number appeared.

      Some consultant Harry had called in? He hadn’t mentioned any outside firm to her. She started up the hill, noticing Kaycee and an assistant in the corral behind the clinic working with a lame horse.

      Quietly she went through the open door. Lock it next time. From the arched doorway between the entrance hall and the main parlor, she could see the stranger who’d eaten in the café sitting in the bay window, his dark head bent over the tablet on his knee as he wrote.

      “Excuse me,” Sarah said.

      He looked up and shot her a heart-stopping smile. “I see you survived the breakfast crowd.”

      “What are you doing in here?” she demanded.

      “Interesting