hands into the pockets of her corduroy jacket. The sun was bright enough to make her wish she’d brought sunglasses, but the air was crisp and cold.
“There’s the lane to the farmhouse.” She pointed ahead to the wooden gate that sagged between two posts. If there’d ever been a fence along the neglected pasture, it was long gone. “Is it coming back to you at all?”
Tyler shook his head. “I only visited my grandfather once before the time I came for the funeral. Apparently, he and my mother didn’t get along well.”
From what Grams had told her this morning, John Hostetler hadn’t been on friendly terms with anybody, but it would hardly be polite to tell Tyler that. “That’s a shame. This was a great place to be a kid.”
Her gesture took in the gently rolling farmland that stretched in every direction, marked into neat fields, some sere and brown after the harvest, others showing the green haze of winter wheat.
He followed her movement, narrowing his eyes against the sun. “Are those farms Amish?”
“All the ones you see from here are. The Zook farm is the closest—we share a boundary with them, and you must, as well.” She pointed. “Over there are the Stolz-fuses, then the Bredbenners, and that farthest one belongs to Jacob Stoker. Amish farms may be different in other places, but around here you’ll usually see a white bank barn and two silos. You won’t see electric lines.”
He gave her an amused look. “You sound like the local tour guide.”
“Sorry. I guess it comes with running a B&B.”
He looked down the lane at the farmhouse, just coming into view. “There it is. I can’t say it brings any nostalgic feeling. My grandfather didn’t seem welcoming when we came here. If my mother ever wanted to change things with him—well, I guess she left it too late.”
Was he thinking again about his grandfather’s funeral? Or maybe regretting the relationship they’d never had? She knew a bit about that feeling. Her father had never spent enough time in her life to do anything but leave a hole.
“You said something this morning about conversations breaking off when you came in the room—people wanting to protect you, I suppose, from knowing how your grandfather died.”
He nodded, a question in his eyes.
“I know how that feels. When my father walked out, no one would tell us anything.” She shook her head, almost wishing she hadn’t spoken. After all these years, she still didn’t like thinking about it. But that was what made her understand how Tyler felt. “Maybe they figured because he’d never been around much anyway, we wouldn’t realize that this time was for good, but the truth would have been better than what we imagined.”
His deep-blue eyes were so intent on her face that it was almost as if he touched her. “That must have been rough on you and your sisters.”
She registered his words with a faint sense of unease. “I don’t believe I mentioned my sisters to you.”
“Didn’t you?” He smiled, but there was something guarded in the look. “I suppose I was making an assumption, because of the inn’s name.”
That was logical, although it didn’t entirely take away her startled sense that he knew more about them than she’d expect from a casual visitor.
“The name may be wishful thinking on my part, but yes, I have two sisters. Andrea is the oldest. She was married at Thanksgiving, and she and her husband are still on a honeymoon trip. And Caroline, the youngest, is an artist, living out in Santa Fe.” She touched the turquoise and silver pin on her shirt collar. “She made this.”
Tyler stopped, bending to look at the delicate hummingbird. He was so close his fingers almost touched her neck as he straightened the collar, and she was suddenly warm in spite of the chill breeze.
He drew back, and the momentary awareness was gone. “It’s lovely. Your sister is talented.”
“Yes.” The worry over Caro that lurked at the back of her mind surfaced. Something had been wrong when Caro came home for the wedding, hidden behind her too-brittle laugh and almost frantic energy. But Caroline didn’t seem to need her sisters any longer.
“The place looks even worse than I expected.” Tyler’s words brought her back to the present. The farmhouse, a simple frame building with a stone chimney at either end, seemed to sag as if tired of trying to stand upright. The porch that extended across the front sported broken railings and crumbling steps, and several windows had been boarded up.
“Grams told me the house had been broken into several times. Some of the neighbors came and boarded up the windows after the last incident. The barn looks in fairly good shape, though.”
That was a small consolation to hold out to him if he really hadn’t known that his mother let the place fall to bits. Still, a good solid Pennsylvania Dutch bank barn could withstand almost anything except fire.
“If those hex signs were meant to protect the place, they’re not doing a very good job.” He was looking up at the peak of the roof, where a round hex sign with the familiar star pattern hung.
“I don’t think you’d find anyone to admit they believe that. Most people just say they’re a tradition. There are as many theories as there are scholars who study them.”
Tyler went cautiously up the porch steps and then turned toward her. “You’ll have to climb over the broken tread.”
She grasped the hand he held out, and he almost lifted her to the porch. She whistled to the dog, nosing around the base of the porch. “Come, Barney. The last thing we need is for you to unearth a hibernating skunk.”
“That would be messy.” Tyler turned a key in the lock, and the door creaked open. He hesitated for an instant and then stepped inside. She followed, switching on the flashlight that Grams had reminded her to bring.
“Dusty.” A little light filtered through the boards on the windows, and the beam of her flashlight danced around the room, showing a few remaining pieces of furniture, a massive stone fireplace on the end wall, and a thick layer of dust on everything.
Tyler stood in the middle of the room, very still. His face seemed stiff, almost frozen.
“I’m sorry if it’s a disappointment. It was a good, sturdy farmhouse once, and it could be again, with some money and effort.”
“I doubt I’d find anyone interested in doing that.” He walked through the dining room toward the kitchen, and she followed him, trying to think of something encouraging to say. This had to be a sad homecoming for him.
“There’s an old stone sink. You don’t often see those in their original state anymore.”
He sent her the ghost of a smile. “You want to try out the pump?”
“No, thanks. That looks beyond repair. But I can imagine some antique dealer drooling over the stone sink. Those are quite popular now.”
“I suppose I should get a dealer out to see if there’s anything worth selling. I remember the house as being crowded with furniture, but there’s not too much left now.”
“My grandmother
