The grass brushed her jeans, making a swishing sound as she moved through it toward the house. She listened for the sound of a rattlesnake, telling herself not only was she trespassing but her father could have been right about the dangers—including snakes.
A stiff breeze at the edge of the house banged a loose shutter and whipped her hair into her face. She stopped to look around for a moment, feeling as if she was being watched. But there was no vehicle parked in the drive. No sign that anyone had been here in a very long time.
She tried the screen door on the front porch first. The door groaned open. The wind caught it, jerked the handle from her fingers and slammed the door against the wall.
McKenna thought she heard an accompanying thud from inside the house, as if someone had bumped into something. She froze, imagining Ellis Harper coming out with a shotgun. But Ellis was dead. And she didn’t believe in ghosts, right? “Hello?”
No answer.
“Hello?” she called a little louder.
Another thud, this one deeper in the house. She stepped to the front door, knocked and, receiving no answer, cupped her hands to peer through the window next to the door.
The house was empty except for dust. That’s why the recent footprints caught her attention. The tracks were male-size boot soles. Someone from the county would have been out to check the house before the auction, she told herself.
The tracks led into the kitchen at the back. What she saw leaning by the back door made her reconsider going inside. A shovel, fresh dirt caked on it, stood against the wall. Next to it was a plaid shirt where someone had dropped it on the floor.
Her horse whinnied over at the fence. Another horse whinnied back, the sound coming from behind the house.
Someone was here.
Not someone from the county, who would have driven out and parked in front. Someone who’d come by horseback. Someone who didn’t want to be seen? Just like her?
Ellis Harper’s funeral had been earlier this week. Anyone who read the paper would know the house was empty.
But why would that person be digging?
She retreated as quietly as possible across the porch and down the steps. As she angled back toward where she’d left her horse, she glanced behind the house.
There appeared to be several areas on the hillside where the earth had been freshly turned. She hadn’t noticed it earlier; all her attention had been on the house. As she reached the fence and quickly slipped through, her horse whinnied again. The mare’s whinny was answered, drawing McKenna’s gaze to the hillside beyond the barn in time to see a rider on a gray Appaloosa horse.
From this distance she could see that the rider was a man. He was shirtless, no doubt because he’d left his plaid shirt in the house where he’d discarded it along with the shovel.
She caught only a glimpse of him, his head covered by a Western straw hat, as he topped the hill and disappeared as if in a hurry to get away.
She wondered who he was. Obviously someone who wasn’t supposed to be here—just like herself. She hadn’t gotten a good enough look at him and knew she wouldn’t be able to recognize him if she saw him again, but she would his horse. It was a spotted Appaloosa, the ugliest coloring she’d ever seen—and that was saying a lot.
As she swung up into her saddle, she couldn’t help but wonder what the man had been digging for—and if he’d found it.
ARLENE CALLED HANK Monroe to confirm their appointment to sign him up for her rural dating service before she headed into Whitehorse. The first thing that had struck her was his voice. It was deep and soft and sent a small thrill through her. Had any man’s voice ever done that before? Not that she could remember—but then, she was no spring chicken anymore.
She knew she was setting herself up for disappointment. The man couldn’t be as good as he sounded either in his e-mail or on the phone.
“I’m looking forward to meeting you,” he’d said. “I have to confess, I’ve never done anything like this before. You know, dating online. The way my generation did it was gazes across a crowded room. I’m a little nervous.”
She’d assured him there was nothing to it.
But Arlene was nervous herself when she reached the Hi-Line Café where they’d agreed to meet.
The moment she walked in and spotted Hank Monroe sitting at one of the booths her heart began to pound wildly. Never in her life had she experienced such a reaction.
She’d been pregnant with Violet when she married Floyd Evans. It had been the result of a one-night stand. She’d said she was on the Pill so he wouldn’t take her right home. Floyd had been good-looking and popular, and she’d thought she could fall in love with him—and him with her if he’d give her a chance.
She’d also erroneously thought that she wouldn’t get pregnant.
She’d been wrong on all counts.
But when she’d discovered she was pregnant, Floyd had seemed as good a bet as anyone. He had a farm down in Old Town Whitehorse and, while reluctant, he had agreed at the urging of his parents to stand up and accept his responsibilities.
She’d known she was no looker. It was one reason she’d learned to cook at an early age. She’d realized she needed more to offer than other girls. She’d thought her cooking and cleaning would make Floyd fall in love with her. She’d still dreamed of the happily-ever-after romance she hadn’t found with Floyd or any other boy.
She’d been only seventeen when she and Floyd had married. He’d been twenty-eight. Now, at fifty-one, Arlene had long ago given up on love, let alone romance.
Hank Monroe looked up just then. He wasn’t handsome, not by anyone’s standards, but there was something about him that had her pulse pounding as she made her way to his booth.
“Arlene?” he asked hopefully as he got to his big feet.
She could only nod and smile. “You must be Hank.”
He nodded with a laugh that resembled a donkey’s bray. She laughed then, too, and they exchanged a look that made Arlene feel seventeen again.
“I like your laugh,” he said and grinned.
By the time she had him signed up for her dating service she had a date with him for Saturday night and was on her way to buy herself something special to wear.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited. But at the back of her mind she heard her mother’s nagging voice warning her that this feeling wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Because Arlene didn’t deserve to be happy.
HAD VIOLET EVANS known what her mother was feeling at that moment, she would have joined her deceased grandmother in warning Arlene not to count on a future—let alone a happy one.
If Violet had her way, her mother wouldn’t be around long. And from what the doctors were saying at the mental hospital, it looked as if Violet was going to get her way.
And
