be afraid to use them,” Meg replied. “Family tradition.”
Sierra withdrew her hand from the teapot, shut the doors. “Family tradition?”
“McKettrick rules,” Meg said, with a smile in her voice. “Things are meant to be used, no matter how old they are.”
Sierra frowned, uneasy. “But if they get broken—”
“They get broken,” Meg finished for her. “Have you met Travis yet?”
“Yes,” Sierra said. “And he’s not at all what I expected.”
Meg laughed. “What did you expect?”
“Some gimpy old guy, I guess,” Sierra admitted, warming to the friendliness in her sister’s voice. “You said he took care of the place and lived in a trailer by the barn, so I thought—” She broke off, feeling foolish.
“He’s cute and he’s single,” Meg said.
“Even the teapot?” Sierra mused.
“Huh?”
Sierra put a hand to her forehead. Sighed. “Sorry. I guess I missed a segue there. There’s a teapot in the china cabinet in the kitchen—I was just wondering if I could—”
“I know the one,” Meg answered, with a soft fondness in her voice. “It was Lorelei’s. She got it for a wedding present.”
Lorelei. The matriarch of the family. Sierra took a step backward.
“Use it,” Meg said, as if she’d seen Sierra’s reflexive retreat.
Sierra shook her head. “I couldn’t. I had no idea it was that old. If I dropped it—”
“Sierra,” Meg said, “it’s not china. It’s cast iron, with an enamel overlay.”
“Oh.”
“Kind of like the McKettrick women, Mom always says.” Meg went on. “Smooth on the outside, tough as iron on the inside.” Mom. Sierra closed her eyes against all the conflicting emotions the word brought up in her, but it didn’t help.
“We’ll give you time to settle in,” Meg said gently, when Sierra was too choked up to speak. “Then Mom and I will probably pop in for a visit. If that’s okay with you, of course.”
Both Meg and Eve lived in San Antonio, Texas, where they helped run McKettrickCo, a multinational corporation with interests in everything from software to communication satellites, so they wouldn’t be “popping in” without a little notice.
Sierra swallowed hard. “It’s your house,” she said.
“And yours,” Meg pointed out, very quietly.
After that, Meg made Sierra promise to call if she needed any thing. They said goodbye, and the call ended.
Sierra went back to the china cabinet for the teapot.
Liam clattered down the back stairs. “I told you this place was haunted!” he crowed, his small face shining with delight.
The teapot was heavy—definitely cast iron—but Sierra was careful as she set it on the counter, just the same. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“I just saw a kid,” Liam announced. “Upstairs, in my room!”
“You’re imagining things.”
Liam shook his head. “I saw him!”
Sierra approached her son, laid her hand to his forehead. “No fever,” she mused, worried.
“Mom,” Liam protested, pulling back. “I’m not sick—and I’m not delusional, either.”
Delusional. How many seven-year-olds used that word? Sierra sighed and cupped Liam’s eager face in both hands. “Listen. It’s fine to have imaginary friends, but—”
“He’s not imaginary.”
“Okay,” Sierra responded, with another sigh. It was possible, she supposed, that a neighbor child had wandered in before they arrived, but that seemed unlikely, given that the only other houses on the ranch were miles away. “Let’s investigate.”
Together they climbed the back stairs, and Sierra got her first look at the upper story. The corridor was wide, with the same serviceable board floors. The light fixtures, though old-fashioned, were electric, but most of the light came from the large arched window at the far end of the hallway. Six doors stood open, an indication that Liam had visited each room in turn after leaving the kitchen the first time.
He led her into the middle one, on the left side.
No one was there.
Sierra let out her breath, admiring the room. It was spacious, perfect quarters for a boy. Two bay windows over looked the barn area, where Baldy, the singularly unattractive horse, stood stalwartly in the middle of the corral, looking as though he in tended to break loose at any second and do some serious bucking. Travis was beside Baldy, stroking the animal’s neck as he eased the halter off over its head.
A quivery sensation tickled the pit of Sierra’s stomach.
“Mom,” Liam said. “He was here. He had on short pants and funny shoes and suspenders.”
Sierra turned to look at her son, feeling fretful again. Liam stood near the other window, examining an antique telescope, balanced atop a shining brass tripod. “I believe you,” she said.
“You don’t,” Liam argued, jutting out his chin. “You’re humoring me.”
Sierra sat down on the side of the bed positioned between the windows. Like the dressers, it was scarred with age, but made of sturdy wood. The head board was simply but intricately carved, and a faded quilt provided color. “Maybe I am, a little,” she admitted, because there was no fooling Liam. He had an uncanny knack for seeing through anything but the stark truth. “I don’t know what to think, that’s all.”
“Don’t you believe in ghosts?”
I don’t believe in much of anything, Sierra thought sadly. “I believe in you,” she said, patting the mattress beside her. “Come and sit down.”
Reluctantly, he sat. Stiffened when she slipped an arm around his shoulders. “If you think I’m going to take a nap,” he said, “you’re dead wrong.”
The word dead tiptoed up Sierra’s spine to dance lightly at her nape. “Everything’s going to be all right, you know,” she said gently.
“I like this room,” Liam confided, and the hopeful uncertainty in his manner made Sierra’s heart ache. They’d always lived in apartments or cheap motel rooms. Had Liam been secretly yearning to call a house like this one home? To settle down some where and live like a normal kid?
“Me, too,” Sierra said. “It has friendly vibes.”
“Is that supposed
