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 anything. 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 overlooked the barn area, where Baldy, the singularly unattractive horse, stood stalwartly in the middle of the corral, looking as though he intended 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 headboard 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 somewhere and live like a normal kid?
“Me, too,” Sierra said. “It has friendly vibes.”
“Is that supposed to be like a closet?” Liam asked, indicating the huge pine armoire taking up most of one wall.
Sierra nodded. “It’s called a wardrobe.”
“Maybe it’s like the one in that story. Maybe the back of it opens into another world. There could be a lion and a witch in there.” From the smile on Liam’s face, the concept intrigued rather than troubled him.
She ruffled his hair. “Maybe,” she agreed.
His attention shifted back to the telescope. “I wish I could look through that and see Andromeda,” he said. “Did you know that the whole galaxy is on a collision course with the Milky Way? All hell’s going to break loose when it gets here, too.”
Sierra shuddered at the thought. Most parents worried that their kids played too many video games. With Liam, the concern was the Discovery and Science Channels, not to mention programs like Nova. He thought about things like Earth losing its magnetic field and had nightmares about creatures swimming in dark oceans under the ice covering one of Jupiter’s moons. Or was it Saturn?
“Don’t get excited, Mom,” he said, with an understanding smile. “It’s going to be something like five billion years before it happens.”
“Before what happens?” Sierra asked, blinking.
“The collision,” he said tolerantly.
“Right,” Sierra said.
Liam yawned. “Maybe I will take a nap.” He studied her. “Just don’t get the idea it’s going to be a regular thing.”
She mussed his hair again, kissed the top of his head. “I’m clear on that,” she said, standing and reaching for the crocheted afghan lying neatly folded at the foot of the bed.
Liam kicked off his shoes and stretched out on top of the blue chenille bedspread, yawning again. He set his glasses on the night stand with care.
She covered him, resisted the temptation to kiss his forehead, and headed for the door. When she looked back from the threshold, Liam was already asleep.
1919
Hannah McKettrick heard her son’s laughter before she rode around the side of the house, toward the barn, a week’s worth of mail
