Shoulda Been A Cowboy. Charlotte Douglas

know you’re itching to escape the valley, and eventually, if you wish to sell the property and head west, I’ve no objections. But before you go, I have two favors to ask.

      I hadn’t expected to make my exit so soon and have other plans in the works that I need you to carry out for me. First is Hannah, Daniel’s little sister.

      Caroline glanced from the page to Rand. “Daniel? At Archer Farm?”

      The likable teenage boy had been the greatest success of Jeff Davidson’s social experiment. A good kid who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd, Daniel had blossomed under the care and guidance of Jeff’s Marines. He’d become a responsible worker in Jodie’s café, made the Dean’s List at Pleasant Valley High and turned his life around. With his juvenile record sealed by the courts, Daniel was well on his way to becoming a productive citizen.

      “Daniel came from a single-parent home,” Rand said. “His mother’s recent death left his nine-year-old sister alone.”

      With dread settling like bricks in the pit of her stomach, Caroline turned back to Eileen’s letter.

      Rand has made all the arrangements for me to serve as foster mother to nine-year-old Hannah, so she can be near her brother, her only living relative. Hannah is scheduled to arrive next week. You are under no legal obligation—and Blackberry Farm will be yours, regardless—but I’m asking as a favor that you take over guardianship of Hannah, at least until Daniel graduates from high school next year. I’m certain Rand can take care of the legal technicalities.

      Caroline eyed Rand with dismay. “I don’t know anything about children!”

      “Believe me, I can relate,” Rand said with a wry smile. He’d taken custody of his two-year-old nephew last year after the death of Jared’s parents in a car crash. “You have to keep in mind that all first-time parents are new to the experience. It’s a learn-as-you-go proposition.”

      Stunned by Eileen’s first request, Caroline was almost afraid to read the second.

      If the prospect of Hannah hasn’t scared you off, my second request might seem easier. I want you to honor the year-long lease I signed recently for Orchard Cottage.

      Orchard Cottage, Caroline recalled, was the small house at the edge of Blackberry Farm’s apple orchards. Included in the complex were an ancient barn and numerous outbuildings.

      I’ve rented the place to an artist who wants the barn for his studio. He will arrive in a few days. He’s counting on this, and I’m hoping you won’t disappoint him. His payments will provide you some extra income.

      “A tenant,” Caroline said with relief. “That’s not a problem.” Especially compared to a resident nine-year-old.

      Rand lifted his eyebrows. “Keep reading.”

      Leery of what she’d find, Caroline returned to Eileen’s letter.

      As part of the lease agreement, I have promised to provide lunch and dinner daily to the tenant. I had originally figured the arrangement would provide company for me and free his time for his artwork. I hope you can honor this facet of the lease.

      Caroline stifled a groan. A guest for lunch and dinner every day? She might as well be running her own bed-and-breakfast. Then she gave herself a mental shake. How could she not honor Eileen’s wishes after the woman’s incredible generosity in leaving her Blackberry Farm? An ironic twist of fate had left her with both the means to make her immediate escape from the valley and obligations that would keep her here another year.

      “Well?” Rand had been studying her face. “What do you think?”

      “I’m still in shock.” She quickly read the remaining lines of the letter and choked back tears at the warm words of affection. “I’ll need to think about Eileen’s requests and let you know.”

      Rand followed her to the door. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.”

      “Will you notify me about the funeral arrangements?”

      “You’ll be first on my list.”

      Caroline thanked him and hurried down the stairs. Easy for Rand to say she’d do the right thing. She was the one who had to figure out what the right thing was.

      ETHAN SPRAWLED on the porch steps of the old Victorian, his elbows on the stair tread behind him, his feet crossed at the ankles on the bottom step. Contentment, an alien emotion, settled over him, eased his breathing and slowed his pulse. For the first time since making his decision to move from the city where he’d spent his entire life, he felt at peace with his choice. He missed his parents and sister, but he couldn’t endure another Sunday supper with Jerry’s chair empty, his place setting forever removed. The vacant space chided Ethan louder than any words of blame. The absence of his brother’s grinning mug across the table had been a painful reminder of Ethan’s inadequacy, his failure to be there when Jerry had needed him most.

      His family swore they didn’t fault Ethan, but the agony in his mother’s face, the perpetual slump of his father’s strong shoulders and the missing sparkle in his sister Amber’s eyes seared deeper than any words of blame. He hoped his move would grant him the serenity to come to terms with the past. If his current state of mind was any indicator, he was on the right track.

      Although the temperature had soared earlier in the day, deep shade from an ancient magnolia held the late afternoon heat at bay and cooled the porch. Above the hum of a central air-conditioning unit next door floated the notes from a piano, a classical piece that soared and swirled. He appreciated the beauty of the strange music and welcomed the fact that its unfamiliar tune triggered no memories. He’d learned through experience that he couldn’t escape them, not with alcohol nor medication. Exhaustive physical labor often helped, but not always. He’d also learned that he could handle memories better when they didn’t ambush him, triggered by a sound, a scent, a sight or a few key words.

      Post-traumatic stress disorder, his therapist had called it, and warned Ethan that running away wouldn’t stop the cascade of terrifying flashbacks and painful memories, either. But Ethan had to try.

      There will be peace in the valley for me some day.

      The line from his mother’s favorite gospel hymn popped into his head. Maybe the haunting melody was an omen, he prayed. He’d been through hell the last few months. He could use some peace.

      Footsteps on the walk scattered his thoughts. The owner of the bed-and-breakfast had returned, her walk as seductive as he’d remembered, her golden hair glistening in the sunlight, her willowy figure causing his mouth to go dry. She was carrying a plastic bag with a Jodie’s Mountain Crafts and Café logo and looking as if she’d seen a ghost.

      He rose to his feet to meet her. “You okay?”

      She’d been walking with her head down. At his question, she jerked her chin up and gazed at him. Her enticing blue eyes widened with a mixture of confusion and surprise, as if she’d never seen him before.

      “Ethan Garrison,” he reminded her. “I checked in earlier.”

      “Of course.” A flush as pink as summer roses brought the color back to her cheeks.

      “You didn’t tell me your name.”

      “I’m Caroline Tuttle.” She sounded distracted, making him wonder what had happened in the short time she’d been gone that had shaken her former poise.

      Something about the woman stirred his protective instincts. “You sure you’re all right?”

      She nodded and moved around him to climb the stairs.

      “Wait, please.” He cast about for something to say, anything to keep her with him a little while longer.

      “Yes?” A tiny line between her feathery eyebrows marred the porcelain perfection of her forehead, and he felt himself going under for the third time in the shimmering depths of her deep blue eyes.

      Then he noted the bag in her hand