It was unfinished business. Cat narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she neared their destination, New Hope, Kentucky.

It must be unfinished business. Otherwise, why else would she drive over a thousand miles and eat trashy fast food burgers, all with a four-year-old in tow? It couldn’t just be the chance at a fresh start. They could’ve done that in Florida, or any other place in the country.

No. It was the unfinished business with Kimi’s parents, and with the town of New Hope, with herself. No second chance, no fresh start would be meaningful unless she could make Kimi’s parents understand that the accident had been a stupid teenage decision that had resulted in a terrible tragedy. And that their faith in her hadn’t been misplaced.

Actually, she had Stephen to thank for the un- comfortable situation she found herself in. She grit her teeth even as she thought about her ex-husband. The jerk had left her with nothing to live on and nowhere to go but New Hope. And he’d known that. Known what it would cost her emotionally to come back.

She mentally blew him off. So what. A fresh start was a fresh start, regardless.

Ten years had passed since she and Kimi’d had the wreck. Cat hoped it had served to ease some of the grief she’d seen on everyone’s face. Maybe now she could explain, tell her side of the story. And that their faith in her hadn’t been misplaced. But grief hadn’t been the only thing on the faces around town. Blame simmered in the eyes of friends and families she’d known her whole life.

They had blamed her. Of course they had, they never blamed the princess. She felt ashamed even as she thought it. Kimi had been her friend, as unlikely as it had always seemed: the popular prom queen and the tripped out art student.

She owed Kimi’s parents big time, too. Not because she felt guilty about drinking with Kimi the night of the accident, but because despite everyone’s warnings they’d taken her into their home to live like a real kid with a real home, with real parents. Her senior year of school had been the best time of her whole life. Then Kimi was dead and the whole dream of going to art school went down the toilet.

Well, at least some of the twists and turns in her life had turned out all right. Cat looked at her son. Ryan, sleeping that deep peaceful sleep of being four, shifted on the pillow he had propped against the window.

She glanced around at the fields of golden hay that dotted the rolling hills, so different from Florida. Florida was impossibly flat and she had never been quite able to get over the feeling of being vulnerable and exposed. Stephen had never understood that.

As she drew closer to New Hope, and to the mountains of eastern Kentucky, car washes were replaced by truck washes, and for the last twenty miles on highway 77, she’d counted twenty Ford, Chevy and Dodge pickups. No imports for the good ol’ boys.

She was glad their trip was almost over. At first, the trip had been exciting and liberating, the farther they got from Florida. They’d even made an adventure out of it, stopping to camp in several state parks on the way up.

Well, camping had been cheaper, too. All the ready money they had she was saving for their new start. A shiver went down her spine as she realized that there wasn’t even money for a freakin’ pack of cigarettes. Her insides still shook as she thought about the last time, maybe a week ago, that she’d drawn in her last soothing menthol-flavored breath. She shook her head to clear it. The "New Hope" exit sign loomed in green government finality a few miles down the road.

All the way up the coast she’d bolstered herself, told herself that it was something she had to do, but now she wasn’t so sure. No one would ever know if she just kept on driving. Visions of her and Ryan living homeless in a cardboard box flashed through her mind and kept her will bent firmly to the road before her. Her insides were quivering again and she knew it wasn’t the lack of a cigarette.

"Mama?"

"It's okay. Mama's just driving like a crazy woman."

"Curella Deevil?"

"I don't know. You think Mama's like Ms. D'ville?"

"Nope. You're pretty."

"Good answer, little man." She reached over to pinch his cheek. "We're almost there. Now don't go running around. There might be snakes."

"Snakes? Cool!"

She would be driving past the cemetery on their way to the house. Cat blinked away the ten-year-old memory. She wondered for the hundredth time if she were nuts coming back to New Hope. She shrugged. It didn't matter. What mattered was Ryan, making a better life for him.

"What’s that sign say?" Ryan was enthralled with the tall jagged passes that had been hewn through the mountains.

"It says to watch out for falling rocks." A good motto to live by, she thought cynically.

Looking over at her best work to date, she marveled at the depth of emotion that washed over her. Certainly, no one who'd known her before would have believed her even capable of loving and raising a child.

She’d never been much on spiritual matters, but being an artist had given her an appreciation of fine detail and perfect symmetry and not one of her best sculptures could match how perfect her little boy was. Oh man, she laughed inwardly. I'm one of those moms.

"Will you always be my baby?" she said knowing his answer.

Ryan pushed the blond snippets of hair that fell toward his impish nose out of his face. "Mom, I’m not a baby. I'm four."

She laughed. His nose looked like hers. Same small features, same startling blue eyes that looked as if they always had some secret joke behind them. Oh well, she sighed, he probably wouldn't be tall either.

"Mom!" Ryan bounced on the seat, "McDonalds, McDonalds!"

"No way, we just ate an hour ago."

"In Chester?"

"Win-chester. Winchester, Kentucky. Don't you want to see our new home?"

"M-mmm, Okay."

She figured he was only saying that to placate her. He was very sensitive to her moods, and she'd been on edge way too long.

They quickly passed the fast food restaurants, the inevitability of modern society. On the edge of town, guarding the entrance to the old historic section of town, stood the Sentinels, two of the oldest oak trees known to exist in Kentucky. She swallowed hard and sped past the trees, though in her mind’s eye she could still see Kimi’s ‘84 Nova wrapped around them.

All along the narrow streets were old turn-of-the-century homes. Many of the older estates had been bought by out-of-towners and restored as bed and breakfasts. Gables, awnings and extremely ornate doors graced most of the entryways. These people had money, earned or inherited. Others who lived on the boulevard hoped to attract the tourist, the kind that craved an historic atmosphere with a down-home touch.

Several of the streets had been jack hammered and sandblasted to reveal the old brick and cobblestone streets that had existed in colonial Kentucky. The city council continued in its efforts to restore New Hope to the original 1820’s splendor. Construction crews covered the entire wall of the old Ferguson Hotel attempting to bring it back to its former glory. Of course, Cat and all of the locals knew that it had once been a rip-roaring whore house, but what the tourists didn’t know...

Encircling the town hall was the professional building. It boasted offices for a lawyer, doctor and certified public accountant and it housed the post office. Next to that the town’s one bank, still run by the same family that built it in the early fifties, was advertising a low cost-of-living interest rate. And on the corner, foot traffic was beginning to increase as people were making their way down to Batson’s pharmacy and diner. They hadn’t changed anything since the 1950’s either. ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ was their motto. Many of the ambling pedestrians, making their way to the diner after their work shift, had permanently stained hands, which could only have been caused by one of three things: tobacco crops, coal mining, or diesel engine repair.

Although tobacco was a cash crop, coal was the biggest industry in New Hope. So if you didn’t die from the tobacco smoke, you died from the dust in the mines.

Cat took in the beautiful stained glass windows of the First Baptist Church as she stopped at a traffic light. The church had the look of age; pitted stones supported mossy growth and provided shelter for the field mice that had managed to make their way into town. She paused to appreciate the warm subdued hues created by the play of shadow and light on one of the windows depicting a dove with an olive branch in its beak. Set against a misty royal blue, the bird seemed to lift off the window, ready to continue its flight upward. A car horn sounded from behind them and woke her from her reverie.

She pulled into the town's one Gas-n-Go. The grease and grime had a history dating back to a time when mechanics cared to clean it up. As it was now, the whole cinder block construction hinted at a white interior, but, to the casual observer, someone in a hurry to gas-and-go, it was gray and unpresumptive.

Cat rolled down her window. After what seemed an annoying few minutes the attendant came out. The boy looked like a big jackrabbit, teeth and all.

"Hey, I'm Buck." He jammed his hands into his coveralls. "How much for ya?"

Buck. Buck Bunny. She swallowed the road-weary laughter. "Ten dollars please."

"Sure." He pulled one hand free, began to pump the gas and made himself comfortable against the side of her car while pounding out a rhythm on the pump handle with his senior class ring.

Still smiling, she looked into her side mirror. "Say, is the statue of Amos Miller still in the town square?"

"Yep. You from around here, or just visiting one of the bed and breakfasts?"

"Both. I grew up here. If you don't mind my asking, has the statue been repaired? I've been gone awhile."

"Can't say as I'd know. Didn’t know it was broke. We just moved here four years ago. I go to the high school in town. Guess you went there, too, huh?"

The pump shut off.

"Oh yeah."

High school. Man, too long ago. She handed him her credit card and started up the car. It was getting stuffy. Even in mid-August, it could still climb into the 80's during the day.

Buck Bunny returned. His face was red and cast downward as he looked at her card. He was carrying it in front of him as if it might do tricks.

"Um, Ma’am. Do you have another card? This one wouldn't go through."

"What?"

"The machine keeps rejecting it, flashing declined, you

know? Sometimes it just goes down. I'm sure your

card is good. It's just that my–"

She rescued him. "No, it probably is at its limit. It's my ex-husband's card and I have used it until the magnetic strip looks like a piece of scotch tape. Here, I'll give you cash. I'll keep the card as a memento."

She drove through the Town Square. At three o’clock in the afternoon the school buses would be headed into town to jam up the town's only entrance and exit. She hurried, throwing a quick glance at the statue of Amos Miller astride his fiery steed. . .forever a gelding.

Nope, they hadn't fixed her handiwork.

She and Kimi had made a pact one Christmas that they'd steal each other a gift, but not from a store, ‘cause that’d be wrong. Kimi had given her a size 20w underwear from a clothesline. Cat had given Kimi the iron balls from Amos Miller's horse. It’d been easy since they’d been half rusted through. There had been no way to wrap them, so she’d just handed the hollow cantaloupe sized testicles to Kimi.

"Here's a set of iron balls. You never know when they might come in handy," she had said. They made lewd jokes about the giant gonads until their sides hurt.

She passed a new strip mall and a new soccer field with a sign indicating that it was built and maintained by the Rotary Club. Then, as if an abrupt curtain had been dropped, there was nothing to see but the undulating hill country of east Kentucky. Nothing but farmhouses, cows, trees and mountains.

About a mile up the road and two verses of Ittsy Bittsy Spider, Cat turned onto a graveled road. Ryan pressed his face to the window as they made their way past what had been the Blevin’s Farm. He looked as if car sickness were the farthest thing from his mind. Cat sighed, thank God for small favors.

A great deal of the area that was forested, but many of the trees that had been her landmarks as a child were gone. At the top of the hill they pulled into a graveled clearing that served as a driveway. The attorney was already there.

Thick humidity greeted them, as they stepped from the car. She reached up to retrieve her sunglasses from their perch on her head but they immediately clouded with condensation. The summer bugs were buzzing a sleepy tune and a faint breeze was blowing through the tall grasses that had overgrown the North pasture. Wherever the breeze was coming from, it was not strong enough. She shoved the dewy glasses back on her head.

She looked around, and saw that Ryan had run off to try out a large tree. Her eyes swept back and forth over the yard. Where was she? Everything had changed. A subtle fragrance hung in the thick air, possibly from some hidden flowering shrub.

A forlorn silence hung about the house, even with the hum of bugs and the sound of distant cattle calling to one another. Cat looked around at her childhood home. When she’d received news of her inheritance, she’d been excited at the prospect of returning, but now she wasn’t so sure. The house and grounds were suffering from neglect.

The fences had weathered. Some of the planks had disintegrated altogether and lay partially buried in the tall grass. She walked over to the nearest fence and ran her hand over it, wincing as she remembered they had to be painted each spring. Now she found herself looking forward to the hard labor. After endless parties with Stephen and never-ending supplies of shallow people here was something solid and productive to do.

She turned to take in the house. It seemed like a forgotten grandmother. It was lost without the sound of children's voices, slamming screen doors, laughter, spills on the floor.

"Miss?"

Cat blinked and turned to see a woman approaching her. "Oh, I'm sorry." She had just said her name was Linda Something from the Realtor’s office. Cat watched her take a long draw on a wilting cigarette, and could feel her own mouth begin to water. She took a step back to avoid the enticing smoke as Linda exhaled.

"It's a great house, I was saying, underneath all the rough spots." Cat noticed that Miss Something took a moment to size her up. Cat, in her sweaty blue jeans, topsiders and sleeveless blue gingham shirt, was clearly not a threat to Linda, who in her high heels looked as if she might turn an ankle in the gravel.

Without offering Cat a cigarette, she continued, "These old Victorians were built to last. Just needs," her words came out in a puff of smoke," you know, some elbow grease. Could be ready to sell soon enough." She gestured with the barely visible stump of her cigarette, "I’m glad to be turning this over to you, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll unload it as soon as you can." She threw the cigarette on the ground and rubbed it out under her highly polished shoes. "Look, you’ve got a little kid and there are over twenty five acres of land here. Frankly, I don’t see how the previous owner kept it up. Too damn much for me to have been bothered with these last two years."

Cat started to comment, but realized the hard work didn’t matter. They had no where else to go.

She stood back and tried to evaluate the house objectively. The fieldstone foundation of the house, which was probably laid in the 1800’s and had never been replaced, met the exterior tongue and groove planking that continued throughout the house. Two dormers were visible from the front, and were accented by the extra large windows that hung beneath them. The rooftop was in good condition and was lovingly ornamented by a large oak tree near the rear of the house.

The second story wore the roof of the front porch like a skirt, which lifted to reveal a very Victorian wrap-around verandah with balusters and small turned columns. Many of the spindles were missing and the ones that weren’t AWOL were rotted. She thought double front doors would look great if some glass etching or relief were done on them. The boards on the front porch seemed solid enough as she stepped onto their worn surface.

Several out buildings for housing lawn and garden equipment were spread over the surrounding grounds and pastures. She was not a carpenter, but they looked as if they’d weathered a few storms and might weather a few more. Her gaze drifted back to the front porch. Shutters had been added since she’d lived there.

"Can we go inside?"

"Oh, yes. It's unlocked. Uh, where's your little boy?"

"Ryan!" Cat scanned the front yard and looked beyond that toward the barn nearby. The tree near the house did not show signs of four-year-old homage, but there was a neat new path blazed into the tall grass. She walked in the direction of the barn pasture.

"He's probably playing in there. He's only known the ocean and the city. Grass that grows higher than he can reach is a novelty. Ryan!"

Cat felt the sweat run down her neck and back and soak into the waistband of her jeans. She swatted at some horse flies that continued to buzz by her face as she walked. The grasses began swaying violently. She forgot the bugs as she fixed her aim toward the most animated group of weeds and grabbed a handful of little boy, slippery with sweat. "Gotcha!"

Amid squeals of laughter, Cat carried her son up the stone steps and followed Linda's smokey trail into the house.

"Put me down, Mom. I’ll be good." His arms and legs flailed as Cat suspended him by his overalls.

She placed him gently on the front tiles in the entry hall and looked up the staircase to the right. The house was dusty and smelled of mildew and neglect, but Cat could swear that she detected the faint smell of crayons.

Maybe it was memory, or maybe the large dusty windows did still give access to that much sunlight. Cat could hear bits of Linda's narrative about the history of the house, but she already knew it. This was the Miller House, Home for Children, her home for sixteen years.

A quick tour of the first floor confirmed what she’d already remembered of the floor plan. The room opposite the den with the dusty windows had been Ms. Lula’s study, but now Cat could see its possibilities as a display room for her artwork. If she let her eyes go slightly out of focus, she could almost see the smiling, great round black woman, rocking in a chair near the window. Ms. Lula. A woman with arms and lap big enough to love and comfort three small children at a time. What was the song she was always singing? Cat’s mind played with the lyrics for a few moments, but all she could come up with was . . "from this valley they say you are going."

She momentarily wished for one of Ms. Lula’s big bulldog hugs, the kind that, once they had you, didn’t let go. The pungent smell of tobacco on clothing woke Cat from her reminiscing, as Linda walked past her into the Great Room. She followed.

When the house had been younger, this had probably been the sitting room, where the owners sat and discussed events, sewed or read. Ms. Lula, with the needs of children in mind, had enlarged the room. What it lost in authenticity, it made up for with space that had an airiness about it.

Across the hall from the Great Room was the kitchen. Cat took a preemptory look through the kitchen, with its pine cabinets and appliances that lined the walls. The large country kitchen was designed to accommodate many hungry mouths. To Cat, it looked like a bowling alley, with cracked pink linoleum.

They wandered through the upstairs. Each room was like turning the page of a forgotten photo album. She paused longer at the third bedroom door. This was Mariko's room. Mariko, younger than Cat by two years, had immediately idolized the older girl. Cat never could understand why that was, except that she had been at Miller House practically all her life, and Mariko had been transferred in from Louisville. At any rate, most of the other girls were too prissy, and Cat had found it comforting and interesting to have someone around who thought the way she did about things.

The wallpaper looked tattered and frayed around the floorboards, as if something had been tearing at it. A fleeting shadow ran into the closet and disappeared. Wasn’t there an old line about rats jumping from a drowning vessel?

Sure enough, the rats had left their calling cards, something Ms. Lula never would have tolerated, but, all in all, Linda had been right. The place looked as if it just needed a good cleaning and some paint. Her mind was already redesigning the rooms to create great living spaces. The window in the room that used to be hers, looked out onto the forest. Tonight, she knew, the trees would light up like Christmas Trees when the lightning bugs came out. Suddenly she remembered. There was one more thing to check on.

Cat left Linda, smoking in the farthest bedroom by an open window, to entertain herself. Walking across the yard to the front fence, she felt her heart speed up. Ryan bounded ahead of her, but Cat grabbed the back of his shirt.

"Come here, Ryan. There used to be something very special near this fence. Let's see if we can find them."

"Treasure?"

"Yeah, kinda." She pushed down weeds from around the front gate but was disappointed.

Their shoes made crunching sounds as they crossed the driveway. There, hidden in the weeds, was an old tree stump. That was the tree that used to have the tire swing in it. What she was looking for had to be here.

She kicked aside the tough blue green fescue and there near the ground were the rose bushes.

"Where's the treasure?"

"These are the rose bushes Ms. Lula planted for each of us children. Remember Mama told you about Ms. Lula? She took care of us."

"‘Cause you didn't have a mom?"

"Right." She bent down to cup a fragile stunted pink bloom in her hand. "There were ten bushes in all and they would bloom all along this fence. Each bush was a different color. 'Each one special, just like you' Ms. Lula used to say." Cat pushed further down the row. " We will have to pull all this grass up so they can get some sun. They're choking."

She stood, leaving Ryan to rip and tear at the grass. Cat could see the lawyer had a smug look on her face and was obviously delighted to be rid of the responsibility of the old house. She strolled carefully down the drive toward Cat.

"Honey, you’ve got more guts than me living way out here."

Cat bristled involuntarily at Linda’s condescending tone. Cat guessed the woman wasn't any older than she was. Cat was not her honey. Remembering her promise to herself about not making waves, she changed the subject.

"Why hasn't anyone bought the place? Where did the previous owners go?"

"Well, let me see. Ms. Lula died some two years ago and in her will she listed her son as heir. There have been some legal problems with that and it’s been tied up in red tape for way too long. And, since her only son is enjoying a lengthy stay courtesy of the Georgia State Prison System, he can’t take possession. He sent a waiver giving you power of attorney and possession of the house. But you knew that part, didn’t you?" Again Linda paused to scrutinize Cat. "You responded so quickly to the notice. I didn’t know you were related to the Brown family."

"Foster brother," Cat said as the news sunk in. Seneca was in jail? She was longing to know more of his situation but didn’t feel like prolonging the visit with Linda any longer.

"I think no one bought the place because it's not in town and there are too many rooms. There was some talk about its being a historical site or something, but I haven't heard anything about that in years. I'm sure someone could buy this property and use it agriculturally, maybe one of the farms adjacent to this one."

"You mean, they would tear down the house." Cat could feel her stomach turn.

Ignoring her comment, Linda continued. "As for Ms. Lula, she died some years back and the children that she had at the time were shipped off to Winchester. Will your husband be joining you? This is a big place. Lot’s of work with tools involved."

Weary of answering this question everywhere she went, Cat sighed. "No husband worth keeping. And if anyone was handy with the tools it was me, honey." Cat wiped the sweat from her forehead. Why was her love life, or lack of one, anybody’s business?

Looking daunted, Linda lit another cigarette with the glowing end of the previous one, a habit Cat was beginning to find irritating. "I will certainly get the ball rolling on our end. Where can I reach you?"

"I'm not certain. I have a reservation at the Hardage-Owens B&B, but we’ll be in and out most of the time. I want to show my son the town."

That was a lie, but there was no way she was going to tell Linda she was out of ready money. Every dime she'd gotten in the settlement had gone toward getting them here. Stephen had been able to hire hand-fed lawyers. Hers had come from the wilds of law school.

"When can you have the papers ready?"

Linda smiled with yellowed teeth, " I just have to get some things notarized and you should be able to move in by the end of the week."

"Great. I'll call you tomorrow and check on things. Come on Ryan, let's go find a cool place to eat." They climbed into their car and followed Ms. Linda's gravel dust back down the hill. Cat saw a large feline body slide around the front of the house to sit on the front steps. It took one long measured look at them, and howled.

"What!" Ryan’s eyes always turned a vivid blue when he was excited.

"Let's camp in our new front yard tonight."

"I want to go inside." He pooched his lips and embarked on a prolonged pouting session. "Will the lady be there?"

"I don’t think so." Cat wasn't at all certain that it was legal for her even to enter the property, but they were cash poor and the house was technically theirs, so why not at least camp? After all, how bad could Kentucky weather get in late August?

She quickly ordered some burgers and they ate them on the way back to the house. Several ketchup stains later, they pulled into the gravel driveway.

Cat pulled out the tent. "Hurry up Ryan. We have to get our tent undone and set up before it gets dark. You know the drill."

Cat located the sleeping bags and piled them to carry all in one load.

"But I want to go inside, Mamma."

"One more night in our cozy tent, okay?" She hoped she sounded excited at the prospect, although she wanted as badly as he did to go inside. If she wavered in her resolve, they would be breaking and entering.

She lucked out. Ryan shrugged and ran over to chase a toad that jumped behind a large cedar tree. She could almost set up camp in her sleep. They had camped all the way up the coast from Boca Raton. The tent certainly registered the miles on its worn surface. But what could she expect of a second-hand reject from the Salvation Army? It went up in an efficient if not enjoyable fifteen minutes.

Hours later, Cat woke, feeling clammy. The thumping of the insistent rain on the tent's roof left her feeling disoriented.

"Ryan?" She rolled over and shook him. He was worn out and she could not stir him. He was soaking wet.

Cat got out of her sleeping bag and picked up Ryan, still inside his bag, and aimed for the house. Please let it still be unlocked, she thought frantically.

It was.

She nudged the door open with a squelchy tennis shoe and reached for the light switch just inside the door. The unproductive click echoed inside the foyer. Memory would have to serve. If she were right, she would go down a short hallway and then right into a den. If she were wrong, well, she'd bumped into walls before.

She sighed with relief as she turned right and found herself in the den. She strained to see anything. The wind was blowing harder and a tree was scratching the panes of the only window in the room. No thunder or lightning. Thank goodness. Ryan was terrified of both, but at the moment he was still sacked out.

She laid him down by the nearest wall and went to examine the fireplace. Cat swore softly under her breath. It was too dark to see. She would have to go back out to the car and get more gear, dry clothes, a stinking flashlight.

She made her way out to the car and back inside the house, with all the gear and a lit Coleman lantern. Her steps quickened as she walked down the hallway. The lantern cast looming shadows in the small room. Ryan was huddled in the corner, still wrapped up in his sleeping bag, whimpering. He left the safety of the bag and lunged toward Cat, grabbing her legs with shaking arms, crying, and gasping in great gulps. She bent down to gather him into her arms.

Ryan clung to her, making it difficult to take off the backpack. When she removed the fire logs and tested the flue, he clung to the waistband of her soggy sweat pants.

Once the fire was going, the room seemed more comforting. The light cast from the fire was like a large quilt thrown around them. Cat removed Ryan's wet pajamas and dressed him in one of her old t-shirts. Slipping out of her waterlogged clothes, she quickly pulled on a pair of stretch pants and T-shirt with a picture of Monet’s water lilies on it, then spread out Ryan’s sleeping bag to dry. Her bag was the driest so she unzipped it and laid it out flat so that the two of them could sleep on it. A few added blankets completed the impromptu bed linen and they were soon asleep in each other’s arms.

Her sleep-deprived mind registered the steady sound of the rain and transformed it into the thwack of a wiper moving over broken, twisted windshield. In her dream, she watched it go back and forth, wiping raindrops from a non-existent pane of glass. A growing uneasiness crept into the dream. The thumping grew louder until Cat woke with a start.

A man's outline darkened the open door to their room.

Cat’s mind wildly searched for some way to fend off their would-be attacker. Maybe he was a vagrant from the stockyards, or one of the transient field workers who spent the summer in New Hope. She gritted her teeth. She would die protecting her child, if need be. The man began to cross the room and then stopped.

He seemed to be studying them. She forced herself to lie still. She felt the cool and clammy outside air through her T-shirt.

She pretended to be asleep, as she concentrated on breathing deeply and peeked out beneath her half closed lids. If he came any closer, he’d see how she was shaking. He was close enough that she could smell his cologne. . . something similar to Polo. Were bad guys supposed to smell good?

As the man entered their little sphere of firelight, she saw the raindrops fall from his hair, catch the light from the fire, and drip onto the hardwood floors. He wore a jeans jacket, hiking boots and a flannel shirt. Traditional New Hope attire.

Ryan’s water gun. He was sleeping with it in the tent. She slowly reached over and felt around for the plastic molded revolver. He could’ve dropped it in the tent. Or it could still be down in the bottom of the wet sleeping bag. She was relieved as her shaking fingers found, and closed around its handle. During the day, it was neon green, Cat hoped in the firelight it would look like a Midnight Special.

The man knelt down.

Cat gripped the gun tighter, then took in one large breath and sat up, revolver leading the way. God help me, she thought. "I can kill you," Cat heard her voice squeak out. "Let me tell you I'm not really good with this thing and it might just go off, so back away from us. Now."

The man put up his gloved hands and backed away, still kneeling.

"Cat?"

"Who are you and what do you want?"

"It's Marcus. Marcus O'Connell."

Her resolve became uncertain. "Marky?"

"Yeah, Yeah. Now put that thing down." He cocked his head and looked at her through squinted eyes." You know, I might ask you the same question. What are you doing here?"

"Come into the light, Marcus." As he slowly obliged, she continued. "It’s ours now. I used every dime I had to get here. Why shouldn't we be in our own home?"

Even in the dim light, Cat could see that little nerdy Marcus was neither anymore. The glasses were gone; the complexion was cleared up. He seemed taller, even as he sat cross-legged on the floor.

"I own the next farm down the way. It's the clinic, actually. An animal clinic. I just delivered a foal for the Coggins and was on my way home. I saw the light

and. . ."

"Oh," Cat interrupted. "Well, you've seen us." She knew she was being snippy, but for crying out loud it was the middle of the night.

"You know you’re the last one in the world I ever expected to come back here." Suddenly seeming ill at ease he changed the subject. "This your kid?"

"No, I've kidnapped him and we're running cross country."

"You're joking, right?" He smiled and aimed a quizzical glance her way.

Cat found herself wondering when he’d grown dimples? But then she remembered her new resolution concerning men and banished the thought from her mind. "This is Ryan. I finally did one thing right."

"Look. Why don't you two come down to my place. It's definitely a bachelor pad, but at least it's warmer and dryer. There's fresh coffee and doughnuts on the table waiting for us."

Cat's stomach growled. Doughnuts sounded great. Coffee sounded warm. She fought against the impulses of her stomach. Her ex-husband’s stinging remarks about her inability to survive without his help still rang in her ears and won over her hunger."

"No thanks. We're okay. We've moved too many times tonight, and I think we just need to stay put in one place for a while." She readied herself for the display of male ego that would follow. She was pleasantly surprised.

"Good enough. Will you at least take this walkie talkie? It's linked into the radio at my clinic. If you need something, just give a yell." He held up a hand as he could see the protest beginning on her face. "Just until you get a phone hooked up. What if I had been someone else?"

She sighed. "Okay."

He took it off his belt and handed it to her. Leaning forward he took the gun from the sleeping bag where she'd laid it.

"What were you gonna do, squirt me to death?"

Before she could think of some caustic comeback, he had winked and risen to a height of at least six feet. Ten years did change things.

"Good night, Marky."

"Night. I'll save some of those doughnuts if you guys want to hike over tomorrow morning. I bought the old vet’s place, and, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re back."

In three strides he left the room. She heard him enter the foyer, his large hiking boots sounding like thunder on the wood flooring, then open and close the door behind him. She got up and made her way out, astonished that she’d forgotten to lock it before. She intended to lock it this time but could see that Marcus had already done that for her. She hugged the walkie talkie to her chest as she made her way back to the den, threw another log onto the fire and slid back down under the covers. It was going to be a short night.

Cat woke to find the sun filtering gently through the trees. She glanced at her watch through squinted, travel-tired eyes. It was six thirty. She eased herself out from under the blanket, careful not to disturb Ryan. Please let him stay asleep for once, she begged.

Picking up her backpack she placed it next to the wall by the door. She felt the coolness and firmness of the wood flooring against her bare feet. One squeaked under her heel as she squatted down to rummage through her pack. She quickly changed into a semi-clean white T-shirt and jeans, ran her fingers through her hair and turned right to go down to the kitchen.

She stopped at the door and shut her eyes. Memories of breakfasts long since eaten assailed her as she stepped into the kitchen. Inhaling, she thought she smelled Ms. Lula's pancakes and syrup. Bacon sizzled in the kitchen of her memory and juice was being poured. She opened her eyes, put the delicious memories on the backburner, and turned an appraising eye on the room.

The linoleum, with its institutional white and pink flecked pattern, still bore stoic homage to the many feet that had walked across it. She crossed the room to investigate a small area, near the back door, where something had scratched a hole and pulled up the linoleum to expose the concrete slab. No curtains hung on the windows as yet, and the sink had rusty spots in it that she was sure hadn’t been there when she walked through with Ms. Linda yesterday. So much for memories, she thought wryly. The walls were basically in good shape, no dings or major repairs. The appliances, which had been replaced shortly before Ms. Lula passed away, stood in stark contrast to the age of the room. With a few added accessories she knew she could marry the old with the new in a passable way.

On the back splash over the oven, there was a sizable grease spot, probably from countless fried breakfasts, lunches and dinners. Cat sighed. This room seemed lonely; like the rest of the house, it needed her.

A knock at the kitchen door made Cat feel as if someone had just put an ice cube down her shirt. She looked out of the window and saw a woman with a large basket hung over her arm.

"Hello?" She opened the door and tentatively looked out.

"Oh, hi," said a lady in her mid-thirties, with a short blonde bob. "I’m Fran Cooper; I live next door." She turned to indicate the direction Cat had come up the mountain the day before. Cat recalled the farm. Its mailbox had been painted to look like a tractor.

"Oh. Um, come on in. I'm afraid we haven't officially moved in yet. I'm Catherine Adams."

Shaking Cat’s hand, Fran crossed the kitchen to place the basket on the counter near the sink. Fran turned, "You don't remember me, do you?"

Seeing Cat's face flush, Fran continued. "Oh, not that you would really. I've added a few pounds since school and even at that, I mean, we weren't close friends or anything. Well, you were in the band and I was a cheerleader—Frannie Baker? My family and I moved to New Hope my sophomore year?" She blinked her brown eyes and batted her eyelashes expectantly. From the looks of the coordinated basket to the matching tea towels and the fact that they all matched her carefully casual outfit, Cat decided that Fran was probably a Martha Stewart wannabe.

Cat looked at her for a moment. The only cheerleader who had ever been her friend was Kimi and that was only because Kimi had been in the band first. The rest were grazers. It was an inside joke the band members had. It was code for COWS. If she'd been a cheerleader, they'd never been friends.

"Were we in classes together?"

"Yep. I sat right in front of you in Chem.101 and homeroom too. I used to love the color of your hair. If my mother had ever let me, I'd have dyed it to match yours. It's still such a pretty color of red, just like the leaves when they fall."

Oh yeah, now Cat did remember. The Bimbo with the ponytail. "No, I'm afraid I don't recall, too much. But, you know, back then I was not always on this planet."

"Yeah, well, we were all into the pot and booze back then. Stupid kids, you know? Oh, here," she began to unpack the basket," I brought some coffee." Fran finished unloading the basket and produced two coffees and a square Tupperware cake pan full of homemade sweet rolls. Cat bit into one. Heaven. She made her silent apologies to Marcus. This was a better deal.

Fran handed one Styrofoam cup to Cat and kept one for herself.

"I'm afraid that the only furniture I can offer is on the front porch steps. Let's go out to drink these," said Cat, moving down the hallway.

Fran looked over Cat's shoulder. "How sweet."

"Yeah, why is it that snoring is so cute on little boys and highly annoying when they're grown?"

"Beats me." Fran followed her down the hall. But, I've got a champion snorer at home."

Cat laughed. "We might just have a chance at being friends, even if you were a cheerleader."

"Oh, that's very ancient history. A baby and a husband who likes fried food took care of that. Actually, I have a little girl about your son's age. Abby is her name."

As they crossed the porch to the front steps, Cat noticed that Fran was more hip than shoulder, but she wasn’t what anyone would consider obese. She propped open the screen door with a rock that was lying nearby, to hear Ryan when he woke.

They sat down on the stone steps. Leftover raindrops fell from the trees and the steady sound kept perfect time to the birds that were waking.

"So, answer me a question, Fran."

"Okay."

"How does everyone know I'm here, when I haven't even signed the papers yet?"

"Welcome to the New Hope Grapevine. My husband, Coop, works for the city as a contractor. Linda Jennings brought the contract into the City Hall for deed search and stamps and whatever they do. She was gloating about finally unloading this place. Plus, I saw the smoke from the chimney this morning." She took a sip of coffee and continued.

"Even Senator Buchman, was amused at Linda's babbling. The Senator is here for photo ops. Presidential campaign."

They sat in silence for a moment. Cat finished off the sweet roll and watched the steam curl from her coffee. She attempted a sip.

"Hey. This is really good."

"I don’t get to town often, so I make my own blends. I don’t get too much of anywhere, but home," she added wistfully, "so I've sort of taken up herbs as a hobby. That's chicory that you're tasting."

"Wow. And sweet rolls, too." Cat smiled at Fran. This woman was okay.

Fran sighed and stood up. "Well, I gotta go. I left my crew asleep and by now they're awake and eating the furniture." Fran handed her a personal card. "Here's my number. Give us a call when you get phone service. Maybe the kids could play."

"That would be great. Thanks for the breakfast." Cat saluted her with the cup.

Cat watched Fran walk down the steps and squish through the front yard to the gate. Instead of going down the road, she went through the field into the woods, a shortcut no doubt.

The coffee was good. The conversation had been better. The people Cat had mixed with socially had the emotional and intellectual depth of the kiddy pool at the local YMCA. The plain talk and honesty of Fran’s conversation made her realize that she’d been homesick for that as much as anything else.

She groaned inwardly as she sipped at her coffee. So much work to do today, and all of it with Ryan in tow.

Cat looked out across the yard and to the right of the house. The barn still looked as if it were in good condition. Maybe when Ryan was older, he could have a pony. Sure, why not?

She watched several swallows as they flew into the top loft of the barn. Everyone needs a nest she thought, drinking the rest of her coffee. She glanced back at the spot where she had discovered the rose bushes the day before. She could actually see them. Someone had weeded them and cut the strangling grass away. Surely the real estate office hadn’t done that. But if not them, then who? And in the rain?

"Mamma?"

Cat turned to see her bleary eyed son standing in his sweat pants and oversized T-shirt. He scratched his belly sleepily. "Can I come out there, too?"

"Sure, Sweetie. Here, sit on this top step. A really nice lady brought us some sweet rolls. I'll go get them." The rose bed forgotten for the moment, she started for the kitchen. "Stay right there."

Cat returned with the rolls, pulled one apart and gave it to Ryan. The slight bite of early morning air was as refreshing and welcoming as the roll she’d just eaten. She drew in a deep cleansing breath. Almost like home.