She braked beside the farmhouse, which was in considerably better shape than the one she had just bought. Personally, Ciara thought it could be improved by a more imaginative use of color. Once she got around to having their house painted, it wouldn’t be white, that was for sure.
“We should ring the doorbell,” Mark said.
“It doesn’t look like anyone ever uses the front door,” Ciara said doubtfully.
“I’ll go ring it anyway.” Without waiting for an answer, he loped across the neatly mowed lawn and bounded onto the porch. A minute later, he came back. “No one is here.”
There weren’t any visible vehicles, it was true. The doors on both barns as well as a couple of outbuildings were closed.
“We’ll try again on our way home from town,” she suggested. “Maybe they’re at work.”
“Do you think they have kids?”
She glanced at him, trying to decide whether he sounded wary or hopeful. Given how much trouble he had making friends, she’d expect wary. She hadn’t said to him, Let’s move somewhere so isolated, you won’t have to interact with other kids your age at all, but that had been her goal. At least, until she could introduce him to others in a controlled way.
“No idea,” she said. “Mr. Garson didn’t say.” Mr. Garson was the Realtor she’d dealt with. She wished now she’d asked more about the nearest neighbors, but it was a little late. “Come on, let’s go do our shopping.”
Goodwater had a dusty charm and an old-fashioned Main Street with the type of independent businesses that had vanished from larger towns, including hardware, appliance and clothing stores, a pharmacy, a sporting-goods store with a large banner in the window promising Uniforms for All Local Teams and a special on soccer shoes. Ciara stole a look at Mark, who was gazing with interest at the sidewalks, stores and cafés. Would he like to play soccer? She couldn’t imagine. His feet had grown even faster than the rest of him. He literally tripped over them. Maybe something this fall...
The grocery store turned out to be adequate. More expensive than Ciara was used to, but that wasn’t unexpected. It might be smart to plan a trip every few weeks to stock up at a Costco or Sam’s Club or suchlike in Spokane. She could make an outing of it for both of them.
In the frozen-food aisle, a plump woman about Ciara’s age stopped her cart to smile at them. “You must be visitors. We don’t get many strangers here.”
“I just bought a house. I’m Ciara Malloy, and this is my son, Mark.”
“Hello, do you have a horse?” Mark asked.
The woman laughed. “No, but half the people hereabouts do. I’m Audrey Stevens. I live right in town. My husband is an attorney, if you come to need one.”
Ciara smiled. “Not yet, fortunately.”
“Do you have a dog?” Mark asked.
“Yes, a small one. Since our yard isn’t very big,” she explained, probably in response to his expression. Mark thought dogs ought to be large. He couldn’t understand why anyone had bred a perfectly good animal to be purse-size.
Since he tended to be literal, Ciara was pleasantly surprised that he’d held off reminding her that she’d promised they would get a dog as soon as they moved. After all, in his mind, the move had probably been complete the minute they drove up to the house last night.
“Which house did you buy?” the friendly woman asked, reclaiming her attention.
“It’s on acreage. We dealt with the former owner’s son. Um...something Walker. I think the owner was Ephraim Walker. The name stuck in my head.”
“So would Ephraim, if you’d known him. He was the original cranky old man. One of my husband’s best clients. Ephraim liked to sue people.”
Ciara chuckled at that, trying to imagine excuses to file a lawsuit. “He must have been popular.”
“Oh, he wasn’t so bad when he was younger,” Audrey said tolerantly. “Who wouldn’t get cranky if they lived into their nineties? I’ll bet the place needs work.”
“Yes. Can you recommend any local contractors?”
Audrey could. Seeing Mark’s restlessness, Ciara accepted Audrey’s phone number so that she could call later, when she had paper and a pen in hand. Maybe she could find someone to mow the pastures a couple of times a year, too. Or would anyone be interested in renting the pasture? Of course, it would be hard to keep Mark away from any four-footed creature who lived on their own property.
Pleased by the idea of making a friend, Ciara moved on, buying generously. As skinny as he was, her son had an enormous appetite.
They were no sooner in the car than Mark reminded her that they had to stop at the neighbor’s again. Wonderful.
They pulled into the black-topped driveway to find a pickup truck and horse trailer parked in front of the second barn.
Mark leaned forward. “Mom, look! There’s another horse!”
Ciara couldn’t have missed the fact that a man was backing a horse down the ramp. The one in the pasture was just plain brown; this one was a bright shade that was almost copper, with a lighter-colored mane and tail, two white ankles and, she saw as she got out, a white star on its nose.
“A chestnut,” Mark declared, having leaped out of the car faster than she could move. “And I’ll bet it’s a quarter horse. The other one is.”
Trust Mark to know the subtle difference between breeds, even though he’d probably never seen a quarter horse in real life.
“Mark,” she said sharply. “Wait.”
The horse’s hooves clomped on the pavement when he reached it. He shook his head, sending his mane flying, danced in place and trumpeted out a cry that made Ciara jump and brought an answering call from the pasture.
“Mo-om!” her son begged, all but dancing in place himself.
The man holding the rope barely glanced at them before turning his back and leading the horse around the side of the barn.
“Really friendly,” she mumbled.
“What?” Mark said.
“Nothing.”
“Can we go watch him turn his horse out to pasture?”
“No, we’ll wait here like the polite people we are.”
“But Mom—” he begged, expression anguished.
“No.”
It had to be five minutes before the man reappeared. He hadn’t bothered hurrying, that was for sure. He’d probably hoped they would go away if he took his time.
She felt a stir of something uncomfortable at the sight of him walking toward them, although she wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t incredibly handsome or anything like that. Nobody would look at him twice if he was standing next to her ex-husband, Ciara started to think. But as this man came closer, she changed her mind. If nothing else, he was...imposing.
Like the already-pastured horse, his hair was brown. Not sun-streaked, not dark, just brown. So was the close-cropped beard that made his face even more expressionless than it already was.
He was large, likely six foot two or even taller, and solidly built. Either he spent a lot of time in a gym, or he did something physical for a living. His stride was long and yet somehow collected, as if he controlled his every movement in a way most people couldn’t.
He was only a few feet away when he said, “May I help you?” in a deep, quiet voice that was civil while also