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  “I’d like to see it through.”

  “Be here by nine then. I’ll walk you out.”

  “We’ll walk each other out.”

  “Works for me.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dillon liked mucking out the stalls. He loved the romantic smell of horses—even mixed with horse-shit bedding. Every clear memory of his life involved the ranch, and his favorite ones included horses.

  His favorite of favorites was the night he, his mom, and Gram watched Diva deliver her first foal. Some of it had been kind of yuck, but mostly just cool. They’d even let him name the foal, a pretty bay with four white socks and a crooked white blaze.

  He’d called her Comet, because the blaze looked like a comet trail. Sort of.

  And even though he’d only been six, they’d let him groom her and work with her on the lead line when she got old enough. He’d been the first to stretch his body over her back to get her used to weight. The first to ease a saddle on her, the first to ride her.

  He’d helped train others since—and thought he was pretty good at it. But Comet was his.

  And he’d been by her side when she’d had her first foal the previous spring.

  He just liked being a rancher—an agricultural rancher, because they planted and grew and harvested and sold vegetables, had an orchard of fruit trees, even Gram’s vineyard, though she mostly made wine for herself and friends.

  He didn’t mind all the chores (in fact, he liked chores a lot better than school). The planting and hoeing, feeding and watering stock, even making hay when the sun beat down, or helping run their stall at the farmer’s market.

  He liked living up high on the cliff, seeing the ocean every day, or walking the fields—even better, riding over the fields, into the woods.

  Winter Saturdays meant a lot of chores he handled by himself, or with his mom giving him a hand where she could. Inside the house, Gram and his mom would be baking—bread and pies and cakes for the cooperative. From Friday morning into Saturday the house smelled really, really good.

  Sometimes Gram made candles, too, from soy and put smelly stuff in them. She was teaching him how, just like they were teaching him how to bake bread and all that.

  He’d rather feed the pigs and chickens, watch them scramble around, haul the feed to the troughs for the beef cattle, milk the nanny goats. And muck out stalls.

  He’d finished most of the morning routine before eleven—real ranchers, Dillon knew, started early—and hauled the last wheelbarrow from the stalls to the dung pile.

  He heard the car coming up the ranch road, looked up at the sky to gauge the time. His good pals Leo and Dave were coming over to hang, but not until the afternoon.

  So too early for them.

  He rolled the empty wheelbarrow back to the barn, stowed it, and, slapping his work gloves on his pants to clean them, wandered over to see who was coming.

  In the way of boys, he recognized the shining silver vehicle as a BMW—a fanCEE SUV. He just didn’t know anybody who drove one.

  Seeing as he was the man of the house, he waited—legs spread, thumbs hooked in his front pockets.

  And when he saw Hugh Sullivan get out, he walked the rest of the way over to say hello.

  “Hi, Mr. Sullivan.”

  “Dillon.”

  In a way that made Dillon feel very much man of the house, Hugh offered his hand to shake before he just looked around.

  “I didn’t really take all this in when we were here. So much worry, and it was dark. You have a very beautiful place.”

  “Thanks.”

  Hugh gestured at the work gloves now flopping in Dillon’s back pocket. “And I can see you work hard to tend it. I realize you must have a great deal more work to do, but I wonder if I could take a few minutes of your time, speak to you, your mother, your grandmother.”

  “Sure. I’m mostly finished with the morning chores. Mom and Gram are inside baking. They bake most of Friday for the co-op, but there’s a special thing tomorrow, so they’re baking more today.”

  Maybe he thought it was too bad Cate hadn’t come, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Ah, the sheriff came over the other day to tell us they caught the guys who kidnapped Cate. That they were in prison and everything already. I’m glad,” he said as he walked Hugh to the door. “The man who killed my dad’s in prison.”

  Hugh pulled up short, looked back down at the boy. “I’m so sorry about your dad, Dillon. I didn’t know.”

  “I was really little, so I don’t remember him. But he was a hero.”

  After swiping his boots hard on the mat, Dillon opened the door. He remembered his manners. “I can hang up your coat.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  As Dillon took it, Hugh drew in a deep breath. “It smells like heaven should.”

  Dillon grinned. “It gets even better in the kitchen. Since you’re here, they’re going to ask if you want some pie or cookies or something. If you don’t say no, I get some, too.”

  Charmed, Hugh put a hand on Dillon’s shoulder. “I won’t say no.”

  He led him back, through the scents of fresh bread, rising dough, baked fruit, and sugar to where the women, in their big aprons, worked a kind of production line.

  Pies, loaves of bread, four unfrosted cakes, cookies spread out on cooling racks on a long counter. He saw a number of white bakery boxes with the Horizon Ranch label hiding their treasures on the dining room table.

  A big stand mixer whirled some sort of batter while Julia—her hair bundled up in a small cook’s cap—pulled another tray of cookies from the oven. At the island, Maggie cranked some sort of device to peel and core apples for the pie crusts already waiting.

  Music pumped out of a boom box, shaking the redolent air with rock and roll.

  Hugh thought the women were as graceful as ballerinas, as strong as lumberjacks, as focused as scientists.

  “Mom! Mr. Sullivan’s here.”

  “What? Have you finished with—Oh.” Spotting Hugh, Julia set down the tray, dusted her hands on her apron. After tapping her mother’s shoulder, she switched off the music.

  “Sorry,” she began, “for the chaos.”

  “It’s not. It’s amazing. I apologize for interrupting.”

  “I could use a quick break.” Maggie rolled her shoulders. “Dillon, why don’t you take Hugh into the living room?”

  “I wonder if I could just sit in here?” Hugh closed his eyes, drew an exaggerated breath. “And get drunk on the scents.”

  “Sit right down wherever you like.” Julia switched off the mixer. “Dillon, don’t touch a thing. Go wash your hands.”

  “I know the rules.” He rolled his eyes, walked out, because one of the rules meant he couldn’t wash hands after chores in the kitchen on a baking day.

  “I’m going to speak my mind,” Maggie decided, “and tell you you look worn out, tired out. I’m not going to offer you coffee because sometimes what a body needs is a good herbal tea. I have just the thing.”

  Grateful, he sat at the table crowded with their baking tools while Maggie put on a kettle. And smiled when Julia put an assortment of cookies on a plate.

  “Thanks can’t possibly cover it.”

  “Yes, they can,” Julia told him. “We’re all so relieved the people responsible are in prison. How’s Caitlyn?”

  “She . . .” He’d planned to say she was doing well, but the worry, the stress simply spilled out. “She has nightmares, and she’s afraid to be alone. Aidan, my son, he’s going to take her to a therapist, a specialist, someone she can talk to.”

  He paused when Dillon rushed back in. “He said he wanted to talk to all of us.”

  “And I do. Maybe you can sit here with me, help me with these cookies.”

  “Go ahead, Dillon.” As she spoke, Julia got a jug out of the fridge, poured a glass of goat’s milk for her son.

  “My wife—Lily—she wanted me to add her thanks. She would have come with me, but she went with Aidan
and Cate back to L.A. They’re going to stay in our guesthouse for now. Cate didn’t want to go back to their house.”

  “Because her mother lived there.”

  “Dillon,” Julia murmured.

  “No, he’s right. That’s exactly right. My mother left for Ireland this morning. The house here . . . it feels too big for her without my father. Too full of memories of him that, right now, make her sad. Aidan’s going to take our Catey there, away from all this. We all think it’ll be good for her, and she wants to go.”

  “You’ll miss them.”

  “Yes. My mother’s turned the house here over to me. I hope Lily and I can spend more time here, but we have caretakers, the couple who’ve worked for my parents for many years, who’ll look after the place while we’re in L.A. or working.”

  Maggie set a cup in front of him. “See that you drink that.”

  “I will. I wanted to ask if when we are here, if you’d come, have dinner with us.”

  “Of course. You’re alone here tonight?” Julia asked him.

  “I have some things to deal with before I leave. Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Then you’ll have dinner with us tonight. Red’s already coming, so we’re putting a pot roast on as soon as the baking’s done.”

  “I would . . . Thank you. I’d love to come to dinner.” To compose himself, he lifted the tea, sipped. “This is good, and interesting. What is it?”

  “Basil and honey,” Maggie told him. “Holy basil it’s called, with honey from our own bees. It helps with stress and fatigue.”

  “I want to say you’re both amazing women who are, clearly, raising an amazing young man. I speak for my entire family—and we are many—when I say we are forever in your debt.”

  “There’s no debt,” Julia began, but Hugh grabbed her hand and stopped her.

  “She is the world to me. I adore the children Lily brought into my life, and love them like my own. But Caitlyn is the only child of my only child. My first wife died,” he said to Dillon.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Her middle name was Caitlyn, and I see her in Catey’s eyes, in the way she moves. She is the world to me. I want you to allow me to give you more than gratitude. I know there’s no price for what you, all of you, did for Cate, but I’m asking you to allow me to give you some tangible repayment for what can never be repaid.”

  “Your heart’s in the right place.” Maggie took a bowl, poured the mix in it over the apples. “We couldn’t take money for doing what was right for a frightened child.”

  “The world to me,” Hugh repeated.

  Reading the emotion, the need, the pain, Julia made a decision. “Dillon, did you finish your chores?”

  He stuffed the second half of a cookie in his mouth before it was too late. “Almost.”

  “Since you’ve bolted your share of those cookies, finish the almost.”

  “But—” He caught the look in his mother’s eyes, the one that said: Argue with me, pay the price. He dragged himself to his feet. “I guess I’ll see you for dinner, Mr. Sullivan.”

  “Hugh, and, yes, you will.”

  He waited until the boy went out the back. “You thought of something you’ll accept.”

  “That depends. We had a dog. Dillon loved Daisy so much. She went everywhere he went—except school, and if they could’ve figured out how to manage it, she’d have been under his desk. We, my husband and I, got her before he was born, so he had her all his life. She died two months ago.”

  Her voice broke. “I’m not over it. But grieving time has to end, and I’ve seen when Dillon has computer time, he’s been looking at dogs. He’s ready.”

  Maggie lifted her apron, used the hem to wipe at her eyes. “I loved that damn dog.”

  “I’ll get him any kind of dog he wants.”

  “There’s a woman I know who helps with rescues and fostering. I’ve been thinking of this for a couple of weeks, but couldn’t make myself pull the trigger.”

  “Because this is the trigger,” Maggie put in, and rubbed a hand on Julia’s back.

  “It feels that way. She’s just this side of Monterey, so not far. I can call her if you want to take Dillon and go see.”

  “Yes. If this is what you’ll accept, this is what I’ll do.”

  “One favor. Don’t tell him where you’re going. I think the surprise is part of the gift. It’s a gift, not payment.”

  “A gift.” Rising, he took Julia’s hand, kissed it. “Thank you.”

  The next thing Dillon knew, his mom made him wash up—again—so he could help Hugh with an errand.

  “Um, Leo and Dave are coming over in a couple hours.”

  “You’ll be back by then, and if not, we’ll keep them entertained.”

  She made him put on his school jacket instead of his work jacket—like anybody cared. Still, he didn’t think he’d mind a ride in the fancy car.

  “I appreciate this, Dillon.”

  “It’s okay.” After hooking his seat belt, Dillon brushed his fingertips over the leather seat. Smoo—ooth. “This is a really nice car.”

  “I like it. Here, you can navigate.” He handed Dillon the directions Julia had written out.

  “That’s Mom’s writing.”

  “Yes, she’s helping me, too. So tell me, Dillon,” he continued before the boy could ask with what, “what do you want to do, to be, when you’re grown-up?”

  “A rancher, just like now. It’s the best. You get to work with animals, especially the horses. And you plant things.”

  “It must be a lot of work.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still awesome. We get some help in the spring and summer when we need it, but mostly it’s just me and Mom and Gram. You’re going to turn left at the end of our road, head toward Monterey.”

  “Got it. You said especially the horses. Do you ride?”

  “Sure. That’s the best. But I know how to train them. I saw that movie you were in where you were a rancher, but you used to be a gunfighter.”

  “Ah. Into Redemption.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. You need to turn left again on that road coming up. You really rode good. Mom let me rent the DVD of this movie you made with Cate and your son, and I guess your dad. We watched it last night because it’s not a school night. You all used accents, even she did. It was weird.”

  Hugh laughed, made the turn.

  “I meant it was weird for me, I guess, because after a while I kind of forgot who she was, and you and her dad, because it seemed like you were the people in the movie. It’s the next left.”

  Slowing, Hugh gave Dillon a long look. “You’ve just given me and my son, my granddaughter, my own father the highest of compliments.”

  It felt good to know he had, even if he didn’t quite understand how. “Is it fun, being a movie star?”

  “Not always, but it’s awesome being an actor.”

  Dillon wasn’t sure what the difference was, but it seemed rude to ask. His mom hated rude.

  “Mom says it’s the blue house on the left with the big garage.”

  “Looks like we’re here then.”

  Hugh pulled into the drive behind a van, a truck. “I appreciate you coming with me.”

  “It’s okay. Mom or Gram would have remembered to make me clean my room otherwise.”

  “Clever boy,” Hugh murmured as they got out.

  Outside the blue ranch house on the short front lawn sat a Big Wheel. A birdhouse hung from the corner eave, and in the front window sat an enormous tabby cat who looked bored at the idea of company.

  When Hugh knocked, a din of barking erupted from inside. In the window, the cat yawned. The door opened almost immediately.

  Dillon saw a woman older than his mother, younger than his grandmother, with short brown hair and really red lips and really pink cheeks. She pressed a hand to her heart over a shirt with lots of color that looked too fancy for Saturday morning to him.

  She said—pretty much squeaked—“Oh, Hugh Sullivan! I just can’t be
lieve—I’m so . . . Come in, come in. I’m Lori Greenspan. I’m just honored.”

  Hugh said polite stuff, taking her hand, but Dillon didn’t pay any real attention. Because he got the movie star thing now. People, or some people anyway, got crazy eyes for movie stars. He guessed acting was just a really cool job.

  “And you’re Julia’s boy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You come right on in. I hope you’ll excuse the mess,” she said, giving Hugh the crazy eyes again. “I was just doing my Saturday cleaning when you called.”

  Not in that shirt, Dillon thought.

  “Your home’s just charming, and we appreciate you letting us drop in on your busy day.”

  Her already pink cheeks pinked up more at Hugh’s compliment. “I’m never too busy for—” She seemed to catch herself, gave Dillon a quick look. “For good company. Please have a seat. I’ll just be a moment.”

  When she scurried out, Dillon looked up at Hugh. “Do lots of people do that when they meet you?”

  “Do what?”

  Dillon did his best imitation of crazy eyes, adding rapid head shakes for impact. With a rolling laugh, Hugh gave Dillon a friendly punch on the shoulder.

  “It happens.”

  “Do you ever—” He broke off when a couple of puppies, yipping deliriously, raced into the room.

  Hugh watched the boy’s face light up as he dropped into a crouch. The pups licked everywhere, paws scrambling as they tried to climb on the boy. Just as delighted, the boy stroked and petted everywhere at once.

  Love at first sight, Hugh thought, personified.

  “Aren’t they sweet?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Dillon’s laugh wound in, around, through the words as the pups leaped, licked, tumbled. “What’re their names?”

  “They don’t have any yet. I’ve been calling them Girl and Boy so I don’t get too attached. You see, we foster animals—mostly dogs and cats, but you never know. Sometimes they’re abandoned or mistreated, and we help take care of them until they find their forever home. These two were part of a litter of six. The poor mama was trying to take care of them as best she could. They were all living in a drainage ditch, poor things.”

  “You do kind and caring work, Lori.”