CHAPTER ONE
Kieran Haggerty eased his rented vehicle into a diagonal parking space in front of a shop called Hannigan’s Western Wear. No doubt his granny would say finding an Irish establishment in the middle of Wagon Train was a sign.
He switched off the engine with a sigh of relief. Driving on the wrong side of the road all the way from the Missoula airport had been a challenge, especially with the massive lorries blocking his view.
But it could’ve been far worse. His mates had advised him to avoid jet lag by staying a night in New York. That had allowed him to book a morning flight out and make this drive in the middle of the day.
And a grand day it was. The August sun warmed his shoulders and the back of his neck when he climbed out of the vehicle.
He’d chosen to come in summer since he didn’t fancy battling snow and ice on this trip. His granny was worried enough about him as it was. After all, her only daughter had never returned from her journey to America thirty years ago.
To calm his granny’s fears, he’d bought her a mobile and taught her how to text so they could keep in touch. Speaking ofthat, he’d send her a picture of Hannigan’s Western Wear. She’d still be awake if she’d been playing cards with the neighbors.
He stepped up on the curb and zeroed in on the name lettered over the door. Then he added a message.I’m in Wagon Train. And look! A sign! Literally.He tacked on a laughing face emoji.
His granny wasn’t a fan of technology but she loved emojis. She chose images that caught her eye. Sometimes they fit the occasion, sometimes not. And if her finger slipped, anything was possible. She’d let it stand rather than trust the delete key.
Tucking away his mobile, he took note of his surroundings. The dog-eared postcard in his shirt pocket showcased the village from a different angle, but he still recognized the stone facade of the bank and the carved wooden doorway of the hotel next door.
The row of black lamp posts on either side of the street looked freshly painted and the footpath was free of litter. He appreciated that kind of civic pride.
Gazing toward the end of the street, he located the Fluffy Buffalo. The pub had come up during his online search to see if he could get a pint of Guinness in Wagon Train. He could and he would. After he’d bought a Stetson.
He'd spent years saving for this trip, fully aware the trail would grow fainter with time. By now it might have disappeared. Maybe he’d find no trace of his mum, but he wouldn’t go home empty-handed. He’d leave town wearing a Stetson purchased at Hannigan’s.
As he took a step toward the entrance, his mobile pinged. Pausing, he took it out of his pocket.
You made it, then. Hannigan’s it is. Do they have kin over here?”A four-leaf clover was followed by a dartboard and a weightlifter.
I’ll ask.
Did you get the hat you’ve gone on about?She added a hat-wearing face along with a palm tree and an elephant.
He texted back.Soon. I’ll take a picture.
What’s the time there?
Almost two.
Did you eat?She sent the licking lips face.
After I get the hat.
Promise?The weightlifter showed up again along with a rabbit.
Promise.
Bye, bye, then. This is costing you.A couple of hearts were followed by a whole row of flamingos.
Sending her a hug and a kiss, he disconnected. It was costing him, and she worried about that, too. But he’d created a budget that included an international calling plan, knowing she felt the distance between them like a knife in her heart. At this very moment she’d be lighting a candle and offering up a prayer to St. Joseph for his safekeeping.
Putting away his mobile, he crossed to the shop door and grasped the polished brass knob. Like many things in this village, the doorknob had a timelessness that appealed to him.
He stepped inside and was immediately dazzled. The earthy tang of leather blended with the crisp aroma of denim. Western hats of many different shades covered an entire wall, and boots of all colors lined the shelves of the opposite wall.
Racks of yoked shirts in every pattern and color imaginable took up space in the center of the shop, along with jeans and jackets in a mixture of plain and highly decorated styles. He was in cowboy country. Completely out of his element.
A young lad and his father were trying on boots, and two women — one ginger-haired and the other a brunette — stood over by the hat wall. The ginger had sparkles on the back pockets of her jeans but her sleeveless white top had no decorations atall. She secured her handbag over her shoulder, picked up a navy hat and settled it on her head. Then she stepped in front of a full-length mirror.
