“Andie’s the snob,” Richard said. “Besides, I doubt we’ll ever see that guy again, so what difference does it make?”
Andie remained quiet. Their comments should have provoked her—in the back of her mind she was aware of that, but Richard’s final words seized her attention instead. Would they really not see him again?
Her own assumption was that theywould.They’d be living in the same small town, after all. But maybe Richard was right. The large span of land between each home and barn seemed to say it all. This might not be the big city, like she and her siblings were used to, but it wasn’t exactly small town living either. At least, not the sort where neighbors were in each other’s business. Country living, that’s what it was. Where people kept to themselves.
An odd sense of disappointment settled over her at the thought.
How pathetic. Had she really been hoping to see him again? Was shethatstarved for intrigue? Thatiswhat he offered, after all. She’d never even seen a man like him in person. And she couldn’t recall a perfect stranger glaring at her with such…fury. The odd thing was, behind his gruff approach and ornery-old-man persona, the cowboy actually appeared to be, well, not that old. He might even be in his upper twenties, like she and Richard.
As they came to the turnoff a few miles later, Richard turned onto the road he should have picked in the first place. Andie was busy juggling her thoughts, trying to gauge the likelihood that she’d run into the mysterious cowboy again.
The residents here were as close to self-sufficient as it got, according to Detective Lingley. The Homestead Inn, as the name suggested, was known for doing the same. Milking their own cows, raising their own chickens. Of course, raising chickens and cows made sense—they gave eggs, milk, and meat. But what was the point of trapping horses in stalls and torturing them? So that guests could feel like cowboys for a day? Was it a dude ranch too?
She’d make the state of The Homestead’s horses her first matter of business at the inn. Given enough warning, the staff managing the stables could cover their tracks. She’d need to go straight out to their stalls and see for herself that their living conditions were appropriate. Sure, she wasn’t a sole owner or anything, but even if she owned only a shred of the inn, she’d insist that any necessary changes were made.
The familiar spark of purpose made Andie feel alive again. She was glad. A part of her feared that, in leaving the life she’d known, the pursuits she’d been passionate about, she’d be left feeling aimless in her new surroundings. But there were probably plenty of causes to focus on right at the very place they’d be running.
Which brought her mind back to the man who’d essentially gifted them half-ownership of the homestead. Detective Lingley said the prior owner had contacted the relocation program saying he’d like to donate it to a family who needed to start anew. For whatever reason, he had a heart for the program. Enough to make the donation shortly before his death.
When Andie and her brothers insisted on paying market value, the mysterious man offered to put the sum back into an account for the inn. According to Detective Lingley, the owner then encouraged each of the siblings to make The Homestead their own by adding to it in some way. They were to use those funds to do that very thing.
And speak of the place…now that they’d taken the right road, the inn was coming into view. There, nestled into the heart of the valley, tucked between two rounded hills and tall, surrounding trees, stood Haven Hills’ Homestead Inn.
Andie took in the charming dormer rooftops perched over an endless wraparound porch. Leafy green wreaths hung at the center of each door, accenting the soft, butter colored shipboard that covered the face of the inn.
Warm sprouts of hope sprang deep within her. She sucked in a breath of it, enjoying the sense of peace that softened the tense muscles in her shoulders and neck. She could sense her mother’s approval at the sight, hearing the very words she’d say if she were there—this isn’t half bad, Ger,—short for Gerald.
Yes, the relocation program had even created new names for their deceased parents; they knew how to cover the bases, but Andie planned to hang onto their real names in her heart. They were all that was left of them.
“When the seller gave us our money back,” she said to her brothers, “I figured this place would be all run down or something. Like we’d have to sink a couple million into it before it’d be decent.” In truth, Andie had pictured a rundown lodge with doors falling off its hinges and toilets in sheds out back. But this…this was unexpected to say the least.
“Yeah,” Emmitt agreed. “It’s nicer than I thought it would be too.”
“It’s a two or three star at best,” Richard said. “But at least it looks decent from the outside.”
“And clean,” Andie added, “from here, anyway. Maybe the guy who sold it to us really meant what he said.”
“Which was?” Richard prompted.
“That he wanted us to make this place our own somehow…”
“And make ourselves at home,” Emmitt finished.
“Hmm,” Richard mused as he brought the SUV to a slow stop, the rather large and charming inn standing front and center.
To the right, a broad and winding stretch of pine trees followed the base of the hill for miles. Yet it was there behind the inn, among an endless array of snow-covered needles, that dozens of chimneys poked through, a few billowing with smoke.
On the left side of the inn, a line of stables and chicken coops led to a weathered barn standing tall in the distance, red against the blue sky and white snow-covered field beside it. Andie couldn’t help but get struck by the irony. The colors red, white, and blue had always symbolized freedom.
“Say goodbye to your past, kids,” Emmitt said. “And say hello to our future.”
Andie’s mind drifted back to her final goodbye with Vincent, her ex-fiancé. She’d told him she planned to abandon her commercial real estate practice to head a mission for the Cambodians and would likely never return.
Andie hadn’t been surprised by the lack of emotion on either side of the separation. What had taken her off guard though, was the sense of relief that followed. Perhapsthat’swhere her freedom lied.
If anything helped curb the bitterness she felt toward Grandpa for what he’d done, it was the fact that she was free from the impending marriage she’d been so certain would give her the life she wanted. The breakoff exposed just how shallow and loveless their marriage would have been. And as poised, polished, and pretty as Vincent was, as much as women seemed to swoon in his presence, Andie didn’t share that attraction.
An image of the rugged cowboy rather barged into her mind. She guessed if she really wanted to bump into him again, she could always take the wrong turn when coming back from the market or something.
