“That isn’t really safe for you or the animal.”
“It’s probably safer than you being distracted by his cries.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?” she asked. “It’s not a short drive.”
But he was already reaching into the crate to pick him up.
“I guess not,” she decided.
The little goat snuggled into Evan’s chest and actually sighed.
“Does he have a name?” he asked when they were finally underway.
Daphne shook her head. “Not yet.”
“You should call him Billy—as in Billy the Kid.”
“That’s a little corny,” she said. “Not to mention that the goat you keep referring to as he is actually a she.”
“So spell it i-e instead of y,” he suggested.
Not that it really mattered to him what she called the kid. The baby goat was her responsibility now—he was just along for the ride.
Or so he wanted to believe.
But the truth was, the little creature had already managed to take hold of his heart—and so had Daphne.
* * *
Thursday night, Evan went to his mother’s house for dinner, as he did almost every week. Because he was still craving the rib eye he’d given up on Saturday, he let her know that he’d bring the steaks to go along with Wanda’s baked potatoes and green salad.
“How was your date Saturday night?” Grandma Daisy asked when they were seated around the table with their food.
Evan stabbed his fork into the cherry tomato on top of his salad. “How did you know I had a date?”
“Your grandmother has spies everywhere,” Wanda said.
“I have a social network,” his grandmother clarified. “Real people in the real world—none of this virtual nonsense.”
“And which member of your spy—I mean, social network was at DJ’s Saturday night?” he asked.
“My yoga instructor. And she said she saw you with—and this is a direct quote—an attractive young woman who seemed very smitten.”
“Is this true?” Wanda asked, sounding as pleased as she was surprised. “Are you dating someone?”
“One dinner doesn’t constitute dating,” he said, eager to put the brakes on before his mother forged full steam ahead planning his future.
And if he’d admitted that they’d already shared two dinners and a handful of kisses, she would surely think it was the beginning of a relationship.
But Evan didn’t do relationships. Because relationships came with expectations, and he never wanted to disappoint a woman the way he knew his mother had been disappointed by his father.
“Who is she? When did you meet her? Where did you meet her?”
“Mom,” he said, a single word filled with weariness and warning.
“Well, you can’t expect me not to have questions about the girl you’re—you had dinner with,” she quickly corrected herself. “And you can’t stop me from hoping that you might invite her to come home and meet your mother someday in the not-too-distant future, even though you never bring home any of the girls you date anymore.”
He sighed. “I don’t bring anyone home because every time I do, you immediately assume she’s the one.”
“Twice,” she said. “If I made any such assumptions, it was no more than twice because you’ve only ever introduced me to two of your girlfriends. And the last one was four years ago.”
He cut into his steak. “Because both times you were mentally drafting a guest list for the wedding before we got to dessert.”
“I just want you to be happy,” she told him.
“I am happy,” he said, wishing she could believe it was true. “I have a busy life—”
“If your definition of life is work,” Grandma Daisy chimed in.
“I do enjoy my work,” he insisted. “But if you’d let me continue, I was going to say, ‘and a wonderful family.’”
“Well, that part goes without saying,” she told him.
“At least tell me her name,” Wanda urged.
“Why? So you can stalk her on Facebook?”
“You know I quit Facebook when I started getting all those invitations from strange men. And anyway, isn’t Instagram all the rage now?”
“Are you on Instagram?” he wondered.
She shook her head. “I’m not interested in taking pictures of my food—or seeing pictures of other people’s food. Although—” she slid her knife through her meat, cutting off another piece “—this steak is really good.”
Because he was enjoying the meal, and because not telling her about Daphne seemed to make the relationship—if it even was a relationship—into a bigger deal than it was, he finally relented and said, “Her name is Daphne Taylor.”
His mother and grandmother shared a look that suggested they’d both recognized the surname and made the connection to Taylor Beef.
“She’s the one with the animal sanctuary,” his grandmother realized.
He nodded.
“That must make for interesting conversations around the dinner table,” Wanda noted, no doubt thinking about her own siblings, all of whom had moved away from Bronco and rarely bothered to keep in touch.
“Family relationships are never simple,” Grandma Daisy agreed. “But good for her for standing up for her convictions.”
But his mother had a more pressing question. “When do we get to meet her?”
* * *
On Friday, a second-grade class from Mountainview Elementary School took a field trip to Happy Hearts Animal Sanctuary to learn about farm animals. Daphne truly believed that education wasn’t just an important part of her work but the key to changing the way other people viewed and interacted with animals, and a school group visit was usually the highlight of her day.
Children were, in her experience, naturally curious and innately kind. Though occasionally she encountered someone like Oliver G., who’d picked up stones off the ground to throw at the animals. His action had resulted in a firm admonishment and the option of spending the rest of the time on the bus or staying close to his teacher. He opted, not very happily, for the latter.
When the group had finished their tour, they were escorted to the education center to eat their lunches and watch a short, age-appropriate film about life on a farm.
Daphne took advantage of the momentary break to deliver some treats to Tiny Tim and listen to a voice mail from her father. The message was characteristically brief, demanding that she “call when you can.”
It was their first communication since Thanksgiving, and though she knew better than to expect an apology from Cornelius, it still would have been nice to hear one. Of course, that would require her father to acknowledge that he’d played at least a small part in the conflict, which she knew didn’t fit his personal narrative of their relationship.
So she would call him back, but not right now. She wasn’t going to let Cornelius spoil her happy mood or distract her from visiting with the pig. After a few minutes with Tim, she exited the barn, halting as she heard the distant sound of soft weeping, a wave of sadness washing over her.
Over the past few years, she’d grown accustomed to both the sound and the sensation, but she wasn’t immune to the heaviness of emotion. She didn’t know how finding Alice’s long-deceased lover would help alleviate her sorrow, but Daphne was trying, because it was what Alice wanted her to do.
She paused when she saw Mrs. Brunswick standing outside the barn with a young girl.
“Chelsey, what are you doing over here?” the teacher asked, understandably concerned that one of her students had managed to get separated from the group. “You’re supposed to be in the education center having your lunch.”
“I heard the pretty lady crying.”
“Who’s crying? Where?” Mrs. Brunswick asked, more distracted than concerned. �
��I don’t hear anyone crying.”
The wrinkle on the child’s brow smoothed out. “That’s because she’s not crying anymore.”
The teacher looked around, but didn’t see anyone in distress. “Who’s not crying anymore?”
“Alice.”
Daphne froze.
“There’s no one named Alice in our class,” Mrs. Brunswick reminded her student.
“I know.”
“So she’s another one of your imaginary friends?” the teacher guessed.
The little girl shook her head. “She’s not imaginary. She’s a ghost.”
Mrs. Brunswick sighed. “We’ve talked about this, Chelsey. And I know your mom’s talked to you about this, too. Ghosts aren’t real.”
“Just because you don’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there,” the child protested, even as she let the teacher lead her away.
Daphne knew that she should get back to the education center, too, but she needed a moment to wrap her head around what had just happened. Though she’d gotten used to the sound of Alice’s weeping and even enjoyed the occasional conversation with her, Chelsey’s reference to a “pretty lady” suggested that the little girl had not only heard Alice, but seen her, too. A possibility that raised goose bumps on her own arms.
Was it possible that the little girl was like that kid in the movie—the one who could see dead people?
Or was the child only imagining that she’d seen a pretty lady?
“What’s going on with you, Alice?” Daphne muttered the question under her breath. “What kind of game are you playing?”
“It’s not a game.”
Daphne’s breath caught in her throat. “I thought you’d gone.”
“Where would I go?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“You’re annoyed with me.”
“No, I’m not,” she denied.
“You are,” Alice insisted. “You’re wondering why Chelsey could see me and you can’t.”
“Okay, yes,” she acknowledged.
For five years, Daphne had worried that she was going crazy, hearing things that no one else seemed to hear. And now, in the space of only a few weeks, the presence—Daphne was reluctant to think of her as a ghost, maybe because she’d always been told there were no such things as ghosts but there was definitely Alice—had let herself be heard by two other people. First by Evan, on his inaugural visit to the farm, and now seven-year-old Chelsey on a class trip.
“And that’s why you don’t see me—because a part of you still questions the possibility of my existence.”
“Are you reading my mind now?”
“Your feelings more than your thoughts.”
“That’s reassuring,” she said, not feeling reassured at all.
“Children are much more open to believing.”
Daphne couldn’t deny that it was true, and perhaps it did explain why Chelsey was aware of Alice’s presence.
“But what about Evan? He doesn’t believe in ghosts.”
“He only thinks he doesn’t believe in ghosts,” Alice said, sounding amused.
But Daphne wasn’t willing to take her word for it, and she wasn’t ready to tell Evan about Alice, let alone ask him to help her find Russell Kincaid.
Because even someone who wasn’t afraid of ghosts might be scared off by the discovery that she could communicate with a woman who’d been dead for sixty years.
* * *
After a dozen years in the business, Evan still enjoyed taking different tour groups to haunted sites in and around Bronco.
“You mean you enjoy taking their money,” his sister would say.
And that was true, too.
He wasn’t in business to make people aware of alleged paranormal activity in the area but to pay the bills and take care of his family. It was a bonus, he figured, that he enjoyed operating the tours.
And though every group was different, he’d noticed that there were always one or two die-hard believers, a few maybe-willing-to-be-convinced skeptics, and several others who definitely didn’t buy into the paranormal aspects of the stories but were interested in the history and/or willing to be entertained.
Tonight he had a middle-aged couple in his group that hit both ends of the spectrum.
“My aunt went to high school with Alice Milton,” Colin Dockray said to his wife. “She came out here after the fire with a bouquet of flowers, and she said there was a heaviness to the air that could only be caused by the presence of restless spirits.”
“Or maybe the heaviness was lingering smoke from the two buildings that were destroyed by the fire,” Emmaline suggested.
“You really don’t feel anything here?” her husband asked, obviously disappointed.
“I feel cold,” she said. “It’s fifteen degrees outside and I’m standing in ankle-deep snow.”
“Close your eyes,” Colin suggested. “Breathe in the atmosphere.”
“Can I wait in the van instead?”
“Your mind wasn’t always so closed to possibilities. What happened?”
“We saw that psychic at the carnival who said you were going to marry a very rich woman, despite the fact that I was right there with you and wearing your ring on my finger,” his wife reminded him.
“Rich doesn’t necessarily refer to material wealth,” Colin pointed out.
“I’m going to wait in the van,” Emmaline told him.
She was halfway there when Daphne came out of the barn with the baby goat wrapped snugly in a fleece blanket in her arms. The adorable kid was too much of a temptation for even Mrs. Dockray to resist, and while his guests shifted their attention to the kid, Evan found his own snagged by the pretty woman who’d rescued it.
She was wearing her customary outfit of jeans and puffy coat with a knitted red hat on her head. Beneath the brim of that hat, her blue eyes sparkled, and when she met his gaze, her lips curved.
The warmth of her smile spread through him, immediately followed by something that might have been panic as he realized he was in serious danger of falling for her. But he managed to keep his voice light when he said, “Way to upstage my tour.”
Her smile widened as his guests gathered around to coo over the newest resident of Happy Hearts. “At least I waited until your story was done.”
“Thank you for that,” he said.
Daphne fielded some questions from the tour group then, mostly sharing information about the animals who lived on the farm with a few questions about the ghost horses and Alice sprinkled in.
“Obviously whatever restless spirits were here before have settled over the years,” Colin said to his wife. “Because the animals wouldn’t be so happy and content if the property was haunted in a bad way.”
Emmaline rubbed her knuckle under Billie’s furry chin. “You’re suggesting that it’s haunted in a good way?”
“I think it’s just like Mr. Cruise said—that the spirits of the horses that died in the fire are still here as guardians for the other animals.”
Evan was pleased that his guests—or at least some of them—were buying into the story he’d spun about the ghost horses. And though each tour had included one or more guests who swore they could hear the horses or smell the fire, Evan had experienced none of those things.
And yet, with each successive visit to Happy Hearts, he was increasingly convinced that there was something to the story about the farm being haunted.
Or maybe the farm’s sweet and sexy owner had put him under her spell.
* * *
The following afternoon, as Daphne wrestled with the fragrant balsam fir that had been delivered by a local tree farm, she realized that asking Evan to help set up and decorate her Christmas tree would have been the perfect ruse to get him engaged in preparations for the holiday—because it wouldn’t have been a r
use at all. The fact was, trying to maneuver the six-foot tree into the stand was not a one-woman job.
But even with less than three weeks until Christmas, she’d hesitated to enlist his help because she didn’t want to appear as if she was hitting him over the head with her holiday spirit.
Aargh.
She rubbed the top of her own head as the tree toppled over on her again.
Barkley announced a visitor at the same time the doorbell sounded—a welcome interruption. She didn’t care who was at the door, whether it was a neighbor or volunteer or FedEx delivery person, she was going to beg them to help get the damn tree set up.
Even better, it was Evan.
“Hi,” she said.
“Should I apologize for stopping by without calling first?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I’m happy to see you.”
He reached out then and plucked a fir needle from her hair. And a second and a third. “You look like you’ve been rolling around on the forest floor.”
“Wrestling with a Christmas tree in my living room,” she said.
“Ahh, that would explain it.”
“And only one of the reasons I’m happy to see you,” she said.
He lifted a quizzical brow.
“I could really use a hand.”
“Look at that—” he held his up “—I’ve got two.”
She stepped away from the door so he could enter. “Bring them in.”
With Evan’s help, the tree was quickly set up in its stand. It took a little bit longer, and a lot of cajoling, to convince him to help with the lights after he’d reminded her—yet again—that he wasn’t really into Christmas. But finally the branches were wrapped with lights and the real decorating could start.
“You didn’t say why you stopped by,” Daphne remarked as she hooked a hanger on a shiny glass ball.
“I just wanted to see you,” he said.
“Me or Billie the Kid?”
He grinned. “I was happy to hear that you decided to keep the name.”
She shrugged. “It’s corny, but it fits.”
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