Erin watched Nick scoop his daughter out of the wheelchair and settle her onto the back seat of the Suburban, where he strapped her in place. He didn't speak, didn't even look at Erin as he folded the wheelchair and stowed it in the rear. Crossing in front of the truck, he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

Erin got in beside him, hating that she'd reacted to the wheelchair so intensely. She'd thought the flashbacks were over. But the moment she saw Stephanie's wheelchair, the night of the shooting had rushed back like a deluge of rancid floodwater. The man on the catwalk. The blue steel of a gun. The split-second hesitation that would haunt her the rest of her life.

Shoving the memory aside, she leaned back in her seat and gazed out the window, determined not to let the incident shake her. So she'd overreacted. If Erin had learned anything in the last several months, it was that she couldn't change what was already done. Another mistake heaped on top of a dozen others wasn't going to make a difference now.

Two slow, deep breaths and her nerves began to calm. For the first time since she'd climbed into the truck, she noticed the scenery outside her window as they drove toward Nick's house. She'd never lived in a small town before, but had fallen in love with Logan Falls the moment she'd arrived. Surrounded by endless fields of corn and wheat, neat white farmhouses and pastures dotted with cattle, Logan Falls was a typical Midwestern town. Cobblestone streets and brick storefronts distinguished the downtown area. A silver-roofed bell tower graced the top of the courthouse. Across the street, a fountain punctuated the center of the business traffic loop. Beyond, a redbrick school surrounded by maples and stately oak trees separated the downtown area from a well-kept residential neighborhood.

They rode in silence to a more rural area, the only sound coming from the occasional crackle of Nick's police radio. In the back seat, Stephanie stared out the window, her face pulled into a sullen mask Erin couldn't begin to read.

"It looks like Mrs. Thornsberry's home."

Nick's voice jerked Erin from her reverie. She looked over at him just as he turned the Suburban down a gravel drive lined on both sides by a white rail fence. Ahead, a white frame house with black shutters and a wraparound porch beckoned. Erin wasn't sure where she'd expected Nick Ryan to live, but it wasn't here. The home spread out before her looked like a happy place where children played and adults barbecued in the backyard. But on closer inspection, she noticed the signs that no children had played in this yard for quite some time. A swing set sat like an abandoned ship in a sea of lush grass. A basketball hoop mounted above the garage door was rusty, its netting torn and swinging in the breeze.

Erin smiled when she noticed the spotted horse grazing next to the rail fence. "Whose horse?" she asked, hoping to land on a subject that would brighten Stephanie's mood.

"That's Bandito," the little girl replied. "He's an Appaloosa."

"He's beautiful," Erin said. "Do you ride?"

"I used to be in 4-H and show in western pleasure and trail." Stephanie sighed. "But I don't anymore."

"How come?"

A sound of disgust emanated from the back seat. "As if you haven't noticed, my legs aren't exactly strong enough to stay in the stirrups."

Turning in her seat, Erin smiled at her. "Have you ever heard of therapeutic horseback riding?"

The little girl studied her with soft, intelligent eyes that held a lot more interest than she was letting on with her responses. "No."

"That's where kids with disabilities ride horses, work out their muscles and, basically, have a lot of fun."

"My dad says we're going to retire Bandito."

Erin risked a look at Nick. "Have you checked with her doc-"

"Steph is concentrating most of her time on physical therapy," Nick said firmly, then looked in the rearview mirror and smiled at her. "Aren't you, honeybunch?"

"Yeah, but I still miss Bandito," she said.

Deciding it might be a good idea to steer the conversation away from the riding aspect of horse ownership, Erin tried another approach. "Well, since you don't ride anymore, Steph, maybe you could just show him to me one of these days."

"Bandito doesn't like strangers," the little girl said.

Nick shot his daughter another look in the rearview mirror as he parked the truck. "That's enough, Steph. Deputy McNeal is trying to be friendly."

"Well, she keeps asking dumb questions."

He shut down the engine and opened his door, terminating a conversation Erin wished she'd never started. She got out of the truck, and watched as Nick unloaded the wheelchair. He opened the rear passenger door, scooped the little girl into his arms and set her in the chair.

"I don't mind waiting out here," Erin said quickly, when he started for the house.

Nick paused and frowned at her. "You may as well come in. Mrs. Thornsberry will want to meet you."

"Mrs. Thornsberry?"

"Stephanie's nanny."

"Oh." Feeling awkward, Erin fell into step beside him as he wheeled his daughter toward the front door. Being a cop in Logan Falls was definitely going to be different than being a cop in Chicago.

The farmhouse was set on several acres. A big maple tree shaded the side yard. Beyond, a small barn with Dutch doors and an adjacent circular pen stood as if in testimony that Bandito had once led a very busy life. The fact that Stephanie no longer rode her horse bothered Erin. Childhood was precious and she didn't want to see this little girl miss out on any of it.

The front door swung open. "Nick? Stephanie? For goodness sakes, what are you doing home this time of day?" A short, round woman with graying hair and bifocals greeted them with a maternal smile. "Do we have a guest?"

"This is Deputy McNeal." Nick looked at Erin. "This is Mrs. Thornsberry."

Relief trembled through Erin that Stephanie and Nick had a strong woman in their lives. Mrs. Thornsberry wasn't a day under seventy, but Erin could tell the instant they made eye contact that the woman was anything but frail. Mrs. Thornsberry might be only five feet tall, but behind that gentle facade and favorite-aunt voice lay the compassion and wisdom of a grandmother, and the iron will of a five-star general.

"I'm pleased to meet you," Erin said sincerely.

Mrs. Thornsberry's gaze was unwavering. "Welcome to Logan Falls." Her eyes settled on Stephanie, and she frowned. "Why aren't you in school, young lady?"

The little girl concentrated on her sneakers.

Nick squeezed his daughter's shoulder. "She showed up at the station. Said she wanted to ride with me today."

"Cutting class again, more like it." Though the nanny's voice was firm, Erin didn't miss the thinly concealed sympathy in it. Mrs. Thornsberry swung the door wide and walked back into the house. "Grab Steph's book bag, will you?" she said over her shoulder to Erin.

Erin lifted the book bag from Stephanie's lap.

Nick shot her a small, covert smile. "I think you passed inspection."

"I take it that's good?" Erin said.

"Took Hector a few tries."

Without waiting for a response, he pushed the wheelchair over the custom-made threshold. Erin followed with the book bag.

The first thing she noticed was the aroma of home-cooked food. Frank Sinatra's silky voice filled the air. The furniture was older, but of fine quality. A comfortable-looking sofa and matching easy chair sat in a grouping across from a console TV. In the dining room beyond, a sewing machine and bundles of fabric covered the length of the dinner table.

"You caught me mending," Mrs. Thornsberry said. "Stephanie, I expect you have homework." Without missing a beat she turned to Nick and looked at him over her bifocals. "Shall I call the principal this time, or do you want to?"