The wording in Tansy’s note had given Lindsey the strange feeling that there was more to it than that. It wouldn’t be long before she found out if she was right. Not one for keeping secrets, she’d reluctantly agreed to her great-aunt’s request. She was confident she could prove herself on the job no matter who had put in a good word for her along the way. But Tansy had insisted, and Lindsey didn’t want to be at odds with her great-aunt and -uncle—the only people she kind of knew in Thistle Bend.

What could keeping the secret really hurt, after all? Lindsey and her great-aunt and -uncle were distant relatives. Tansy was her grandmother’s sister. If anyone cared to—and Lindsey couldn’t imagine why they would—they’d have to do some digging to connect her to Tansy and Oscar Karlsson. Even then, there was no blood relation between them. Lindsey had been adopted as an infant, becoming the only child of her loving and supportive parents. So loving and supportive that they’d offered all kinds of assistance while she’d been unemployed. They’d even invited her to come back and live in her old bedroom upstairs in the white-brick colonial where she’d grown up. Lindsey adored her parents, but at twenty-eight, she was determined not to move back in with them. Dedicated to making it on her own, she had thanked them, pinched her pennies tighter, and declined.

Lindsey put the card back in the envelope. Since the cows blocking the road were in no hurry, she checked the printed map and directions to the cottage she’d rented. The map of the entire town fit neatly on one page, every street name and landmark legible. She bunched her lips and concentrated on the circle she’d drawn on the grid: 410 Primrose Street. In a mile or two she could park the U-Haul and get started on the journey that would lead her back to D.C.

After the last cow stepped off the pavement, Lindsey put the truck in gear and rounded the bend, to find a large, reasonably modern school complex set away from the road on her right.

Thistle Bend School. Welcoming Grades K–12.

Lindsey read the sign twice, the reality of small town life sinking in. One school for all the kids? The school appeared nice and well kept—flanked by a playground, a soccer field, and a baseball diamond where, at the moment, people were gathered watching an adult softball game. A cacophony of cheers and boos resounded from the field, rising into the twilight. The scene reminded Lindsey of summer evenings she’d spent playing kickball on the National Mall with her team from the Smithsonian.

Next she passed the modest-sized Center for the Performing Arts, pleased to see that there was one. The front of the building formed a stage, and a large lawn stretched out before it. Signs advertised a summer concerts-on-the-lawn series. Lindsey perked up. Could there be hope that Thistle Bend offered some of the activities she’d enjoyed in D.C., just on a much smaller scale?

The road led her past a cute Western-style shopping center—a hardware store, a pastry shop, a grocery store, even a movie theater, none of them chains like she’d seen in most of the cookie-cutter towns she’d passed through on her way here.

“Hmm…Kind of charming.”

But Thistle Bend really turned on the charm when it came to its main street, Larkspur Avenue. The center of the historic mining town surprised Lindsey, inviting her in, looking like something out of a Western storybook. Colorful Victorian buildings lined the street—pink, blue, yellow. Whimsical gables and awnings accented shops and offices and restaurants, the latter of which also had quaint outdoor dining areas. Bright flowers billowed from hanging baskets at nearly every door and bloomed in planters along the sidewalk. Aspen trees dotted the way, their leaves fluttering in the breeze, glimmering in the dimming daylight.

Lindsey relaxed a little. At least the town was cute, and she’d seen some people that looked to be about her age. She’d be okay here for a little while, right? A year, tops.

One turn took her past an A-frame Catholic church, a bed-and-breakfast, and a park with a babbling creek running through it. She passed well-kept homes, and charming cottages with picket fences and friendly porches. People strolled by, walking their dogs, or pedaled bicycles, none seeming rushed to get anywhere.

They smiled.

They waved.

They looked content.

Was it possible people lived like this?

Lindsey took a left and, in less than a block, pulled the U-Haul to a stop in front of what was supposed to be 410 Primrose Street, according to the map. Her heart sank and she slumped her tired shoulders, her gaze shifting from the old miner’s cabin to the map and back.

No picket fence.

No friendly porch.

“No way,” Lindsey murmured.

But sure enough, next to the front door hung the wooden numbers four, one, and zero. The four had lost a screw and turned upside down. It fit right in with the peeling paint, sagging shutters, and rusty tin roof.

Home sweet home?

Clearly the property management company had posted old pictures of a freshly painted house in much better repair. From the looks of it, Lindsey guessed they’d colorized photos taken back in the mining days. The place was more like a shack than a cabin, and calling it a cottage was really pushing it. She thought about the plumbing situation and a flash of panic shot through her. If she walked around back and found an outhouse…

She took a deep breath, puffed up her cheeks, and blew it out slowly. This is what she got for doing her interview by Skype. A visit here would’ve been a wiser idea, but that hadn’t been in either budget—hers or the hiring committee’s. So here she sat in a big honking U-Haul in front of a dilapidated shack otherwise known as her new home. No wonder the property manager had arranged to leave the house open with the keys inside. Who would go near it?

Except for me.

Lindsey had signed a lease, and paid a deposit and the first month’s rent. Now she was stuck with the little shack for at least six months. She pinched her eyes closed for a moment, too realistic to hope that things would look better when she opened them. Night was falling as she got out of the truck, slammed the door with a clang, and headed up the path where a sidewalk should’ve been. The grass was way too high, but on the bright side, wildflowers bloomed in the yard. She could make out the yellow and pink blossoms, even in the twilight.

Stopping on the rickety front stoop, she reached over to the house numbers and twisted the four right-side-up. But the second she let go, it swung upside down again. Undaunted, she righted the number once more. She pulled the gum out of her mouth, stuck it behind the four, pressed it against the house, and crossed item number one off her to-do list.

Finding the front door unlocked as promised, Lindsey winced as she opened it, afraid of what she’d see inside. Probably the best idea she’d had all day was to show up here at night…or was it?

Evening light seeped through the windows, enough that she could see an empty living area with wide-plank, hardwood floors, a stone fireplace, and a tiny kitchen beyond. The cabin wasn’t nearly as dilapidated on the inside. A couple vases of those wildflowers might bring the place up to quaint. A dark hallway probably led to the lone bedroom and—please, God—a bathroom.

Teeth clenched, she swiped the light switch next to the door, but all she got was a click.

Click, click.

“Ugh,” Lindsey moaned. She’d need to flip a breaker, and for that she’d need a flashlight. But that would only fix things if the power was actually on.

“I’m working on that.” The deep voice with a drawl came from the dark hallway, and the man that matched it stepped out of the shadows.