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haven’t sold a single hoof in the last two weeks. Farmers want their money. Butchers need the meat. What’s going on?”
    Pritchard shuffled his feet. Whatever he was getting ready to say, he fully regretted having to say it. “I didn’t mean to wait this long to tell you, but I sold out . . .”
    He kept talking, but the rest of his words ricocheted off Wyatt’s ears like bird shot against a horse trough. He’d sold out? Wyatt dropped out of the wagon. He’d worked here since he was big enough to carry a bucket of feed and help his pa. Owning it had always been their dream. When Pa died Wyatt hadn’t changed a thing, even used the old wooden gavel on the auction block just like Pa, but now some stranger would set up shop here? Pritchard hadn’t even given him a chance.
    â€œÂ . . . demanded that I stop sales until they came to take over.”
    Wyatt paced the length of the pen, then spun and returned. “It’s gone? Just like that? You know I wanted to buy it.” Because that was what he was supposed to do. Pa had already planned it out.
    â€œCalm down, Wyatt. You’ll get your chance. This fellow don’t know the first thing about running the place, but he threw a wad of cash at me. Wait two months, three at the longest, and then get it for a pittance. He’ll be glad to be rid of it by then.”
    To be honest, Wyatt didn’t have the money. Not yet, and he wasn’t keen on getting a bank loan. He tugged on his beard. “How much longer do we hold the livestock? Those cattle will bust the pens—”
    â€œHe’s coming in today from Boston. Mr. Elmer Wimplegate was supposed to arrive on the noon train.”
    â€œI was there before I went to the mill, and I didn’t see—” Wyatt’s teeth snapped together so hard that bright stars shotacross his vision. His belly clabbered. A new boss, from Boston of all places? “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    â€œWell, you’re too late to give him a ride now. Someone will point him in the right direction. You’d better get inside and get your books in order. Your new boss won’t be in a good mood after walking all the way from the station.”
    And he’d be that much more incensed when he learned that the man who filched his luggage was the manager of his sale barn. So much for first impressions.

Chapter 5

    They’d walked a half a mile up a rocky road and still no estates were visible. True, the thick forests and mountains on both sides could hide Bunker Hill, but Miranda had thought to see some impressive iron gates or manicured drives. Something besides trees and rocks.
    â€œNo cause for concern.” Grandfather mopped his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. “We can’t be far.”
    â€œIt’s not the distance that concerns me. I’m more worried about being accosted by some ruffian in this isolated stretch.” She peered into the thick undergrowth but couldn’t see farther than she could throw a marble bust. Then suddenly, after the next rise, there lay a rough little village before them.
    â€œPine Gap.” Grandfather pushed his handkerchief into his breast pocket. “A gap in the pines, and there it is.”
    Or part of it, anyway. A line of white homes and log cabins nestled between the cedars, then disappeared into a dip before showing up again on the rise on the other side of the valley. Brown roofs could be spotted between the leafy cover to the right, giving evidence of another street, but beyond that was uninterrupted wilderness.
    â€œThis isn’t what I was expecting,” Grandfather said at length.
    Miranda tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. Get the painting, and then they could leave. “Someone will have information. Let’s press onward.”
    He smiled at her enthusiasm and continued forward. Miranda’s heavily fringed skirt swung erratically as