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twins would come galloping downstairs, as hungry as bears emerging from hibernation, but for these two hours she could sneak in a little time for Cate the woman. She even got up a little earlier than she really needed to so she wouldn’t be rushed and could have an extra few minutes to savor.
    As sometimes happened, she found herself wondering if Derek would have approved of her decision to move to Trail Stop.
    He had really liked this area, but as a visitor, not an inhabitant. And they both had adored this B and B when they’d stayed here. The memories of the good times they’d had—going on muscle-burning, treacherous climbs during the day, then coming back here both exhausted and exhilarated and falling into the soft bed, only to discover they weren’t that exhausted after all—had definitely influenced her when she’d been looking for someplace less expensive than Seattle to live.
    She felt close to Derek here. Here, they’d known only happiness. And while she had also been happy with him in Seattle, that was where he had died and it held a host of bleak associations with those last terrible days. Sometimes, when she still lived there, the memories would overwhelm her and she would feel as if she were living the nightmare all over again.
    This street was the one she had driven down on the way to the hospital. There was where she had stopped to pick up his dry cleaning, never dreaming she was picking up the suit he would be buried in. Here was where she’d bought the dress she’d worn to the funeral, the dress she had thrown in the trash as soon as she’d removed it, sobbing and cursing and trying to tear the hateful garment from neck to hem. Their bed was where he’d lain, burning with fever, before he became so sick he agreed to let her take him to the ER—and by then it was too late. After he died, she had never slept in that bed again.
    The memories, as much as sheer economics, had driven her from Seattle. She missed the city, missed the cultural entertainments, the bustle and character, the Puget Sound and the ships. Her family was there, and her friends. But by the time she was able to go back the first time for a visit, she had spent so much time here in Trail Stop, working on the house, getting herself and the boys settled, trying to improve business by every means she could think of, that she had somehow become more of here than of there. She was now a visitor to her home city, and home was…here.
    To the boys, of course, this had always been home. They’d been so young when she moved that they had no memories of living anywhere else. When they were older and the B and B was—please, God!—more successful, she intended to take them to visit her parents more often instead of the other way around. While in Seattle she could take them to concerts, to ball games, to plays and museums, and round out their experiences so they knew there was more to life than this little end-of-the-road community.
    She didn’t dismiss the good aspects of living here. In a place so small that everyone knew everyone else, the boys could safely play outside while she kept an eye on them from the window. Everyone knew her and the boys—knew where they belonged, and wouldn’t hesitate to bring them home if they were seen wandering too far from the house. Their days consisted of one chore—puting away their toys at the end of the day—and hours and hours of playing, finishing up with story time and brief, repetitive lessons on their letters, numbers, and colors and the few short words they could read. Baths at
seven thirty
, bedtime at eight, and when she tucked the covers around them, she saw little boys who were both tired and contented, and utterly secure. She had worked hard to give them that security and was happy that, right now, they had everything they needed.
    The other big plus of living here was the beauty that surrounded her. The landscape was majestic and awe-inspiring, and almost unbelievably rugged. Trail