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“This is the first travel vacation they have ever taken.”
    That charming smile spread across his face again. “I’m glad they chose Lakeland Lodge.”
    Of course, his simple statement meant nothing more than the obvious.
    Beulah joined them. “Thank you, Marva. She’s sound asleep. I doubt cannon fire could waken her after all that crying.” She turned to Monte. “I told Marva to stay until you can walk her back to the lodge.”
    He looked pleased. “Certainly. Are you in a hurry, Miss Obermeier?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œI haven’t much more to tell, if you don’t mind listening.” He pulled out her chair in invitation.
    â€œIf you don’t mind my hearing it, I don’t mind,” she said and sat down. He scooted her chair forward, then seated himself beside her, across from Myles and Beulah.
    â€œSo go on,” Myles urged.
    He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Okay, the last few years in a nutshell. One night, after a particularly exciting hunting adventure, I started writing down the day’s events so I wouldn’t forget. That story turned into my first published magazine article.”
    â€œYou always did like to write,” Myles said.
    â€œUsing my experiences, I began writing for magazines, serial stories that were later printed as books. Western novels. I write under the name ‘Dutch Montana.’ Somebody called me that once, and I thought it made a good pen name.”
    Dutch Montana? The name rang a bell inside Marva’s head, but why?
    Something thumped on the ceiling. The adults glanced up in time to see a pair of bare legs swing onto the loft ladder. Tim Van Huysen descended rapidly, his breathing audible in the sudden quiet.
    â€œTim, have you been eavesdropping?” Beulah sounded shocked.
    â€œI couldn’t help overhearing, Ma. I can’t believe it! I’ve got a new uncle, and he’s Dutch Montana !” The boy, still fully clothed, approached Monte boldly. His dark hair stood on end, and he clutched his pant legs at his sides.
    â€œHowdy, Tim.” Monte grinned at his nephew and shook his hand. “I’m honored that you read my books.”
    Tim gaped up at his uncle’s face. “The fellers back home won’t believe this! Would you sign my books? I brought a bundle of them.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œBooks. That figures. No wonder your bag was so heavy,” Myles said in amusement. “Well, sit down and join us, why don’t you?”
    Marva blinked as realization struck her. Papa had been reading one of Tim’s Dutch Montana books on the train—that’s why the name had seemed familiar to her. She felt a sudden urge to giggle over the coincidence but restrained it. No sense in advertising her overtired condition.
    Monte didn’t continue his tale until the boy squeezed a chair in between his parents and nestled against Myles’s shoulder. “A few years back, I traveled to New York on publishing business and tried to look up the family. The prodigal returned, and all that. Problem was the fatted calf and sundry had disappeared in the meantime. I went to the old family offices and discovered that the Van Huysen Soap Company went out of business long ago, which came as a shock. After much fruitless searching, I thought of looking up Gram’s old attorney. He told me to ask Mr. Poole, the detective, about you, and Poole gave me your location—in strictest confidence.”
    â€œWhy all the secrecy? Why didn’t you come see us then? Gram spoke of you on her deathbed.” Myles’s voice held an accusing note.
    Monte flinched. Trying to respect his feelings, Marva kept her gaze averted and sipped her coffee. She really should have insisted on walking back to the lodge alone.
    Monte took a breath and opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again. After a long moment he tried again. “I was