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working twenty-four hours a day. Eventually he could, maybe, save up enough to buy the spread himself.
    His plans were still vague, but this was the first thought he’d given to the future in a hell of a long time. All that would change now. The last thing Walt’s granddaughter would want was an ex-con hanging around the place. In light of this news, it’d be best if he sought other employment. He’d write a letter or two that night, send out a few feelers now his confidence was back. He’d enjoyed working the Broken Arrow Ranch almost as much as he’d enjoyed the feisty old man who’d given him a chance.
    â€œDon’t you have something to say?” Walt asked, glaring at him. Then he laughed, and the sound was like a sick calf choking.
    This was probably the first time Sam had heard Walt laugh. “What’s so funny?”
    â€œYou.” Walt’s mirth died slowly. “I wish you could’ve seen your face when I said Molly was coming. Just wait till you see her in person. If she’s anything like her grandmother—and she is—you’ll be walking around with your tongue hangin’ out. That photo on the television doesn’t do her justice. She’s a real beauty.”
    â€œDon’t get any ideas,” Sam warned. Walt had misread the look, but Sam wasn’t inclined to correct him. He’d let the old coot have his fun.
    â€œIdeas about what?” Walt was obviously playing dumb.
    â€œMe getting together with your granddaughter.”
    â€œYou should be so lucky.”
    Sam didn’t want to be rude, but he wasn’t up to this conversation. “It isn’t going to happen.”
    Walt’s smile faded and he narrowed his pale eyes on Sam with an intensity that would have made a lesser man squirm. “I doubt she’d have you.”
    Sam couldn’t fault him there. “I doubt she would, either,” he agreed. Grabbing his hat from the peg on the porch, he headed out the kitchen door.
    Â 
    The sun broke over the horizon like the golden arm of God, ushering in another perfect California morning. Tom sulked in the bucket seat beside Molly, his arms folded defiantly across his chest. His posture told her that nothing she said or did would placate him for the grave injustice of moving him away from his friends.
    Clay, on the other hand, bounced like a rubber ball in the back seat, unable to sit still. His excitement, however, did not appear to be contagious.
    Because she wasn’t able to see out her rearview mirror, Molly checked the side one to make sure the trailer was all right. She wasn’t accustomed to hauling anything and the U-Haul was packed tight. Everything she’d managed to accumulate in the past thirty-four years—everything she hadn’t sold, donated to charity or given to friends—was jammed in it.
    Although she was deeply concerned about her grandfather, Molly hoped the drive to Sweetgrass would be something the three of them could enjoy. A trip that would “make a memory,” as her grandmother used to say. She thought about her childhood summer visits and how her grandmother had let her name the calves and explore the ranch and gather eggs….
    The last year had precious few happy memories for her and the boys. This was a new beginning for them all. A challenge, too—building a new life, a new home. Few people were given this kind of opportunity. Molly fully intended to make the best of it.
    â€œAre we there yet?” Clay asked, his head bobbing in the rearview mirror.
    â€œClay,” his brother groaned. “We haven’t even left California.”
    â€œWe haven’t?”
    â€œUnfortunately, no,” Molly concurred.
    Clay’s head disappeared as he sank down on the seat. His small shoulders slumped forward. “How long’s it going to take?”
    â€œDays,” Tom said grimly.
    Molly resisted the urge to jab him. From the first, her