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sage.
    After a time, she started walking back toward the barn, leading the Appy to give her time to cool out.
    Abbey hadn’t gone far when she had the uneasy feeling that she was being watched. She glanced behind her and from side to side, but saw no one, yet the feeling remained. Someone was watching her. She was sure of it.
    As nonchalantly as she could, she stepped into the saddle, took up the reins, and kicked the mare into a gallop. Heart pounding, Abbey leaned over Freckles’s neck, afraid to look behind her. She told herself she was being foolish. There was no one there, but she didn’t stop until they reached the barn.
    Once safely there, she felt like an idiot.
    After unsaddling the mare, Abbey walked Freckles around the corral until the mare had cooled off, then led her into the barn. She forked hay to the horses, topped off the water barrels.
    Humming softly, Abbey fed the rest of the stock, then sat in the shade, her thoughts turning to Nick.
    Was he really a vampire?
    Had they met by chance?
    Would she ever see him again?
    Nick, Nick, Nick. He had probably forgotten all about her. With a huff of annoyance, she went up to the main house. In the kitchen, she sorted through the groceries she had bought the day before. She packed half to take to the cottage and left the rest behind so she’d have something to snack on when she was here.
    It was a short walk to the cottage, tucked within a small copse of trees. She loved her parents, but she’d grown accustomed to her independence in New York and liked the idea of having a place of her own.
    The cottage was just as she remembered it. Three steps led up to a railed porch. There was a two-person swing in one corner. The house, white with yellow trim, had a red tile roof, a red brick chimney, and a bright green front door. The interior rooms were all painted white, something Abbey intended to change as soon as possible.
    She wasn’t surprised to find the front door unlocked. The living room furniture was a hodgepodge of colors and styles that somehow managed to blend together. A satellite screen was mounted on the wall across from a small fireplace.
    In the kitchen, she opened the window over the sink, then quickly put the groceries away. There were dishes and pots and pans in the cupboards, silverware and dishtowels in the drawers. A toaster, a coffeemaker, and a blender occupied a corner on the marble countertop.
    She found her suitcases in the larger of the two bedrooms. The furniture—chest of drawers, nightstand, and small desk—was cherrywood. Pink curtains draped the windows, a matching quilt covered the double bed.
    A flush climbed up her neck when she imagined Nick sharing that bed with her. Abbey pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. Where had that thought come from? In spite of the few kisses they had shared, she really didn’t know the man.
    But she had to admit that, since the night they’d met, he had never been far from her thoughts.
    Hurrying out of the bedroom, she went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of cold water, then stood at the sink, staring out the window, her wayward thoughts returning to Nick. Always Nick.
    She had to stop thinking about him. Until she decided when—or if—she wanted to become a vampire, she didn’t want anything to do with the Undead community, save for those who were already a part of her family.
    She wanted a normal life—a husband, children, grandchildren someday. Of course, first she had to find a man.
    Nick was a man. . . .
    She slammed her hand against the edge of the sink. “But he can’t give you children! Or a normal life.”
    So what? asked a rebellious little voice in the back of her mind. What’s so great about a normal life? As for children, Mara has a son, the voice reminded her. Your mother had you. Cara had twins. Anything is possible.
    With a sigh of exasperation, Abbey left the cottage. A path lined with white rocks led to a