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it hard to catch his next breath. “But …” He had no one who would cosign with him. “I’ve brought you more than the agreed-upon down payment, and once I take over, I’ll pay you each month from the money I make until I own the store outright. Isn’t that enough?”
    “Well, it’s just prudent to have someone with good credit back you in case of default. You’re going home. Get your dad to sign it in front of a notary public, and we’ll be all set.”
    A sick feeling crept into Aaron’s stomach. Money he could come up with. His Daed’s signature was another matter.
    Leo came out from behind the counter. “Let’s go to my office and sign the papers between us, and I’ll give you the ones you need a cosigner on.”
    After signing the papers, Aaron mounted his horse and began the ride back to the Better Path. Country stores lined the main street of the small community. The idea of town living sat well with him. He prayed that after he moved here, he’d never live on a farm again.
    But first he had to convince his parents to sell and move with him.

    Until he left home in January, they had no idea that he was addicted to alcohol and that he’d made a mess of his life along the way. He didn’t know how much they knew even now, except that he’d entered rehab five months ago. After being sober for a couple of months, he hadn’t returned home. Instead, he’d started working at the appliance store and leading groups at the rehab center where he’d been living since arriving in Owl’s Perch.
    But he’d realized that he could never truly move on until he acted like a responsible only son by making amends. He figured—no, he knew—that the best way to make up for the past and for his unwillingness to be a farmhand was to get his parents out of that money pit they called a dairy farm.
    As his horse ambled toward the Better Path, the sun hung almost directly overhead. Fields were thick with tall, green hay that needed to be cut, dried, and baled for the first time this season. A second and probably a third time were sure to follow.
    Farm work . It never ended. And no matter how hard farmers tried, they never got caught up.
    Trying not to dread what lay ahead, he put his horse to pasture and went into the rehab housing unit.
    He shoved clothes into his canvas bag. He liked the idea of leaving rehab. He was ready.
    Well, maybe he was.
    He’d certainly learned a good bit about his addiction and how to manage it.
    Alcoholic . It had taken him months of rehab and counseling to accept that label. Adding the word recovering in front of it did nothing to lessen his embarrassment. But he had to face his past, even if his only goal now was to extract himself from it.
    Someone tapped on his door.
    “Kumm.”

    Paul Waddell stepped inside the small room. “Hannah sent you these.” He held up a tin. “It has some of the leftover cookies from last night’s going-away tribute.”
    “That’s really nice. Thanks.” Aaron set the canister on the bed before opening his nightstand and taking out the small stack of letters he’d received from Lena.
    Lena—probably the only friend he had left or maybe ever had to begin with. She’d been the one who told him about this rehab facility. He hated the choices he’d made that caused him to come here, but checking himself in was the best decision he’d ever made.
    Paul closed the door and sat in the reading chair beside the bed. “Today’s the day.”
    “Ya.”
    He’d never met a man like Paul—a straight shooter, untraditional, and so very patient. In fact, sometimes the breadth of Paul’s tolerance grated on Aaron’s nerves. His wife, Hannah, was still in nursing school, but she kept close tabs on everyone who went through the rehab program and even joined the meetings whenever it was family group session day, which took place once every three to four weeks.
    There’d been six family sessions during Aaron’s time here. He’d invited his parents to every one, but