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lovely Terel.”
    “You’re sure Nellie actually hates her sister?”
    “Positive. If Nellie were given what she really wants, Terel’s arms would probably drop off. She would…” Berni stopped. “What do I have to do to help this Nellie?”
    “It’s up to you. I told you, we supply the magic, and you supply the wisdom.”
    “Wisdom,” Berni said, smiling. “I don’t know who chooses these assignments, but they goofed this time. Nellie doesn’t need help, it’s Terel who needs the help. I could prove it if I could give Nellie what she really, truly wants.”
    “You can.”
    Berni thought about that. “All right, I’ll give her three wishes. Not dumb wishes like ‘I wish the dishes were washed’ but wishes for what Nellie genuinely wants. She doesn’t have to voice her wish, just want it, you know what I mean?”
    “I believe so. You think that what Nellie seems to want and what she really wants are at odds?”
    “Odds? Are you kidding? Little Miss Goody Two Shoes will wish that hunk belonged to her, and she’ll wish Terel into an early grave. You mark my words. I’ll return, and Terel will be scrubbing floors. She’ll probably wish her father into the poorhouse.”
    “Return?” Pauline asked. “You mean to give her three wishes and walk away? You don’t plan to stay and see what happens?”
    “I like that Terel; she reminds me of myself, and I can’t bear to stay and watch what her fat sister is going to do to her.”
    “You’re sure Nellie’s heart is full of hatred?”
    “Very sure. I know my fatties. Now, what do I have to do to give her her three wishes?”
    Pauline sighed. “Declare it, nothing more.”
    “Okay, fatso, you get three wishes for what you really want. Sorry, Terel.” Berni waved her hand in the direction of the screen. “Now,” she said to Pauline, “what other rooms are in this burg? How about the Luxury room?”
    Pauline gave a backward glance at the screen, sighed, then led Berni through the archway toward the hall.

Chapter Three
    Chandler, Colorado
1896
    J ace Montgomery dismounted his horse, threw the reins to the boy waiting outside the Taggert mansion, and went inside. The butler didn’t even rise from his chair but kept reading his paper, only glancing up to nod in Jace’s direction.
    “In his office?” Jace asked.
    The butler nodded again and kept reading.
    Jace knew the man didn’t consider him a guest. In the butler’s opinion there were guests and there were relatives, and Jace was a mere relative. As Jace walked through the big, mostly marble house the place rang with the sound of people, and the noise made him smile. The house sounded so much like his home in Maine.
    His father’s big, very old, sprawling house, set but feet from the ocean in Warbrooke, Maine, always echoed with the noise of his Montgomery and Taggert relatives, and in the background was the constant music made by his mother and her friends.
    After his wife died Jace couldn’t bear the happiness around him. He couldn’t stand to hear children laughing or see couples looking at each other with love. A month after he buried Julie and his three-day-old son he’d stepped on a train, and for four years he’d been traveling, just traveling, doing nothing else. He had met few people, not wanting ever again to care for another human being, and he’d kept to himself.
    But about six months ago he’d started to recover, started to be able to think of something besides his own grief. He went to California and visited his mother’s parents and spent some time with the old mountain men who lived on his grandfather’s ranch.
    It was while he was visiting Grandpa Jeff that his Aunt Ardis started writing him and nagging him to visit his Taggert cousins in Colorado. He gave in when he found out his cousin, Kane Taggert, and his wife were going to be in San Francisco. Jace took a train south and introduced himself. He found Kane to be as gruff-voiced and as generous-hearted as the Taggerts