CHAPTER 1

Allison

May 2011

This wasn't the life Allison Kavanagh had imagined for herself,but it was what her life had become. Like it or not, she had to geton with it.

She turned the key in the lock.

Hidden away in the mountains north of Boise, the two-storylog house—built many decades before but completely remodeledon the inside—was open and airy with a state-of-the-artkitchen, modern efficiencies throughout, and spectacular viewsof the rugged Idaho mountains from every window. The placehad been left to Allison four years earlier in her great-aunt's will.Never in her wildest dreams had Allison imagined she wouldend up living in it one day. Perhaps Aunt Emma had seen thefuture a little more clearly than she had.

Welcome to your new home.

A lump formed in her throat, but she fought back the tears.She was weary of crying—it was all she'd done for monthsand months. Sometimes it felt like years and years. Setting hermouth, she dropped her purse onto the small table inside thefront door.

Some of her own furniture filled the living room. She wasglad of it. Made the place feel a little less foreign to her. Notthat it was foreign to her. She'd visited her aunt's home manytimes throughout her life, and after it had come into Allison'spossession, it had served as an occasional getaway, a place ofpeace when life's storms became too much to handle.

Dear Aunt Emma. The sister of Allison's maternal grandmother,Emma Carter had been considered somewhat of a"rebel" in the family. Never married and financially independentbecause of her success as a nature photographer, addedto sound investments and careful spending, she'd lived as shepleased. Oh, the stories Aunt Emma used to tell about WorldWars I and II, the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression. Ifever a woman was born with the gift of storytelling, it had beenEmma Carter. No wonder Allison had adored her.

"How do I get on with my life, Aunt Emma?" she whispered.

If Aunt Emma were still alive, she would have answered honestlyand directly. No mincing words. Emma Carter had neversugarcoated anything for anybody. Not even for her favorite—asshe'd always called Allison—and only—as Allison had pointedout in return—great niece. But Aunt Emma was gone. Allisonwould have to find the answers on her own or muddle along asbest she could without them.

She passed through the living room and walked down theshort hallway to the master bedroom. The new queen-sizedfour-poster she'd purchased sat against the opposite wall, bareof bedclothes other than a quilted mattress cover. Staring at thebed, she felt her aloneness afresh. It burned through her like saltin an open wound.

She looked away.

In a corner of the bedroom sat her large desk and credenza.It too was naked. Allison hadn't entrusted her MacBook, largeexternal display, or printer to the movers. Those importantitems were still in her car in the driveway.

A design deadline loomed closer. She'd best get her office setup and make certain the Internet was turned on as promised bythe cable provider. Her to-do list was too long to ignore, even fora few days. And besides, keeping busy took her mind off manyless pleasant realities. Immersing herself in work had been hersalvation. For years, really, but especially over the past elevenmonths. Ever since the day she'd uttered her ultimatum.

The lump in her throat returned. She swallowed again.

"Tough love" some would have called her take-it-or-leave-itdemand, and she'd been certain tough love was required inthe situation. But she'd believed what she said would be thatlast straw, that illusive bottom, those words that would changeeverything.

They had changed everything. Just not the way she'd hopedthey would. Not the way she'd wanted. Not for the better. Notas promised.

Why didn't You keep Your promise?

It was the most she'd said to God in a while. The ability topray seemed to have shriveled inside of her. One more loss addedto so many others.

With a shake of her head, Allison retraced her footsteps to theliving room, went out onto the wide redwood deck that circledthree sides of the house, and descended the steps to her pale goldSUV parked in the driveway. From behind the driver's seat shereleased her dog from his crate and set him on the ground. Gizmosniffed at his new surroundings.

"You stay close. I don't want an eagle or a bear having youfor lunch." The tricolored papillon perked up his ears, and shecouldn't keep from smiling. "You're such a good boy."

She'd bought Gizmo from a local breeder to help fill the vastemptiness that had surrounded her after her husband walked outthe door, leaving her and her ultimatum in the dust. Having anactive puppy around had helped ease the emptiness too. Therewas always something she needed to do for the little guy—feedhim, take him for a walk, give him a bath, let him out to do hisbusiness.

She'd read somewhere that owning a papillon meant nevergoing to the bathroom alone, and it was true. Gizmo followedher everywhere. He slept on the unused right side of the bed.He sat near her feet when she ate, a hopeful expression on hisface even though she never let him eat table scraps. He curled upbeside her on the sofa while she watched television. He lay in hisdog bed under her desk when she was on the computer. He washer constant and best companion, and she loved him for makingher feel less alone.

Perhaps she would become that crazy old lady who lived in alog cabin in the mountains, talking only to her dog. Or dogs. Shecould get Gizmo a friend or two. Or maybe she should acquire ahalf-dozen cats. She could give herself a funky haircut and let itgo all frizzy and kinky. She could dress in bright, baggy clothes.But then, who would know if she was crazy or not? Who wouldsee her? A dense forest separated her from her nearest neighbors,and she was miles up a winding highway to the nearest town.Not to mention that her only child, Meredith, lived halfwayacross the country.

A crazy old lady. She closed her eyes and released a sigh.Forty-five wasn't old, but some days it seemed like it. Some daysforty-five felt like ninety.

She went to the back of the Tribeca and opened the rear door.Her LED computer display was in its original box with a handle.She grabbed it along with her laptop case and headed into thehouse. And for the next several hours, while she hooked upelectronics in the bedroom and the living room and otherwisesettled in, she managed to keep her thoughts from returning tothe sad place they too often traveled to.

That was no small victory.

Allison

It was the silence that awakened her the next morning. She'dforgotten how quiet the forest could be, especially in the springbefore vacationers found their way to the campgrounds that dottedthe area and in the fall when the hunters were out in force.In Boise the sun would already be full up. Here, it took longerbefore it topped the eastern ridge. But there was still enoughlight in the room to see Gizmo staring at her, silently asking tobe let out.

"All right," she grumbled. "All right. I'm getting up."

Gizmo barked and jumped off the bed.

Allison reached for her robe as she sat up. It might be Mayon the calendar, but there was a wintery chill in the morning air.

"I need coffee," she whispered as she headed toward thefront door.

She stood on the deck, hugging herself to keep warm whileshe kept an eye on Gizmo....