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  She hadn’t changed all that much. Still beautiful in an exotic way. Not as startlingly eccentric as Lully perhaps, but enticing in her own way. He’d been captivated by her at seventeen, thought he’d get over her at eighteen, but now it was clear that he’d only boxed up what he felt about her, put a lid on it and shoved it to some dark corner of his mind in hopes that he could convince himself he could forget about Emma Mansi.

  It hadn’t happened.

  And now she was back. Back in his life, whether he wanted it or not. Her return was sure to dredge up old hurts. He closed his eyes, wishing her return had been under different circumstances.

  Emma sank into a chair and concentrated on breathing. The high altitude, eight thousand feet elevation in Serenity, was bothering her more than she’d thought it would. She gazed out the window where wind was whipping the branches bare of leaves and ragged forks of lightning danced across the mountain range. A storm was brewing, and not just in this room.

  A movement at her left made her turn. Her gaze met that of a young woman about her own age. A smile automatically curved Emma’s lips and was met with a broad grin. Myline Yates. My, my. The ponytail, baby fat, and freckles were gone. Myline was a beautiful woman now. Trim, wearing a nice navy suit. Her slim fingers were tipped with long, bright red acrylic nails, and an impressive wedding band twinkled on the third finger of her left hand.

  In junior high, Myline had been her closest friend. Closest friend? Her only friend. Pudgy, round-faced Myline had been as needy as Emma back then. They’d both come from what the town considered the “wrong side of the tracks,” though there wasn’t a train track in Serenity and the Mansi house sat in the middle of town. Both girls had been shy, quiet, reluctant to draw attention. All of which made them easy prey.

  Two timid mice—Myline and Emma. Everyone called them the mouser twins. Cruel, hurtful barbs that Emma and Myline ignored. During lunch they sat in a corner of the school dining room, sharing a sandwich, watching their classmates laugh and pull pranks in which they were not included. Emma was never chosen for the gym volleyball team until the coach put her on a side; Myline would have fainted if she’d ever been appointed hall monitor.

  Myline hadn’t cared that Emma lived with her sister, one that everyone called “crazy” or “creepy” a spit away from a cemetery. And Emma didn’t mind that Myline’s cantankerous old grandfather was raising her. Old Man Yates’s black disposition prevented his granddaughter from enlarging her social circle. Everyone felt it was better than Myline being raised by the state—the same opinion they’d had when the Mansi girls were struggling alone. “They seem to be doing okay, and at least they have each other,” people said and left them alone. Emma and Myline had shared a close relationship, one that had sustained them both through those rough years. Yet before Emma left Serenity she and Myline had drifted apart, as so many relationships do.

  Those times seemed eons ago. In contrast to her troubled teenage years Emma realized that her preteen years had been happy. Those years when her parents had been alive had been her only taste of “normal” in her youth.

  Clearing his throat, Merle sat down behind his large mahogany desk and shuffled papers. The office smelled of old books, ink, and paper mixed with lemon wax. Emma’s gaze scanned the cramped space. What were so many people doing here? A half-dozen people were seated, some in the leather chairs, others sitting stiffly in straight-back wooden chairs. Lully had always kept to herself, like Ralph and Mary Mansi and their parents before them. Lully had bothered no one and expected not to be bothered. But life had not obliged. Tears stung Emma’s eyes when she recalled a portion of Lully’s few but poignant letters:

  “They think I’m peculiar, but I won’t let it bother me. I refuse to let them drive me away. I won’t let the busybodies and do-gooders destroy my life.”

  Then she would close with “You were the smart one, Emma. Maybe I should have known better, left town when you did. Maybe somewhere else I could find peace, be left to myself without cruel speculation and those ‘looks.’ Yet … Sam’s good to me. Really good, Emma. Maybe you should have stayed.”

  Stayed? And do what? Watch Sam marry someone else? She wasn’t that brave. Emma had never realized how much the whispers and accusations affected Lully. After all, she rationalized, they were Mansis. They’d lived with cruel innuendos and broad suppositions most of their lives. Mansis accepted what was given and turned a deaf ear to everything else.

  Merle shuffled the stack of papers again, as if he was stalling, which made Emma wonder why he would be reluctant to get this meeting started.

  “Good morning, everyone,” he said.

  Three or four voices returned his greeting.

  “I appreciate your coming on such short notice. It was Lully’s wish that all be taken care of with expediency.”

  The distinguished gray-haired gentleman slipped on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, then opened the folder in front of him. “As you’re aware, we are here this morning to read the last will and testament of Lully Mansi.”

  Emma closed her eyes briefly. I will not cry. I will not cry. If you cry I’ll pinch the snot out of you.

  She opened her eyes and the attorney’s gaze caught hers.

  “Lully’s death came as a shock to us all.” His eyes gentled. “She was in my office finalizing her will the week before the Lord took her home.”

  That statement surprised Emma. Had Lully somehow sensed she was going to die? Had God instilled in her the urgency to complete her earthly business?

  Emma closed her eyes again as memories overcame her. How long had it been since she’d thought of those innocent, simple bedtime prayers and Lully’s admonitions? When she’d left Serenity she’d closed the door on everything that had happened here, and she’d not prayed since.

  Merle began to read: “‘I, Lully Mansi, being of sound mind, do hereby bequeath …’“

  Emma listened to Lully’s bequests in a dreamlike trance. Nothing seemed real. The bequests were simple ones, things only Lully would think about. A sizable amount to the community church about a block away, which would cause a few lifted brows in town since Lully supposedly had never darkened its doors.

  A token remembrance went to a few whom Lully had respected in her own way—Tom Nelson, the butcher; the paperboy who got a small commemoration. There was a small sum for Ray Sullins, who apparently helped Lully run a small jewelry business. The mysterious Ray wasn’t in attendance today. Three hundred dollars went to the lady who helped Lully clean when the clutter became intolerable, which, Emma knew, for Lully had to be really bad. A smile touched Emma’s lips when she thought about her sister’s relaxed housekeeping standards. Unless it fell over or kept her from her work, Lully simply walked around the stacks of things she couldn’t bring herself to throw out. The woman who helped clean was one Lully trusted to keep her own counsel and who would not feed gossip or superstition mills about the Mansi mansion.

  Those receiving bequests were both surprised and pleased, a bit bewildered. When the smaller bequests were finished, those already named were allowed to leave the room.

  Finally, only Emma and Sam were left.

  Sam Gold, now the sheriff of Grandee County. Her almost-husband of fifteen years ago. He shifted in his chair and shot her an uneasy glance.

  Clearing his throat again, Merle Montgomery peered over his glasses at the couple sitting on opposite ends of a row of chairs near the back. Emma twisted a white tissue in her hands, wanting desperately for this to be over.

  “Emma, rest assured that Lully left enough money in her account at the bank to cover these bequests.”

  Emma nodded numbly.

  “‘Now, to my beloved sister, Emma. Don’t grieve for me. Today I am with God. I leave the remainder of my worldly possessions to Emma with one provision.’”

  Emma swallowed against the tight knot crowding the back of her throat. She’d cried so much the past twenty-four hours she hadn’t thought there were any tears left. Every time she vowed
not to cry, she did, and she was on the verge of breaking down again.

  One provision. Emma slid to the edge of her chair in apprehension. Merle had said there was one provision. Her pulse pounded in her temple. What provision had Lully made?

  Merle dropped the hammer. “‘I leave my house to Emma and Sam Gold.’”

  Emma’s jaw dropped.

  Merle continued reading: “‘I know this may seem like an odd request. I hope to outlive you both, Sam and Emma. Ha! But if I don’t, I leave the house to you both to do with as you see fit. I hope you’ll decide to keep it. It was once a happy house, contrary to common opinion. Our grandparents were happy here; our parents were once. Nothing would make me happier than for you two, together, to make it a house filled with love and laughter again.’ ”

  Stunned, Emma sat holding her breath, the words sinking slowly into her mind. Lully had left the house to Sam? and to her? Her home was half his? What on earth had possessed Lully?

  Resentment flooded Emma and her gaze darted to Sam, who looked like he’d just been hit by a speeding concrete truck. Had he known? Wouldn’t he have known? For some reason, Lully had changed her opinion of Sam. He’d had more contact with her than Emma had had. Had he coerced Lully into this provision?

  Emma ached to demand of Merle what had prompted Lully to do such a thing, but Sam beat her to it.

  “Merle—”

  The attorney held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say, Sam. Lully anticipated it. We discussed the stipulation at length the day she finalized her wishes; spent over an hour on the ramifications of such a gift. But she was adamant. She wanted you and Emma to have the house. Said she’d understand if you wanted to sell it, but that you’d make her happiest if you kept it.”

  Keep it? Emma wanted to scream. Keep it? Together? Had Lully lost her mind? How could she keep a house that half belonged to Sam? What had she been thinking? Wasn’t it enough that Sam had abandoned her like a hot coal when his mother and Lully had joined forces to stop their marriage, as if the love he’d so grandly professed to her hours earlier had blown away with the spring wind? Everyone in town had known by noon the following day what that younger “crazy Mansi girl” had done. She’d tried—“Can you even imagine that!” the gossips crowed—to trick the mayor’s son into marriage. Poor Sam—why, he was thriving on testosterone and didn’t know what he was doing. Thank goodness her “crazy sister” had shown good sense for once and stopped the two from marrying.

  In other words, Sam was the golden boy and Emma the laugh of the town. She’d been hurt and humiliated, and Sam hadn’t cared. He’d avoided her from that day on, acted as if she didn’t exist. And that had stung worse than the ridicule of schoolmates and judgmental neighbors.

  Sam sent Emma a glance over his shoulder.

  “One more thing,” Merle said, peering over his glasses at Emma. “Lully said, ‘Tell Emma she’ll find her true legacy if she looks hard enough.’ ”

  Emma tried to absorb her sister’s final wishes and failed. What had her sister done?

  “Well.” Merle closed the folder. “If there’s nothing else, that does it. I have a copy of the will for each of you. See me later if there are any questions.”

  Emma sat, unable to move, and stared at the row of bookcases. Her eyes focused on a thick textbook of amendments. She heard the protesting squeak of Merle’s chair when he stood.

  “I have a few questions,” she managed.

  She looked up to see Sam, Stetson in hand, standing beside

  his chair. Now she could see the changes in him, the smile lines bracketing his mouth, the faint lines fanning from the corners of his eyes from squinting into the sun. Character. His face now had character.

  “Yes?” Merle smiled pleasantly.

  “Can the will be broken?”

  The attorney shuffled papers, stalling for time.

  “Emma,” Sam began.

  Emma lifted her hand to halt whatever he was going to say. She focused on Merle. “Can it?”

  “I wouldn’t advise attempting it, Emma,” Merle said. “It would be a long, drawn-out process, and you’d probably lose. Lully might have been … different … but she knew what she wanted. I’d have to testify to that in court.” His gaze shifted from Sam to Emma. “I’d advise the two of you to decide together what to do with the house and try to be civil about it.”

  This wasn’t what Emma wanted to hear.

  “Emma,” Sam began again.

  She fired a warning look at him. “I don’t want to talk to you. Not now.”

  He hesitated. “All right. We can talk later.”

  With that, he settled the Stetson firmly on his head and strode from the room, leaving Emma glued to her chair, still fuming.

  Oh, Lully. What have you done?

  “So? How’d it go? Did you see Emma?” Ken glanced up when Sam slammed into the sheriff’s office.

  “Yeah,” he said, tossing his hat onto the rack with an accuracy honed by years of practice. He marched into his office and over to his desk. He grabbed a file and opened it, hoping his brother would drop the subject.

  “She still a skinny redhead?”

  “Still redheaded,” Sam murmured. “Still stubborn as a brick wall.”

  Ken laughed. “Then not much has changed.”

  Not much has changed? A lot had changed. Emma Mansi had grown from a girl with stars in her eyes, eyes that had shone for him, to a beautiful woman full of bitterness, who wanted nothing to do with him.

  “So, what did Merle want with you this morning?”

  “He read Lully Mansi’s will.”

  Ken’s eyebrows lifted. “She had a will?”

  “Um-hum,” Sam stared at a report without seeing it.

  “And?” Ken prompted.

  Sam drew a deep breath, knowing his brother was not going to take the hint and leave him alone with his thoughts. “She left Emma half the house.”

  Ken got up and leaned against the door frame of Sam’s office. “Half? How can you leave somebody half a house?”

  “Apparently, when you leave someone else the other half.”

  “And who has the other half of Lully’s house?”

  Sam finally looked up. “Me.”

  Ken pursed his lips. “Well now, that’s an interesting turn of events. Doesn’t the mayor want that property for a municipal parking lot? He’s tried every way in the world to buy Lully out. He’s going to be ecstatic that the house will be up for sale.”

  Oh, yeah. It’s going to be interesting, Sam thought. “I’ll have to work with Emma to get the property in shape if we hope to get anything out of it, because I don’t intend to let Tom Crane take advantage of the situation and Lully’s untimely death. Emma can’t stand the sight of me, so how are we going to work together?”

  Ken chuckled. “You don’t know that.”

  Sam raised a brow. “Oh, but I do. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man right now.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  Closing the file, Sam sank into his chair. “Dandy.” He threw the file on his desk. “Just dandy.”

  Dusk settled over the Colorado Rockies. No matter how disappointed Emma felt, she could look to the mountains and peace would creep into the dark corners. No matter how many times she witnessed the glorious orange-and-gold spectacle, she knew there was no greater joy than seeing the bright hue of exquisite colors slowly dip and disappear behind serrated peaks.

  In October, Colorado weather could be tricky. You either dealt with an early snow or with lingering warmth that made you think winter was going to pass by. Her first evening in the house, the Mansi Mansion, as people now civilly called it, had been cold. This second night promised no better. Already snow was deepening on the mountains. It wouldn’t be long before it came to the foothills. But she’d be gone long before snow covered the majestic pine.

  Emma sat on the porch, wrapped in an old jacket she’d found in a closet. She’d escaped Merle Montgomery’s office before she’d totally di
ssolved into a fit of hysteria and resentment or tears. Both warred inside her. She’d come directly to the house, knowing no one would bother her here. People had actively avoided the house since she arrived. And that’s what she wanted right now: to be left alone. Alone to think through what she was going to do next.

  But a stupid casserole or a home-baked offering from a neighbor would have been politically correct.

  Memories assailed her in spite of her unwillingness to go back in time. She’d left Serenity fifteen years ago. Left it and all it meant behind. On her seventeenth birthday she’d gotten on a bus and rode away. After changing busses several times, she’d ended up in Seattle, hoping Lully wouldn’t follow and bring her back. She’d stayed at a women’s shelter until she got a job at a local café. With help from the director of the shelter, she’d gotten her GED, and then enrolled in college. Only after her eighteenth birthday had Emma written Lully, telling her she was fine and not to worry. But she wasn’t coming back. Not ever.

  To supplement her income while she went to school, Emma had begun to teach aerobics at a spa, working classes around her college hours. It had taken five years but she’d gotten her degree in horticulture. She loved growing things, the beauty of flowers, and the beauty she could create in the landscaping for a large office complex or in a private yard for people to enjoy. When she’d started working for The Cottage, Sue told Emma that she had “the touch.” She smiled to herself now. Better to have “the touch” than be touched, which is what the townspeople of Serenity thought about the Mansi girls.

  Emma knew the rambling old Victorian wasn’t haunted. That was pure fantasy, the fabrication of people with a need to put a tag on everyone and everything that wasn’t like them. The Mansi Mansion wasn’t like other homes in Serenity.

  For one, it sat next to a one-hundred-twenty-five-year-old cemetery. Supposedly the cemetery held the remains of slaves buried during the eighteen hundreds, most graves unidentified, and a few Civil War soldiers who had no family plots but were sent home to be buried. According to local legend, these men and women roamed the three-story house at night, rattling chains and banging doors. Emma had rarely heard a door close without a reason, unless you counted the drafts from frequent windstorms that sprang up in the spring, and certainly she had never heard rattling chains.