Back In Texas

“Perfect, far as I can tell.” Kristin bit her lip. “I owe you all so much. I never thought I’d be able to afford a place of my own. Not like this one…and especially not in my hometown.”

“Life comes full circle, doesn’t it?” Miranda smiled kindly. “The town is delighted to welcome young families to the area. The homesteading program is a two-way street, really. We offer people a chance for new beginnings. In turn, we bring in new life for our community and our schools. With your medical skills you’ll be a great asset here.”

“Can I offer you tea? Coffee? A soda?”

Kristin moved toward the kitchen, but Miranda shook her head. “I have to be going, but don’t forget those cookies.” She winked. “Best on the planet.”

“Thanks so much. I know we’ll love them.”

“If you catch her at a good moment, my mom might even share her secret recipe.” Miranda chuckled. “Is there anything you need before I go—any questions?”

“Not right now, I guess. The contract is pretty straightforward.” Kristin hesitated. “I love this isolated setting. The view is incredible, and the peace and quiet is wonderful. Neighbors would be fine, too, though. Will there be any more people coming out this way?”

“Eventually. We’ve got around twenty-five thousand acres to work with, but we don’t want to rush. Finding the right people is more important to us than just giving it all away.” She tapped a fingertip against her lips and thought for a moment. “You and your son are the third family to arrive, but we’ll have more arriving nearly every month for a while. Most of the parcels in this area are between twenty and a hundred acres. You share a property line with a remote part of a privately owned ranch, though, so that will help you maintain your privacy.”

Kristin grinned. “That’s perfect. I promise, I’ll meet every stipulation to the letter.”

“I’m not sure if you knew, but this place was called Cedar Grove Farm. The man who lived here before raised goats, had a few horses and did a little truck farming—vegetables and peaches, mostly.”

From the doorway leading to one of the main-floor bedrooms, Kristin caught a flash of movement. “Cody?”

He dutifully came back around the corner, all gangly nine-year-old shyness, the blush on his fair cheeks nearly matching his bright auburn hair. He held one hand behind his back.

Something to check on as soon as Miranda leaves. “This is Miranda Wright. She’s the mayor, and she heads up the committee that brought us here. Can you tell her thanks?”

He ducked his head, avoiding eye contact with either of them, mumbled something that might have been a thank-you, then raced around the corner.

“I’m sorry, he’s usually much—”

“No problem.” Miranda waved away the apology as she started out the door. “I’m sure this move has worn him out, and most little guys are shy with strangers, anyway. We’ll meet again soon.”

Kristin leaned a shoulder against the door frame and watched Miranda stride to her truck and drive away, feeling suddenly melancholy.

“New beginnings,” she said softly to herself. “Something I’ve needed for a long, long time.”

Though those new beginnings weren’t going to be entirely smooth. Cody had been acting out a lot more over the past few weeks. And her bank balance was close to zero.

On top of that, some people in town who’d started to welcome her, had stopped when she’d introduced herself. It was as if they’d recognized her, and their smiles had faded.

She’d been just a child when she and her mother had fled this town over twenty years ago, but her father had stayed…and obviously there were still people who remembered the Cantrell name.

And that, she realized with a heavy heart, could make living here more difficult than she’d imagined.

CODY GLARED at the TV in the corner of the living room, wishing he could kick in the snowy haze on the screen and throw the whole thing out the window.

There were a million places they could’ve moved to, but Mom had chosen this one—an old house surrounded by high, rocky hills in the middle of nowhere. A place where exactly one channel came in clearly, but only if a guy stood with a hand on the top of the TV and thumped it now and then.

What did kids do around here? No sidewalks. No playgrounds, unless you drove all the way into town, and that was a good ten miles. No neighbors with kids and dogs and tree houses.

The only good thing about moving was that he’d gotten out of Mrs. Morgan’s class back in Austin. She’d been mean. Always blaming him for the whispering at the back of the class, or for the spitballs thrown at the kids in the front row. He’d had a timeout almost every day, and that totally sucked.

At least his new teacher seemed nice. She smiled a lot, and came over to ask him if he needed help, because she said he’d have to catch up to everyone else. She smelled pretty good, too…. not like Morgan, who must’ve taken a bath in perfume every morning and had breath worse than Ben’s old dog next door.

Cody listened to the thumping and scraping coming from upstairs, where Mom was unpacking more boxes and pushing furniture around, then he went out onto the porch and leaned over to brace his elbows on the railing. Dropping his chin into his hands, he stared out at the hills that seemed to roll on forever, clear over to where the sun was starting to drop lower in the sky.

There were supposed to be big snakes out here. Big, big rattlesnakes, and coyotes and even armadillos—like the ones in his favorite Jan Brett story-book. Maybe there was even a mama armadillo parading through the low cedar bushes and sagebrush right now, followed by a train of little armadillos.

Dad called armadillos “speed bumps” because you always saw them flattened along the Texas highways, but the possibility of seeing a live one sent Cody off the porch in two big leaps.

With a last glance over his shoulder at the house, he hopped over the low stone wall and jogged past Mom’s Tacoma pickup, stopping to survey the possibilities. Where, exactly, did armadillos like to go?

To the right of the house he could see the tops of a big stand of trees growing past the next hill. They were probably those huge, shady old live oaks that Mom was always admiring, because she said they could be hundreds of years old.

Surely, with a hot sun overhead all day—even though it was almost the beginning of September—an armadillo would like a shady place to rest.

Grinning, he broke into a run.

NOT AGAIN. Kristin frantically raced through the house one more time, checking the closet and even beneath the beds.

Since the divorce, Cody had been unpredictable—clinging one minute, rebellious the next. He sometimes hid from her when he was upset, apparently finding some sort of satisfaction in crying quietly by himself and ignoring her pleas to come out.

But this time, she sensed the emptiness of the house. Where could he have gone? The western sky was deepening from lavender into purple and indigo. The sun had set. And already, the chilly night air was settling in.

“Cody!” she called out, searching around the yard for any sign of him. In exasperation, she widened her search to include the old, empty barn and the small, one-car garage too narrow for her modern vehicle.

The lane leading out to the highway was empty, the powdery caliche limestone revealing only tire tracks. But Cody could’ve skirted the lane and gone across country on some adventure without regard for the temperature, approach of nightfall or the fact that he had absolutely no knowledge of the area.

And just within the boundaries of her own twenty acres, he could so easily be lost. Running, now, she shouted his name as she searched farther and farther from the house.

Only a distant owl returned her calls.

Her heart pounding, she slowly turned in a full circle, watching for any sort of movement.

Nothing.

With a cry of frustration, she ran back to the house to grab her cell phone and call for help. Did 911 even work out here? Surely there’d be local police, or a county sheriff, and maybe even a dog that tracked.

She lunged up the steps and breathlessly pawed through the packing materials on the kitchen counter until her fingers curled around the familiar shape of her cell phone.

She flipped it open to punch in the numbers, then stared in disbelief at the faint message blinking on the screen.

Low battery.

Her hand at her throat, she slumped against the counter, her lungs raw from the exertion. Then she hunted through the clutter again until she found her truck keys. Please, God, let me find my little boy!

At a sharp knock at the door she froze. She was a woman alone in an unfamiliar, isolated place…though that barely registered.

I don’t have time for this! I’ve got to find my son.