LITMIR.BIZ

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      “I want one,” she told her sister of her niece.

      “It’s the best hard work I’ve ever done,” said Taylor.

      Casey opened the door to the light blue vintage VW Bug sitting in the driveway. She paused before getting in the driver’s seat.

      “And Taylor...I’m perfectly ready to like your husband very much.”

      Taylor beamed at her with pleasure. “He’s a good one, right?”

      Casey nodded as she got into the blue Bug and then put Hercules in his new, less fancy dog carrier for safe traveling. She put the key in the ignition, cranked the engine, then rolled down the window.

      “Thanks for loaning me your car, Tay.”

      After her divorce, Taylor had sold her BMW, left her executive job at the bank, put her stuff in storage and then drove this very Bug from Chicago to Montana. It was on that trip, a trip where she had ridden a portion of the Continental Divide Trail on horseback, that she met her husband, Clint.

      “Now you won’t be stuck,” Taylor said to her. “That car brought me a lot of luck. Maybe it will be lucky for you, too.”

      Casey backed out of the driveway with a sense of anticipation and excitement that was making her stomach feel a bit queasy. It felt as if she were heading off to her own adventure, much like her sister had last year. She waved her hand, tooted the horn and shouted one last “I love you” to her sister and niece before Casey set her course for Brock McAllister’s ranch. She had the distinct feeling that this summer was going to be one of the best summers of her life. And she couldn’t wait for it to start!

      * * *

      Casey slowed her speed in order to take the bumps in the dirt and gravel drive to Brock’s ranch. The heavy rain from the storm had deepened the potholes, which made it difficult to navigate in the VW bug. Brock, she noticed, had already gone a long way toward clearing the debris; stacks of large branches dotted the side of the road every hundred feet or so. As the house came into view, Casey had the strangest feeling in her gut. She felt like she belonged there. Whatever lingering doubt she had in her mind about her choice to stay in Brock’s barn loft studio apartment vanished. She was in the right place, at the right time, and doing exactly what she was meant to do.

      Brock was on the roof repairing shingles when he heard the distinctive sound of an old school VW coming up the drive.

      Casey.

      He stood upright, wiped the sweat off his neck with the bandana from his back pocket and then stared at the end of the driveway, waiting to catch the first glimpse of Casey as she arrived. He had seen her once over the last week, briefly, when he had picked up her trunk from her sister’s house and brought it back to the ranch. He didn’t understand it, really, but he had actually missed her. He had missed her. And, perhaps even more important, Hannah had missed her, too.

      He waved his hand in the air so she would see him. At the same time Casey was waving her hand out the driver’s window, Brock heard the slam of the screen door and the pounding of his daughter’s feet on the wood planks of the porch. Hannah had been hyped up all day in anticipation of Casey’s arrival. Right behind Hannah was Lady, barking and wagging her tail.

      Normally, he didn’t like to have a job interrupted once he started, but now seemed like a good time to take a break. He climbed down the ladder and followed his daughter and dog to where Casey had parked her car.

      “Don’t strangle her, Hannah.” Brock laughed at how tightly Hannah was hugging Casey around the neck.

      Brock watched as Casey made a fuss over his daughter, and then squatted down to hug Lady. A flush of excitement and happiness had turned her pale skin a pretty shade of light pink. In the sunlight, the reddish freckles on her face and the red of her thick hair pulled back into a ponytail were so striking. And then there were her eyes. So wide and so green—he always had to remind himself not to stare.

      “You’ve really put a dent in it!” Casey said about the progress he had made with the cleanup.

      “I’ve been hammering away at it. Little by little.” Brock was glad that it was his turn to greet Casey.

      She smiled at him with that open, friendly smile of hers. It had been an awfully long time since a woman had smiled at him like that—no reservation, no pretense or judgment, just open and friendly. That smile was a magnet for him and he realized that now—by the simple fact that he was standing down here instead of still working up on the roof.

      “Do you want to start getting settled in?”

      “Absolutely.” Casey walked around to the passenger side and got Hercules.

      Hannah was running like a wild child around in circles, her long, tangled curls flying behind her.

      “She’s been like this all morning,” Brock explained. “Usually the medications keep the hyperactivity in check enough for her to function, but not on days like today, when she’s excited about something.”

      “I understand,” Casey reassured him.

      That’s when it really sunk in—he didn’t have to explain or justify or apologize for his daughter’s behavior. Casey worked with children with disabilities for a living—she, more than anyone else in his life, would truly understand Hannah. It was a relief to spend time with someone who could understand, and accept, his daughter for who she was, regardless of her behavior—good, bad or indifferent.

      “I did warn you that it’s humble,” Brock said as they reached the top of the stairs that lead to the loft apartment above the barn.

      “I’ll spruce it up.” Casey didn’t mind humble. And, if it was dirty, there usually wasn’t much that couldn’t be fixed with elbow grease. She’d never been afraid of hard work or of getting dirty.

      Brock opened the door and let her go in first. He was right—the loft apartment with its pitched roof and rough-hewn, wide-planked wooden floor was indeed humble. But the inside of the roof was lined with sweet-smelling cedar, and there was a single bed in one corner of the room, and a small love seat on the other side. The bathroom was tiny and the kitchen only accommodated a hot plate, microwave and little refrigerator. Her large black trunk, a trunk her mother had used when she went to boarding school, was waiting for her at the end of the bed.

      Brock had to duck his head as to not bump on the low part of the ceiling—he could only stand completely upright when he was standing directly beneath the pitched ceiling.

      “I tried to straighten up the place a bit.” To her ears, he sounded a little self-conscious.

      “This is great.” Casey wanted to reassure him. “It’s perfect for us.”

      She saw a faint smile move across his face. He was pleased that she was pleased.

      “Well, I’ll let you settle into the place. I’ve got more work to get done before supper,” Brock said, his head bent down so he didn’t bang it on the top of the door frame. “You can use the kitchen for cooking—the hot plate is only good for so much. And you’re always welcome to join us for meals.”

      “Thank you—let’s just play it by ear, see how it goes.”

      Brock nodded his agreement before he ducked his head completely free of the door frame, put his hat back on his head and then left her to her own devices.

      The first thing she did in her new home was let Hercules out of his carrier so he could get used to the smells and layout of the loft. Next she checked the bathroom accommodations and the feel of the mattress, before she unlocked the trunk and began to unpack. Every now and again, she would look out the window and watch Brock at his work. He was focused and relentless in the way he attacked his work—that kind of work ethic was attractive to her. It reminded her of the work ethic that her own father and grandfather had both had.

      It didn’t take long for her to get settled into her summer loft apartment. Hercules had his toys strewn

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