Chapter Two

Forest Grove

As she walked through the jetway at Portland International Airport, Lark spotted her younger brother, Aaron, who stood off to the side. He was dressed college-boy casual in black trousers and a burgundy polo shirt, and he held a sign with her name. He resembled their father so much, she swore she must be having a flashback. Aaron had the same sturdy oval Braithwaite jawline, short and thick sandy-blond hair, and their father’s light-blue eyes. Unlike her father, he sported a trimmed, light goatee.

The last time she’d seen him, he’d been fifteen; a lanky, goofy teenager with a squeaky voice and an endless amount of energy. He stood there, twenty-one and a complete stranger. Taller than she’d expected, he had at least five inches above her five-foot-six frame. She could tell he was less like her statuesque father, though, from the way he slouched to the side.

Would he still have the same comical spirit he’d had as a kid? She recalled the good-natured, free-spirited ham of a boy who loved to tell jokes and participate in the musicals and plays in elementary school.

She rolled her suitcase behind her and stopped a few feet in front of him. She’d pulled her hair into a low side braid over her shoulder before she left the plane, and she still wore the black-and-white suit from the meeting.

“Hello,” she managed. “Long time no see.”

He smiled but didn’t say anything. Then, as if he realized who she was, he did a double take. His jaw dropped, and his face lit up in a huge grin.

“Holy crap, Lark, you look like a model! You have lost so much weight. Mom’s going to freak out. It’s awesome to see you.”

His blue eyes sparkled with sincerity as he stepped forward to embrace her. A fragile kind of ache spread through her when he put his arms around her. She closed her eyes and hugged him back.

“It’s good to see you too, Aaron,” she choked. She couldn’t believe how deep his voice was now. “Look at you. You’re all grown-up.”

He stood back and scratched behind his ear. “Yeah, I shot up one summer. For a while, I worried I’d inherited Mom’s short gene, but the Big Guy let me off easy. Mom wanted to come and meet you, but she’s got her hands full with Dad’s funeral. She has a lot of stuff going on. She wanted me to tell you she was sorry she couldn’t make it, but she’ll be there when we get home. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

Lark smiled at his down-home Oregonian accent. “Thank you for the e-mail. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known.”

Aaron grinned and grabbed the handle of her suitcase before she could object. “You look pretty tired, sis. Let’s get you home. Come on. I’ve got my pickup parked. It might smell like dirty laundry from college, though, just to give you fair warning.”

Lark adjusted her purse on her shoulder and walked next to him out of the terminal. “I’ll consider myself warned. It couldn’t be worse than what I must smell like at the moment, so I’d say we’re good to go.”

The pickup in question was a white Ford truck with an extended cab. It had computerized wraps of a cowboy on a horse on both doors, along with the logo and tagline: BRAITHWAITE BOXING COMPANY—MOVING YOU RIGHT ALONG.

“I sent a quick text to Mom to let her know we’re on our way,” Aaron commented after they got settled in the cab. “It’s been getting darker earlier,” he said as he backed the truck out of the stall. “I hope it’ll still be light when we get home, so you can see the old place. We’re real glad you’re here.” He smiled at her.

“So am I, Aaron.”

They had brief small talk about what Aaron’s school life was like and her own journey home; then the cabin of the truck fell silent save for the light country music on Aaron’s plugged-in iPod. Lark turned her head toward the window and watched as the evergreen forests, rolling hills, and vineyards passed by as they drove through the countryside toward her father’s ranch.

Lark leaned against the window. She recognized many of the white houses they drove past as well as the private, iron-gated entrances of the various ranches in the area. In a few months, the branches of the pine trees would be weighted under newly fallen snow. London didn’t get much snow in the winter.

The neat, manicured hedgerows she’d become accustomed to gazing at while on trains in England were replaced with fences, their pastures filled with overpriced, well-bred mares and colts, cattle, and sheep. Patches of short brown grass dotted the hills, a sure sign of autumn.

As the late afternoon idled by with each passing mile, Lark averted her gaze from the window. How bizarre to be back here.

Aaron sang along to a Keith Urban song, and Lark watched the road, relieved it wasn’t more awkward between them. He’d been easy-going as a child, and the good nature stayed with him. At least she had an instant friend in her brother. How weird to see him behind the wheel of a truck, driving through Tualatin Valley with her in the passenger seat, when she still remembered him in her mind’s eye as being fifteen. He and Pam visited her at her master’s degree graduation ceremony before she left for London.

It counted as even stranger when a mere eighteen hours ago, she’d been about to give the presentation of her life in a merger-acquisition deal. The two worlds were so far apart, surreal.

She’d tried her best to forget all about the town of Forest Grove and the past while diverted in London, where being busy as a catalyst in charge of major, successful deals had taken all her time and attention. But the Ford turned, climbed the winding hill, and crested the top. She gasped as memories of the ranch and home flooded forth in a great deluge at the panoramic spread before her.

Evergreen trees lined both sides of the paved driveway—save for one angled to the side, which she’d crashed into when she was sixteen—and a cast-iron, rustic welcome sign read BRAITHWAITE RANCH in a soldered arch overhead.

Aaron cleared his throat and lowered the music volume. “‘Bout four years ago, in wood shop, I carved a sign that said THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON and hung it below the insignia. Took Mom and Dad a few good weeks before they realized it was there. Dad made me take it down. He said it looked unprofessional. I have it in my dorm room.”

Lark touched her hand to the window, warm inside. “They should have let you keep it up. It sounds cute.” She let out a small sigh as they drove and neared the ranch house. The red, gold, and sun-kissed fall leaves added a colorful array to the magnificent charm of the large structure—a brown and dark-red composite of huge cabin logs, aluminum siding, stone, large windows, and glass skylights. It stood two stories high at the end of the lane, four windows on the top floor, four on the bottom, with wooden trim and roof etching. The long, gabled porch had a wooden banister, and the portico area was decorated with warm-colored, modern patio furniture. Rustic, like her dad. A large, ornamental autumn wreath adorned the wooden front door, and what flowers were still in season scattered among her mother’s front garden, plants and herbs surrounded by fir trees.

To the right of the house stood the horse stables and a barn, as well as a dusty arena area with worn grass. Three charcoal-colored Appaloosa horses grazed in the late afternoon light. With a slight pang, Lark recalled the passion her father had for Appaloosa horses in particular. He loved to have their small family trail-ride through the mountains on outings late in the summer. She smiled. He would go on at length about the good quality and uniqueness of the horses. Their lineage, racing quality, and mere existence fascinated him.

“Good stock, Lark. There can’t be any finer.”

As the Ford turned into the paved semicircle driveway in front of the ranch house, Lark managed to catch a glimpse of the covered swimming pool out back as the truck pulled in front of the porch.

A stone water fountain stood adjacent to the pool. Hmm. A new addition since she’d last been home. A sheet of water trickled over the side of the large, flat stone and collected in a man-made pond beneath it.

Her mother stood on the front steps, shielding her eyes with a hand against the sunset, which cast a warm glow on the front of the house. Despite the slight fog from the drink she’d had on the plane and the inertia of long-distance travel, Lark’s heart beat against her rib cage at the sight of her mom.

A slender woman like Lark, Pam Braithwaite had short, blonde hair, cut at the neck and layered with light and dark highlights, and warm, brown, doelike eyes Lark had inherited. She smiled tenderly as she waved at them. She wore dark blue jeans and a V-necked brown shirt and held a crumpled tissue clenched in her hand. She stepped down from the porch and put her free hand to her chest. The Ford slowed to a stop a few feet in front of her.

The truck hadn’t stopped before her mother was there, trying to pry the door open. Lark unlocked it.

“Lark,” Pam sighed and leaned in to hug her. She stopped, shocked. “Oh my goodness, you’re so skinny!”

“Surprise?” Lark laughed and put her arms around Pam. She held her as best she could from her awkward position. The smell of sandalwood and rose oil filled her senses, a smell she had long forgotten. “Hi, Mom.”

Pam pulled Lark out of the truck and embraced her. “Oh honey,” she whispered. She put a hand to Lark’s cheek and gave her a maternal head-to-toe assessment. “You’re amazing.”

Tears threatened to surface as Pam hugged her full-on. Lark struggled to stay in control as her mother sobbed on her shoulder. She breathed deep, and the gravity of her father’s death sank in. She put a hand on Pam’s hair. Coming home had been the right choice, no matter what.

“It’s okay,” Lark whispered as her mother sobbed. “I’m here. Everything will be all right now.” They held each other, two lost souls. The truck doors closed behind her, and Aaron stood beside them with her luggage. Lark took her mother’s hand.

Pam shook her head. “I can’t believe it. I know you’ll think I’m a hormonal old bat, but I’m so proud of you, honey. You’ve always been beautiful, but to have worked that hard…”

Tears overfilled Lark’s tired eyes and spilled out. Other than escaping to her dream lover for a brief respite, she had not slept well on the flight, and her body craved a shower, a supportive mattress, and soft, warm sheets. Maybe being home, where the pace of life was so much slower, would enable her to catch up on much needed rest. She wiped her eyes and did her best to smile.

“Well, I figured if I got a master’s degree and landed a great job in London, I at least ought to physically fit the bill, so I worked out in addition to dieting.” Lark sniffed. “I have Weight Watchers to thank for the rest.” She draped an arm around her mother as they moved toward the porch steps.

“You sound so cultured, Lark. I can’t explain it; it’s like your accent sounds the same, but you talk with the rhythm of an English person.”

Lark shrugged. “Must have been all the time I’ve spent with them. Good to know I still have my Oregonian accent. You can take the girl away from the country, but not the country out of the girl, I guess.”

Pam shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re home again. It’s like a dream.”

Lark tightened her arm around her mom’s waist. “I know. It’s amazing to come back here after all this time. I’m sorry it had to be in this particular way.”

Pam leaned her head on Lark’s shoulder as they neared the front porch steps. The porch veered off to their right a bit. A white swing occupied a great portion of it under the living-room window. “That wasn’t there before.”

“No.”

“What happened to the one attached to the ceiling? The old, rusty, creaky number?”

Pam wiped her nose with the wrinkled tissue in her hand. “Your dad got rid of it years ago. It was old, and I wanted something soft to sit on. It wasn’t butt-conducive for visitors.”

Lark eyed the plush cushions and the white throw pillows on the overstuffed swing. She walked over and sat. The soft cushions molded to her form and enveloped her thighs like a soft cotton cloud. The countryside in the distance stretched for miles in a stunning spread. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so peaceful.

Pam watched her. “I’d give a million dollars to know what’s on your mind right now.”

A strong wave of fatigue hit Lark, and she sighed. “I thought about how the old swing used to creak all the time when I would sit on it. It’s been so long, I can’t believe I remember.”

Pam leaned against a thick log gable. “I’d wager you’ll have a lot of deja-vu in the next few days. Let’s go inside, hmm? I have a crockpot of chicken pasta all warmed and ready to go for you guys. We’ll get you a bite to eat, and then you can get some rest.” Lark nodded, took her mother’s offered hand, stood, and followed her inside.

Her mother redecorated, though the layout of the place hadn’t changed. All the furniture in the visiting room had been replaced in brown, tan, and burgundy colors. The framed portraits and paintings on the walls were still the same, as was a watercolor of the Seine in Paris her mother and father had chosen on their many excursions. Even the photograph her father had taken of the ancient ruins in Greece, blown up on a canvas print, still hung on the wall.

Pam led her through the long hallway, past the living room, and into the kitchen. Lark glanced to her right and glimpsed the library her father had treasured. Rows of books and encyclopedias lined the walls. She caught a peek of the unlit stone fireplace, in front of which sat a large mauve couch, and the corner edge of her mother’s black baby grand piano.

A calico cat slinked past her. If that was who she thought it was… He’d been a kitten when she was last home. He ignored her and headed straight for his food bowl.

“Ignore Bandit. He’s an old miser and a total drama queen. I’m sure he’ll warm to you in no time. Sit,” Pam ordered.

“Laminated or real wood?” Lark eyed the new floor.

“Laminate. We wanted real wood but not for the price.”

Her mother remodeled the kitchen. All the countertops and the kitchen island were a mixture of black oak wood, and monochrome, dark marble. Pam had a good eye because Lark had to admit all the different textures and colors complemented the house. A small, round table with four cushy chairs stood by the back door.

“This is new,” said Lark as she slid into a chair at the table. She was sad to see the old set was gone.

Pam dished up a plate for Lark at the counter. “Brand-new. Well, two years old, if I’m being picky.” She set a plate of warm chicken pasta in front of her. Lark put her hand on her mom’s before she could leave.

Lark softened her voice, something she hadn’t done in a long time. “Mom, you shouldn’t do this. Come sit with me.”

Pam lifted her chin. “Nonsense. I need to move around, remind myself I’m still here and functioning. Would you like a drink?” She moved away and took out a glass from a nearby cupboard.

Lark’s mind whirled, and she longed to go lie down. Good old jet lag. “Can I have a glass of water, please?”

“You’ve got it.”

She ate small bites of the delicious pasta. She looked around and noticed new things mixed in with the old around the room.

Aaron entered the kitchen and took a seat. “Smells good,” he murmured.

“It is,” Lark said between bites. She savored the tasty flavor. “Do you not use the dining room anymore?”

Aaron leaned back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not unless we have guests over. It’s less hassle for Mom since it’s just the two of them…was the two of them.”

Lark offered him an empathetic look. “How’s school going? You’re about finished, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I graduate next June,” he sipped the water their mom handed him.

Lark picked at her food while they visited. She learned Aaron had driven home from Berkeley, where he studied political science. He dated another student, Giselle, off and on.

After she finished eating, Lark went upstairs with her mom. The shag carpet she recalled had been replaced by a nice and plush light champagne-colored Berber. Everything seemed bigger than London, more spread out. Her flat was half the size of the downstairs alone.

Lark eyed her luggage against the wall. Aaron must have brought it up. Her heart softened as she surveyed her childhood room with its cherrywood furniture and dark orchid, silver, and blue theme. A fresh flower arrangement stood on a small round table next to the plush lavender armchair in the corner. She used the bathroom, frowned at her tousled and disheveled appearance in the mirror. Screw it, she needed a shower. She pulled the shower curtain aside and stepped in.

Out of the bathroom and in pj’s, Lark half smiled as she remembered the astonishment on her mother’s and Aaron’s faces when they’d first seen her. A lot had happened since she’d moved to London, but it was nice to know all her hard work in losing weight wasn’t for nothing. She was an emotional eater, but she’d learned over the last six years to work off any extra food she ate. Exercise had also become a good way to drive away the demons of the past.

She turned around, and the smile left her face as she spied an old framed photograph on the nightstand. She picked it up and sat on the bed.

A heavier, younger version of herself in a black high-school graduation gown and tassel hat stood in an auditorium with her mother’s and father’s arms around her. A blue-and-gold banner overhead read, THE GRADUATING CLASS OF— Her father stood in front of the rest of the banner. She touched her hand to her face in the photo. Such a broad and happy smile, even a dimple in her left cheek. So young and unweighted down by the cares of the world. Her gaze traveled to her mother and then her father. He beamed with pride at the camera. About a week after this picture was taken, she’d found out his secret.

Everything had changed from then on out.

She reached over and replaced the frame on the nightstand, then brushed her damp hair and fell back on the bed. She stared at the vaulted ceiling fan. Memories swarmed her mind, but in her weariness, none were decipherable.

She kneaded her scalp, and her neck became more relaxed. Her father stood at the window of his office in her mind’s eye as he’d been in his younger years, his hand lifted in greeting. She recalled a picnic spread on a soft, checkered yellow-and-white blanket out on the lawn, the scent of freshly mown grass in the back garden, a red kite against a blue wash of sky. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted…

****

The patchwork quilt laid over the green grass beneath the shade of the oak tree cradled her back like a soft mattress. They were in an open area, and the gentle kiss of a cherry-blossom-scented breeze cooled her skin. The gurgle of water crept over stones and alerted her to the clear brook a few feet away from where she lay naked in his arms.

They faced each other on their sides, legs entwined, his half-erect cock against her thigh. His spent seed warmed her insides, and he kissed her tenderly, slowly, with more affection than she could have ever hoped for.

“Lark,” he growled against her lips. Soft waves of his dark hair tickled her forehead. He tilted her chin back, moved his lips down her throat, and burned a line of fire over her skin. His large, warm palm trailed along her back, then slid from her hip to her bare thigh.

She stuttered a breath. “Touch me.”

He gripped her leg and draped it over his. He kissed her shoulder, and she whimpered at the touch of his hardened cock as it rubbed against her sensitive slit. He closed his hand around his cock and brought the head to her clit. He teased her, coating it with her essence. She moved her hips closer to relieve the tension, but his determined look broke no argument —he controlled the pace.

He dipped the head of his cock into her pink folds, teasing her entrance with the barest of pressure. He pulled back again to brush it along her slit. A soft moan escaped her lips. God, she wanted him. She clamped her thighs about him, closing her folds over his length as she slid against it, driven by wild need. Each touch he gave her further ignited her body.

It was wonderful to lie outside and in the sun; for the first time, she saw him plain as day. His face had a noble quality to it and was sexy as hell. He had high cheekbones, and the aura he exuded made her think he belonged to a different era.

He smoothed his fingers over her hip and along the curve of her ass. He tilted his hips back to free his cock from her hold and hauled her in closer. His mouth plundered hers, and she was lost to him. His fingers dipped in the cleft of her ass as he kissed her, and she let out a small mewl. She writhed against him like a cat in heat. He stroked her rounded flesh, and she hitched her leg higher over his hip, desperate for friction. It wasn’t enough; she needed him inside her. As if she’d spoken aloud, he curved his palm beneath her ass to her front and cupped her dainty mound. His lips parted as he drank her in with his eyes.

“What have you done to me? What is it that makes me want you so much?” The lilt to his Irish tone was husky and somewhat raspy. His gaze roamed over her.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” she whispered, her heart pounding.

“I want to fill you up, Lark,” he growled. “I want to bury my cock inside you.”

He kept his eyes locked with hers as the hand on her mound sought its way through her folds, and his thumb caressed her tender nub. Lark trembled and grasped his shoulders as he slid a finger inside. She clenched her inner walls, closed her eyes, and shivered as he located delicate, receptive nerves and worked her into a frenzied state. He kissed her and nibbled her lower lip, then slid a second finger inside to join the first. Sweet God. Her eyes rolled back as he formed a steady rhythm. She gasped.

“I have to have you,” he growled. “And I’m not talking about your body. I need all of you. Every inch. Every breath.”

He moved over her. She stared at him as he stroked the hair from her forehead and kissed her there. The tenderness with which he did so surprised her. She met his eyes, moved by the love in them. The raw passion in this man was unparalleled. He separated her legs, thrust his hard cock into her entrance, and stretched her until he was sheathed to the hilt inside.

“It’s you for me, Lark,” he growled as she raised her legs and crossed her ankles over his lower back. He slid out, and thrust forward, hard. She cried out at the bliss and held on to his shoulders as he spoke into her ear.

“It will always be you.”

****

Lark sighed and rolled over, awake. She’d fallen asleep next to her open suitcase, drooled on the quilt, and good God, with damp panties to boot. These dreams were getting way too lifelike. She sat up, her back stiff. She brushed wayward hair out of her face, wiped a smidgen of sleep from her eyes, blinked, and looked around.

It seemed so impossible to be here, back home. The gentle trill of the birds outside twittered away. It was like she’d stepped through a portal in time. The stillness of the room drove home why she was here, and her dream faded. She’d conked out with the lamp still on. The sun streamed in through the window and warmed her back and legs.

Lark slid from the bed, rotated her neck to relieve the stiffness, and clicked the lamp off. She went over to the window and looked out of the partly opened curtains. The beautiful Oregon countryside spanned everywhere she could see. She glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was almost noon.

“I can’t believe I slept in so late,” she muttered. She selected a pair of black slacks and a cranberry-colored, long-sleeved shirt from her things, laid them on the bed, and hopped in the shower.

Later, she emerged from the en-suite bathroom with her hair back in a tight, slick ponytail and her makeup done. She froze in the doorjamb as she took in the clean room. No, she wasn’t in a Twilight Zone trip – her bed was made and the color-coordinated pillows splayed against the headboard. Her suitcase had been moved and sat against the wall by the overstuffed armchair. A quick peek in the nearby dresser revealed her clothes were folded and put away. She shook her head with a wry grin and grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter from the dresser top as she left the room. “Some things never change, Mom. Either that or you have an OCD poltergeist.”

Chatter wafted up from the kitchen below. She met her mother on the stairs.

Pam held a tissue as she talked into the phone. Her eyes were reddened, stark against her black shirt and black pants.

Hi, Pam mouthed, her jaw quivering. Lark returned the silent greeting and stood on the bottom step with folded arms.

“All right. Thank you, Niall. You’ve made this so much easier. I don’t know what we’d do without you. Okay. I will. See you tomorrow. Bye.”

Pam clicked a button on the phone and smiled sadly at Lark with tears in her eyes. Lark gave her a gentle hug. Death was never easy on the living, and it hurt to see her mother in any kind of pain.

“I can’t believe Rick’s gone.” Pam sniffed. “It’s like I roll over in the morning and expect it to be a crazy dream, but it’s real. Sorry, sweetheart. I’m a complete wreck.”

“Mom, of course, you are. You have every right to be.” Lark hugged her again. It was all she could do to try to convey how much she loved her. “Is there anything I can do to help with all this, with the funeral?” she asked near her ear. “It’s tomorrow, right?”

Pam nodded and wiped her nose. “Eleven. The viewing is tonight at six at the funeral home. Our attorney’s taken care of all the arrangements. He went out of his way to get the flowers ordered and the programs for the funeral done up. All that’s left to do is cook and get things ready for the after-party tomorrow.”

Lark lifted her eyebrows, impressed. “Wow.”

“I know. He’s been amazing.” Pam put a hand on her cheek, and her eyes traveled to Lark’s long ponytail. “Do you wear ponytails a lot?”

“Not all the time, but sometimes. It’s professional and practical; I can throw it back and go.”

Pam lifted a fair eyebrow. “Well, it sure has grown out. It’s so healthy. Could you do me a favor and wear it down for the funeral?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Let’s get you some food.” Pam steered her in the direction of the kitchen. She’d set the table for a light lunch.

Lark sat with a glass of apple juice, picked at a few pomegranate seeds, and spooned bacon bits from a white china dish onto her salad. She set her cigarettes and lighter on the table and poured dressing over the salad. She waited for Pam’s inevitable antismoking lecture, but it never came. Her mother was distracted by other things.

Pam smiled. “It must seem so different to you, all of this after London.”

Boy, what an understatement. “Oh, it is. Everything’s bigger. I don’t think I had a concrete idea what portion control meant until I moved to England. This tastes fantastic.”

They ate in silence, then Pam snapped her fingers. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so preoccupied, I forgot to tell you a man named Charles called earlier while you were asleep.”

Lark pinched the bridge of her nose. “Damn it. I forgot he said he’d call after I landed. What did he say?”

Pam smiled as she set more dishes on the table. “Well, he charmed my socks off with his nice British accent; more so when he said he’s your fiancé.”

Lark swallowed and dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Mmm. He is. We’ve been engaged a long time, though.” She lifted her hand in a blasé way and showed her mother her diamond engagement ring.

Pam brought her hand closer and examined it. “Nice. So, what’s he like? Where did he grow up? Do you call him Charlie?”

Lark scraped her food around her bowl with her fork, not sure how to answer what Charles was like anymore. Brilliant, evasive, trite, insensitive? “He’s…handsome, successful, very English, I guess. He’s an only child, and his parents are divorced, but he grew up in a nice house and went to a private school in Cambridge. He hates the nickname Charlie with a passion, so please call him Charles.”

“Well, he sounded respectful on the phone. I seem to remember your taste for a different sort of man. He seems on the ball, though.”

Lark nodded and picked at her salad. They did need to talk, but this wasn’t the time or place to divulge personal hardships to her mom, so she kept it pleasant.

“Did he leave a message?”

Pam poured apple juice into her glass. The ice crackled and shifted beneath the liquid. “He said to tell you he’s booking a flight out here, and he’ll try to call you later. How long have you two been engaged?”

Lark glanced at the beautiful ring she’d known for half a decade. How many times had she asked the exact same thing, but in a much more sarcastic and colorful language?

“Five years. We don’t want to rush anything.”

“It’s safe to say you’re in the clear for rushing into it, dear.” Her mother laughed.

It was good, in a way, to come back home so she could have time to think about things with Charles. She gazed at Pam’s beautiful, careworn face. Still youthful, though graced by a few wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. “You look great, Mom. You haven’t aged a bit.”

Pam thanked her and paused between sips. “Grape seed oil, like I’ve told you. Does the trick.”

“Are any family members coming to the viewing?”

Pam nodded. “Niall’s taken care of it. Your distant cousins and aunts will be there. Great-aunt Bernice couldn’t make it; she’s too old, bless her heart. How’s your salad?”

“Good.”

Aaron opened the door and walked into the kitchen in boots, jeans, and a red plaid shirt. He set his keys and a large, brown paper bag on the kitchen counter. Lark tilted her head, endeared by his humble attire. He seemed more like someone’s ranch hand than a college student at Berkeley. “Hi there, cowboy.” She smiled.

“Hey.” He cocked his head to the side. “How you feelin’? You were pretty wiped yesterday.”

“Aaron,” Pam chided.

He laughed, a glad release in the quiet kitchen. “What? It’s true, Mom. No point beating around the bush. So, uh, sis,” he pulled up a chair beside her. “I’ve got something to ask you, and it feels like the right time. Here’s the deal. Before Dad passed away yesterday morning, he was sick for a long time. While he was still well enough to talk, he made me promise him something.”

Pam drew upright in her chair. “I never heard of this. Go on, Aaron.”

Aaron eyed Lark’s nice trousers and blouse and scratched behind his ear. “Well, uh, the thing is, he made me promise before he was buried, if you ever came back and we had the opportunity, you and I’d take the Appaloosas for a ride as one last salute to him.”

Beside her, Pam clasped her hands together. “Typical Rick.” She turned to Lark. “You don’t have to, Lark, of course. Though I know Rick would like you to.”

Though her mother and brother were wide-eyed and eager, it was all a bit invasive. Still, she didn’t want to seem rude. “I…my assistant packed workout clothes and black stuff for the funeral, but I don’t have any suitable clothes to wear for riding. What—you didn’t want to go now, did you?” She glanced at Aaron’s cowboy garb.

Oh hell. She shouldn’t horseback ride today of all days—namely the likelihood she’d fall off the horse and land flat on her ass. But she could name a few reasons why she might like to.

“Nah,” Aaron said. “We can eat first.”