“The shower ain’t Broadway, my man.”

“They’ll eat out of your hand. After all . . . Life’s a banquet.”

Lily gave her rolling laugh. “And most sons of bitches are starving to death. Oh, speaking of banquets, Mo texted me this morning and said Chelsea’s decided to go vegan. We’re going to have to see what the hell to feed her.”

Since she’d lost the window, Cate went back to biding her time.

If her throat went dry on the drive from the airstrip, she knew how to hide it. She used her phone as a shield, as if reading and sending texts. The perfect way to avoid making conversation, or looking out at the sea as they traveled the winding road.

Since a second car had loaded up the luggage—and the mountain of gifts—she could and would busy herself unpacking as soon as they got to the house.

Her stomach lurched when they made the turn onto the peninsula. She put her hand over the hematite bracelet Darlie had given her for Christmas. A grounding stone, Darlie claimed, to help against anxiety.

If nothing else, it brought her friend close and helped Cate hold steady when the car slowed for the gate.

It looked the same—of course it looked the same—the beautiful and unique house cantilevered on the hill with its pale, sunlit walls and archways, its red-tiled rooflines. So much glass, open to the views, the roll of green lawn rising, the big doors under the front portico.

Christmas trees flanked the doors, rising out of red urns. More stood on the terraces, and lined like soldiers along the bridge. Still more shined behind the generous windows.

Sun shot down from a pale, winter blue sky, drenching the house, the trees, and striking the snow-laced mountains, turning them into a sparkle of shadow and white.

She wished, God she wished, that she couldn’t see—so clearly—the girl she’d been, so young and trusting, walking with her mother across that rising lawn on a cool winter morning.

Her grandfather leaned over, kissed her cheek, and used the moment to murmur in her ear.

“Don’t let her come here. This isn’t her place. It never was.”

Deliberately, Cate put away her phone. She spoke clearly, her eyes on the house. “When she woke me up that morning, when she took me out to walk, it was the last time I believed she loved me. Even at ten I’d hardly ever felt it from her. But that morning I believed it. I always knew the three of you loved me. I didn’t have to believe because I knew.”

She pushed open her door the minute the car stopped, got out quickly. The air hit her face—a strong breeze. She thought it tasted blue, like the ocean. Cool and blue and familiar.

She hadn’t appreciated—what child could?—the engineering feat behind the design of the house, the way it jutted from the hill, its layers and tiers and angles both organic and elegant.

“I count at least two dozen Christmas trees.”

“Oh, there’s more.” Lily shook her hair back. “I ordered one for every room. Some are just little things, some are as big as Jack’s giant. I had one hell of a fine time planning all this.” She held out a hand. “Ready to go in?”

“Yeah.” She took Lily’s hand, and went inside.

Cate decided her grandparents had hired an army of elves to deck the many halls, from the soaring tree in the main gathering room to the trio of miniatures on the windowsill of the breakfast nook. The house smelled of pine and cranberry, and looked like a Christmas card.

In the gathering room a second tree—a family tree, Cate realized—held bright red stockings. She smiled at the one with her name embroidered across the white top.

“What with Josh married again and bringing in a second family, and babies starting to pop out here and there, we’ve got too many of us for hanging stockings on the mantel.” Hands on her hips, Lily surveyed the room. “Hugh came up with the family tree concept. I like it. It works.”

Like Lily, Cate studied the room, with its trailing greenery, fat berries, gold-dusted pine cones, the towers of candles, pyramids of poinsettias.

“Just a simple Sullivan Christmas.”

Lily let out her big, from-the-gut laugh. “You ain’t seen nothing yet. I’ve got a couple things I want to check on. You go ahead up, sweets, get settled in. We’re in Rosemary’s rooms now. You’re in the one we used to stay in. You remember where it is?”

Not the room she’d used as a child, Cate thought. Not the one her mother had taken her from on the worst day of her life.

“Sure. G-Lil.” On a sigh, she moved in for a hug. “Thanks.”

“We’re exorcising ghosts here, just the dark ones. This is a good house, with plenty of love and light in it.”

Exorcising ghosts, Cate thought as she went upstairs. Well, that was her plan, too, so she’d get on board Lily’s Christmas train.

Home from college on winter break, Dillon fell easily back into ranch routine. His dogs, thrilled, followed him everywhere as he filled troughs, hauled hay bales.

Or sometimes when he just stood, looking out over the fields to the sea.

Everything he loved was here.

Not that he didn’t like college. He did okay there, academic-wise, he thought as he listened to the chickens cluck madly while his mother spread their feed. He even got why what he learned—at least some of it—could make him a better rancher.

He liked his dorm mates okay, too. Though at times the air was so ripe with weed he got high just breathing. He liked the parties, the music, the long, rambling beer-and-weed-fueled discussions.

And the girls—or one girl in particular right now.

But whenever he came home, all that seemed like a weird dream, and one that bogged down his reality.

When he tried to imagine Imogene here, gathering eggs or baking bread for the co-op or digging in with him over the books, or even just standing with him, like this, looking out over the fields to the sea, he couldn’t do it.

It didn’t stop him from remembering how she looked naked. But he had to admit, he didn’t miss her as much as he’d thought he would.

“Too much to do, that’s all,” he told the dogs as they watched him with adoring eyes. He picked up the ball they’d pushed at his feet, gave it a good strong toss.

Watched them race after it, bumping each other like football players on the field.

Imogene loved dogs. She had pictures of her fluffy red Pomeranian, Fancy, on her phone. And in fact, planned to bring Fancy back with her from winter break because she and two other girls were moving into a group house off campus.

She rode, too, English style. Fancy like her dog, but she rode and pretty damn well.

He couldn’t stick with a girl who didn’t love dogs and horses, no matter how she looked naked.

He figured he’d see a lot more of naked Imogene when she had her own room in the group house.

He tossed the ball a couple more times, then headed into the stables.

He led horses out to pasture or paddock, then took extra time with Comet.

“How you doing, girl? How’s my best girl?”

When she nuzzled his shoulder, he rested his cheek against hers. Two and a half more years, he thought, and he’d be home for good.

He took an apple out of his back pocket, cut it in quarters with his knife. “Don’t tell the others,” he warned as he fed Comet half. He ate a quarter himself, gave her the last before leading her out.