Henry's eyes widened. “I think nothing of the sort. You’re a lovely girl—“

Claire held up a hand. “Save it, counselor. You did what you came here to do. Flattery isn't necessary.” The box lid lifted easily, and there, nested in a bed of white tissue lay the most magnificent sculpture Claire had ever seen.

Technically, it was a pin. Or more accurately, a brooch due to its historical origins. She remembered learning about Celtic designs in grade school. Round, about two inches in diameter, the silver circle of symbols tarnished with age. It made her think of Scotland. In her mind's eye she saw an emerald landscape, blades of thick grass rustling in the wind and she could almost smell the marshes. How was that possible?

"It's beautiful," she breathed, barely aware of Mr. Henry's watchful expression. She touched the brooch. Warm, like fresh bread from the oven, or like a sun-baked stone in a pasture. She touched her warmed fingers to her cheek, but they felt as cool as the autumn breeze outside. "Where did he find it?"

"Kentucky. He was doing his regular random checks on eBay to see what came up, and there it was. Someone found it in some wreckage after a tornado. Talk about luck."

Maybe for her father, but not for those poor people ravaged by a tornado.
Mr. Henry grinned. "Your father would have been pleased to see the way your face lit up when you saw the brooch."

Claire frowned, pushing away her sudden pleasure at seeing and feeling the old brooch. Her reaction made no sense. She didn't like gaudy jewelry, same as she had no desire for fashionable shoes or designer clothes. Those things didn't matter to her. She existed solely to care for the two people she loved: her mother and her sister. At least she had, until the accident two months ago.
She cleared her throat. "Well, I'm sure it must be worth something to someone. I know a few antique dealers in town. One of them will be happy to take this off my hands."

Mr. Henry shrugged. "Of course. It's yours and you can do whatever you like. But if it were me—"

"You're not me, Mr. Henry." She stood and held out her hand for him to shake.
He smothered her slender fingers in his massive paw. "You take care of yourself, Claire. And watch out for those—"

"Coynes, yes, I remember." She smiled to take the edge off her attitude. "I'm sorry if I've sounded cranky. It's not like me to be rude, but I miss my sister, my mother is a vegetable, and I just found out my father is dead. I hope you understand."

"No need to apologize, dear." He handed her his card. "I'm leaving on the first plane out of Redmond tomorrow. If talking about your father will help in any way, please don't hesitate to call."

He really was a nice man. And she felt badly for behaving like a bratty, angst-ridden teenager. "Thank you, Mr.–-Thank you, Peabody. I'll do that. I promise."

###

Claire didn't throw the brooch box in the Deschutes like she thought she would. She drove right on past the Shops at the Old Mill and barely glimpsed the docile section of river that flowed through the City of Bend. Her weathered old Honda sputtered and choked as she slowed to turn onto the Parkway.

She could get a new car now. For the first time in her life, she realized, there was money in the bank. A flutter of excitement tickled her belly. She could pay off the loan on the trailer. Hell, she could sell the damn thing and buy a real house!

As she steered into the trailer park, the box holding the brooch shifted on the seat beside her. She covered it with her hand, reassured of its presence. Why? It was just a thing, a piece of old jewelry. But its arrival in her life had brought about significant change.

Claire felt hopeful. Now she had enough money to move back to Scotland. But what about Mom? She'd have to stay in Bend until Mom recovered, but at least she could buy a beautiful home for her mother to return to when she got well. She'd hire better doctors and a live-in nurse. What an excellent plan! Their lives would never be the same.

She parked in the dirt drive in front her mother's trailer home. A flurry of gold and orange leaves fluttered across the porch steps, and she made a mental note to rake the tiny patch of lawn that was more weeds than grass. The trailer was simple, clean and sturdy, and had served her little family well over the last fifteen years. The two-bedroom doublewide seemed too big now that her sister and mother didn't live there any more. Once sold, it would become someone else's home, and she again felt that unfamiliar twinge of excitement. Change was good.

She let herself in and set her purse on the kitchen counter before carefully slipping the brooch box inside it along with her car keys. A sudden thud of four feline paws landed beside the bag.

She held a hand to chest. "Treasure! You scared me. What's wrong, kitty?" The normally docile tabby growled and arched her back. "Treasure? You okay?"
"I noticed she doesn't take well to strangers."

Claire spun around to face the owner of the voice that made her insides clench. Her heart skittered beneath her breastbone and she gasped. "What the hell?" She grabbed her cell phone from her purse and started to punch in 9-1-1. "Get out! I'm calling the police."

"Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

She stopped dialing and narrowed her eyes at the stranger who was beginning to look more familiar with each frantic beat of her heart. His hair was no longer orange but a deep cherry wood red, and it was pulled back from his face in a ponytail. His pale skin had darkened to a bronze glow that could only have come from time spent beneath a tropical sun. Skinny? Not any more. He had to have bench-pressed his weight in coconuts on whatever island had given him that tan. He was Leland. Or Latham. Damn. One of those bully Coyne boys, and the nicer of the bunch.

"I'm hurt you don't remember me," he said, his square jaw tilted with a sly grin. "I was the one who protected you from my cousins when you were just a bairn. That canna have slipped your mind."

Speechless, she managed a guttural, "La… La…"

"Are you singin' or tryin' to remember my name?"

She gaped at him.

He sighed. "It's Liam, darlin'. Liam Coyne."

Ah, yes. She remembered all the Coyne boys now. And Liam wasn't a whole lot better than his cousins. At least he wasn't the one who put mud in her school bag, ripped her classwork to shreds while she watched, or stole her lunch money. But he was still a Coyne. Her skin grew hot as the rage of childhood humiliation returned with a vengeance.

Liam stood in the tiny living room, one hand braced on the sofa as he leaned against it with relaxed arrogance. Then his friendly expression abruptly changed to alarm. She wasn't the only one remembering how it had been when they were kids.

"Wait, Claire." He backed up. "Don't be actin' up now, hear? I just dropped by for a visit—"

Visit, hell. She bent at the waist and plowed forward, her bowed head aimed squarely at his belly.

END CHAPTER 1