Annie was sitting on the porch, a thick book lying in her lap, when they drove up. She waved twice, then got up to meet them.

"Why, Roger, what a surprise." She turned to Chris. "Hello. I'm Annie Stone."

Her voice was as strong as her handshake and Chris smiled politely.

"This is Chris McKenna, new Search and Rescue. And a friend," he added.

"Finally got your SAR, Roger? Good. Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Chris McKenna. Come inside. I have fresh brewed tea. It's so hot out, isn't it?"

Chris exchanged a glance with Roger as they followed her inside. What a pleasant woman, Chris thought. Absolutely nothing like she had been envisioning. Chris looked around the well-kept house, pausing in the living room before following Roger and Annie into the kitchen. The walls were cluttered with paintings and numerous others lay scattered about, some leaning against the wall. She looked closer and saw Annie's name scribbled at the bottom.

"Oh, don't look too closely, Chris. That's just my hobby. Some of me better ones I've hung, but the others... well, I'm out of room in my studio." She pointed to the stack leaning against the wall. "Those are on the way to the basement. I can't bring myself to paint over them yet."

"Well, they all look very good," Chris said sincerely. She knew little about art, but they at least looked like trees and mountains. "What style would you call this? Abstract?"

"No. More like Impressionism. I tried abstract art, but it wasn't for me. And my talent doesn't quite go far enough for Realism." She shrugged. "But it's just a hobby," she said again.

They took their iced tea to the back deck, shaded this time of day. Chris waited while Roger found another chair for her. She doubted Annie ever had need for three. They were silent for a long moment, all three looking out toward the mountain as the sun reflected off the western facing slopes.

"Well, Roger, it's unlike you to show up unexpectedly. Did you need something or are you just showing me off to the new SAR?"

"Can't I just visit, Annie? Chris just happened to be along."

"Bullshit, Roger. We've been friends too long," she said, bringing a smile to Chris.

"I wanted to meet you," Chris admitted.

"Why? Have you heard the rumors about me and you wanted to see a real live hermit for yourself?" she asked with a laugh. "I'm not really a hermit, dear," she said quietly. "Just don't have a whole lot of use for people, is all."

Chris thought again what a delightful woman she was and she was glad that Roger brought her here.

"I was filling her in on the local history last night, Annie. Your name came up," Roger said.

"Oh, all that again?" She turned to Chris. "Do you know of my daughter, Chris?"

"I've read a couple of her books, yes."

Annie nodded. "Then you know about as much as I do." She looked away, eyes closed for a moment. "How old are you?"

"I'm thirty-three," she said, resisting the urge to fall back on her standard reply of twenty-nine.

"Jessie will be thirty-four this fall. She was a tall girl, although I don't think as tall as you are. She always had a dark complexion, like you, but your hair is much lighter. And of course, she didn't have your pretty blue eyes. She had her father's eyes, dark as the night," Annie said quietly. Then she looked up, a smile returning. "Oh, well. Another life. Now, how long have you been here?"

"First of this month," Chris said.

"You probably haven't had a decent meal since you got here, then. Knowing Roger, he has you at the Rock every night."

Chris nodded, her eyes flicking to Roger.

"I'll expect you for dinner tomorrow night at six."

"Dinner?"

"Yes. You do eat?"

Chris nodded again. "I'll be here."

That evening, at the Rock House, Chris joined Roger and Ellen for dinner. Ellen Burdett owned the only grocery store in Sierra City. Widowed at a young age, she took her insurance money and bought the store from Mrs. Ramsey, who had wanted to move to Oregon to be closer to her daughter. She and Roger started seeing each other shortly after Ellen moved here. Chris would bet money that they had never spoken of marriage. Roger would run screaming into the night and Chris suspected Ellen knew that.

"Roger tells me you're having dinner with Annie Stone tomorrow," Ellen said.

"Yeah. Surprised the hell out of me." Chris raised her hand and waved at Martha. "Still waiting for that beer," she yelled.

"Keep your pants on, McKenna, I'm the only one here," Martha yelled back.

"Ah, small town politeness. Gotta love it," Chris murmured.

"If you're dying of thirst, have some of mine," Roger offered.

Chris took a sip, then pushed the mug back to him.

"I've been here five years and I have yet to meet her," Ellen said.

"Annie? You're kidding? Why haven't you gone with Roger?"

Ellen shrugged. "I didn't want to impose on her and it would be rude. I mean, I would be going mostly out of curiosity."

Chris turned to Roger. "Why do you allow these rumors to continue? She seemed a perfectly normal, healthy woman to me."

"And she is. I think Annie enjoys the rumors. It keeps people away, that's for sure. And it's not like she never leaves the house. She goes to San Francisco a couple of times a year and she's an avid hiker. She's been all over these mountains and rarely stays on the trails. Most of her paintings come from something she's seen on her hikes."

"Why would she feel comfortable going out in San Francisco and not here?" Chris asked.

"She never went out here, even when Jack was alive. She doesn't have any friends here. Not one." Then he shrugged. "Well, other than me."

"That's a very sad life," Ellen said.

"Of her choosing, let's don't forget," he said.

Martha finally came with Chris's beer, sloshing a little on the table when she set it down.

"Dave's got some pasta concoction he's made up for you, McKenna."

"Thanks. Can't wait." Chris turned to Ellen. "I've really got to start cooking. These nightly surprises of Dave's are getting stranger by the day. The other night, he gave me a bowl of cottage cheese with pinto beans on top."

"I warned you to stick with the baked potato," Ellen said.

Chapter Six

Jessie stood on her balcony staring out at the lights of the city, her wineglass held lightly in her hand. She looked up, like she did nearly every night, trying to spot a star, even make out a constellation that she remembered from her childhood, but the lights of the city were too bright, like they always were. Her shoulders drooped and she let out a heavy sigh. Ever since Dr. Davies mentioned going back to Sierra City, she had thought of little else. She remembered chasing after her father down the hiking trails when she was barely old enough to walk, learning to tie flies on her fishing rod, learning the names of the trees in the forest, the birds, and animals. She remembered camping with him high above timberline, so cold, even in the summer, that she would shiver all night long. She remembered taking horses from the stables at the lodge and riding into the high country, so far back that it would have taken them days on foot. She remembered the waterfalls they had bathed under and the clear streams they had swam in and the many campfires they had sat around, him telling her stories of his camping trips with his father when he was young. How old had she been? Ten at the most?

What was she doing in this city, so far from the mountains of her childhood? She knew she would go back. Just the thought thrilled her. Before coming to New York, she had spent the first eight years in San Francisco but she hadn't dared go to the mountains. She couldn't imagine what it would really be like to step into the forest again, to look up at the giant trees. She wondered if Mary Ruth Henninger still rented cabins or if she had passed on? She wondered if the Rock House was still there. She had been too young back then to visit the bar, but she remembered an occasional dinner there. Then she thought of Annie and her heart grew cold. Her so-called mother, the woman who had never been there for her. The woman her father despised. She wondered if Annie even knew she was a writer now, a successful writer. She wondered if Annie even thought of her anymore.

She would go in late August, she decided. After the summer crowds had thinned. She swirled the last bit of her wine and allowed a small smile. It would be good to go back, she admitted. Just to soak up memories, if nothing else.

Chapter Seven

Chris parked under the small juniper tree at the edge of die front porch and walked up die steps. Before she could knock, Annie's voice broke the silence.

"I'm back here," she called.

Chris walked into the empty living room and glanced around, wondering where Annie was. She hesitated a moment, then went into the kitchen, leaving the bottle of wine she brought with her. She was just about to call out when Annie came from down the hall, drying her hands on the apron she wore, which was stained with paint. She greeted Chris with a smile and ushered her back into the kitchen.

"So glad you could come, Chris." She spotted the bottle of wine on the counter and picked it up. "Nice. But this was not necessary. I have plenty. On my trips to San Francisco, I stock up on wine. I have quite a cache down in the basement."

"Well, I wanted to bring something," Chris said.

"That was thoughtful, but you'll take this back with you so you can enjoy it another time. I should have warned you though, I don't eat meat. However, I think anyone can get by at least one meal without it. Even Roger."