Page 30 of Stolen for Keeps
“Noah’s Ark?” Elia fired back.
“Ha. Ha,” I replied, dry as dust.
Claire nudged Elia with her elbow. “Let him talk.”
“The Sundown,” I said. “It’s west-facing. The light hits it just right, no matter the season.”
Elia’s gaze lingered a second longer than usual. There were a dozen things behind that look—stuff we hadn’t said,stuff we probably should—but he just nodded. “Great name. I love it.”
I gave a half-bow, then flicked a glance toward Claire’s indoor nursery. “Claire, think I can steal five of your roses?”
She caught the meaning instantly. “Of course. I’ll help you with that. And I’ve got just the vase.”
She moved to the nursery and began cutting five perfect yellow roses without a single question. Just that grace she always had. She placed them in a clear glass vase, her hands unhurried, her gaze perceptive.
“So…what are you planning to do with The Sundown?” she asked.
“Buster gave it a fresh coat of paint after his last tenants moved out. It just needs a good clean before the furniture starts arriving.”
“Good luck.” She handed over the vase.
“Thanks, Claire.”
In the living room, Elia glanced up from where he was crawling around, gathering Dylan’s scattered blocks.
“What did I say about taking it easy?” I said, crouching to fish out the ones wedged under tables and cabinets.
“Hey, hey, I’m good. You do what you gotta do.” He shooed me away. “Need a hand?”
“Not your hand.” I nodded toward his braced foot.
“Then take my truck, at least. No point walking. When’s yours finally showing up?”
“Tomorrow. I’m picking it up in the morning. Thanks, El.”
The drive to The Sundown was short. The land had been partitioned clean from what Buster still owned, though the fence bordering The Lazy Moose could use some love. Luckily, Hank and the boys had already leveled a path and built a gate through the shared boundary, linking my new place to the Lucas land.
I set the vase of yellow roses down on the porch rail, careful not to knock the petals. They caught the light just right, like a memory you didn’t know you still carried.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of paint and pine, the kind of clean that came from freshly coated walls and no one living in them yet. I set the roses down by the door and rolled up my sleeves. I started with the shelves, wiping slowly.
The truth was, Dad hadn’t missed the chance to buy this place because he didn’t have the nerve to ask Buster. He’d simply run out of time.
The kind of truth that sits with you.
I moved to the floor, filled a bucket from the tap, and started mopping. Back and forth. The rhythm gave my hands something to do while my head drifted.
The Lazy Moose had been full back then—too full. Noise, boots in the hallway, someone always yelling for someone else. Dad had plans. Big ones. He’d wanted us to move here, spread out a little, and make room to grow.
Then Mom got sick.
Throat cancer. It took her quietly and fast.
Somehow, we moved on. Dad still talked about the future, just with different plans now, maybe even bigger ones. Expanding families, more room for whoever we were all becoming. He told Elia he’d get first pick between the two houses. And Elia, being Elia, would’ve picked the main house. Always.
Which meant this one…would’ve been mine. Eventually.
I circled out to the porch, took one look at the windows, and grabbed a rag. The glass was mostly clear, just streaked with old rain and settled dust. It had stood through storms. It had waited.
