She really didn’t show much yet. Just the tiniest curve where her waist had been. She kept smoothing her hand over it. “I passed the dreaded first three months with no issues,” she said. She beamed at him, her eyes alive. “I’m not sick. I feel great. I’m going to tell my dad it’s okay to tell his friends now.”

“Don’t be too surprised if you find he already has.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

He watched her with pride. Thin as a reed with that little bump that he put there, her smile wistful and almost angelic. She wanted the baby as much as he did; she thrilled with each day it grew in her. This baby had healed something in her. And it filled him with a new hope. She was more beautiful now than she’d ever been.

“Mrs. Jones, you have to either get dressed or come over here and do me.”

She laughed. “I already did you. Magnificently, I might add.”

“I said thank you.”

She reached for her underwear, then her jeans, then her sweatshirt. The show was over. Now he’d have to wait all day to have her alone again.

“It’s time for you to get to work—I need a house. Tom will be here anytime. I’m going over to Sully’s store,” Maggie said. There was much cleanup and restoration to do at her dad’s general store and campground at Sullivan’s Crossing. It was the first of March, and it wouldn’t be long before the campers and hikers started coming in force.

Cal and Maggie were living in the barn they were renovating into a big house with the guidance of Tom Canaday, a local with some amazing carpentry and other building skills. Tom had good subcontractors to help, speeding up the process. Maggie and Cal had married last October and, while the roof and exterior were being reinforced and sealed, dormers added to what were once haylofts, the wiring refreshed, the interior gutted and windows installed where there had been none, they’d been living at Sully’s, in his basement. Tom, Cal and a few extra hands had finally finished off a bedroom and functional bathroom along with a semifunctional kitchen. That bedroom on the ground floor would eventually be Cal’s office when the house was finished. The proper master bedroom would be upstairs. They had a good seal on their temporary bedroom door so they could sleep there and not be overcome by sawdust or the dirt of construction. They’d been in residence two weeks, thanks to warmer weather and a good space heater.

Maggie spent most of her free time at the store helping her dad. Then there were those three or four days a week she was in Denver where she practiced neurosurgery. On her practice days she stayed at the Denver house she’d owned for several years. During her days away, Cal and Tom did the things that were noisiest, smelliest and messiest—the pounding and sawing, cutting granite and quartz, applying the noxious sealer, installing the floors, sanding and staining. Every time Maggie came home it was like Christmas—she’d find new stairs to the second floor, a bathtub, a new kitchen sink, ceramic tile on the kitchen floor, half a fireplace. But the most precious addition of all was the Shop-Vac. That little beauty kept dirt, sawdust, spillage and debris manageable. It was their goal to have the house finished before the baby came, due in October.

Tom Canaday was at the house, his truck backed up to the door, before Cal had finished making Maggie breakfast—very likely by design. Cal got the eggs back out and started making more breakfast.

Tom brought his twenty-year-old son, Jackson; something he did whenever Jackson had a day free of classes. In the cavernous great room they sat at a long picnic table. Tom had thrown it together and it became the table they ate at, spread plans on, used as a carpenter’s bench, a desk when they held meetings. They met with subcontractors there, spread material samples or design renderings on it, looked through catalogs. It was truly multipurpose.

Once Maggie had gone to Sullivan’s Crossing, the men were still seated at the picnic table, finishing a second cup of coffee when there was a knock at the door.

“She forget something?” Tom asked.

“Maggie wouldn’t knock,” Cal said, going to the front door.

Standing just outside on the step, was a pretty girl with light brown hair streaked with honey. She had peachy skin and a pretty mouth stretched into a smile. She wore tight jeans with fashionably torn knees, but Cal guessed hers weren’t purchased that way. Her hoody was tied around her neck. The sight of her made his eyes glitter with happiness.

“Well, you finally got around to me,” he said. He lifted her off the ground with his hug. “How are you?”

“Good. Brand-new. I love this place.”

“You might get a little tired of it this month—March is pretty sloppy.”

“Yeah, that happens,” she said.

He looked beyond her to the little orange VW parked on the road. Not new, that’s for sure. He thought he saw a piece of twine holding the front bumper in place. Then he looked back at his sister. “The pumpkin,” she said with a smile.

“You must’ve looked hard for that thing,” he said.

“She came at a good price.”

“Hard to believe,” he said facetiously. He always forgot how beautiful she was. She was thirty now but still looked like a girl. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face to look into her clear brown eyes. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Never better,” she said. “Really.”

“Are you going to stay here until you find something?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Found something already. It’s temporary, but clean, safe, comfortable and convenient. The hostel in town. It’ll keep me very well while I look around some more.”

Sierra looked past him. Wires were hanging from the ceiling and sticking out of walls, building debris was scattered everywhere, stacks of wallboard, tarps, doors leaning against walls, piles of supplies from plumbing fixtures to hinges. “Love what you’ve done to the place, California.”