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  To my brother, Tom Zinn,

  who set an excellent example of what an older sibling should be.

  Acknowledgments

  This book began as one that didn’t need research. As it turns out, there is no such thing. I owe a debt of gratitude to several people who helped me pull the details together on several aspects of this story. Thanks to Jeffery Zinn, who instructed his landlocked aunt about surfing, and the best colleges in California for a person who is “minoring” in surfing. When I began writing the Civil War reenactment scene, I realized how little I actually knew about the entire process. My appreciation goes to those who shared their expertise in this field: Larry and Janet McConnaughey of the Compuserve Books and Writers Community; Helaina Hinson Burton; Richard Simons; and Becky Morgan. They were all well versed and very informative. Of course, any errors, or variations of the actual facts to facilitate this particular story, are all my doing.

  I’d like to acknowledge Matt Lawrence, who dedicates much of his time to channeling young graffiti artists to legal and safe outlets for their art. His work inspired both the conflict and the resolution for my character Sam.

  And for the nuts and bolts of story building, I thank my fantastic critique group, IndyWitts: Garthia Anderson, Sherry Crane, Vicky Halsey, Brenda Hiatt-Barber, Pam Jones, and Alicia Rasley. Couldn’t do it without all of you—and the constant supply of cake. I thank Karen White for both her critical eye for story development and her heartfelt friendship.

  Thanks to the great team at Warner (now Hachette) Books, especially my wonderful editor, Karen Kosztolnyik.

  And most of all, I’m grateful for the endless support of my family. Sometimes living with a writer can be a real trial. Thank you, Bill, for all of the evenings you were left alone while I wrangled with this book.

  Prologue

  The car engine idled and the windows began to fog in the cold Kentucky night. Caroline Rogers switched off the ignition and allowed the stillness to envelop her. The air was crisp and the snow fresh, lending an expectant hush to the surrounding pastures and fields. The only sound was her sister Macie’s unsteady breathing from the passenger seat. Caroline could sympathize; she suddenly felt a little unsteady herself.

  It was one a.m. and Caroline had done her reconnaissance. Ms. Stockton was in the habit of going to bed before midnight, with all of the downstairs lights still on—including those on the Christmas tree in the living room window.

  Christmas. Caroline couldn’t believe it was almost Christmas. Although she’d tried to deny its approach by averting her eyes from the decorations on the town square and ignoring the endless gift ads on television, Christmas was still coming—an unwelcome and unwanted reminder of how things used to be. Even her younger brother and sister hadn’t begun their annual campaign of not-so-subtle hints.

  For thirteen years, since the winter she’d turned eight—the winter her natural mother died and Caroline had come to live with the Rogerses—the holiday had held a sense of rebirth, of life, and love, and second chances.

  This year it just held grief.

  I’m too young to feel this old.

  Caroline stared at the blue-white snow, feeling just a little sorry for herself. She rarely allowed self-pity to get a toehold, but tonight there was no fending it off. According to her life plan—her carefully constructed life plan—she should be halfway to her degree in fine arts. If all had gone well, she could be interning for National Geographic over the holidays instead of sneaking around, freezing her ass off, taking a photograph she had no business taking.

  But she’d buried that life plan ten months ago along with her parents.

  Moonlight glistened on the rolling ground between her car and the solid redbrick two-story farmhouse on the hill, casting the swales in gray-purple shadows. The scene was dear to her heart, even though it no longer belonged to her.

  “I don’t think we should do this,” twelve-year-old Macie said, looking out the window with wide, apprehensive eyes.

  “Really, Mace! Stop being such a Goody Two-shoes.” Caroline’s frustration over her own self-pity, added to the fact that Macie was right, made Caroline uncharacteristically short-tempered.

  Macie’s chin dropped to her chest. “Sorry.”

  Shame heated Caroline’s face. Macie was a good kid, which had made Caroline’s own life immeasurably easier for the past months. She knew this to be a concrete fact because their thirteen-year-old brother, Sam, was the polar opposite, constantly tempting the devil himself.

  She put a hand on Macie’s leg. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.”

  Macie lifted her chin and gave Caroline a gentle smile. That was Macie, gentle and giving and always willing to take the blame. She was bound to be trampled on. Caroline wished she could help Macie find a way to curb her trepidation without losing her innate goodness.

  A part of Caroline understood Macie’s need to please; losing both parents at such a vulnerable age had a way of making a conscientious girl look inside herself for reasons for such misfortune. If only I’d been less trouble, or made better grades, or hadn’t made Mom worry so. Still, the girl needed to develop some self-confidence.

  Caroline’s conscience chided, Self-confidence, not the brass balls to break the law. And they were breaking the law. Shiny new, reflective NO TRESPASSING signs were posted along all boundaries of the nine-hundred-acre property that until recently had been the Rogers farm.

  “But we don’t have permission.” Macie apparently wasn’t ready to take the plunge into lawlessness—even to please her big sister.

  “It’s just a picture, for goodness’ sake.”

  “What are you going to do with it anyway? We have tons of pictures of the house.”

  “Not since we had to sell it. It’s different now. Just get out and we’ll be back home before you know it.”

  “We should ask.”

  “Honestly, Mace!” Caroline threw her car door open, grabbed her camera, and got out. However, she was careful to close the door softly. Her last encounter with the woman who had bought their house and surrounding farmland hadn’t gone at all well. Caroline didn’t want Macie to know they’d been virtually forbidden to return to their old home.

  True to Ms. Stockton’s habit, the lights on the first floor were blazing. For a woman who said she’d bought this land for seclusion, she seemed mighty afraid of the dark.

  Macie got out of the car, walked to Caroline’s side, and whispered, “She’ll see our footprints in the snow.”

  A wicked little part of Caroline thought, Serves her right. Maybe she’ll think she’s got a reason to be scared of the dark. But she said, “It’s supposed to snow again before dawn.”

  “What if it doesn’t?” Panic strangled Macie’s whisper.

  “It’s not like they’re going to track us down by our footprints for taking a picture.” Caroline just wanted to take the photo and head home to her darkroom. The image had been formed so solidly in her mind that she feared the actual photograph wouldn’t capture all of the emotion she’d envisioned.

  Macie looked up the long lane, toward the house. After a
moment, she said, “Maybe we should make a snowman in the front yard, just so she knows it wasn’t a serial killer or something.”

  Caroline shifted her camera and wrapped an arm around her sister. “You really are a good person. A snowman might take too long. But if it’ll make you feel better, we’ll tramp out a smiley face in the front yard.”

  Macie smiled, then fell in step with Caroline as they headed up the lane. They moved in the shadow of the solid line of Norway spruces their father had planted along the west side as a windbreak.

  When they reached the house, they skirted to the side yard. The six-pane double-sash window that faced them spilled warm golden light onto the snow. From just the right angle, Caroline could see the Christmas tree that was centered in the window facing the front porch. She positioned herself so the camera lens framed the image she’d formed in her mind weeks ago. Then she motioned Macie toward the window.

  The girl moved with all the assurance of a rabbit approaching an open field.

  “Hurry up,” Caroline whispered.

  Macie shot her a pinched look but moved marginally faster. She stopped within an arm’s reach of the side of the house, just as she’d been told.

  “Put your hand on the glass.”

  Macie’s gaze cut to Caroline. “Fingerprints.”

  Caroline made a hissing sound and a mental note to limit the number of hours Macie watched CSI on television. “You’re wearing gloves.”

  Slowly, Macie reached for the glass.

  The second her palm settled against the lighted pane, Caroline’s breath caught in her chest. Perfect. “Raise your chin a little,” she coached.

  She focused the camera.

  “Hold your breath.”

  “Why?” Macie started to move.

  “Hold still!” Caroline lined up the shot. “I can see your breath. Now hold it.”

  As the shutter gave its reassuring click, Caroline’s heart skipped a beat and her entire body hummed with electric energy. She knew this was going to be a remarkable photograph.

  What she didn’t know was that it was destined to change her life forever.

  Chapter 1

  Five years later

  Mom would have been sad today. She would have been waiting here with tears in her eyes.

  Caroline knew this because on the day she’d picked up her own senior year schedule, she’d come out of this very same high school to find her adoptive mother, Macie, and Sam’s natural mother sitting in the car sniffling. Her mother had put a smile on her face and said how excited she was for Caroline. But there was a pile of crumpled tissues on the car seat that said otherwise.

  It seemed so wrong for Caroline to be sitting in her mother’s stead, waiting for Macie to pick up her schedule with her heart beating in joyful anticipation.

  Maybe it was shame, maybe it was the August heat, or maybe it was the disgraceful excitement—in any case, sweat beaded on Caroline’s brow and dampened her shirt, and her hair clung uncomfortably to the nape of her neck. She lifted her hair and fanned herself with the notice for a certified letter she’d been holding with a death grip since she’d found it in the mailbox.

  Macie a senior. It had once seemed this day would never come. But the endless months of filling in for both mother and father—homework and sex talks, discipline and curfews—were nearly at an end. From her view now, near the end of the six-year stretch between their parents’ deaths and both Sam and Macie being in college, the time seemed to have passed in a flash.

  Perspective was a funny thing.

  Waves of heat radiated off the blacktop, making the yellow buses parked like a line of dominoes seem to quiver, ready to topple. White-hot sun reflected off the windows of the other cars in the school parking lot. Caroline squinted against the glare, but no tears came. She was, however, feeling rather nauseated; the uncomfortable temperature—or the shame.

  The small card in her hand didn’t move much air. She could turn on the air conditioner, but gas was pricey and there was no reason to burn it up and not get anywhere. Another bit of perspective Caroline doubted she’d have if she hadn’t spent the last six years watching the budget, making certain there was enough money to see both of her siblings through college.

  In one year’s time, Caroline’s family responsibilities would be fulfilled. One last season of taking newspaper shots, yearbook pictures, and wedding photos; then she could plunge into her photography career with all of the pent-up passion she’d been suppressing. She could travel, expand her photographic horizons. Images of snowcapped mountains, vast rolling plains, and dramatic waterfalls set off a little thrill in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she could even land a magazine job and expose the want and suffering in nearly forgotten areas of the world. She could almost taste the freedom. Twelve short months… and she’d be moving Macie into a university dorm room and driving away.

  That thought caused an unexpected hitch in her breath. As she pictured Macie standing alone on the sidewalk in front of a multistory institutional building, getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, tense worry mixed with a hollow aching sadness—a stark contrast to her giddy excitement of moments before.

  She stopped fanning and looked at the notice that was beginning to smudge from the dampness of her grip. Waiting for her at the post office was a contract with the Kentucky Department of Tourism for the use of her photographs in their new media campaign. It was a bigger break than she’d hoped for.

  Unable to travel to exotic locales, she had focused her camera on her home state. And, quite unexpectedly, it was paying off. First, the photograph she had taken of Macie that long-ago frigid December night won a local, then a national contest. Then her shots of local events, local landmarks, and local people had caught the publisher’s eye. Her first published work, a calendar titled Kentucky Blue, had been the beginning. Now the year that calendar covered was three-quarters over… and she dared to lay a new plan. A post-guardian-for-siblings plan. An independent-woman plan.

  Occasionally, a fluttery fear would settle in her chest. A fear that said something unforeseen, something in the same realm as the unlikely deaths of both her adoptive parents within weeks of each other, would happen to dash her dreams once again.

  Her palms itched. She wanted that contract, the proof that her days of dealing with cranky brides and recalcitrant students were blessedly numbered.

  She glanced at her watch. What was taking Macie so long?

  Just as she was ready to go inside and see what was delaying Macie, her sister stepped out the front doors. Beside her was a tall, broad-shouldered boy with hair that was just a little too long for Caroline’s liking and a swagger that said he ate nice girls like Macie for dessert and spit them out before bedtime.

  Caroline sat up straighter in her seat and her mouth pulled into a disapproving frown.

  Macie and the man-boy paused at the bottom of the wide steps. He gestured as he said something that made Macie laugh.

  Caroline had her hand on the door handle before she realized she was about to get out and pull Macie away, as if she were a child unable to protect herself from a stranger.

  Not for the first time, Caroline experienced a new respect for her adoptive mother and the freedom she’d given Caroline during her adolescent years.

  But that was different. I wasn’t sweet and shy and naive like Macie. Caroline had been baptized by fire early on and had never forgotten those painful lessons.

  Finally, the boy walked to a hunkered-down, fancy-wheeled, big-ass-winged Honda Civic.

  Macie stayed on the sidewalk, casting nervous glances toward Caroline, obviously not wanting Stud-man to know she was being carted around in an aging minivan by her much older sister.

  The Civic started up, its engine buzzing like a swarm of killer bees. The guy revved the engine as he swung past Macie.

  Macie smiled and waved.

  Caroline gritted her teeth. Oh, Macie, don’t go there, baby. Boys like that are nothing but a broken heart waiting to happen.
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  She should know; she’d watched it play out with her natural mother a dozen times before her eighth birthday.

  Caroline assured herself that Macie was a good girl, blessed with a level head. But the look on Macie’s face as she got in the car made Caroline question that assessment.

  In her most nonconfrontational voice, Caroline asked, “So, who was that?”

  With something near stars in her eyes, Macie said, “Caleb Collingsworth. Just moved here two weeks ago.”

  “Oh, from where?” Someplace tough and worldly and filled with trouble.

  “LA.”

  Bingo.

  Macie added, “He’s bored to death already.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Macie’s gaze snapped her way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Uh-oh, defensive about the guy already.

  “Nothing.” Caroline shook her head. “Nothing at all.”

  She started the car and pulled from the curb. Maybe Caleb Collingsworth would prove to be the player he appeared to be and go after a bigger fish, say a cheerleader… or his homeroom teacher.

  “You’ve been thinking about Mom, haven’t you?” Macie asked, her question vaporizing the image Caroline had conjured of Stud-man wooing Mrs. Kerrigan, the only female high school teacher under thirty.

  Caroline cut Macie a look. “What makes you say that?”

  “You always fiddle with your necklace when you’ve been thinking about her.”

  Caroline dropped the small gold heart that hung around her neck, as if caught doing something shameful.

  “It’s okay to miss her, Caroline. We all miss her.”

  What would Macie think if she knew just how selfish that “missing” had been?

  Then Macie made her feel even worse. “It’d be all right to cry sometimes; you never cry. I cry almost as much now as I did then.”

  Caroline reached over and patted her sister on the leg. “That’s because you’re getting ready for a big step in your life. It’s natural to miss Mom and Dad more now.”

  Macie pressed her lips together and shook her head. “You always do that.”