Someone, perhaps, who placed a high value on the qualities of solitude and silence.

Every lantern was lit, and the kettle was steaming on the woodstove. Dirty dishes had been washed and put away in the cupboard and the counter swept free of crumbs. The loaves of bread from that morning's baking were wrapped in tinfoil and the kettle of last night's stew had been removed to the cooler on the porch outside the front door. The cushions on the couch were plumped up, the books on the shelves were lined up. The cassette tapes were stacked in neat piles, labels out. Except for on the guitar, there wasn't a speck of dust anywhere.

It wasn't that she wasn't a notorious neatnik. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate someone doing her chores for her. It was just that she was used to doing for herself. It made her inexplicably uneasy to be done for.

Still, she managed a smile for both man and boy. At face value, they were both well worth it. Ethan looked like a Viking, tall, broad-shouldered, long-limbed, pale skin, blond hair, blue eyes; his forebears could have come from anywhere so long as anywhere was Norway, Sweden, or Denmark. Johnny was at that ungainly stage of adolescence when his limbs were growing out beyond his control, but he would be tall, too. He bore a striking resemblance to his father, thick dark hair over a heavy brow, deep-set blue eyes, firm mouth, strong chin. He would never be handsome, but his face, once seen, would never be forgotten.

"Hey," she said, shrugging out of her parka.

"Hey," Ethan said, catching it and leaning down to kiss her at the same time.

Johnny was sitting at the table, hunched over a book, and Kate instinctively pulled back. Ethan maintained his smile, but there was a frown at the back of his eyes. "Had dinner?"

"Yeah, I had dinner up to Ruthe and Dina's."

Ethan's lips pursed in a long, low whistle. "Lucky girl. They have pie?"

"Rhubarb and something extra."

"I'm jealous."

"It was good," Kate admitted. She pulled her bibs down and hung them next to the parka. The coat hook was crowded with Johnny's and Ethan's parkas and bibs, and hers were elbowed onto the floor. She picked them up and jammed them on the hook again. This time, they stayed.

"I was about to make some cocoa."

"I'd like that. It was a long ride home."

Ethan turned to the kettle. "What were you doing up at the old gals' place?"

"I went there to ask them to help with Dan."

"Ah." He was silent for a moment, measuring cocoa and honey and evaporated milk into three mugs. "I wasn't expecting you to charge off that way this morning when I came galloping over with the news."

Kate raised one shoulder. "He's a friend."

"Urn." He brought her a mug. It had miniature marsh-mallows in it. She repressed a shudder.

He gave a second mug to Johnny, who grunted a thank-you without looking up, and came back to sit next to where she was curled up on the couch. He stretched out his long legs and propped his feet on the burl-wood coffee table, about the only piece of furniture in the room that had any pretension to style. "What did Dina and Ruthe have to say?"