A knock on the door cut her off. She glanced at the time. Dad should be returning from his day out hunting anytime now, but he wouldn’t knock. She frowned. Please, not Marge again.

She pushed away from the table with a groan. “I’ll get it.”

Jeremy and Steve followed her down the hall. She braced herself for a burst of Marge’s gusto as she pulled open the door.

A man about her dad’s age stood on the step in a very expensive jacket. “Hello.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Hi.”

“Is this the Jensen residence?”

He didn’t look like a salesman, and Mormons typically traveled in pairs. Who was this guy? He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. “Yes.”

He shifted on his feet. “I’m Ken. Ken Thurgood.”

“I’m Bea. Can I help you with something? Are you lost?”

You couldn’t exactly pass through Moose Creek by accident. How did he get here?

“Bea?” Ken’s eyebrows rose in an almost hopeful way. “You’re Bea?”

She nodded slowly, ready for this strange exchange to make sense. Jeremy cleared his throat behind her.

“Uh, honey?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “What?”

“I think Ken might be your uncle.”

“What were you thinking?” If a whisper could be described as shrill, that’s what Bea’s was. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jeremy peeked around the corner into the living room, where Ken sat on the couch thumbing through a Jensen-family photo album. He hung his head. “I was afraid it might be a dead end, and I know what it feels like to get your hopes up for nothing. I was waiting for a response.”

She made a broad gesture in Ken’s direction. “There’s your response.”

“I was trying to protect you. We don’t even know if it’s really him.”

Bea glanced out the window, hoping to see Dad’s truck. She’d sent him a text as soon as Jeremy had told her who Ken might possibly be, asking when he would be home. He hadn’t answered, which meant he was either far afield and had no reception or was already driving back. He never checked his messages while driving.

“He does look a lot like Dad. And he seems to be the right age.”

“When I found him on the website, I thought it had to be the wrong guy. It seemed too easy. He never even wrote me back. He just . . . showed up.”

Jeremy had explained about the website he’d found, designed for people searching for their birth families. Explained how there was a way to send confidential messages in hopes of matching families up with their long-lost relatives.

She paced the floor. “When exactly were you planning to fill me in on all this?”