Raylan introduces us. “Riona, this is my little sister Bo.”

She watches me, unsmiling. Not holding out her hand to shake, her arms crossed firmly in front of her.

“Nice to meet you,” I say anyway, giving her a respectful nod.

I’m not offended when people aren’t friendly. Actually, it just mirrors how I feel inside myself. So I’m quite comfortable with it. Neither of us has to pretend.

“Come on in,” Celia tells us. “Dinner’s all ready.”

The interior of the ranch house is open and airy, not crowded and cozy as I expected. All the furniture is arranged to focus on those massive windows, and the sprawling view of the Boones’ land.

Everything is made of natural materials. The bare wooden boards of the walls and ceiling, and the worn floorboards. It all looks weathered and natural, though perfectly clean. The furniture likewise looks like someone made it by hand, including the huge farmhouse table on which Raylan’s mother has spread out enough food to feed an army.

Grady’s wife Shelby is already seated at the table with their two sons, who look to be about five and seven years of age.

“Hi!” she cries, as we come in. She’s pretty and petite, with her blonde hair in a plait, and freckles across her cheeks. Her boys are likewise freckled, though they both have the same black hair as the Boone children. They’re staring hungrily at the food, impatient for the adults to sit down so they can eat.

“Sorry I didn’t get up,” Shelby says, pointing to her heavily pregnant belly. “It’s a lot of effort to stand these days.”

“Stay right where you are, and stay comfy,” Raylan says, bending down to kiss her on the cheek.

She throws an arm around his neck and kisses him back with friendly affection.

“You almost missed your first niece!” she accuses him.

“I might still,” Raylan says. “I don’t know how long we’re staying . . . ”

Everyone at the table turns their eyes on me, like it’s my decision. I should inform them that Raylan practically kidnapped me, driving me halfway here while I was sleeping. But I don’t want to tell anyone my personal business. Least of all why we came in the first place.

“I don’t know either,” I say.

“Don’t worry,” Celia says, shaking her head. “We know that nobody can tell Raylan what to do. Least of all us.”

There is a note of reproach now. I glance over at Raylan. It’s clear that everybody at this table adores him. Yet he spends most of his time on the other side of the world. Why is that, exactly?

I’m not usually interested in people’s family drama. But I’m curious, in this particular instance. There’s a lot more to Raylan than meets the eye. I want to know more about him, while simultaneously feeling that I really shouldn’t get close to him in any way, shape or form. It can only lead to trouble for both of us.