Her gaze came to rest on the house, which loomed two stories high, its natural wood and log exterior weathered to umber. Evidence of Vickie’s presence was everywhere, from the spring flower beds that had appeared along the front edge of the veranda to the layer of fresh, forest-green paint on Adirondack chairs grouped to the right of the front door. Even the multi-paned windows glistened. Not that Uncle Slade had been a slacker when it came to maintaining his home. He’d always kept it clean, organized, and in good repair. But most men didn’t think about the little things that added touches of hominess. Now, with Vickie in charge, a posy of flowers in a canning jar adorned a small deck table, and colorful pillows and throws invited the weary to relax in the sitting area. Feminine touches. Erin wished she had a talent for them. The front porch of her rental cottage looked shabby by comparison.

As she ascended the steps onto the wide, wraparound veranda, she noted that a pair of muddy galoshes sat near the welcome mat. Judging by their small size, she guessed them to be Vickie’s. The woman was diminutive in stature, but what she lacked in bulk, she made up for with boundless energy. It was good to know she was sparing time to work outdoors with her husband. If any man deserved to have a loving woman at his side, it was Slade Wilder.

Her boots thumping against the wood planks, Erin crossed to the door and knocked. An instant later she heard footsteps approaching from inside and the faint hum of voices. When the portal swung open, Erin was treated to a waft of wonderful smells emanating from the kitchen.

“Erin!” As trim as a woman half her age, Vickie looked adorable in faded jeans, an emerald-green knit top that matched her eyes, and an overlong, checkered bib apron that she’d folded and tied at her waist to accommodate her small frame. Her red hair lay over her narrow shoulders in a riot of burnished curls. “Slade, you’ll never guess who’s here!” She threw her arms wide and stepped forward to dole out a hug, which Erin returned with genuine affection. “We were just wishing for company, and who should appear but one of our favorite people!”

Erin laughed and stepped into what had once been an entryway without adornment. Now professional photographs of Slade’s horses were displayed on one wall, a rustic console table sported an antique gold pan that served as a catchall bowl, wildflowers spilled in haphazard profusion from the mouth of a copper vase, and a log bench held court over doffed footwear lined up beneath it like soldiers at muster. There was even an umbrella stand by the door.

Erin’s uncle came around the corner just then. He wore wash-worn Wrangler jeans, a blue chambray shirt, and riding boots. His hair, originally a dark sable like her own, was now silvered at the temples. His eyes, a compelling gray, twinkled with pleasure as his sun-burnished countenance creased into a broad smile. With one long stride, he stepped forward to encircle her in his arms. “Our first official visitor since we tied the knot!” he said, his deep voice laced with welcome. “Come in, Erin, come in.”