The girl gazed around, looking toward the dining room and then the stairs before she and her backpack headed into the bathroom.

Blue had left all the nonperishable groceries in sacks until the painters finished. She went into the pantry and dug out some cereal boxes. By the time Riley returned, dragging her backpack and jacket behind her, Blue had everything set out on the table, including a small cow-pitcher filled with milk. “Choose your poison.”

Riley filled her bowl with Honey Nut Cheerios and three teaspoons of sugar. She’d washed her hands and face, and some of her curls stuck to her forehead. Her lavender cords fit too tightly, as did her white T-shirt, which had FOXY written across it in purple glitter script. Blue couldn’t imagine a less appropriate word to describe this serious child.

She fried an egg for herself, made a piece of toast, and carried her plate to the table. She waited until the child had satisfied the worst of her hunger before she started digging. “I’m thirty. How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

“That’s a little young to be on your own.”

Riley set down her spoon. “I’m looking for…somebody. Kind of a relative. Not—not like a brother or anything,” she said in a rush. “Just…like maybe a cousin. I—I thought he might be here.”

Right then, the back door opened, bracelets jingled, and April came in. “We have company,” Blue said. “Look who I found asleep on the porch this morning. My friend Riley.”

April cocked her head, and a big silver hoop peeked through her hair. “On the porch?”

Blue abandoned her toast. “She’s trying to find one of her relatives.”

“The carpenters should be here soon.” April smiled at Riley. “Or is your relative one of the painters?”

“My—my relative doesn’t work here,” Riley mumbled. “He’s…He’s supposed to live here.”

Blue’s knee banged the table leg. April’s smile faded. “Live here?”

The girl nodded.

“Riley?” April’s fingers convulsed around the edge of the counter. “Tell me your last name.”

Riley dipped her head over the cereal bowl. “I don’t want to tell you.”

April’s complexion lost its color. “You’re Jack’s kid, aren’t you? Jack and Marli’s daughter.”

Blue nearly choked. It had been one thing to suspect Dean’s connection to Jack Patriot, but another thing to have it confirmed. Riley was Jack Patriot’s daughter, and despite her clumsy attempt to hide it, the relative she was looking for could only be Dean.

Riley tugged on a coil of her hair, pulling it over her face while she stared into her cereal bowl. “You know about me?”

“I—Yes,” April said. “How did you get here? You live in Nashville.”

“I sort of got a ride. With this friend of my mother’s. She’s thirty.”