April followed her, and they sat side by side on the top step of the porch. “Turkey, Texas, can hardly be called a city. It’s not even as big as Blossom. And that waterfall and creek are the only things I missed when I left here. When I went there this morning, I was glad that it hadn’t changed. We need some things in our life that stay the same.”

“Turkey might not be a huge city like you’re used to living in, but it’s bigger than two houses, both at a dead end, on Hope Creek Road,” Nessa argued. “Look, you can see an orange thread out there on the horizon.”

April cocked her head to one side. “Shhhh . . . I hear something.”

Nessa listened intently for a moment. “Probably deer coming up to feed on the mesquite leaves.”

“Sounds like a cat,” April said.

“Do you think Waylon is . . . ,” Nessa started, but was interrupted when a guy pushing a wheelbarrow rounded the end of the house.

“Guess you folks are early risers, too,” he said in a deep Texas drawl mixed with just a hint of southern Louisiana. “I’m Jackson Devereaux, and I’m returning Miz Lucy’s cat. I’ve taken care of him over at my place since she passed away, but I’m bringing him home to you all.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Nessa O’Riley, and this is my cousin April. Flynn is still sleeping,” Nessa said.

Mercy sakes, but Jackson was a good-looking guy, and that voice of his would make a woman melt in a puddle at his feet. He set the cat carrier on the porch and then unloaded a bag of litter, the plastic pan that it went into, and several cans of cat food. Then he hefted a ten-pound bag of dry food off his shoulder and put it beside the carrier. “I usually keep his dry food bowl full and give him wet food in the evening. That’s the way Miz Lucy took care of him. I took him to the vet for his shots last month when I took my dog, Tex, so you don’t have to worry about that for another year.”

“Thank you,” Nessa said. “Want a cup of coffee?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve got a full day ahead of me, so I’d better get on back home and get busy. You ladies have a nice day, now.” He tipped the bill of his cap toward them and pushed his wheelbarrow back around the house.

“What’s going on out here?” Flynn pushed his way out onto the porch and almost tripped over the cat carrier.

“That’s Waylon,” April said.

“The neighbor, Jackson, has been taking care of him,” Nessa explained. “He could be a recluse like his uncle.”

“Why would you say that?” Flynn yawned.