Staring at the distant horizon, it wasn’t long before Amy’s thoughts turned to her mother. Amy missed her like always, but sitting here, far from home on the edge of this small, remote town, the ache seemed almost unbearable. Not since the day she lost her could Amy remember feeling so low. Even her pendant, which she had so often turned to for comfort, brought little respite. The beloved jewel, given to Amy by her mother, had been hanging around her neck since she was a little girl. Small, silver, and intricately detailed, it depicted a mermaid perched on a rock, her long hair frozen in the wind and her tail curled into a perfect circle around a luminous blue moonstone. It had always been a symbol of her mother’s love, a precious object connecting them both—but its power and magic were gone. Now, touching her pendant felt like falling through a trapdoor, instantly transporting Amy to a place filled with nothing but pain and heartbreak. What had once been a source of comfort had become nothing more than a cruel reminder of everything she had lost, a souvenir of the hole in her life that could never again be filled.7

Obeying Tom’s note was the last thing Ryan felt like doing. The situation was grim enough; meeting face-to-face and getting a lecture from the bank manager was hardly going to make it any better. So, to avoid the unpleasantness, Ryan threw the note in a garbage can and double-timed it back to the lot behind the town’s hotel, where he had parked his truck. Better to drive home, he thought—he would find a way to deal with this problem in the morning.

But that wasn’t going to be possible, because it just so happened that Tom was working late that night, and from inside the glass-walled office of the bank he had spotted Ryan making a hurried dash across the town square.

“Well, look at that . . . if it isn’t Ryan Porter.”

Ryan’s stomach lurched as he turned around and locked eyes with the bank manager. “Oh, good evening, Mr. Tippenworth,” he replied, doing his best to feign surprise. “Fancy seeing you, sir.”

Tom, who wasn’t the least bit swayed by Ryan’s attempt to cloak himself in geniality, stared at him grievously, saying nothing, waiting to see if Ryan had any excuse for why he’d been ignoring him for so long. But Ryan didn’t, and the silence that prevailed in those interminably long few seconds was deafening.

“You’re alive and well, I see.”

Ryan met the comment with an awkward laugh. “I am.”

“We really do need to talk.”

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Tippenworth, but I don’t think I can right now. You see, I’ve got to get—”

“Would you prefer I came to the ranch?” Tom interrupted sternly. “Perhaps we can discuss the matter there instead?”

The threat made Ryan freeze.