The little guys had stopped coloring and now stared at me, Soren’s face scrunched up in obvious distrust.

  “Who is that?” Soren pointed at me. He held the crayon so tightly between his fingers that it broke in half.

  “This is Mr. Moon, and he’s brought a pie and we’re going to make homemade ice cream,” Stella said.

  “I like ice cream.” Soren continued to gaze at me, his brow furrowed.

  “Me like ice cream too.” The smallest of Stella’s boys jumped from his chair and came running over. He looked up at me with big brown eyes. His mother’s eyes. “Me Thad.” He tugged on my jeans. “Mister, bring me up.”

  I knelt slightly to haul him up into my arms, resting him against my hip. He placed his small, warm hands on either side of my face and stared into my eyes. “You like horses?”

  “Sure I do.” I might not have been from Montana, but I knew there was a wrong answer and I wasn’t about to give it to him.

  “Do you eat steak?” Soren asked from the table.

  “It’s none of your business what he likes to eat,” Caspian said. “Not everyone has to like steak.”

  “I do like steak,” I said. “There’s not much I don’t like. A bachelor like me can’t be picky.”

  “What’s a bachelor?” Rafferty climbed up to sit on one of the kitchen stools.

  “An unmarried man,” Atticus said. “Usually one without a moral compass.”

  “Atticus, whatever gave you that idea?” Stella asked, flushing.

  “I’ve deducted it from my reading.” Atticus placed his pencil next to his book.

  “What kind of reading is that?” I asked, curious.

  “Spy novels mostly,” Atticus said. “Some science fiction.”

  “Ah, yes, well, bachelors are often depicted that way," I said. “But my moral compass happens to be very acute.”

  “How do you know?” Atticus asked.

  How did I know? Excellent question. “I have a mother who taught me what was right and wrong. Just like you have.”

  Atticus sighed, looking slightly relieved. “Okay, yeah.”

  “Why are you worried about your moral compass?” Stella asked, shutting the freezer door and turning to look at her oldest son.

  “I’m half of him.” Atticus picked up his pencil and made a mark in his book.

  Half of his father? Yes, obviously. His father’s departure must weigh heavily upon him. How could it not? It had me. I’d wondered often why my father didn’t stay around, even if just to see me every once in a while. Was the idea of a child so abhorrent to him that he had to run away? If so, I’d wondered back then, what about me? Would I grow up to be the leaving kind too? My mother’s radio had played enough country songs with that theme over the years. Somehow, though, I’d grown out of that worry. I was a good man. A loyal one, too. Whatever gene my father carried had not been passed on to me.

  “I’m half of my father too,” I said out loud. “And from what I know of him, his moral compass was not pointing in the right direction. Yet I turned out to be a man of integrity. My conclusion? It’s your mother that matters.”

  Atticus returned his gaze to me. “Nature versus nurture? It’s a real question.”

  “How old are you?” I asked, laughing.

  “Eleven going on forty,” Stella said. “Atticus, why don’t you go down to the cellar and bring up one of my canned jars of caramel. We can pour it over the ice cream.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Caspian said to his brother. “There’s something I need to check down there anyway.”

  I glanced at Stella, who was watching her boys head down the stairs, a worried expression on her face.

  “What can I do to help with dinner?” I asked.

  “Nothing, really,” Stella said. “But the chickens need to be fed. Soren, it’s your turn. And can you bring in the eggs, please? Also, ask Randy to bring the horses in from the pasture. It’s going to snow.”

  “Sure, Mama.” Soren slid from his chair and headed toward the mudroom and grabbed his jacket. I spotted all kinds of hats, scarves, and boots stowed neatly in cubbies. She ran this place like a military school, I thought absently. One would have to with this crew.

  “You train them young,” I said.

  “What? Soren? He’s five. He knows how to toss some chicken feed down for our girls.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “We grow them tough in these parts.” She pinched the bridge of her nose before turning toward me. “I’m going to throw a salad together so we have one healthy thing on the menu.”

  I realized I hadn’t brought the pie in from the truck. I’d placed it in a box and left it on the floor of the passenger seat so it didn’t get damaged on the ride here.

  “Who wants to go with me to get the pie?” I asked.

  Rafferty raised his hand. "Me!”

  “Me too. Me too,” Thad shouted. “Don’t go without me.”

  “Come along. We can all go,” I said, exchanging an amused glance with Stella.

  All three of us tromped out to my truck. Temperatures seemed to be dropping drastically by the minute. As I reached in to get the pie, a snowflake landed on the windshield.

  The boys had run over to the fence, each with an apple in their hand

  “Do you want to see our horses?” Rafferty asked.

  I agreed but said I’d deliver the pie to his mom first. When I arrived back in the kitchen, Stella had opened the ice cream maker box and was bent over reading the instructions.

  I put the pie on the counter. “The boys want to show me the horses.”

  She looked up and smiled. “Put your jacket on or you’ll catch your death. Will you take the boys’ jackets out to them?”

  I obediently followed her into the mudroom and donned my jacket and took two small ones from her outstretched hands. “Were we ever this tiny?”

  “I was, but I don’t know about you.” Her eyes sparkled up at me. “Given your massive size now.”

  There she is, I thought. The woman she used to be, standing right in front of me. “I’ve always had an overly large head.”

  “You do not.” She laughed and playfully smacked my chest. “Don’t stay out too long. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I went back outside to the meadow. The boys called out to the horses, beckoning them over with a bucket of apples. Soon, four horses stood at the fence, chewing noisily on their treats. After a proper introduction that involved a pat on each of their noses and learning their names— Starbright, Susan, Molly, and Sugar—little Thad tugged on my arm. “We go to barn now.”

  “If Mr. Moon wants to,” Rafferty said.

  “Lead the way,” I said. “I love barns.”

  As we made our way toward the barn, Thad wrapped his little hand around my index finger. No big deal. Just my heart doubling in size.

  One of the ranch hands was cleaning a stall when we arrived.

  “That’s Randy,” Rafferty said. “He helps us.”

  Randy straightened and lifted the brim of his cowboy hat. “Howdy. You the banker?””

  “That’s me,” I said. We shook hands. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  Randy scratched under the collar of his flannel shirt. White bristles sprouted from his face. Deep lines traveled from his eyes to his cheeks. “My wife was in the bank the other day. She said you were real friendly and helpful. Sally White’s her name.”

  “Your wife’s Sally,” I said, recalling a plump middle-aged woman who had come in to deposit checks a week or so ago. “I remember her.”

  “We’ve been banking at the branch in Bozeman our whole married life. Was real happy to have one open out here.”

  “Me too. Since my job brought me to this beautiful part of the country.”

  We chatted for a few more minutes while the boys chased each other around the barn. Randy told me he’d been with Miss Stella since she was a teenager. “Back then, her father ran the ranch, but she always did whatever needed doing. That’s the kind of girl she is. Her mother was the same but she didn’t have Stella’s big heart. I don’t know where it came from. Her folks were no-nonsense types. Nothing soft about either one of them.”

  I couldn’t tell if he admired that quality or not, so I simply nodded.

  “She’s had a hard time.” Randy lowered his voice. “That idiot put her through the wringer. Rumors of other women. Left a couple of times before this but always came back. None of us could understand why she took him back.”

  I gestured toward the boys, who were now headed out to the chicken coop to help Soren gather eggs for their mother. “She took him back for them.”

  “Right you are,” Randy said.

  The boys returned with the eggs. “Six in all,” Rafferty said. “We got seven this morning. Mama will be happy.”

  We said good night to Randy and all headed back to the house. The light had faded to near dark by the time we arrived in the warm, fragrant kitchen.

  A great amount of activity happened in the small mudroom over the few minutes. Jackets hung, boots stored in cubbies, all three boys reminding me of uncoordinated puppies. Stella was just taking the roast out of the oven by the time all that was sorted.

  A sheet of raw biscuits was set on the counter waiting for its turn in the oven. Stella twisted the dial up a few notches while instructing Atticus and Caspian, who had returned from the basement by this time, to set the dining room table. “Since we have a guest, we’ll eat in there tonight.”

  “Wahoo,” Caspian said.

  Stella shooed the rest of the boys off to wash up. “Comb your hair,” she called after them. “And make sure your fingernails are clean.”

  “Do I need to comb my hair too?” I asked.

  She tilted her head to one side and peered at me. “Nope. Looks good. But you should wash your hands.”

  I chuckled and went to the sink to do as she asked. “I’ll hit the hardware store this week and pick up a few of those light sensors. You can let me know what evening works for me to come by and install them. It’ll have to be after work, unfortunately. Until then, I can change the light bulb over the back door.”

  “Sure. If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Not at all. It must get dark out here at night.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Mr. Moon, are you afraid of the dark?”

  “I’m afraid for you.” I grinned back at her. “But only if you want me to be.”

  “The light bulbs are in the hall closet,” she said. “Hang on, I’ll get one.”

  While she was gone, I took a deep sniff of the pot roast from which scents of garlic, potatoes, and various herbs wafted up through the steam. The kitchen, although outdated with its dark paneling and orange Formica counters, was homey and pleasant nonetheless. How many dinners had been cooked and served here over the years? Three generations of McKinnon women had fed their families in this very kitchen.

  From the dining room came the muffled voices of the boys as they set the table. For a moment, I took it all in at once. The sweet chatter of little boys setting a table. Thumping sounds as a few more ran up the stairs. The radio playing softly in the background. Aromas of a delectable dinner. Family life.

  A beautiful, strong woman at the helm.

  How could that man have walked away from all this?

  And what could I do to take his place?

  That thought came out of nowhere.

  I’ll win her over by being handy and dependable. Prove to her that I’m worthy of trust. Little by little maybe I could wear her down.

  “Here you go,” Stella said, returning with a bulb in hand. “Also, I’m wondering if we should get started on the ice cream? It’s a process. Has to freeze and all.”

  I agreed, picking up the instruction guide.

  “I want to help.” Caspian rushed in from the other room and clambered onto a stool.

  “We’re supposed to make a custard on the stove,” Stella said. “Caspian, you can measure everything out for me.”

  I left them to it while I went out to change the light bulb out front. I’d kept my jacket on and was glad of it. Snow had begun to fall in earnest, fat flakes that appeared to be sticking to the ground. I had four-wheel drive on the truck. I should be fine to get home. There was no way I was leaving before dinner.

  It took only a few minutes to switch out the bulb. When I returned to the kitchen, the children and their mother were all gathered around the ice cream maker.

  “Mr. Moon, we cooked it into custard.” Caspian beamed at me. “Now we’re going to put it in there and it’s going to freeze while we eat dinner.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said, tossing the used light bulb into the trash under the sink. Before I shut the cupboard, I noticed a leak, slowly dripping from the area where the two pipes came together. If I didn’t tighten it, the wood could be ruined by morning.

  I straightened to see Stella adding the rock salt to the outer layer of the new appliance, then poured in the vanilla custard.

  “Do you have a wrench, by any chance?” I asked. “Your pipes are leaking under the sink.”

  She let out a sigh. “Yeah, they’re in the shop.”

  “I’ll take you out there,” Atticus said.

  A few seconds later, the two of us walked out to the shed, a flashlight illuminating the path. When we reached our destination, Atticus pulled a string much like the one over the back door. My eyes adjusted quickly to see a workshop filled with gardening and mechanical tools. Nothing seemed to have a place of its own, everything scattered here and there. Atticus found a wrench, however, without much trouble.

  “My dad was in here a lot,” Atticus said. “Even though it’s a mess. My mom likes things neat, but it was impossible for her to do everything.”

  “Makes sense.” I trod carefully, not wanting to say anything bad about his father. He might be able to say it himself, but I suspected he’d take offense if he heard it from anyone else.

  “Is it true you never knew your dad?” Atticus asked, remaining near the spot from which he’d dug out the tool I needed.

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Do you hate him?”

  “I used to. I mean, as much as you can hate someone who was never around and I never knew. But after I grew up all the way, I started not thinking about him at all. He has no relevance to my life.”

  “What if he came back and begged to see you?” Atticus’s voice sounded terribly small and sad in the cold shed.

  “I would be curious, I guess, but there’s not any part of me that hopes for that kind of thing.” I perched on the edge of a tall bench. “When I was a kid, though, sometimes I’d think of these outlandish stories about why he’d disappeared. None of it his fault, you know, and then he’d come back and tell us all about it and my mom would be happy and we’d be a family. That kind of thing.”

  Atticus stared at me for a moment, his eyes glittering. “That’s sad.”

  I smiled and shrugged. “I know. But it won’t hurt this bad forever. Pretty soon you’ll wake up and not think of him at all.”

  “I hate him.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “My mom cries a lot. At night when she thinks we’re all asleep.”

  A pain nudged my chest. My empty fists balled. I thought of her puffy red eyes looking at me from the other side of my truck after she’d broken down at the bar. “She deserves better.”

  “We’re going to lose the ranch.”

  “What?” I leaned forward, stomach clenched. “How do you know?”

  “I saw the papers from some bank in Bozeman. We owe a lot of money after they took a loan out against the house.”

  This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  “Have you talked to your mom about this?”

  “I didn’t say anything about the letters from the bank, but I did tell her I had an idea of what we could do to save this place.”

  “What’s that?” I studied him, this serious, smart little man, prepared to listen with an open mind. Although, what could an eleven-year-old have come up with that would save his family’s land?

  From his young mouth came an idea so good I was surprised it hadn’t occurred to anyone prior to this. Especially if it was as bad as Atticus thought it was. A dude ranch for tourists.

  “We could sell off most of the cattle,” Atticus was saying. “Just keep enough to keep the tourists entertained. I read this article in a travel magazine at the library and they featured this place in Colorado that has all these little cabins and people rent them out. At night they have bonfires and people roast marshmallows. During the day, there are games and horse rides. You know, all that kind of thing city people love.”

  “And you told your mom this idea?”

  He nodded. “She doesn’t think we could do it because we don’t have any money to invest. Plus, all the money we already owe.”

  “Right. That makes sense.” I looked up at the ceiling. There were several spiderwebs in the far corner. I shivered. I hated spiders.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said. “Let me talk to her about the loan—maybe we can figure something out at my bank. A way to finance her. No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  I thought about the nest egg I had in savings. Part of it I invested in the stock market, but I was conservative with money and had the rest of it in a very safe savings account. I’d told myself that if anything arose that seemed of interest or a good idea, I might invest. Was this it?

  “Come on,” I said, gesturing toward the house. “Your mom will get worried if we don’t run along now.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  The two of us walked back to the house in silence. The snow fell heavily now, like a gauzy curtain.

  I was a man who believed in fate and signs and that the good Lord looked over those who did their best to serve him. Was he telling me this family was my responsibility to help? I was free and single, by many standards wealthy. Was I supposed to do something here? I’d promised myself to find a community where I belonged. Be part of something larger than myself. Was this it?