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understand.”
    â€œThe problem isn’t the real estate…he owned his land free and clear.” The man twisted in his seat as a bead of sweat formed on his upper lip. “The dilemma comes in determining your father’s cash assets. He once told me he had a great dislike for financial institutions. Said he could protect his money better than a bank. I guess he wasn’t kidding.”
    â€œI’m afraid I’m not following…”
    â€œWell…” The attorney drew out the word before he continued. “I’ve spoken to your father’s accountant. We have his tax records, and his quarterly ledgers. Your father had an account at the bank for his business transactions, but we’re quite certain there was more. We just don’t know where.”
    Natalie stared at the man in disbelief. “What about investments?”
    Mr. Thompson frowned and shook his head. “We have no records of any such business. Maybe he gambled the money or gave it away. We have no way of knowing.”
    Natalie scrunched her brow. Her father didn’t gamble. “But there’s money in the ranch account?”
    â€œYou have enough to cover operating expenses—for a few months, anyway.”
    As Natalie digested what this meant, her hand began to tremble.
    The attorney offered her a consoling shrug. “I’m sorry. I know how much he loved all of you. I’m certain it wasn’t his intention to make your lives difficult. That’s really all I can offer.”
    â€œThere’s no savings? Nothing I can draw upon?”
    â€œYou have the ranch, all fifty-six hundred acres. And who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky and find the money hidden in a shoe somewhere.” He rose and gave her a weak smile. “Stranger things have happened.”

SIX
    J ARED STRETCHED HIS NECK AND SHOULDERS, TENSE FROM AN AFTERNOON of preparing his second sermon. Nearly a week had passed since he’d first met Dillon and his sister on the Cottonwood River, and still, he remembered the color of her eyes—the color of a Kansas summer sky. He shook the image from his mind, and another thought struck him. He still had the boy’s stringer.
    That evening after work, Jared climbed into his Toyota Tercel and drove to the bend in the river where he’d fished on Sunday. A mile and a half further, he came upon a small house. An old black man in overalls sat on the front steps with a book in his hands. Soon after, Jared spotted a larger property with a one-and-a-half-story home and a wrap-around porch flanked by several sheds and a substantial limestone barn.
    He noted the name on the mailbox and turned into the lane of the Double-A-Ranch. As he pulled up to the house, a border collie barked at the car and sniffed the tires. A young teen stepped out and called to the dog.
    â€œGood afternoon. I’m looking for a boy named Dillon.” Jared crawled from his car, banging his knee on the steering wheel.
    The girl bounded down the porch steps with bare feet, herblonde hair floating in the breeze. He tried to determine whether she was related to the woman he’d met on Sunday, but their features were too dissimilar.
    â€œThis is Dillon’s home. Who are you?”
    â€œForgive me.” Jared reached out his hand and introduced himself. “I met Dillon fishing the other day. He gave me his catch, and I wanted to return his stringer.”
    She shrugged. “He should be back in a bit if you want to wait on him.”
    Jared surveyed the property for signs of Dillon or his other sister. “Are your parents home?”
    Already on her way back to the house, she glanced over her shoulder with an odd look and frowned. “They’re dead. My dad died two weeks ago.”
    Jared balked at this information, caught even more off guard by the callousness in her voice. “I’m sorry…I didn’t know. Do you need anything? Any help or