Two months ago, Gavin Turner had given up his studio apartment over the thrift store in Silver Springs, California, an artsy town of five thousand not far from Santa Barbara, and purchased a home—a converted bunkhouse from the 1920s that sat on a whole acre about ten minutes outside of town. After living in such a small space, surrounded by buildings, he almost didn’t know what to do with all the extra room. His friends jokingly referred to his remote location as the “boondocks,” but he enjoyed being out in the open and even closer to the Topatopa Mountains, where he often went hiking or mountain biking. He’d always been drawn to the outdoors. The beauty and solitude brought him peace. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have been able to navigate his unusual and difficult childhood if not for his love of nature. And music, of course. He strummed on his guitar almost every night, had started singing at various bars in the area and along Highway 101, which ran along California’s coast. He hadn’t landed any notable gigs yet, just performed in various coastal or farming communities, mostly up north. He wanted to break into the music scene, but the competition was so fierce he felt he’d have to move to Nashville, where there was so much happening in the music industry these days, to get where he was hoping to go, and he couldn’t commit to that quite yet. Not while his mother—or, rather, the woman he called his mother—needed him. For now, he enjoyed singing at a different hole-in-the-wall each week. The money he earned augmented what he made working at New Horizons Boys Ranch, the boarding school for troubled boys his adoptive mother had started over twenty years ago and where he’d gone to high school himself.
Tonight the weather was warm and the cicadas were loud as he sat out on the porch in a simple T-shirt and worn jeans, writing a new song. He’d just sat back to take a break and was wondering whether he should get a puppy—he was leaning toward yes, since he hadn’t been able to have a pet in town—when a large moving van came rumbling down his road.
He rarely had visitors, but no one else lived on this road, so he set his guitar to the side and stood.
The truck didn’t stop, however. The woman driving—he was fairly certain it was a woman, but he was judging on size alone, since it was difficult to see in the dark—barely glanced his way. Focused on what was right in front of her, she barreled forward as if she’d had a hard journey and would finish it, this uneven surface be damned.
Who was that? And where was she going? The only other house nearby was the ranch house to which his own converted bunkhouse had once belonged. And it had sat empty for the past three years or longer. According to what Gavin had been told, it wasn’t even for sale—not that he could’ve afforded the bigger property, anyway.
He shoved his hands in his pockets as he watched the truck bounce and sway past him. Although the road was supposed to be privately maintained, it hadn’t been maintained at all, not in a number of years, which made the potholes deep and difficult to miss—and she seemed to be hitting most of them.
Did this mean he had a new neighbor? If so, how would she get through to her house? The bridge over the creek that ran between the two properties had washed out in the last heavy rain.
She didn’t seem to be aware of that, though. At least, she wasn’t slowing down...
He took off running to warn her before she could wind up in the water. Banging on the truck as he came alongside, he attempted to get her attention before she could crush him against one of the trees that gave him so little room as it was. “Whoa! Hey! Stop!”
She seemed reluctant to let him waylay her. Either that, or she was afraid of what encountering a strange man out here in the middle of nowhere could mean. Because even after she hit the brakes, she barely cracked the window so that they could hear each other speak. “Something wrong?”
He edged around a thorny bush in order to get close enough to see her. About his age, with a riot of thick, copper-colored hair and light-colored eyes, she studied him with more caution than he’d ever seen before. Two children—a boy and a younger girl—leaned forward to peer around what he could only assume was their mother.
“You can’t go down that way,” he explained, gesturing at the road ahead. “The bridge is washed out.”
“What bridge?” she asked.
He blinked in surprise. “The bridge that goes over the creek.”
She scowled. “You mean before you reach the house?”
He swatted a mosquito. It’d been a wet year, and now that spring had arrived, the vicious little monsters were coming out in force. That was the one downside to living in the country. “Haven’t you ever been here before?”
“No.”
He wiped some blood from a scratch on his forearm. That darn bush had gouged him before he could avoid it. “You’ve got all your belongings with you, right? You are moving in.”
She finished rolling down the window. “Yes, but I’ve only ever seen the pictures my father sent.”
“So he’s the one who owns the house.”
“Not anymore. He passed away in a boating accident a little over a year ago. The property belongs to me and my younger brother now.”
“I see. I’m sorry for your loss.”
She frowned. “Not as sorry as I am.”
Gavin’s gaze shifted to the children. “Where you all from?”
“I was born and raised in LA—Long Beach. But I’ve been living in Utah since I left for college. That’s where both my children were born.”
“In Nephi,” the boy piped up, seemingly proud that he could add this bit of information.
“Nephi, huh?” Gavin said. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s small but not too far from the Salt Lake Valley, if you’re familiar with that,” the woman said. “About two hours south.”
Gavin whistled. “Sounds like a long drive from there to here, especially in a moving van.”
She blew a strand of curly hair out of her face. “You have no idea. We left at four this morning and have been on the road ever since. According to MapQuest, it was only ten hours, but it took nearly twice as long traveling with two children in a vehicle that can’t go faster than fifty-five.” She peered through the front windshield again. “So...how do I get in? Do I go around? Is there another road or—”
“’Fraid not,” he said. “This is it.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You mean I can’t reach the house?”
“Not tonight. Someone will have to repair the bridge before you can cross, especially driving this beast.” He tapped the side of the heavy truck.
She looked crestfallen. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but...no.” She was obviously disappointed, but there was no way he could change reality.
She picked up her phone, then tossed it back in the seat and cursed under her breath.
Her little girl’s eyes widened. “Did you say a swear word, Mommy?”
“I said ‘shoot,’” she grumbled.
“No, you didn’t,” her boy insisted.
Gavin tried not to smile at the exchange. “What’s wrong?”
“The battery on my phone is dead. I haven’t been able to charge it. The cigarette lighter in this truck doesn’t work. Neither does the air-conditioning, probably why they gave me such a good deal.”
They’d been without air-conditioning on a day like this? That had to be another reason they appeared slightly frayed at the edges. “If you need to make a call, you can use mine.” He pulled his cell out of his pocket and put in the passcode before offering it to her. “Is someone planning to meet you and help you unload?”
She waved off his phone. “No, it’s only me and the kids. I wasn’t planning to make a call. I was going to look for a motel. But maybe you know of one I should try.”
“The Mission Inn is nice and reasonable.”
“Is it far? How do I get there?”
“Wait! We’re not staying?” her son broke in. “You said we were home. That we’d be able to get out!”
“I have to go potty,” her daughter added in a whine.
“I wasn’t expecting to run into a washed-out bridge, okay? Let me... Let me figure out where we can spend the night. It shouldn’t take much longer,” she told them, sounding exhausted.
Gavin wiped the scratch on his arm again. “Look, why don’t you come in for a few minutes? I’ve got some soda—or juice if you prefer—for the kids. They can go to the bathroom and have a drink while we use my laptop to book you a room.”
Her son opened the door as if he’d only been waiting for the invitation, but she grabbed hold of his arm. “Stay right where you are.”
With a groan, he obeyed. “Why? He said we could have a soda.”
She turned back to Gavin. “Thanks for the offer. I appreciate it. But we’ll just... We’ll be on our way.”
How? he wondered. Turning that truck around wouldn’t be easy, not on this narrow road. She couldn’t use his driveway, not with such a tall van. The electrical wires were strung too low. She’d have to back up all the way to where she made the turn to begin with. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Because I don’t mind.” He lifted his hands to show that he was harmless. “I realize we’re strangers at the moment, but I am your new neighbor, so we’ll be getting acquainted soon.”
When she hesitated, he got the impression she wanted to trust him but didn’t dare.
“Backing down this road will be tricky,” he added. “Especially in the dark. I mean...maybe you drive semis for a living and are especially good at that sort of thing, but—”
“No,” she broke in with enough exasperation to reveal what he’d already suspected: it’d been a challenge just to get them all to California without an incident. “I had to sell my car to avoid making this any more difficult by trying to tow it behind me.”
“Then why risk wrecking into a fence or a ditch? I’d wait for morning, unless you’re determined to go tonight. I’ll get a flashlight and try to guide you out, if that’s the case.”
She rested her forehead on the large steering wheel.
“I really want a soda, Mommy,” her little girl said. “And I have to go potty!”
“Come on,” Gavin coaxed. “Once we find you a room, I’ll drive you to town. You can leave the van here until morning, when you can get someone out to help you cross.”
“Do you know of someone who could do that?” she asked.
He gazed toward the creek in question even though he couldn’t see it for the dark and the trees. “I’m pretty good at temporary fixes. I’m sure, with the proper supplies, I could create something that will work.” Tomorrow would be Saturday, after all, so he didn’t have to go to New Horizons. He didn’t have set plans until evening, when he had a gig in Santa Barbara.
“How much will it cost?”
“Nothing for my labor. I don’t mind helping out. So...whatever the lumber and other supplies will be. You’ll need to get an actual building contractor for the permanent structure, though.”
She sighed.
He dipped his head to get her to look at him again. “I’m Gavin Turner, by the way.”
“I’m Savanna. This is Branson and Alia.”
She didn’t offer a last name, but he didn’t press her. “Happy to meet you. I’ve lived here for fifteen years and have never hurt a soul. You have no reason to be afraid of me.” He didn’t mention what he’d done before that. Some things were better left unsaid.
“I’m not sure you’d tell me if you were an ax murderer, but...okay,” she said, and her kids scrambled out before she could change her mind.
* * *
Savanna watched Gavin carefully. He wasn’t overly large or imposing. Maybe five-eleven to six feet tall, he had broad shoulders and big hands but a thin frame and wore his dark hair in a man bun with a closely trimmed beard and mustache. To her, he looked like an artist or a musician—or maybe just a vegetarian (not that she’d known many of those in Nephi). Gordon had hated men who looked like Gavin, had made fun of their “hippie lifestyle,” especially if they had tattoos, and Gavin had plenty of those. Ink covered one whole arm—a big saxophone, a guitar and musical notes as well as the detailed face of some singer.
Savanna knew if the man she’d married could be dangerous, anyone could. But Gavin’s face was so delicately sculpted, and he had such kind eyes—big and brown with a thick fringe of lashes—that it was difficult to be afraid of him. Even if he hadn’t given her the impression that he was a pacifist, his gentle manner would’ve put her at ease. He’d been teasing the kids since they came in. The way he interacted with them reminded her of her father, which made her think she was being paranoid to be so cautious of him.
Evil people weren’t funny, were they?
Not in her experience. Gordon had never had much of a sense of humor...
“Sprite—or Pepsi?” Gavin turned his attention to her after he finally let Alia wrangle her soda out of his grasp.
Savanna shook her head. “Neither, thanks.” Her stomach had been churning all day. It was anxiety and not true illness, but she didn’t see any point in exacerbating the problem by drinking loads of sugar and carbon dioxide.
“What about a beer?”
“No.”
“Some water, then?”
“That’d be nice.”
He poured a glass from a chilled pitcher in the fridge. When he brought it over, she couldn’t help thinking—once again—about how quickly Gordon would’ve judged her new neighbor based solely on his looks. And yet it was all-American, wrestling-champion Gordon with the stocky build, lantern jaw, green eyes and short blond hair who’d been a danger to society. She’d seen the crime scene photos—the way he’d battered his victims before and during each sexual assault. The detective had shown them to her, trying to upset her and shake her faith so that she’d talk more freely about him.
Gavin popped open a beer and took a long pull. “So...what brings you to California?”
When he glanced at her left hand, she realized he was checking for a wedding ring. Because she’d shown up out of the blue, and hadn’t given him much of an explanation, he was trying to figure out who she was and what she was doing in Silver Springs alone with two children, trying to move into an old, dilapidated house. “I’m no longer married,” she said, even though it wasn’t the answer to the question he’d voiced.
He didn’t act surprised that she’d correctly interpreted his thoughts. “Is that new?”
“Yes.” The divorce wasn’t final, but she didn’t care to go into the details. She didn’t consider herself married anymore; that was the salient part. Gordon had refused to sign the papers, was trying to convince her that he still loved her and was wrongly accused, but her attorney insisted that once he was convicted, especially of such heinous crimes, he wouldn’t be able to waylay the process any longer. The law would then be entirely on her side. “I’m starting over.”
“Do you plan on living next door for any length of time?”
“At least a year. I’m a half owner, remember? I figure I might as well take advantage of that. Why pay rent?”
He looked pained when he said, “I see the logic. But how much did your father tell you about the condition of the place?”
“I know it’s not in good shape. Fixer-uppers rarely are.”
“I doubt this one’s even livable.”
“That’s okay. I’m here to make it livable.”
“Then you have some experience with renovating?”
She took a drink of water. “No, but there’s a tutorial for everything on YouTube these days.”
When he laughed, she couldn’t help smiling. She liked that he immediately knew she was joking. Gordon would’ve freaked out and set her straight on how difficult restoring a house would be. He’d always taken everything so literally. “Maybe there’s a video on how to back a twenty-foot trailer down a narrow country road in the dark,” he said, and opened his laptop. “Should we check?”
“Why not? Might save you the trip into town,” she replied, but she could tell he wasn’t serious, either.
“I don’t mind dropping you off.” He called up his browser and typed in “The Mission Inn, Silver Springs, CA.”
“What’d you do for a living in Utah?” he asked while a list of links began to appear.
“I was an administrative assistant in an insurance office.” She considered adding what Gordon had done to contribute—no way could they have survived on her income alone—but bit her tongue. The less she said about him, the better.
“Oh, an administrative assistant. I should’ve guessed,” he said.
“Guessed?” she echoed.
“Office work. Contracting. It’s the same thing.”
It was her turn to laugh. “What about you? What do you do for a living?” She gestured toward the guitar he’d carried in when he let them into his house. “Or does this give it away?”
“I write and sing, gig now and then. But I also have a day job.”
“Doing...”
After he clicked on the website for the Mission Inn, he keyed the phone number into his cell. “Maintenance and repair at New Horizons Boys Ranch.”
“You don’t mean ‘ranch’ as in ‘ranch,’ right? You’re talking about one of those boarding schools for teenage boys who act out?”
“Yeah. We take in troubled kids. Quite a few have been through some traumatic—” he seemed about to say “shit” but substituted as he glanced at her children “—stuff. Others are just angry. Or narcissistic. Or both.”
“They have boys ranches in Utah, too. My husband—my ex-husband now—was shipped off to one for a year.” She lowered her voice so that Branson and Alia, who were trading sips of their sodas, wouldn’t be likely to catch what she said. “I should’ve taken that as the warning sign it was and stayed away from him.”
Her neighbor’s smile disappeared. “I graduated from New Horizons.”
She felt her face begin to burn. Why had she said that? She’d decided not to talk about Gordon, not to drag all that negativity to this new location with her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean... Well, everyone’s different. No two stories are the same.”
“It’s okay,” he said, but from that moment on he was all business. He helped her get a room for a hundred dollars per night and delivered her, Branson and Alia to town.
“Thanks for your help,” she said as they got out of his truck.
“No problem.”
She wished there was something she could say to cover for her earlier gaffe. She’d been tired and frustrated that she couldn’t get through to the house after making such a long drive, or she would’ve been more careful with her words. But he’d indicated he worked at New Horizons. She’d assumed he’d understand how conflicted, even dangerous, some of the boys who went to those places could be. She’d never expected him to say he’d been on the other side, as well.
She thought about offering him another apology but figured it was better to let it go. “’Night.”