Sin’s truck disappears around the next curve. I press the gas pedal all the way down, urging the little car to climb Old La Veta Pass faster. It doesn’t. It just putts along at thirty miles per hour. I should’ve rented a more robust car.

And who knew there was an Old La Veta Pass and a New La Veta Pass plus a simple Veta Pass? Were it not for Sin leading the way, I’d be lost right now.

Sixty-five hundred acres.

Panic knots my stomach.

What the hell am I thinking?

Leon certainly didn’t let on that the ranch was that big. I was under the impression that it was something like a hundred acres. Honestly though, even that small of acreage was going to be a learning curve.

Sixty-five hundred acres.

Over two hundred mother-baby pair as Sin explained.

Pair. That’s two hundred times two at certain times of year. I’ll be responsible for about four hundred alpaca, a couple dozen sheep, two dogs and a barn full of horses.

The panic rises higher burning my esophagus. I take a sip of water.

Coming out of a curve in the road, the sightline opens up enough for me to see Sin’s truck ahead. He’s slowed down to let me catch up.

Around another S-curve, we’re past the canyon walls and the road straightens. The terrain levels into rolling hills and meadows ringed by mountains. All of it capped with an endless blue sky.

“Oh.” I gasp out loud at the vista that’s revealed before me. As though Mother Earth opens her arms right here.

I swear, it’s like a John Denver song. I’m coming home to a place I’ve never seen before. It feels so amazing that tears of joy spring to my eyes. I wipe them away and laugh at how ridiculous I’m being.

Rough Mountain, side by side with Mount Mestas, rises eleven thousand feet before me. The Flying Crowe rings the mountain and up one side abutting BLM property.

How strange that this wide open space cocoons with peace and calm. Maybe because there’s room to breathe up here. I open the window a crack for some of that brisk mountain air.

The car dings. I look at the dash to see what’s wrong. Oh. It’s just telling me that phone service is back. I use the steering wheel controls to call Mom. It rings once and goes to voicemail.

She’s probably still on her way back to Colorado Springs. And ignoring me.

“Hey.” I decide to leave a message. “It’s done. I signed the papers. I just wanted you to know.”

The guilt of hurting her joins my crazy soup of emotions. “I’m sorry, Momma. Please try to understand. For once, I’m letting my psyche lead me. Maybe The Flying Crowe is what I need, maybe it’s not.” My voice breaks.

If this isn’t it, there may not be any place for me.

“You said this isn’t a place for people like us. What did you mean? Do they know what we are?”

Up ahead, Sin puts on his right blinker and slows.

“I’m almost there. Call me when you calm down, please. I love you. Drive safe.”

Sin turns.

I press the hang-up button and roll up the window just before I turn to follow his dusty trail down a dirt road. The Flying Crowe arches across the top of a solidly built head gate in big, bold letters.

Sin pulls off to the side. He hops out and walks to the gate.

The way he moves with powerful, confident strides that are easy going at the same time. It’s mesmerizing. He’s mesmerizing.

The business I work in, I’ve been around plenty of handsome guys. Sin is different. Of course he’s country and lives a totally different lifestyle than the men I’ve dated. But there’s more to it than that.

It’s that odd aura of his. Watching him push the gate aside, it sucks me in now as quickly as it did last night.

Our eyes lock for a moment. That confident demeanor is in his gaze, too. And, like at the courthouse, it’s as though he’s lending me his strength. Like he’s rooting for me.

The only people I’ve ever felt that from are my parents and my coven.

He tilts his head, a slow sexy smile spreads across his face. Then, with an exaggerated swing of his arm, he waves me through.

I shift my focus from Mr. Copper Eyes to the road.

Huge breath in.

Huge breath out.

I press the gas.

The car rattles over the cattle guard onto my property. The thought makes me giddy.

Since I’m going first, I can reopen the window. About a mile of slight incline through a grove of pine, and the dirt road arches left. At a turn ahead, a large crow sits on the fence. It spreads its wings and takes flight toward me — almost like it’s expressing a welcome.

The trees thin out beside the road, allowing glimpses of the land beyond. Off in the near distance, animals dot a meadow below hillside. One more turn and my breath catches, again.

At the base of that hillside is the house. It’s a half brick, half log raised ranch. Definitely not fancy. It’s just that it is plopped down in the middle of heaven.

I don’t understand how Mom can walk away from this.

“Why, Momma, why?” I whisper.

The crow calls and flies right next to the car.

There’s a newer white pickup truck parked in front of the house. It has the same Wilde Ranch cling sign on the door as Sin’s old green one.

Ram, and the preteen girl who was at the courthouse earlier, work with a horse in an outdoor arena next to the barn.

Sin told me that nearby ranchers have been splitting up chores to take care of the place and the animals since Uncle Earl’s death. That’s a nice and neighborly thing to do. I assume that’s why they’re here.

Noticing our approach, Ram leaves the arena and walks to the house. Two border collies trail behind him.

I pull in next to the white truck and Sin next to me.

Ram opens my door for me.

“Welcome home, Miss Fallon.” His smile is almost as big as the view.

“Thank you.” I accept his hand up.

The dogs cautiously sniff me. I hold out my hands to make it easier for them.

“This is Buck and Roo. Your herding dogs,” Ram says.

The woman who slid out of Sin’s truck this morning — and who called Mom a bitch — appears in the front door of the house. Behind her is the old lady Mom yelled at.

They walk outside.

Mom doesn’t hate anyone. But she does these folks. I try to wrap my head around that, especially since I don’t get bad vibes from any of them. Strange vibes and strange auras, perhaps, but I don’t sense any innate evil or meanness.

“I had them come up to tidy the house a bit.” Sin slams his truck door, puts his hat on and is by my side in a few long strides.

“Had we known you were coming, we’d have done a deep clean.” The older woman smiles at me. It doesn’t reach her eyes, though. Like earlier, thick layers of regret and guilt cling to her.

Mom’s a fair person. If she hates this woman, there has to be a reason. I should probably watch myself around her. Righteousness doesn’t necessarily read as mean.

“Fallon, this is my grandmother, Opal Wilde,” Sin says.

We shake hands.

“Good to meet you,” she says.

I just nod, not sure what to think of her. Whatever happened to Mom in these mountains, this woman had a hand in it.

The younger woman steps forward with a sheepish smile.

“Willow.” She sticks out her hand.

Oh good. She isn’t Sin’s wife. She’s his sister and our impromptu chef last night.

Again, I just nod a greeting while accepting her hand.

“Will’s really sorry for calling your mom a bitch,” the preteen girl speaks up.

“I am. I really am.” Willow nods.

“And for poisoning you,” the girl blurts out.

Willow squeezes her eyes shut in an embarrassed grimace.

“I’m sure the burger wasn’t poisoned,” I say.

Then, again — I reconsider. I am the bitch’s daughter. I narrow my eyes at innocent looking Willow.

“It wasn’t, Fallon.” Sin growls.

“I’m sure it was perfectly fine.” I restate. She couldn’t have known who I was. “As a matter of fact, it was delicious. Thank you, Willow.”

“This is my baby sister.” Sin squeezes the preteen’s shoulders — as though he’s trying to contain her excited bouncing. His tone of voice apologizes for her youth, but his grin tells me he cherishes her. “Madeline.”

I recognize her name.

Bounce indeed minimized, Madeline covertly rounds her eyes at me. She doesn’t want me to tell that she’s the one who first contacted me about Uncle Earl’s death.

“Nice to meet you,” I say and leave it at that.

Her expression changes from worried to gushing. “Oh, I am such a big fan of yours.” She resumes her bouncing.

It was bound to happen. Someone was bound to recognize me sooner or later.

“Ah, thanks.”

“Will you take a selfie with me?”

“Mads!” The grandmother reprimands.

“Oh. It’s fine.” I move closer to Madeline who already has her phone out. She takes a few shots from different angles.

“Okay, enough,” Sin says.

“Thank you! Thank you!” The girl bounces, again.

“You’re welcome.” I smile and return Madeline’s hug.

“C’mon, Mads, we gotta finish up with Stubs.” With a wink for me, Ram leads Madeline back to the horse.

“We’re gonna go check on the sheep.” Willow pulls Opal away leaving Sin and me in the drive.

“Welcome to The Flying Crowe.” Sin motions to the house and ushers me to the front door.

I follow him up the walk, onto the long porch and inside.

The foyer is big with a matching pair of carved oak hall benches — perfect for taking off boots. A worn pair sits under one. The tile through the entry is classic, serviceable, inexpensive Saltillo. Clean and well-worn.

There’s a kitchen off to the right and more rooms off to the left. But it’s the picture window in the living room that draws my attention.

Sin joins me. He smells good. Soap and aftershave. A natural, spicy virility to his scent as well as his aura.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The bass in his tone sinks even lower.

I nod.

“I lived here all my life and it never gets old.” He murmurs. “About thirty percent of your ranch is visible from here.”

There’s more?

Doubt creeps several notches forward.

A light hand on my shoulder, Sin draws my attention to a point off in the distance. “That’s the Crowe west pasture. Our ranch, Wilde Winds, is just to the east of that bluff. Between the two ranches, we more or less take up Rough Mountain.” His deep voice is so comforting, so reassuring. “Bureau of Land Management has the rest.”

I turn my head to look at him. His eyes bore into mine for a moment before his gentle hand slips to my lower back. He guides me to the far back corner window in the L-shaped room.

“And those are the Spanish Peaks.” He points to the east.

The two bigger mountains jut out of the foothills bowing at their feet.

“The natives call ‘em the breasts of the earth.” His fingers caress my back.

I nod. “That fits.” It fits both the vista and the maternal vibe I’ve felt since arriving.

“Roni?” Madeline calls from the front.

Sin drops his hand. Instantly I miss his warmth.

“I brought your cat.” Madeline carries a furry creature right to me.

I shake my head. “I don’t have a cat.”

“She isn’t yours?” Sin rubs her little ginger head. “She was outside the cottage at the inn this morning.”

He went to the inn this morning?

Butterscotch squirms out of Madeline’s arms into an easychair. There she curls up to nap like she owns the place. Fantastic. Another animal that I’m responsible for now.

“Sin!” Ram shouts from outside. “A word!”

“Excuse me.” Sin goes.

“Ram was cleaning horsesh—” Madeline blushes. “Horse poop. He doesn’t want to come in the house with it on his clothes and boots.”

“That’s nice of him.” I grin, truly thankful of Ram’s thoughtfulness. “And, thank you, Madeline. If you hadn’t emailed me—”

“Mr. Earl asked me to find you. When he got sick.” Her eyes turn glassy for a second or two. “But he didn’t tell me that you were Roni!”

“Here, I’m just Fallon. Okay?”

She nods and smiles. “Okay.”

“Why keep it a secret from your family?”

“I’m—um—” She looks at her fingers. “I’m not like my family. Mr. Earl understood because—” She fiddles her fingers and darts a glance at me. “He wasn’t like his either.”

Like many males who are born with the gift, Uncle Earl was likely stripped of his power before puberty — the way it was done since the Burning Times. It was sad, but necessary for the safety of the son and the entire family. Mature warlock energy is strong and too easily tracked by hunters. These days, modern essence blockers work so well to cloak them that most boys get to keep their power.

I’m surprised, but happy that Uncle Earl had someone to confide in. He must have trusted this young girl a great deal.

Though I don’t sense her or the other Wildes as witch, their auras are definitely different. They do not have the gift, though. Of that I’m certain.

“Anyway, he was helping me cope with being different from everyone else.”

“Good.” I smile, happy that the uncle I never knew was a good person.

“And I was helping him fix up the house for you.”

“Me?”

Madeline nods. “He figured that if any Crowe wanted it, it’d be you.”

“He figured right.”

“I helped him pick out colors and furniture.”

I turn to survey the interior of the living room. It’s nice — big comfy furniture in soft grays. “You did a great job. Good balance between masculine and feminine.”

“Thanks.” Her smile is bright and proud. “I love design.” She motions to my suit. “Isabel Marant?”

I nod with a smile. “Impressive.” The girl knows her designers.

“I love clothes even more.” Madeline giggles. “So, what’s it like being a model?”

“Not all it’s cracked up to be.” I frown.

“Oh.” Her forehead scrunches together like I just burst her fan-girl bubble.

“I mean, it looks glamorous. And it is sometimes.” Wearing the newest styles first is always fun. “It’s hard work, too, at times. Runway, especially.”

She nods in a thoughtful way. “I’ve been practicing my walk.” She struts across the foyer for me. Her form is dreadful. At the end, she makes a classic beginner mistake — pivoting on the ball of just one foot, and loses her balance.

She grimaces and reaches out for the wall, almost pulling down a vintage macramé dreamcatcher.

I help her straighten the piece. It’s really stunning, with turquoise beads and glossy black feathers.

“Turn like this.” I set my feet correctly. “Lift both of your heels, just slightly, and pivot on both feet at the same time.”

She does it. Perfectly.

“Wow.” I smile. “You’re a fast learner.”

We’ll work on the rest of her walk.

“Will you teach me more tricks? Please. Please. Please.” Madeline bounces.

I laugh. “Sure.”

“Especially makeup. I suck at makeup.”

“I better get an okay from your parents first.” She’s so young. Then again, at her age I was contouring my own jawline for headshots.

“Okay.”

For the next few minutes, the girl leads me around the house. We start where we are — in the hall. The walls are lined with dozens and dozens of photos. I recognize Mom, but that’s it.

The kitchen was spruced up with new paint and countertops last year. Same with the hall bath. There are three bedrooms on one side of the house, leaving the dated master suite with its own little wing with an equally dated bath.

“We didn’t get to it before the cancer—” Her voice fades off.

Back in the center of the house, there’s a family dining room off the refreshed kitchen. Directly across from the dining room is a large home office stuffed with big leather chairs, a massive desk and floor-to-ceiling shelves of books.

“There’s the receipt for the new windows in here.” Madeline opens a folder. “Mr. Earl already paid for them.” She points to a lateral file cabinet. “That’s the paperwork for the business side of the ranch.”

I open a drawer and pull out the first folder.

“Oh, yeah. You’ll need to order feed next week.” Madeline spins around in the office chair. “Mr. Earl used to order a heartier feed for the alpaca in winter.”

“He did?” I pullout the previous order slip. It may as well be written in Greek. I understand nothing.

“How about we make a deal, Madeline?”

She stops spinning the chair.

“I’ll teach you all I know about modeling, if you teach me all you know about ranching alpaca.”