Pouring carefully, Farrah pushed the well-filled glass across the bar-top towards me.

“Looks good.” I picked it up and twirled it carefully, then put it to my nose. “Don’t tell me—I’m getting blackberries, and a hint of horse dung. Or something like that.”

“Well, that would be the blackberries and the horse dung we put in it, probably.” Farrah poured herself a glass and hooked her feet around the bar-stool. “It’s got another six months before it’s really ready, but for you I’d do a special pre-order. Go on, taste it.”

I leaned against the bar—my bar, I thought with a little flash of pride—and rested my elbows on the polished surface. “Impressive, considering you don’t even have a horse.” Taking a sip, I swirled it on my tongue. I had no idea what the hell I was doing, but I tried to make it look as expert as I could.

At the mention of the word ‘horse’, Farrah’s eyes swivelled frantically. “Don’t mention the H-word around May! She’s been asking if we can have a horse for the last three months. I keep telling her we can’t afford it, but you can imagine that doesn’t work for long on a ten-year-old. I dread asking her what she wants for her eleventh birthday, because I know what the answer’s going to be.”

I suppressed a giggle, nearly spitting out my mouthful of wine. “Well, most girls go through a horse phase, face it. I’m pretty sure I did, and I lived in the middle of Boston without a horse for miles. Down here, with all this open country, beautiful weather, and, well, horses around, who can blame her?”

Farrah nodded, sipping at her wine. “Yeah, I know. It’s the right place, but we really can’t afford it. Her father could, but damned if I’m going to go to him for money. Mmm, this is definitely improving. I tried it three months ago and it was pretty raw.”

I plonked the glass down on the bar and surveyed it theatrically, dodging left and right around it to view it from different angles. “You’re definitely improving in terms of color—ah, I mean your wine is.”

My friend poked out her tongue at me. “Oh, shut up.” Farrah ran a hand through her mane of auburn hair. “Fine, but I don’t know how long this lot is going to last. I found more grey yesterday; I’m going to have to start dyeing soon.”

“Don’t you dare!” I shook my head violently. “You’ve got amazing hair, and you know exactly how jealous I am of it.”

My own hair was blond and shoulder-length, tied back in a ponytail most days so it didn’t get in the sink, or on the oven, or in people’s beer. “Personally, mine is done by Lank and Greasy, next season’s killer styling duo. You heard it here first. Hit me again.” I pushed my glass towards Farrah and the bottle. “Regarding the putative horse, what about another kind of pet instead?”

As if summoned by the third mention of the word ‘horse’, Farrah’s daughter May came skipping in from outside. “Hi Momma. Hi Auntie Cat.” She stretched up on tiptoes to kiss me, and I ruffled her hair.

“Hey there, little sister. How you doin’?” May was a cheerful little girl, always smiling and talking excitedly about her books or her schoolwork. It was only rarely that I saw any trace of how her parents’ split had affected her; she hardly talked about her father. Farrah was careful never to speak badly of him, or to blame him for things, but his behavior since the break-up had made it clear to both mother and daughter that they were in his rear-view mirror, and he wasn’t looking back.

“I’m good, Auntie. Did you say something about a horse? Are you getting a horse?”

I swallowed my wine quickly. “No, little sister, no horse.” Gesturing around the bar, I put on a grave expression. “Where would I put a horse in here? Besides, he’d never get up and down the stairs.”

May considered this carefully. Children think deeply about things, no matter how silly or trivial they may seem to adults, and she was no different. “You could keep him outside.”

“But then where would he sleep? All the bedrooms are upstairs.”

“That’s true.” She adopted a doleful expression. “I guess you just don’t have room for a horse.” Her face brightened, as if she’d just thought of something. “We have plenty of room for a horse, don’t we, Momma?”

Farrah looked suspicious. This, she could not technically deny, and I knew she was always honest with her daughter; it was one of the promises she made when May’s father left. “Well, we do—”

“If Auntie Cat had a horse, it could live at our place. And then she could come and visit it. What do you think, Momma?”

“Mmmm.” Farrah drew her daughter in for a hug. “As we have discussed, May Foxworthy, horses are really, really expensive, and we cannot afford one right now. Maybe one day, but I cannot promise anything.” She looked the little girl in the face. “You remember, don’t you, that I promised I would never hide things from you. Right?”

May nodded, looking serious.

“Well, that’s why I’m saying I can’t promise you a horse. Okay?”

“Okay, Momma. I understand.” May looked momentarily downcast, but then brightened. “Can I go and look in the basement?”

“Well, you’d better ask Auntie Cat. It’s her basement.”

May spun to face me, red curls swinging. “Auntie Cat, can I—”

“Sure you can, little sister.” I smiled at her. “Just be careful, okay? Don’t touch anything sharp, and if you get cold, come back up here.” Along with the bar, I’d inherited a basement full of junk. It was freezing cold, being dug directly out of the earth and rock on which the bar stood, but to a ten-year-old it was a place of wonder and fascination.

We watched May disappear down the stairway leading to the basement, and I reached out a hand. “You’ve done a great job with her, Faz. She’s a wonderful kid, and you did it on your lonesome.”

“Thanks.” Farrah twirled her glass, her green eyes thoughtful. “At first I thought I needed a man to be a father to May, but now I figure he’d just get in the way. The idea of someone else telling me how to raise my kid pisses me off, to be honest.” She looked me straight in the eye, pointing a manicured finger. “You, on the other hand, are a different story. It’s time you told me what happened with your fiancé back in Boston.”

I made a face and took another decent-sized gulp of wine, savoring the rich taste on my tongue. “Is it, now? Are you sure?”

Farrah’s expression was stern. “Yeah, it is. We’ve been friends for some time now—”

“Six months. Is there any more wine in that bottle?”

“—and every time I ask about it, you dodge the question. I would have left it at that, but every time I ask, you get this look in your eyes like you’re guilty about something. And that’s no good for anyone; trust me, I know.”

I knew that Farrah had had many days of struggling with the guilt of her marriage breakup; Farrah’s parents disapproved of their granddaughter being raised in a ‘broken home’, as if a home with a foul-tempered womanizing husband who swore at his wife every day was somehow less broken.

“Yeah, I know you know.”

Farrah clutched the bottle to her chest. “So there’s more wine in this bottle when you tell me what happened. You spill, I spill. Simple.”

“When you put it that way,” I said, wryly, “I find your argument compelling. Fill ‘er up.”

I took a deep breath. “Kirk and I were together for four years; we met in our final year of medical school. I was going to do a research year, and he was going straight into surgery. He said that we were ideal together, because we both had a ‘career focus’, and my parents agree with him. Sometimes I feel like he spent more time wooing them than he did me. When we left med school and started living together, I found out that ‘career focus’ meant never seeing each other, and living separate lives.”

“But you were busy with your own career, right?”

“Sure.” I sipped at the wine, slower this time; the summer afternoon sun, and the rich red wine, were going to my head, and I did have some work on the bar to do this evening. “I’m not blaming Kirk, not really. I was so wrapped up in school, and then research, that having a boyfriend who wouldn’t blame me for studying for exams on a Saturday night sounded like a dream come true. But we felt like roommates, rather than lovers. Kirk was a very good roommate; tidy, unobtrusive, paid his rent on time. I just never felt like I was the most important thing in his world—nor, to be fair, that he was the most important thing in mine.”

Farrah leaned forward. “I’m guessing your parents thought he was great?”

“Got it in one. We’d have dinner at their place the first Sunday of every month, regular as clockwork. Every time, my mother would take me aside to tell me how proud she was of me to have ‘made a good match’ with a man who would ‘support my ambitions’. I couldn’t find a way to tell her that dinner with her and Dad was generally the only night Kirk and I had spent together that month. And I doubt she’d have cared if I had.”

“Was he upset when you broke up?” Farrah ran her finger around the top of her glass, looking at the traces made by the red liquid as it spiraled into the bowl.

“Well, when it all fell apart—when I fell apart—Kirk was the last to know. I packed up my stuff while he was away at a surgical conference, wrote him a long letter trying to explain what I was doing, and failing, and then pretty much walked out. We didn’t have a lot of furniture, and my mementos were small enough to fit in my suitcase upstairs.”

I sniffed, and realized I was blinking back tears. “My parents were furious; they kept trying to tell me that Kirk would ‘forgive’ me if I gave up and came home soon. I talked to him eventually, by Skype when I was in Kuala Lumpur. I apologized as much as I could, and said that he meant a lot to me, but I wasn’t happy with who I was. He wasn’t even upset; he just wished me well, and that was it.”

Farrah slipped down from the bar-stool, heels clacking, and came around the other side of the bar, arms outstretched. “Honey, you did not fall apart. Gimme a hug.” Her scent enveloped me, heady and perfumed. “You stood up for yourself, and I for one am damn proud of you. Besides, if you hadn’t done it, then you wouldn’t have this place, and I wouldn’t have made the best darn friend a girl could hope for.”

I did my best to stop sniffing. “Thanks, hon. I don’t know what the hell I was doing, running away like that, but, well, here I am. And I’m so glad I met you.”

“Nawwwww.” The rumbling sound in Farrah’s chest made me smile in spite of myself. “Now,” Farrah said, standing back, “what about that damn oven, huh? I know you can’t afford a new one, but can you get someone to look at it?” Her eyes brightened, and she held up a finger in an I’ve-got-a-good-idea pose. “What about the garage? Their sign says they do general-purpose repairs.”

“Mmmm. That girl—what’s her name?”

“Beatrice.”

“Yeah, Beatrice. She kinda scares the hell out of me. She looks like the kind of girl who’d as soon take a swing at you as argue with you.”

“Well, okay.” Farrah held up a hand. “She is kind of a hardass, true. But I think it’s just because she’s had a rough time of it growing up. I’ve only been here running the vineyard for a year, and even I’ve heard stories; I think she and Andy have basically had to fend for themselves since they were just kids together. They’re pretty close. Besides, I hear she can fix damn near anything; she does a steady business in tractor repair, but that garage has all kinds of stuff in it.”

I thought carefully. The oven as it was, was a write-off, and I couldn’t afford to replace it. Without the oven, I couldn’t do pizzas or hot bar snacks for customers, and that would kill my business, fast. If the mechanic could fix it, it had to be worth asking. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Besides,” Farrah’s eyes twinkled, “I think Andy likes you.” Andy, Beatrice’s younger brother by five years, worked in the garage with her. He was a tall, strong man, but there was never any doubt about who ran the place.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I mean, maybe. I mean, he should.”

“You mean you have no idea whether he likes me or not.” I looked at her accusingly. “You just think he should.”

“Shuddup. You should go out with him. He’s hot.”

“I don’t know, Faz. He’s a nice guy, but…” But what’s the point if I don’t even know whether I’m staying here? Trying to turn the subject away from my love life, I coughed. “Why don’t YOU go out with him instead? You’re a catch-and-a-half; a stunning redhead with a self-made business.”

Farrah let out a derisive snort. “When you say it like that, it sounds good. But this redhead is also a single mom who’s a million bucks in debt to the bank for winery plant and equipment, and farms a crop worth about as much per ton as potatoes.” She threw both hands in the air, wine swirling alarmingly in her glass. “Woo!”

“Momma! Auntie Cat! Look what I found!”

A clumping noise from the stairs drew our attention. May reappeared, carrying something long and white in her hands. As she got nearer, they could see that she was carrying a couple of fragments of bone, about eight inches in length.

Farrah freaked out. “May Foxworthy! You be careful with those. They might be tapu, they might be carrying something, they might—”

“Sorry, Momma.” May’s face fell. “I found them in a hole at the back of all the old wooden crates. They were half-sticking out of the ground. Auntie Cat knows all about bones and bodies and things, and I thought she could tell me what they were.”

“Huh.” I reached out a hand. “Can I see, May?”

Farrah made a rumbling noise in her chest, the sort of noise that an animal makes when it’s mildly irritated, and I knew she was worried. “It’s okay, Faz. We’ll have a look, and then we’ll decide what to do.”

Turning them over in my hands, I looked at the fragments. “Well, they’re not human, I can tell you that much. Nor are they a sheep or a goat, from what I’d guess.”

“Could they be a dragon?” May asked, eyes shining.

“Hmm.” I made a thoughtful face. “It’s very, very unlikely that it’s a dragon, May. But I don’t know what they are, so we can’t discount anything yet. Well done for finding them.”

Farrah took hold of May protectively, putting both arms around her. “You come here, May, and don’t go hunting for any more bones today.” May squirmed a little. “I’ll braid your hair if you keep still.” This was Farrah’s smart missile of Child Obedience Warfare; May loved having her hair braided, and until she grew out of it, it was a sure-fire method of keeping her in one spot.

“Okay, Momma. Can you do it that four-way thing like we saw on YouTube?”

“I’ll try. Now keep still.”

I watched them, smiling. I’d often wondered why their mother-daughter bond never made me feel left out, despite the fact I’d often wished my own mother had been like that with me.

Maybe I’m just happy that someone has a place they belong.

Farrah looked up. “You should find someone to come and look at those bones, you know. There’s a lot of history in this town, and it’s been a settlement for centuries. I think there used to be a watercourse running directly underneath where we are right now. There’s bound to be someone in a research institute or something who could tell you what they are.”

“Yeah, I should. I can’t imagine there’s, like, a finder’s fee or anything, but it might be an interesting local feature. If I could put up a sign, maybe it’d get tourists to stop. I’ll get in Lonely Planet, or TripAdvisor, or whatever it is these days. Maybe I should call it ‘Fossil Bar’, instead of Wunderbar.”

“Speaking of fossils,” Farrah said, arching an eyebrow as she braided, “let’s talk about your love life again.”

“Owww, that stung. Excuse me while I get some lemon juice to take the pain away.”

“I mean it in the most loving possible sense. You need to get out there, and get kissing, or your lips will dry up and fall off.”

“Faz, remember that I am a qualified doctor, and I can tell you that is not going to happen to anyone’s lips, no matter how infrequently you—oh, never mind. Besides, I’m not really a one-night stand kind of girl.”

“Who’s talking about a one-night stand? I was just talking about kissing. Start easy and work into it.”

May looked up. “Momma, what’s a one-night stand?”

Uh-oh. Farrah’s promise never to lie to her daughter did cause problems at times, and this was one of those times. Assuming an expression of complete seriousness, she leaned down towards May. “That’s a very good question, May, and I’ll tell you later on.” She was careful not to say how much later.

“Okay, Momma.” May went back to looking at the bones on the counter, evidently wondering if they were from a dragon after all.

“Now,” Farrah’s attention quickly swinging back to me, “lips or no lips, you need to be taking some chances right now. Just to see what it feels like. I bet it’s been so long since you got kissy-face with an attractive stranger that you’ve probably forgotten how good it is.”

“Oh, it’s good, is it?” I narrowed my eyes at her. “That sounds like one of those things that’s good in the movies, and a terrible decision in real life. I…don’t think I ever actually did that.”

Farrah deftly held her daughter’s braids in one hand, and pressed the other to her brow in a gesture of shock. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never kissed a random stranger in a bar? I never picked you for such a square, Catherine Milsom.”

“What is this, the 1950s? No, I was not a ‘square’, daddy-o. I was just…busy.” I had been busy; studying, student groups, research, conferences. I’d had a few boyfriends before Kirk, and they were fine; decent young men with good jobs, any of whom my mother would have been happy for me to choose. Kissing strange guys I’d never met before had not been part of the plan.

I’d never felt constrained by my life, never felt like I had missed out on anything, until that one morning in early December when I woke up alone in the apartment Kirk and I shared.

As I woke, I looked at our bed, unslept-in on one side, and realized he had been away for two weeks at a surgical symposium, and we hadn’t talked once. Because we had not had anything to talk about. I’d stared at the frosty Boston cityscape outside my window for an hour, trying to process my thoughts.

That afternoon, I called a storage company and arranged to have my belongings stored.

The next day, I’d gone to a travel agent, and bought a round-the-world ticket.

The day after that, carrying a backpack, I’d boarded a plane to Europe. That was twelve months ago, and I was still trying to process my thoughts now.

“Well, look here.” Farrah went back to her braiding. “You’ve never kissed a random stranger in a bar. And now,” a raised finger in the air, ”you own a bar. That sounds like a perfect opportunity to me.”

“Your definition of ‘perfect opportunity’ seems like my definition of ‘terrible decision’. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that this is not a terrible decision. Missing out on something because you’ve never done it before, that’s a terrible decision. Or,” Farrah’s eyes gleamed, “maybe you’re chicken. Maybe you’re too straight-laced.”

I pretended to be more stung than I really was. Although I was a little stung. “I am not chicken! I could so do it, I just…don’t see the point, that’s all.” Tracing a pattern on the bar with my finger, I thought for a minute.

What would it be like to just kiss a guy with no consequences?

Farrah began to cluck quietly under her breath, and I made a face at her. “Shut up.”

“Seems like it to me…” Farrah finished braiding, and bent to kiss her daughter on the head. “There! All done, daughter of mine.” May clapped her hands. “Thanks Momma. Auntie Cat, can I go upstairs to your room? I want to see what it looks like in the mirror.”

“Sure, go on. Just be careful on the stairs; you know they’re creaky.”

As May bounded up the old stairs, I stood up, walking down the length of the bar to retrieve a cloth. “I am not chicken, okay?”

“Fine then. Prove it. Next time you get to kiss a random hot guy with no consequence, you have to go for it. Done?”

I took a deep breath as I wiped the wine stains off the bar. “This is a terrible idea. It has to be an out-of-towner, okay? I’m not randomly kissing Andy, for instance. He’s a nice guy, and if he asked me out, maybe I’d say yes. But…”

But you’re not the kind of girl who makes crazy decisions. Until the time you made a crazy decision to run away to here.

“Awwww. I was hoping you wouldn’t say that. But okay. Next time a hot stranger turns up and you have the chance to kiss him, you have to promise me you’ll go through with it.”

“I’m not throwing myself at some guy just to prove to you that I’m not chicken. I’m not completely stupid.”

“I know, I know.” Farrah slid down from the stool and began to gather up her things. “Just, if the mood strikes you, promise me you’ll try it. Just once. Okay? I really think it’d be good for you to do something crazy.”

Our eyes met, and I saw the concern on my friend’s face.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Maybe here, so far out of my real life, I should just do something crazy with no consequences. It’s not like it’s going to matter in the end.

“I can’t promise anything, but,” I saluted with mock-seriousness, “I do solemnly swear that in the incredibly unlikely event of a hot stranger wanting to kiss me, I will not kick him in the nethers. Cross my heart.”

Farrah smiled broadly and slung her handbag over her shoulder. “What an invitation. If I were a guy, I’d find that irresistible. Right, I gotta go; need to get that daughter of mine to her afternoon craft class, and then get on with prepping for stocktake.” She turned and raised her voice. “May! Time to go, sweetie.”

May clattered down the stairs, hanging onto the banister. For a small child, she could make a surprising amount of noise when moving around in the old bar, although I loved to have her here, and she had become something of a mascot for the customers. “Here, Momma.”

As they left, May turned back in the doorway to look at me. “Auntie Cat, don’t forget to ask about the dragon bones, okay?”

I nodded, composing my face into a serious expression. “I won’t forget, little sister.”

* * *

My little office was next to my bedroom, just big enough to fit a desk, a printer stand, a filing cabinet, and a chair. I had to be sitting down to close the door, but everything fitted as long as I kept still and didn’t make any sudden movements. I had no idea what the room was originally intended for when the old bar was built, but I strongly suspected it was a large airing cupboard. Feet pressed up under the desk, I was bent over my computer placing orders. Next week, the bar was hosting an open mic event, and I expected a good turn-out from nearby towns. Most of the musicians were pretty self-sufficient, and I enjoyed the relaxed, uncomplicated atmosphere of the gig. I didn’t have to do much except keep the drinks and snacks coming, and sometimes the music was even half-okay.

“Right, done.” I muttered to myself. “Was there something else I was supposed to do?” I looked around the little office, and noticed the bones perched on top of the filing cabinet. May’s words about the bones came back to me, and I smiled at the little girl’s joy in finding them. “Of course.”

A few minutes’ search found a contact address for the Department of Anthropology and Archaeology at the city university up north. It looked like a departmental secretary’s address, but it would do. I composed a quick email, explaining the location of the bar, attached a couple of photos of the bones, and asked if anyone would be interested in coming to look at the site. It seemed pretty unlikely, but I had promised May I would ask, after all.

About half an hour later, I was filing when a reply popped up:

Dear Cat,

Thank you for your email. I would be very interested in coming to look at your site. How does next week sound?

Regards,

Ryan Sanders, PhD.

Associate Professor, Department of Anthropology and Archaeology

Surprised, I thought for a moment. I guess next week’s fine; it’s not like we’re that busy, and I’ve still got to do something about the damn oven anyway.

Dear Dr Sanders,

Sure, next week’s fine. Just let me know when I can expect you.

All the best,

Cat.

Standing up, I reached for my phone to message Farrah. May will be delighted to hear this.

Cat: Hey, hon. Tell May that someone from the university is coming to look at those bones?

Farrah: Wow, that’s cool. She’ll be really excited. Is there any money in it?

I thought for a minute. If there were, that could be my solution for fixing the oven.

Cat: I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe there’ll be a wall plaque in it at least.

Farrah: Better than nothing I guess. So when can we expect a visit from Indiana Jones? Hubba hubba.

Cat: Next week. Although from the tone of his emails he sounds like he’s about seventy. So I don’t think he’s going to be the guy of your dreams. Sorry.