The Sheriff of Shelter Valley. Tara Quinn Taylor
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she did have a Grandma Neilson someplace, and she’d had to run to protect her, too?
The ivory and black keys did not look strange. Or feel strange, either, as she rested her fingers lightly upon them.
“You know how to play?” Bonnie asked, stopping beside the piano bench. “Keith’s parents bought that for us when Katie was born, but none of us play.”
“A little, I guess,” Beth said, confused. She caressed the smooth white keys with the pads of her fingers, comforted by their coolness.
And their familiarity?
Did she know how to play? Have lessons as a child?
“All I can play is chopsticks,” Keith said, standing beside his wife.
“Mama. Uh. Mama. Uh.” Ryan toddled over to the bench, both hands grabbing hold of it.
“You want to watch Mama play?” Greg asked. Handing Katie to Keith, he picked the boy up.
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