CHAPTER ONE

      HER GREAT-GRANDMOTHER MUST have known what she was doing when she named their home Last Chance Farm, because the men in Serafina Callahan’s family were all gamblers of one sort or another, her little brother included.

      “What are you thinking?”

      Sitting in one of a line of uncomfortable molded plastic chairs in the terminal lobby, Sera linked her hands over her belly and stared out the floor-to-ceiling window at the twin-engine turboprop, its propellers whirling to a stop. “I’m thinking no way would I climb on a soup can with wings in the middle of a hurricane and fly to Nashville.”

      Mirroring her stretched-out position, crossed ankles and all, Chance Callahan rested the toe of his boot against the battered guitar case, as if reassuring himself the instrument was still there, even though it was in plain sight of both of them. “We’re going to Detroit first. It’s not raining in Detroit.”

      “That makes no sense—” Sera slid her gaze up her brother’s long legs to his mussed black hair “—but neither does April showers in May.”

      “Springtime in Pennsylvania. You never know what you’re gonna get. No big deal.” He shrugged.

      She wasn’t surprised. Her younger brother had his own theories about life. He did exactly as he pleased. But then the siblings had traveled different paths from the beginning. She would climb into the crook of an apple tree on a summer day to read, and he would swing from the branches, risking skinned knees and broken bones. “You know, I think you’re the milkman’s son. We can’t be related.”

      Head leaning against the seat back, he turned in her direction. His eyes had that heavy-lidded look that made the girls scream when he was onstage. “We both have the Callahan hair. Thick, black and totally unmanageable. We’re related.”

      Sera smoothed curly bangs back from her forehead and returned her gaze to the activities on the other side of the window. “Tell me about it.”

      Clad in a hooded poncho with Ramp written across the back in large black letters, a figure reached up to lower the staircase of the plane. April Madison appeared at the top of the stairs. She wore navy blue suit pants and a crisp white blouse. A red-white-and-blue-striped scarf looped around her neck. With a bright smile, she handed a clipboard to the agent on the ground.

      “Did you know April Madison is working for Allegheny Commuter? She might be the last person you see before plummeting to the ground.”

      One corner of his mouth edged upward. “I can think of worse things.”

      “You hate April Madison.”

      “I hated her in high school. She dumped me for one of the Heaster twins. Now that Stan is serving three to ten, she’s probably rethinking that decision.”

      Sera chuckled. “Ya think?” As always, she and her brother had reverted to familiar and comfortable conversation, like two neighbors who hadn’t seen each other in a while. April backed away into the dark recesses of the cabin as passengers appeared in the open doorway. The first person off the plane was a young woman with frizzy red hair. Shoulders hunched against the rain, she clutched a portfolio in her left arm and gripped the railing with her hand.

      “Dating any Southern belles?” Sera continued to watch the passengers, but her ear was attuned to any sound from the man next to her. He took a long time to answer.

      “Not at the moment.”

      An alarm sounded at the back of her brain. Chance and women. Not a good combination when his career was supposed to be the focus. “Were you?”

      “Let’s just say, at the present time, there is no special someone.” He shrugged and returned her gaze. The half smile was gone. “You?”

      She raised her hands to the ceiling and directed an exasperated look in his direction. “There is such a multitude of men at the farm, I’m having trouble choosing.” The smile she was looking for returned when her little brother laughed. She had accomplished her mission.

      “I keep telling you, you should get out more.” Chance scooted back in his seat, rested his arms on his thighs and stared at his guitar. “I saw the reassessment notice from the county on your desk.”

      “Yep. Things just keep getting better and better.” Sera returned her gaze to the passengers exiting the plane just in time to see a tall man in a navy windbreaker stoop to emerge from the plane’s oval doorway. He stood at the top of the metal staircase, looking around as if surveying his domain. The wind ruffled his light brown hair. How nice to feel such confidence.

      “Did the taxes go up?”

      She tore her gaze from the confident man with the windblown hair. “Do cats have kittens?” Unlike the woman with the red hair, his wide shoulders were not at all hunched, as if the rain didn’t exist. “Do taxes ever go down?”

      The ticket agent announced boarding for Detroit. Chance stood, his lanky frame unraveling from the seat like the Slinky toy he used to play with on the front porch steps. Slapping his cowboy hat on his head, he slid her a look. “When I get my next gig—”

      “Don’t worry about it.” Standing and facing her brother, she pressed a twenty-dollar bill into his hand. “Grab a snack in Detroit.”

      “Hey, I’m fine.” He tried to give the money back.

      “No, keep it. As Aunt Hope would say, you’re skinny as a rail.” Despite the joking, she did worry about her brother getting on the small plane in the middle of a rainstorm. Heck, she worried about small planes on sunny days. “Good luck with the audition.”

      They put their arms around each other; Sera patted his back twice before Chance pulled away. He shot her a look and then just as quickly glanced away. “Thanks, Sera. I feel like I should stick around, but this could be the one. It’s the Blue Bird, you know?” His gaze rested on the guitar case at his feet.

      Sera recognized the hopeful expression on her brother’s handsome face.