The cup of tea helped. So did opening all the curtains downstairs and letting in the brilliant summer sun. The nightmare of the wee hours seemed to evaporate in the cleansing morning light. The dark miasma that had clung to her since she’d seen the man at the window began to slip into the background, like a bad dream. The sounds from the basement, where Roger occasionally hammered on something, or a duct clanged, helped, too.

      Life had returned to this house, and she was almost ashamed of the way she had reacted during the night. Overreaction. Like a child. A hot shower helped, as did dressing in her oldest, softest jeans with threadbare knees and an old T-shirt worn thin from many washings. Age improved some things, for a fact.

      She caught her wet hair back in a ponytail and tried to recall her list of tasks for today. Well, it wasn’t long before she remembered she’d wanted to air the house out. Despite her grandmother’s love of lavender sachets, the house still smelled musty from being closed for so long. Since she’d arrived here a couple of days ago, she’d felt chilled and had wanted to keep the windows mostly closed.

      The summer here wasn’t very warm. She wondered if that was typical or just a spell. At home in Baltimore, it was a great deal warmer right now, and far more humid. Wyoming felt almost bone-dry. Refreshingly so, she decided.

      She put the kettle on again, trying to center herself completely in the here and now. Another cup of tea would help. It would remind her of good things. In the meantime, despite lingering wisps of fear from last night, she opened every single downstairs window and let the soft summer breeze blow through.

      When she’d learned she’d inherited the house, she’d had every intention of cleaning it out, storing the important items and selling it. Her life was in Baltimore, after all. Her job, her friends and the hospital she had seemingly wrapped her whole life around. Did she know anyone these days who wasn’t in the medical profession?

      Anyway, she’d believed herself to be happy. Then this. Somehow over the last couple of days, she’d started thinking of staying. Maybe a crazy decision based on her childhood visits and memories, but the urge was growing. It would certainly turn her life on end, but she wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. She’d been kind of digging a comfortable rut at home.

      But Wyoming? The state’s name could still unnerve her, if only a tiny bit. After her kidnapping, her mother had taken her away to a cousin’s in Michigan, no doubt trying to remove any reminders. Her dad had eventually moved his drilling business to the Bakken oil fields in North Dakota. Far enough north to feel different. The family had come together again.

      Then her brother, five years her elder, had taken off with the Marines and had become a visitor in her life when he wasn’t overseas somewhere. Her mother had left, tired of the life of a woman surrounded by roughnecks, and Haley had stayed with her father because she hadn’t wanted him to be all alone.

      But he’d been alone eventually anyway. Those summers he’d driven her to stay with her grandmother for a few weeks, and then when she’d knuckled down on her studies, determined to enter a medical career. Like all kids, she became eighteen and moved on to bigger dreams.

      Her dad had evidently had some dreams of his own. These days he was working in the Middle East and would occasionally call her with stories of exotic places, but no, she shouldn’t visit him, because life was uncomfortable there for women.

      So, once in a while, like her brother, he passed through her life.

      But she had a good life, she reminded herself as the kettle whistled and she made a fresh cup of tea. Maybe, however, she’d caught a touch of her dad’s wanderlust. Maybe that was making her think of leaving everything behind to move to Wyoming.

      Although moving here didn’t sound so fantastic after last night. But stamped in her brain like a tattoo was the memory of the moon and seeing that guy peering in, silhouetted against its light. Sheesh, maybe she’d seen a werewolf or something.

      The tea tasted good and energized her. There was definitely a nap in her future, but she had wanted to sort through the sideboard in the dining room, with its drawers full of treasured table linens and, once upon a time, a bag of candy corn for a little girl who could have a few if she was very good.

      A smile danced across her lips as she carried her cup into the dining room and set it carefully on a hand-crocheted doily that she remembered making when she was about nine. Imagine Grandma saving that all these years. A warmth suffused her and she faced the real reason she wanted to stay. For all she’d built a life in Baltimore, this was the only place that had truly meant home to her.

      Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she pulled out the bottom drawer. Carefully folded tablecloths filled it, and the scent of lavender aroused her senses.

      “Haley?”

      It sounded as if Roger was at the top of the basement stairs. “I’m in here,” she called back. “Need something?”

      “Lunch,” he admitted as he entered the dining room. She felt him stand just a little behind her. “That’s beautiful,” he remarked.

      She reached out and touched the top layer, a carefully handcrafted lace table cover. As her hand brushed it, she heard the layers of protective tissue underneath rustle slightly. “Lots of history here,” she said. “You want me to make lunch?”

      “Heck no. I was thinking about running out and picking something up. You want?”

      It was still early, but the egg and toast had vanished some time ago. A glance toward the Regulator caused her to wonder where the hours had gone. She hadn’t done that much. Had she? Maybe dozed while she was sitting here, given last night.

      “Sure,” she said after a moment. She started to close the drawer, but Roger squatted beside her and surprised her. “There’s a story in that drawer.”

      She glanced at him and saw his expectant smile. “There probably is,” she admitted. “The sad thing about us when we’re young is that we aren’t always interested in stuff that might be important later. I have a vague memory of Grandma telling me that this drawer holds tablecloths and napkins that belonged to her mother and grandmother. Maybe her great-grandmother. I wish I remembered. Anyway, this top one? Hand-crocheted by my great-grandmother, if I remember correctly. This is a drawer full of antiques and lost memories.”

      “That’s