“‘Patrick showed me the old well today,’” he read aloud. “‘He says his grandfather used it to water the first garden they planted, that the water has special properties that make things grow. He made me drop a penny and make a wish. I wished he would kiss me. He did.’”
Dylan felt heat climb her neck. “That’s…personal.”
“There’s more. Listen to this part. ‘Patrick says the well keeps secrets better than any lockbox. That what goes down into that darkness stays there until someone knows the right way to call it back up.’”
“She knew,” Dylan breathed. “Even then, she knew he was the type to hide things.”
“Look at this.” Aidan turned the page, pointing to an entry dated years later. “‘Patrick and the boys spent all day at the old homestead. He’s teaching them about their history, he says, but I know he’s really teaching them about belonging. About staying. About being part of something bigger than themselves.’”
Dylan traced the words with her finger, careful not to damage the delicate paper. “He was preparing them even then. For this.”
“For what, though? Just finding a ring?”
“For understanding what the ring means,” Dylan said without thinking, then caught herself. “I mean, the family legacy and all that.”
Aidan studied her with those green eyes that seemed to see more than she wanted to reveal. “Is that what you think this is about? Legacy?”
Before she could answer, the door burst open and Harrison skidded into the room, his church clothes replaced with play clothes that already showed evidence of outdoor adventures.
“Uncle Aidan! Mom says you have to come see! Chewy caught a snake and he won’t let it go and Dad’s afraid to grab it because what if it’s poisonous and Uncle Colt says it’s just a garden snake but Uncle Wyatt says we should call animal control and?—”
“Breathe, buddy,” Aidan said, already standing. “Where’s Chewy now?”
“By the barn! Come on!”
Harrison grabbed Aidan’s hand, then looked at Dylan with the consideration of a child deciding if someone was worth including.
“You should come too,” he decided. “You might know about snakes.”
“I really don’t,” Dylan said, but she was already following them out of the office, through the kitchen where Anne just shook her head with the patience of a woman who’d raised five boys, and out into the chaos of the backyard.
The entire O’Hara clan had gathered near the barn where Chewy, the enormous white dog, sat proudly with what was indeed a harmless garden snake writhing in his gentle mouth.
“Drop it,” Duncan commanded with absolutely no effect.
“Chewy, release,” Hank tried with similar results.
“This is ridiculous,” Raven said, but she was laughing. “It’s clearly not poisonous.”
“All snakes look the same to me,” Wyatt protested. “Dangerous.”
“You’re a cop,” Colt pointed out. “You’ve faced armed criminals.”
“Armed criminals don’t slither. Want me to shoot it?”
Dylan found herself laughing at the absurdity of it—five grown men defeated by one dog and a garden snake. Without thinking, she walked over to Chewy, knelt down, and said quietly, “That’s a good boy. Good hunter. Now give.”
To everyone’s amazement, Chewy immediately dropped the snake, which quickly disappeared into the tall grass.
“How did you do that?” Sophie asked.
“I have no idea,” Dylan admitted. “My dad used to say I had a way with animals. Though we never had pets, so I’m not sure what he based that on.”
“Maybe you’re the dog whisperer,” Harrison said solemnly. “Or the snake charmer!”
“Definitely the O’Hara charmer,” Sophie said under her breath, but loud enough for Dylan to hear.
“All right, crisis averted,” Anne announced. “Harrison, go wash your hands. Twice. With soap.”
