NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER •  “A moving story of love and reunion . . . an absolute joy to read . . . I finally put Dream Country down at 2 a.m. and almost called in sick the next day to finish it.”— Denver Post It was just an argument, one of hundreds Daisy Tucker must have had with her teenage daughter, Sage, over the years. But this one had ended differently, with Sage gone from their Connecticut home the next morning, leaving behind only a brief note: “I have to go.” Daisy tried not to overreact, tried to remind herself this was different from what had happened thirteen years earlier to Sage’s twin brother, Jake. This was different from a three-year-old boy disappearing in the canyons of Wyoming, never to be found. Sage was sixteen and resourceful. She would be found. Years ago Daisy had traveled to Wyoming’s Wind River Mountains in search of inspiration for her art and had found a man with the wilderness inside him. James Tucker was a rancher, bound to the wild land he loved, and together he and Daisy created a small paradise for their family—until the day their little boy vanished without a trace. Now, as their daughter makes a dangerous cross-country pilgrimage to the father she longs for, Daisy will return to the place that took everything she had. . . . Filled with a wild and unpredictable beauty, Dream Country is a novel you’ll never want to end—even as you can’t wait to finish it. “Evocative ... [a] fierce family drama.”— People “A moving story of love and reunion ... an absolute joy to read ... I finally put Dream Country down at 2 a.m. and almost called in sick the next day to finish it.”— Denver Post “Superb ... stunning.”— Houston Chronicle Luanne Rice is the author, most recently, of Last Kiss and Light of the Moon , among many other New York Times bestsellers. She lives in New York City and on the Connecticut shore. At seven a.m., Daisy Tucker paused at the foot of the stairs to smell the laundry she held in her arms. She had gotten up an hour early to wash her daughter's clothes, throwing an extra sheet of fabric softener into the dryer the way Sage liked it. Mounting the stairs, Daisy wondered why her heart was pounding. She felt nervous, as if she were applying for a new job instead of waking up her sixteen-year-old with a pile of clean clothes. The house was quiet, flooded with thin morning light. While waiting for the laundry to finish, Daisy had gone to her spare-room jewelry studio to work on a bracelet that she hoped to finish that afternoon. But she had been too upset to concentrate. Daisy and Sage lived alone. There had been no witnesses last night to hear Daisy screaming like a banshee, see her pulling her own hair like a caricature of a maniac. There had been no one present to watch Sage sit back in her inflatable chair, messy dark hair falling across her face, observing her frustrated mother with cool detachment in her wide green eyes, no one to watch that composure crumble under Daisy's words. Sage had been wearing the clothes Daisy now held in her arms, and they had been mud-stained and sopping wet. She had been out with Ben Davis, her boyfriend, until midnight, even though she had promised to be home by nine. They had gone canoeing and capsized. In late October, Silver Bay, Connecticut was frosty and cold, and all Daisy had been able to think about was how they might have drowned in the dark. The phone rang. Still holding the clothes, Daisy walked to her bedroom. Wondering who it could be, ready to be stern to Ben, she picked up. "Hello?" she said. "How's my wayward niece?" "Sleeping," Daisy said, relaxing at the sound of her sister's voice. "But it was touch and go last night. When she walked in all soaked and bedraggled, I wanted to kill her." "'Kill'?" Hathaway asked. "That seems like a strong word. Perhaps you mean 'maim.'" "Oh, Hath," Daisy said, almost laughing. Talking to her sister could break the tension like nothing else. "She was bad, but I was worse. The mad twin took over. I was standing over her, slavering—truly, foam was dripping from my mouth—" "Did you ground her until college?" "Yes, and I told her only stupid girls go out canoeing with boys until midnight on school nights," Daisy said, cringing as she remembered her words, her tone of voice. "Stupid, slutty girls." "I hope you told her she could never see Ben again," Hathaway said, knowing that, last night notwithstanding, Daisy liked Ben. He was polite, serious about his schoolwork, too mild to ignite any real passion in Sage. "Of course I did." Daisy stared miserably at the clothes she held, knowing that the hour of truth was at hand. "She did come home late," Hathaway said. "On a school night. Plus, there was ice on my birdbath this morning. Just a thin coating, but still. It was cold out—no wonder you lost it." "I hate that I called her slutty." "No, you just compared her to slutty girls. That's different." "I feel awful." Standing over her sulking teenager,