Molly Dugan clutched a key and a scrap of paper in her hand. Stunned, she watched her brother’s casket being lowered into the ground. Snake bite, they’d told her.

Patrick’s gasping last words echoed through her head. “Go . . . bank . . . before . . . Collins. Signed . . . only copy. Property. Build . . .” He’d reached for her hand. “Sorry.”

Patrick had left St. Paul for the gold fields in southern Nevada two years ago. He’d connected with Sam Collins, a man several years Patrick’s senior. Eventually they’d fought over something and Collins left. A few months later Patrick hit a decent vein near Searchlight and sent for Molly to join him in the new railroad town of Las Vegas.

So, I have this best friend. His name is Nate, and he's a super weird guy with a slew of issues. Want to hear more? Thought so.

Sure, just like his dad he had the same tell-tale mole underneath the bottom lashes of his left eye. And those same expressive chocolate brown eyes with the ever-so-subtle flecks of green. Even his hair, which fell into a natural wave to his chin, was a near perfect match to his dad’s. To the naked eye, there’s no doubt which family Nathan Andrew Bryant (better known as Stinky Nate to his friends) belonged to.

And while he’s practically a dead ringer for his father, save for a sprinkling of newly acquired gray hairs, Nate was still convinced he was born into the wrong family. “I was switched at birth, kidnapped by aliens, or some other mysterious, unexplainable phenomenon occurred.” Yep, the kind of story that could grace the pages of supermarket checkout reading like The National Enquirer.