by CP Smith
Table of Contents
Storm Damage
Copyright
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Epilogue
About the Author
Titles by CP Smith
Acknowledgments
Copyright © 2020 by cp smith
All rights reserved
Published by CP Smith
Storm Damage is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author’s ridiculous imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
First Edition: September 2020
Editor: Karen Hrdlicka
Proofreader: Joanne Thompson
Formatting: CP Smith
Cover design: CP Smith
Cover Photograph @vishstudio
Information address: [email protected]
Dedication
This one’s for the all-American girl.
You’re the backbone and steel of this country!
One
Home
SIPPING COFFEE AS a new day touched the mountaintops, I closed my eyes and let dawn settle deep inside of me. Hues of pink bled into orange, with the beginning of big sky blue following on their majestic tails. Each morning Montana gifted you with a one-of-a-kind painting no artist could duplicate. The sheer beauty, stillness, and absolute isolation you felt as the sun tiptoed across the horizon, either broke you into a thousand fragments or healed the tattered shards of your soul.
Today it eased the constant ache, which had buried itself beneath my skin until I couldn’t breathe. It pushed the nightmares into the shadows so I could focus on what mattered most: my younger brothers, Jake and Josh.
Steam rose from my cup as I searched the vast landscape surrounding Madison Valley. No trees stood in the way of the rising sun in our neck of the woods, deterring laziness in those who called Ennis, Montana, home. Sleeping in required room darkening shades, which we didn’t have in the house I grew up in. My father never believed in wasting the day away in the comfort of your bed, and I’d inherited that trait, much to my brothers’ discontent. Early to rise and late to bed was a condition my body had thrived on since college. Which was good when you owned a bar and a five hundred acre stretch of land.
The bar was our livelihood, the only thing keeping a roof over our heads. The ranch—in name only if not in spirit—was the Goliath around our necks. She was a beautiful sprawling land, slowly fusing with aspen and pines bordering the Madison River and Ennis Lake. But there were no cattle in sight to help cover the bills. Most people would have given her up, but The Sarah, our ranch, was all we had left of our mother and father. We were determined to keep her at all costs.
My father had won the rambling acreage in a poker game, then promptly named our pseudo-ranch after my mother, Sarah James, his high school sweetheart. It was a romantic and tragic gesture at the same time. Romantic because he named it The Sarah even after she married Justice Bear—the same man he’d won the land from—to save her brother’s life while my father was deployed overseas.
Yet the tale was tragic for two reasons.
Firstly, my mother’s sacrifice was for naught. Her brother only lived a few years more, despite the experimental drugs Justice’s wealth bought him. And secondly, even though my parents found their way back to each other—thanks to Justice Bear being an asshole with a wicked right hook—my parents’ love story only lasted long enough for my brothers and me to be born.
When I was eight, my mother died from complications during childbirth with my youngest brother, Josh, leaving all of us heartbroken. We never recovered from her loss, but the four of us persevered as best we could until we also lost my father two years ago. He succumbed to a Gulf War related cancer, leaving Jake, Josh, and myself orphaned. And me, at twenty-three years old and barely out of college, in charge of my two teenage brothers and the family bar. Life certainly had a way of sneaking up on you when you weren’t looking—and punching you in the face.
Taking a deep breath to calm the relentless ache those memories triggered, I looked across The Sarah to the top of a rise. A log home the size of the White House stood proud on an outcropping, looking down on the valley below. Bear Claw Ranch was a silent sentry to our land. It had been my whole life. Our little strip of heaven used to belong to the expansive ranch until Justice got cocky and lost our land in a poker game.
When I was younger, I never understood why my father wanted to live so close to the woman he’d loved and lost. As I grew older and realized what a bastard Justice Bear was, I knew it was to protect her if she needed him. And they’d stayed in his shadow after she fled from Justice for the very same reason: to protect my half brother, Chance.
The night my mother tried to leave her abusive husband, she’d taken Chance with her, but Justice caught her before she could escape. He’d beaten her like a dog for daring to defy him, then threw her off the ranch and kept Chance with him. When my father found out, he refused to let her go back for Chance for her own safety. Instead, they’d fought hard for sole custody of my seven-year-old half brother, but in the end, Justice had won. The bastard owned everyone in the county and beyond, sealing my half brother’s fate. They gave sole custody to Justice, which broke my mother’s heart.
She’d fought for years to see Chance, even after she lost custody, but Justice never gave in. By the time Chance was old enough to seek her out on his own, he had acted as if she didn’t exist, breaking her heart all over again.
For that, I will never forgive Chance.
Many a morning I’d watched with contempt as a large crew of ranch hands began their day, so I scanned the massive structure that was the heart of Bear Claw Ranch, looking for lights or activity. Chance ran the business now, due to his father’s failing health. I didn’t know my brother well, and what I did know I hated, but I would have expected him to be up before the sun with such a vast operation to run. The only light visible was in a downstairs room. For some reason, all was quiet at the Bear Claw.
Speaking of quiet. I tilted my head and listened for the telltale signs my brothers were up and getting ready for school. Nothing.
I sighed then stood from my perch on the front porch and headed inside our modest cabin. My father had built it from the ground up while he waited for my mother to come back to him, and my mother had filled it with love and memories for the rest of us.
I scanned the open floor plan as I made my way back inside. The log walls had aged over the years to a rich amber. My mother always said the log walls were too beautiful to cover with artwork, so she’d left most of them bare, only hanging homemade quilts for ambiance here and there. Each room still had her influence in them, but the mantle over the massive rock fireplace was the center of our home. It’s size and central positioning in the family room drew your eyes from every vantage point, so that’
s where we kept our family photos. Our treasures of a past we’d never forget. It housed every memory I could find of our parents, because love like that deserved to be celebrated—even after death.
Glancing at the fireplace as I made my way past, I noticed the fire had banked to embers. Winters in Montana were more than a force of nature, they were a living breathing entity. Massive fireplaces like ours were mandatory if you wanted to last out the winter without frostbite and still have money left in the bank with the spring thaw.
As I stirred the embers and placed more wood on top, I studied the remnants of our family. A knot formed in my throat as it always did when I looked at the ghosts of my parents.
I stopped being a child the day she died. Instead, I became both mother and sister. Of the three of us, I was the only one who remembered both of them clearly. Jake had only been two when our mother died. He’d clung to me for most of his second year, as younger siblings often did, so when my mother died, he’d barely noticed. But Josh, he’d grown up without even her scent as a memory.
I still couldn’t hear movement from the boys’ rooms, so I trudged down the hall and banged on their doors. “Jake! Josh! We leave in thirty minutes. If you want a ride into town, get the lead out!”
Moans could be heard from behind both doors, so I headed to my room for a thicker coat. I’d taken over the master bedroom when my father died, giving Josh my old room so they could have privacy, and hopefully stop beating on each other.
I checked my reflection in the mirror before leaving my room. Same light green eyes, same long, blonde hair as always. I pinched my cheeks for some color and rolled my lips. Better, but not great. I glanced at the bag of cosmetics on my dresser and wondered if I should try harder. My best friend had been after me to spice up my wardrobe. “You own a bar,” Jamie had griped. “Dress like it instead of a coed fresh out of college.”
I scanned my attire. Tennis shoes, skinny jeans, and a University of Montana hoodie. I had no makeup on, and my hair was tied up in a high ponytail. I did look like a coed.
At twenty-three, I could have been fresh off a campus, but my father’s illness had cut my collegiate career short. Instead of barhopping with friends in Bozeman or Billings, hoping to meet the guy of my dreams, I ran my father’s Big Sky Saloon while I tried to keep my brothers from killing each other—or impregnating the local cheerleaders.
Maybe some mascara would help?
I heard the shower start, so I figured I had time for the full effect. Grabbing my cosmetics, I dug through until I found what I needed and applied a coat of veneer to ward off my best friend’s unwanted advice. When I was done, I looked like a different Skylar James. I’d gone a little heavy on the eye shadow and given myself a smoky eye just for kicks. Hopefully, Jamie would approve. I looked better, but not car stopping because of my outfit.
I eyed my closet with a frown. I wasn’t sure I owned anything that would catch a man’s attention, even if I wanted it. With a sigh, I grabbed my coat and switched off the light. Men weren’t in the cards for me at present, not with an ex-boyfriend always hovering in the shadows. Besides, I had to concentrate on the boys. Once they’d both graduated, I’d worry about the rest of my life. For now, they had to be my priority.
I ran smack-dab into Jake as I left my room. At seventeen, and well over six feet, with shoulders broader than a barn, Jake was the quintessential football jock from a small town that loved football. He played quarterback for the Ennis Mustangs, who were in the hunt for a state championship this year. His football prowess had earned him recognition inside Montana, and outside of the state as well. He was being courted by some of the top football schools in the country, like the Oklahoma Sooners and Ohio State Buckeyes. His future was bright if I could keep his head on the straight and narrow. I had my work cut out for me, though. His blond hair and green eyes made him look like a surfer dude from California, so the girls in town were circling him like vultures.
“Watch it,” I grumbled as I slid past.
A sharp crack, followed by an even sharper sting to my backside, made me yelp and spin around. Jake chuckled as he made his way into his room, the towel he’d used on his wet hair draped over his shoulder like a smoking gun. He glanced at me with a smirk, then scowled and stopped in his tracks.
“Are you wearing makeup?”
“Who’s wearing makeup?” Josh asked from his room, then his head popped through the open door and he looked at me. Josh would be as tall as Jake when he was finished growing, but unlike Jake, Josh wasn’t a jock. He had the same color hair as Jake and me. Same green eyes we got from our mother, but he slid through life in the shadows, writing in journals like Edgar Allan Poe, ignoring the world in general. His grades sucked as much as his attitude most days. If he made it to eighteen without being arrested, I swore I’d join a convent and give my life over to God in gratitude.
“You’re gonna be late,” I said using the mom voice I’d perfected at the age of ten. “Let’s get a move on.”
“Why is she wearing makeup?” Josh asked Jake, ignoring me, per usual. “That just spells trouble.”
Why I cared they’d noticed, I’ll never know, but I felt a flush run up my cheeks. I dropped my head back on my shoulders to cover my reaction while they both continued to ignore my order to get the lead out. What I wouldn’t give to instill just an ounce of fear in either one of them.
“Guys! Move!” I forced a little more threat into my voice.
Jake walked forward and scanned my face, his brows furrowing, giving his surfer dude looks an edge. “I don’t like it,” he mumbled.
My head jerked in surprise, a little bit hurt, if I was honest. “What? Why?”
“You work in a bar. If you look like that, you’re gonna get hit on nonstop, and you don’t need any more trouble with Ty.” Ty was my ex-boyfriend from high school. He tended to forget we broke up five years ago and caused trouble at the bar if men showed me too much attention.
I looked down at my ratty jeans and tennis shoes then tugged on the front of my hoodie. “You think this will inspire men to make passionate love to me?”
“Jesus, Skylar,” Josh grumbled, “fifteen-year-old in the room. I don’t wanna hear about your sex life.”
I looked back at my baby brother. “You haven’t been fifteen since you were ten. Now get moving,” I ordered through gritted teeth.
“You should wash your face,” Jake continued, crossing his arms and glaring, looking so much like our father it physically hurt to look at him. “You’re just asking for trouble, and you know it.”
I threw my hands up and headed for the kitchen. I was done arguing with them. They needed something in their stomachs before we left. That’s what mothers did, or in my case: replacement mother, before driving you to school. They fed you. So, I grabbed a loaf of bread and threw a couple of slices in the toaster in hopes they’d let it go.
“She looks like a girl,” Josh said low, still not getting his rear end in gear.
“I am a girl, in case that escaped your notice,” I spat back. “Are you moving yet?”
Josh ignored me, yet again, and kept at it. “More than a girl, Jake, but a snack. We can’t have guys looking at her like that.”
Like a what?
I tumbled that comment around in my brain and smiled. “You think I look hot?” I hollered. “Josh, that’s just sick. I’m your sister, Bro.”
“Shut up,” he growled, finally stomping off, his face flushed with embarrassment.
Note to self: embarrass brothers daily to get their butts in gear.
Their grumblings finally faded down the hall until I heard two doors slam shut. I looked at my reflection in the toaster and sighed, then wet a paper towel and wiped the eye shadow and lip gloss off, leaving the mascara alone so I didn’t look like a racoon. My eyes were light green and did most of the work drawing attention to my face. Eye shadow was overkill, and I knew it. My father used to call me the girl next door because he didn’t think I needed makeup to catch a man’s ey
e. I thought he was nuts, every woman looked better with a little color on her face. But my brothers were right; if I drew too much attention at the bar Ty would become possessive and cause a scene.
I made a quick sandwich to take with me to work after I buttered their toast, then I had to hunt down my cell phone and charger. Unlike most twenty-somethings, I didn’t have it attached at my hip at all times. For one, my best friend worked at the bar with me, so I talked to her every day. And secondly, no one ever called me, so why bother? Since we were on a budget, I didn’t have a smartphone with all the bells and whistles to keep me occupied. In fact, all three of us, to the utter humiliation of my brothers, had talk and text only. If I needed access to the internet, I got on the computer at home or at work, so my phone barely got a passing thought once I put it down.
I started throwing pillows off our couch and checking down the back for my phone, when I didn’t find it I began tearing the living room apart, cursing because we were going to be late. It rang from across the room moments later. Turning toward the sound, I found it resting on the edge of the mantel. Picking it up, I noted the number flashing across the screen and smiled.
“Thank you,” I shouted at Jake.
Five minutes after that, we were out the door and in the only vehicle we owned. A white, 2005 Ford pickup. It got us from point A to point B on a wing and a prayer, was harder than heck to find in a snowstorm, but we didn’t have a payment. Which was good. What was left of my father’s life insurance was sitting in a CD, hopefully earning decent interest, so both of my brothers could go to college. If Jake got a full-ride football scholarship, then we were golden. We just had to get through his senior year without any serious injuries.
The drive into town took twenty-five minutes. We normally used that time to go over schedules, so everyone was on the same page. Ennis played their rivals the next day, so Jake’s practice would run late. That meant he’d walk to the bar afterward and then I’d drive both boys home.
