The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley Book 5)

by Devney Perry

  What was that, Hunter?

  Fuck if I know?

  She’d better be nice.

  If she’s not, we’ll leave.

  “Do you want to play tic-tac-toe?” Coby asked Nell, who was still staring at him with wide eyes.

  When she didn’t answer, Coby got up on his knees and leaned across the table. “Grandma? I’m talking to you.” He waved a hand in her face.

  “Coby—” I started to tell him to sit back down but Eleanor interrupted me.

  “Everett. Sit. Down. It is rude to lean on a table.”

  What the hell? Everett?

  “Nell, this is Coby,” Hunter said, then looked to Coby. “On your butt, little man. We don’t want to spill any waters.”

  “Okay.” He immediately obeyed.

  “Why don’t you color Nell a picture?” I asked, sliding over the crayons.

  He nodded and started in on the kids’ menu pictures.

  “Everett, stay inside the lines,” Nell said.

  Coby kept coloring, ignoring her completely because he didn’t know Everett.

  My eyes went back to Hunter but he was staring down at his stepmother in complete shock.

  “Coby,” he told her. “His name is Coby.”

  She flicked her wrist to brush him off. “That’s what I said.”

  “No,” Hunter insisted, “you said Everett. Twice.”

  “Don’t correct an elder, Hunter,” she snapped. “It’s rude and I raised you better than that.”

  He huffed. “You know what else is rude? Calling someone by the wrong name.”

  “It’s fine.” I held up my hands so they wouldn’t argue in front of Coby. “Let’s move on.”

  Hunter opened his mouth but I gave him a Do not make this worse by fighting with your stepmother! look.

  He frowned and took a drink of his water to stay quiet.

  And quiet it was.

  Nell stared at Coby during the entire meal. She didn’t eat. She didn’t drink. She’d respond to questions with one-word answers as she dutifully stared at my son.

  I was so creeped out by the time our check arrived, I didn’t wait for Hunter to pay before I slid out of our booth. “Thank you for meeting us today. Coby, it’s time to go.”

  “Okay,” he muttered, still moping. He’d gotten excited at the prospect of another grandma, and though she’d been staring at him through lunch, she’d hardly said a word. He might only be four, but he knew a rejection when he saw one.

  For disappointing my son, I disliked Nell even more.

  “Meet you at the car,” Hunter said, nudging Nell out of the booth. “Nell, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Come on.” I bent to hold Coby’s hand. “Let’s go home and make cookies.”

  He perked up. “Triple chocolate chip?”

  “You got it, dude.”

  I waved good-bye to our waitress and hustled outside, buckling Coby in his seat, then hopped in to wait for Hunter. When he slid into the driver’s seat, his worry lines were much deeper than they had been at lunch.

  “What?” I asked quietly.

  He shook his head. “Later.”

  Later came three hours later after a double batch of cookies, serious playtime in the bathtub and five stories as Hunter and I both tucked Coby into bed.

  “Well?” I asked him as I closed the door to my bedroom at the loft.

  He stripped off his shirt and jeans, tossing them into the hamper. Then he climbed into bed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Something’s wrong with her.”

  “What do you mean?” I stripped down and tugged on some pajama pants and a tank top.

  “She is more than her normal level of crazy. When I walked her to her car, she started telling me how much Everett needed to learn manners. How much Everett needed a haircut. How much Everett needed to eat more vegetables. Everett, not Coby.”

  I sank down on the side of the bed. The last thing we needed was another crazy Carlson in our lives. “This is not good. What should we do?”

  “I think she needs some help. Maybe she’s never really dealt with Everett’s death or something, I don’t know. But that was not normal.”

  “You think?” I said dryly, then crawled into bed and curled into Hunter’s side. “We can’t have her around Coby if she’s going to call him Everett.”

  “I agree.” He hugged me closer. “I’m going to call the staff at the Grand Rapids house and see if there is more going on than I know about.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  Because if Eleanor had snapped, she wasn’t getting anywhere near my child, court order or not.

  “How did she sound?” I asked Hunter the second he opened the door to my car and sat in the driver’s seat. He’d been outside, pacing in front of the hood while talking on the phone with Nell.

  “Off.”

  I frowned. “Just off? I need more than a one-word answer.”

  “She was distracted,” he said while starting the car. “I invited her to come with us today and she declined. She said she had plans.”

  “Plans? What plans?” After our lunch yesterday, Nell had returned to Bozeman, where she was staying—she hadn’t asked for a room at the Bitterroot and I hadn’t offered. I had hoped after visiting Prescott and meeting Coby, she’d be on the first flight back to Grand Rapids. I had a niggling feeling about her staying in Montana with “plans.”

  “I don’t know,” Hunter answered. “She hung up before I could ask, but let’s not worry about Nell today, okay? Let’s just have fun.”

  “Okay.” I smiled and reached over to take Hunter’s free hand.

  He reversed out of the parking lot at the inn and started driving us toward the corn maze. Today, we were taking Coby to Howell Farm to explore their famous corn maze and pick some pumpkins from their patch. The three of us had been taking as many outdoor adventures as we could to enjoy the last days of fall. By the end of October, winter would be right around the corner—or already here.

  “Is that it?” Coby asked from his car seat thirty minutes later. Hunter had just pulled off the county road onto a gravel drive that led to the farm.

  “Yes.” I turned back to smile at Coby. “It looks like fun, doesn’t it, buddy?”

  “Yeah! I’m gonna get the biggest pumpkin ever!”

  “Not if I get it first,” I teased.

  “What if we all got one? How many pumpkins will we need if we get one for all of us?” Hunter asked Coby through the rearview mirror.

  “One,” Coby counted and pointing to us as he went. “Two. Three.”

  “That’s right! Good job! You’re getting so good at counting.”

  Coby beamed at Hunter’s praise.

  Parking in the long gravel lot, Hunter did a quick survey of the farm. “This place is awesome. Do they do this every year?”

  “Yep.” Howell Farm had always been one of my most favorite places. “When I was a kid, it was just the pumpkin patch and the maze, but they’ve expanded it over the years.”

  The Howells had turned a mildly profitable farm into a wildly successful public venue. Each fall, families from all over Jamison County came to visit. Kids ran through the cornfield maze, adults sampled the hard apple cider, and everyone left with pumpkins. A huge attraction for local residents, it was even starting to pull visitors from out of town.

  The Howells’ most recent expansion was into the wedding business. They’d cleaned up their barn behind the pumpkin patch and now rented it out for wedding receptions. It had been too small for Beau and Sabrina’s wedding party, but for something small and intimate, it would be perfect.

  Maybe Hunter and I could get married here.

  “What’s that smile for?” Hunter asked.

  “Huh? Oh, nothing.” I unbuckled my seat belt and got out of the car before he could see my blush. Maybe it was presumptuous to think we’d get married, but I couldn’t imagine myself with any other man.

  The seed had been planted, and as we walked toward the admissio
n booth, I couldn’t stop thinking of wedding stuff. My eyes were locked on that barn, mentally assessing its potential for a winter wedding. We could bring in heaters if it was too cold. The path could be lined with lanterns so guests could find their way in the dark. The rafters in the barn could be strung with twinkle lights to give the room a golden glow.

  I was getting completely ahead of myself but couldn’t help it. I could see it all perfectly. Me in a long-sleeved lace dress. Coby in a little suit. Hunter looking gorgeous in a tux.

  “Mommy!” Coby smacked my leg.

  I snapped out of my wedding planning and looked down. “Yeah?”

  “I said, it’s time to go in the maze.”

  Hunter chuckled. “You’ve got stars in your eyes, Blondie. Is there something you want to share?”

  “Nope!” I blurted, then cleared my throat to talk at a normal decibel. “No. Just, uh, thinking. Ready to go?”

  Coby ran right for the entrance to the maze. Hunter just grinned and put his hand on the small of my back. Did he know what I had been thinking? I swear that grin was knowing.

  “You need to wait for us!” I shouted as my son laughed and disappeared around a maze corner. “Coby!”

  I jogged to catch him. The second I turned, he popped out and yelled, “Boo!”

  I jumped, clutching my chest, then frowned at him kneeling on the straw walkway. “No scaring people today.”

  Over the last month, Coby had discovered a new “fun” activity. Someone—dear Uncle Michael—had taught Coby how to scare people. I’d lost track of the times he’d scared me. For a little boy who talked incessantly, he had mastered silence and patience in his effort to make me scream. And no matter how many times I told him to stop, no matter how many minutes he spent in the time-out corner, he wouldn’t listen.

  I was about two scares away from giving him a swat on the butt.

  “Everything okay?” Hunter asked when he caught up.

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “Come on, Coby. Lead the way.”

  “Okay!” Coby jumped up off the ground and started running through the maze.

  And then more scaring commenced. My warning had been for nothing.

  “Coby!” I scolded for the fifth time. “I said, no scaring people. That is not okay.”

  He’d just jumped out at a group of little girls who were now running away, squealing.

  He laughed. “It’s fun!”

  “Coby, you need to listen to your mom.” Hunter was standing over him with a scowl.

  “Come on. It’s time to go,” I announced. We were in the middle of the maze but with Coby’s behavior, I was ready to change activities.

  “No!” Coby protested.

  “Yes. We’re all done with the maze. If you can’t listen to me about scaring people, then we can’t stay. Let’s go do pumpkins.”

  “Okay!” Coby shouted, happy again as he ran off.

  Not one minute later, Hunter and I had lost him in the maze.

  “Damn it,” I muttered. “Where’d he go now?”

  “I’m sure he’ll—”

  “Boo!”

  Ahead of us, Coby jumped out from behind a row of thick cornstalks and scared a mother with an infant in her arms.

  “Oh my god,” I said, rushing up to grab my son. “I’m so, so sorry.” I started apologizing profusely to the mother who, thankfully, was laughing it off.

  “Coby Holt!” I turned, hands fisted on my hips to start my lecture, but Hunter beat me to it.

  “Coby, that’s enough.” Hunter’s voice was as stern as his pointing finger. “If you do it again, we’re leaving. And you listen to your mother. Understood?”

  Coby’s face paled as he looked up at Hunter. Tears welled in my son’s eyes and his chin was quivering uncontrollably before he lost it and face-planted—wailing—into my legs.

  I blinked a couple of times before reaching down and patting Coby’s shoulders. Besides me, no one had ever really disciplined Coby. Mom and Dad would occasionally scold him, but for the most part he was a good kid and didn’t need much more than a gentle reminder to shape up. Hunter disciplining Coby hadn’t just shocked my still-crying son, but me too.

  “I’m sorry,” Hunter said, running a hand over his hair. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes, but . . . shit.”

  “Hunter, it’s—”

  He interrupted me and started rambling. “This is going to happen, you know? I feel bad, but we’re both going to have to discipline him. I’m not auditioning for his favorite uncle here, Maisy. I’m trying to be a dad and he needs to know I’m going to get after him from time to time. Please, don’t be mad at me for this.”

  He wanted to be Coby’s dad.

  My shock evaporated and I took his hand. “I’m not mad. Not at all.”

  “You’re not?” he asked over Coby’s crying. His face was still twisted in pain as he looked down at Coby. Hunter was learning that parenting wasn’t always easy.

  “I’m not mad.” I couldn’t imagine Coby having a better father than Hunter, and if he wanted the job, it was his.

  “Oh.” The worry disappeared from his face and he bent down to pry Coby off my legs. “Listen, bud. I don’t like to scold you, but you have to listen to us. Okay?”

  Coby nodded and fell into Hunter’s chest. Hunter still looked miserable and Coby was still crying, but I couldn’t help but think this was a good thing. This was part of them forming a father-son bond.

  Staring down at them, I came to a realization. I had done it. I had found the best possible father Coby could ever want. We weren’t alone anymore. I wasn’t a single parent. Hunter and I were a team and, with Coby, a family.

  Tears of immense joy flooded my eyes but I blinked them away. “Should we go get pumpkins now?”

  Hunter leaned Coby back and wiped the tears from his tiny face. “No more scaring people, okay?”

  “O-okay,” Coby stammered.

  Hunter gave him a sad smile. “Should we go have fun?”

  Coby nodded and fell back into Hunter. They hugged for another moment until Coby had pulled himself together. Then, hand in hand, they walked together through the corn rows while I followed.

  “Whoa. It got really crowded,” I said as we emerged from the maze.

  The number of people had quadrupled while we’d been in the maze. There was a line at the lemonade stand ten people deep and a thick cluster of people by the straw-bale entrance to the pumpkin patch. Adults were all standing around visiting while the kids ran everywhere.

  “Can I go play?” Coby asked Hunter.

  He nodded. “Sure, buddy. Don’t go too far.”

  And off he ran, his punishment forgotten.

  I slid into Hunter’s side and hugged his waist.

  “That sucked,” he muttered.

  I laughed. “It’s not fun to be the bad guy. Welcome to the club.”

  “Maisy!” I looked up to see a high-school friend walking over.

  “Hi!” I waved and let Hunter go, taking his hand to lead him over for introductions.

  For the next twenty minutes, I introduced Hunter to a whole slew of people as they came to greet us. People I knew from my parents’ church came to say hello. Friends from high school wanted to meet Hunter. Fellow business owners that I worked with at the chamber of commerce asked how things were going at the inn.

  “You really do know everyone,” Hunter said as the people we had been talking to walked away.

  “Most everyone,” I teased. “Get used to it, Dr. Faraday. You’re part of the community now. Everywhere we go, you’ll know someone too. Your days of being just another handsome face in a Chicago crowd are over.”

  “I like that.” He smiled and my knees wobbled.

  Would that smile always make me dizzy?

  Just as much as I loved the smile, I loved that he was by my side. That he was mine. That people in our town would forever think of us as a unit.

  Hunter, Maisy and Coby.

  My eyes went to the pumpkin patch at the though
t of my son. I’d been checking on him periodically, watching from afar as Coby ran around to inspect all of the pumpkins. Except this time when I scanned the rows, I didn’t see Coby.

  My smile fell and I walked from our spot toward the patch. My eyes swept back and forth across every row, but my son wasn’t anywhere in sight. “Coby!” I called, surveying the entire area again. My heart was racing and my eyes searched frantically.

  Hunter came to my side. “Coby!” The panic on his face and in his voice matched mine.

  “Coby, where are you?” I shouted.

  I walked out of the pumpkin patch and started looking at the other areas of the farm. I didn’t see him by the barn or the row of porta-potties. He wasn’t by the lemonade stand or by the gift shop. And I didn’t see him by the entrance to the maze.

  “Coby!” I was screaming now. Other faces were staring but I didn’t focus on them. I was too busy looking for my missing child.

  How could this happen? He was just here.

  “Coby!” Hunter shouted again.

  “Who are you looking for?” a man asked at my side.

  “My son.” I didn’t look at him while I talked but just kept searching. “Have you seen a little boy? Brown hair. He’s wearing a neon-yellow shirt and jeans.”

  “No, but I’ll help you look.”

  In the background, I heard him describe Coby to other people who then started their own search.

  Please god. Let me find him. Where is he?

  “Coby!” Hunter and I both called, over and over with no response.

  “I’ll check the maze,” Hunter said. “You go check by the barn.”

  I nodded and started running toward the barn, searching frantically for my boy. The blood rushed in my ears as I searched in a complete panic. Terror coursed through my veins. Nothing, not even the night Everett had kidnapped me, could compare to the fear of losing Coby. My legs and arms tingled as I searched the barn. My system was so hyped on adrenaline I stumbled a few times as I ran. “Coby!” I shouted his name, over and over, but he didn’t show.

  He wasn’t hiding again, was he? He wouldn’t be trying to scare me now, not after Hunter had scolded him, would he?

  No. No way. I knew my son, and he knew me. If he could hear the panic in my voice, he would not have stayed hidden.