I close my eyes for a beat and grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn a stark shade of white. My chest constricts around my heart, the pain almost unbearable. Tears sting the backs of my eyes, begging for release. But I won’t cry. I can’t. I’ve spent the best part of the last twenty-four hours crying. I don’t know how many tears I have left.
When the trees part and Black Canyon comes into view, for a moment my breath is taken away because in the ten years I’ve been gone, I’d forgotten just how beautiful it is. Surrounded by thick, lush forest, rolling hills, and looming snow-capped peaks, the tiny town really is a beautiful little secret, hidden in the middle of nowhere. A diamond in the rough of the unforgiving wilderness.
A light rain drizzles down over the windshield as I make my way into the city limits and the dark, threatening clouds begin to envelop the mountains, casting an ominous hue over the town.
Releasing a trembling breath, I scrub a hand over my weary face, sniffling back the traitorous tears that continue to threaten me as I drive into the place that brings back so many memories, passing the familiar buildings that haven’t changed one bit in the time that I’ve been away. Everything is still the same, and yet nothing is the same. I’m a different person to the one I was when I walked away from this place all those years ago, never even bothering to look back.
If I could go back and undo all the shitty things I’ve done in my life, I would. In a heartbeat. But I can’t. And now here I am, ten years later and my whole world as I’ve known it is falling apart. I didn’t expect to feel so sick to my stomach. But I guess that’s what happens when you come back to the one place you vowed never to return to.
***
Ten or so miles along the desolate road that leads out of town and in the direction of the ranges, I pull into the familiar drive, glancing up at the sign hanging overhead as it swings to and fro with the violent wind of the fast-approaching storm: Wagner Ranch. Home. At least, it used to be home. It’s not anymore. In fact, it hasn’t been home for so long that even just driving through the gates and into the thirty thousand acres of expansive, sprawling land, I can’t help but feel like I don’t belong here. Like I’m an imposter. A trespasser at the risk of being shot by a ranch hand.
I follow the rocky drive, looking out over the fields to my left where what appears to be a hundred head of cattle are grazing high up in the hills, to my right where buffalo are roaming free. Wagner Ranch lies in the thick of the country, what feels like a million miles from the rest of the world, a whole lifetime away from the metropolis of New York where I’ve spent most of my adult life.
Thick, heavy clouds cover the mountains, and in the distance a deep rumble of thunder follows a violent fork of lightning, but thankfully, just as the rain starts to fall harder against the windshield, the main house comes into view up ahead and I breathe a sigh of relief. The imposing log and stone structure I grew up in, the place I used to pretend was my castle and I, its princess, is illuminated like a beacon in the darkness of the fast-approaching storm, each window aglow giving off an air of warmth and comfort like only a home can.
Pulling into a makeshift parking spot between a shiny Dodge Ram with the ranch’s logo emblazoned across the side, a sleek Range Rover and a rusted F-250 pickup with a busted tail light, I grab my slicker and my handbag, leaving everything else in the car before making a run for it. By the time I make it up onto the porch, my sneakers are covered in mud and my jeans are soaked up to my knees.
Inside, the house is as I remember it, and as I take in the vast foyer, looking up at the exposed beams in the twenty-foot ceilings I’m struck by a million memories flooding through me at once, and despite my sadness, I can’t help but smile. The mounted bison head that used to scare me as a kid and, quite frankly, still does, sits high above the stairs, its black eyes lifeless yet terrifying as they bore into me. Then a sudden wave of emotion crashes over me, tugging painfully at my heart, and never before have I missed my father the way I miss him right now. He feels so close and this place smells just like him. But there’s something missing, and it’s so obvious that despite everything that is so familiar to me, so much like him, he’s no longer here, and that familiarity suddenly feels so empty and void.
With a defeated sigh, I hang my slicker on the hook by the front door before inviting myself in. The great room that steps down to the left is empty, the fireplace alight with a crackling fire that warms the cavernous expanse of the entire downstairs. The kitchen and dining to the right is empty, not a single thing out of place. I continue through to the corridor, stopping at the framed photographs of me, my brothers, my father, our mom lining the walls, and as I study the old picture of my parents on their wedding day, I reach out, gently stroking the glass with a resigned smile because I know they’re together again in a better place where my mom is happy, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
Hearing the faint sound of a murmured conversation coming from my father’s office at the end of the hall, I hesitate momentarily, smoothing my hair back from my face before heading toward the voices. I knock on the open door before walking nervously inside, and it takes a moment for my glassy eyes to adjust to the muted light in the room. But when they do, I pause on the spot when I find Cash standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the land, his silhouetted form cutting a lonely figure that hurts my heart.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I startle, turning in the direction of the desk, to the darkened figure standing so fast, the chair topples to the floor, big hands slamming down upon the glossy oak in a show of fury I hadn’t been prepared for, which causes me to jump in fear for my life.
I manage to collect myself, clutching at my racing heart. “Hey … Tripp.”
My twin brother looks at me in a way that stings like an abrupt and unexpected slap to the face. The disdain in his hard glare is unmistakable, piercing through the dim light of the room. He folds his arms across his broad chest, shaking his head at the sheer sight of me, his top lip actually curling up in disgust, and I can’t say it doesn’t hurt. It hurts like hell and it’s an added pain I’m not sure I can handle right now.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” he asks again between gritted teeth before looking to Cash for answers. “Cash, what’s she doing here?” he demands, waving a hand in my direction.
“I called her,” Cash says gruffly, turning, his eyes finding me.
I shake my head incredulously. What am I doing here? Is he actually serious? “My father is dead!” I exclaim, my eyes wide as I gape at Tripp. “You actually thought I wouldn’t come home?”
“Like you give a shit,” Tripp mutters, shaking his head.
“Are you serious? How can you even say that?!” I yell, my voice breaking from the overwhelming emotion coming over me at just how little he clearly thinks of me.
“We ain’t heard squat from you in years!”
I balk at his words spoken with such vitriol, gaping at him.
Haven’t heard from me? Yeah, well whose fault is that, Tripp? I want to laugh in his face. But I don’t. He really does still hate me, even after all the time that’s passed. But he’s so wrong it’s scary, and although it doesn’t really matter at this time, I have to correct him. “I call him every single day. And every Sunday after church,” I yell, my tears getting the better of me, which I’m quick to swipe from my heated cheeks with the sleeve of my sweater. “I sit on the phone with him for an hour every Thursday morning while he approves the payroll. Hell, I call him after every damn Packers game because I know how worked up he gets watching his team play!” I take a deep, racking breath trying so hard to calm myself, closing my eyes a moment to placate my emotion.
“Yeah, well, he’s dead. You won’t have to worry about calling no more,” Tripp says, looking down at the desk, to the papers strewn across it.
I gape at him, at his brutally harsh words, tears blinding me. But I bite back my retort. He’s hurting. We all are. I soften a little.
“I came home to help.” I glance at both of my brothers. “Any way that I can.”
Tripp scoffs, a derisive laugh void of any humor ringing through the air. “You’re here to help? Or you’re here sniffing around for your inheritance?”
My jaw actually drops, my heart stammering. His words are like a rusty knife to my stomach.
“Easy, little brother …” Cash warns, taking a step forward to stand between us.
Tripp looks from me to Cash and back again, murmuring a few choice curse words under his breath that I can’t quite make out over the sound of the rain as it pours down outside.
I hold my trembling hands in the air in surrender. “Look, Tripp. I didn’t come here to fight. I came here to say goodbye to my father …” Emotion gets the better of me, a sob bubbling up from the back of my throat, but I force myself to continue. “To help with the funeral, and—”
“We’ve been doing just fine without you, Quinny,” he interrupts with a huff, looking me up and down, a scornful glint flashing within his steely eyes, a look that cuts straight through me. “We don’t need no help. Especially not from you.” And, with those parting words, he turns and storms out of the room, leaving an air of anger, sadness and loathing in his wake.
I stand there a moment, my shoulders falling in defeat. I’m not sure what I was expecting. I knew my return wouldn’t receive the warmest of receptions, but I never expected my own brother—my twin—to ever look at me the way he just did. I swallow the painful lump that feels as if it’s strangling me, sniffling back the emotion threatening to break what little composure I have left.
“He didn’t mean that.”
I turn, finding Cash’s eyes watching me, and I exhale a trembling breath, pressing my lips together in the semblance of a smile. “Yes, he did, Cash. He meant every word.”
Cash crosses the room, coming to stop in front of me, and I’m actually a little taken aback when he pulls me into his arms, enveloping me in a hug that just about knocks the wind out of me. I hesitate, because an embrace like this is foreign to me. It’s been a long time since anyone’s held me in such a way. I tentatively wrap my arms around him, closing my eyes, and as I breathe in his familiar scent that reminds me so much of Dad, I realize right at that moment that this is exactly what I need.
“Well I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers into my hair before pulling away, his big hands resting on my shoulders.
I blink back my emotions, looking up at him with a small smile. “W-where … Where is he?”
“They took him to the city for an autopsy. He’ll be transported back tomorrow.”
I clear my throat. “When can I see him?”
“I’ll take you to the funeral home tomorrow.”
The words are all too real right now, and my knees feel weak. I reach a hand out, gripping Cash’s in the fear that I might actually fall to the floor. He steadies me, and I meet his dark eyes that are so much like my father’s it’s almost frightening.
“What happened?”
Cash presses his lips together, shaking his head as he so clearly searches for his words. “He was out in the back paddock with Colt—” He stops himself, and it’s as if he suddenly realizes what he’s said. He flashes me an apologetic glance before averting his eyes and casting his gaze down to the floor.
For a moment even just the mention of his name causes my stomach to twist, my heart jolting in my chest, fighting against the vise-like grip my emotions have on it. “Colt …”
Cash nods, and I find some semblance of comfort knowing that it was Colt who was with my father at the time. That he wasn’t alone. That Colt, the boy he loved like another son, was there to comfort him until help came, whether he knew it or not.
“They were out riding the east boundary, checking the fence. Colt said one minute he was fine, the next he just fell from his horse like a ton of bricks. Heart attack. The coroner called just before you got here to tell us he was most likely dead before he even hit the ground.”
I close my eyes, trying so hard to process my brother’s words but it’s almost impossible. It’s hard to believe because I don’t want to believe it. I spoke to my father just two days ago. Two days. And two days ago he was fine. He said he was even thinking of finally taking me up on my offer and flying out to the East Coast to come visit me after years of begging him. I shake my head at that thought. It should have been me who came back here to see him. Why couldn’t I just come home?
“God dammit …” I hiss under my breath, wiping at my damp cheeks.
“C’mere,” Cash mutters through his own emotion, pulling me back into another embrace.
“I’m gonna go back into town.” I swallow a sob, prematurely breaking our hug and taking a step back. “Grab a room at the Oakmont or the Lodge,” I say with a casual shrug, smoothing my hair back from my face.
“No, Quinny, don’t leave.” Cash shakes his head, his face falling, and for the first time I can see a distraught sadness in his eyes, and it’s heartbreaking to see my brother who has always been the strong one, stoic like our father, reduced to such a state of fragility. “Stay. This is your home. Dad would want you here.”
More tears prick my eyes at his words but I blink them away. “I think it’s best if I just stay away from Tripp for a few days.”
“Don’t worry about him. Come stay in the Foreman’s House. It’s just me, Shelby and CJ,” Cash offers, his eyes hopeful. “Don’t you wanna see your nephew? He’s always asking about you.”
“Of course I do! But … I-I just … I can’t—” I shake my head, and while Tripp is my main concern, I’m also conscious of the fact that Colt is a permanent fixture around the place, living in my grandfather’s old cabin on the property, and I just don’t think I’m ready to risk facing that whole situation right now.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. First thing.” I nod, stepping around my brother and walking out of the office.
Continuing back down the hall, I see Tripp on my way past the doorway to the kitchen, and I pause in my tracks. His eyes momentarily meet mine and I witness a flash of something I wasn’t expecting to see in his glassy gaze, but whatever it was is quickly replaced by that same anger and pure hatred they’d possessed moments earlier, so I continue on my way down the hall toward the entry.
As I shrug my slicker on in the foyer, I can’t mistake the sound of my brothers’ voices arguing from down the corridor. They’re fighting about me. I know it. But I choose to ignore their heated exchange, walking outside where I’m met with gusty winds and torrential rain blanketing down from the low-hanging clouds in the looming gray sky.
“Home, sweet home,” I mutter under my breath as I pull my hood up over my head, making a run for it down the steps and through the knee-deep puddles, back toward the safety of my rental car.
Chapter 3
Growing up, I was a daddy’s girl. From the day I was born. Daddy’s sweet little fair-eyed angel. His favorite; and those are his words, not mine. Hell, he used to say it all the time even in front of my brothers. I was his favorite. It was an undeniable fact.
When our mother lost her battle against depression, Tripp and I were only eight years old. Cash was twelve. Tripp seemed to be okay, following in his older brother’s footsteps. Me? Well, I latched on to my father. I went everywhere with him. I was his shadow. He and I were so close. The best of friends. No one could make my father smile the way I could. I think it was because I reminded him so much of my mom. The two of us were inseparable. But then, I unknowingly went and broke his heart.
The first time I broke my father’s heart was when I was fifteen. I asked him if he could drive me into town so I could meet Colt at Danny’s Diner for ice cream. Of course he asked me what the hell I was doing meeting up with the likes of Colt Henry on a Saturday night without Tripp. I was honest, and I told him it was because Colt asked me. It was a date. My first. With my twin brother’s best friend of ten years, no less. I’ll never forget the look of resignation in my father’s eyes that day. I think
that was the moment he realized I wasn’t his little angel anymore. I had a new guy in my life. It was time for poor old Dad to take his seat.
When Colt asked me to be his girlfriend that night at the diner, of course my brother made a big fuss out of it, accusing me of coming between him and his best friend, of stealing Colt away. But I didn’t steal Colt. In fact, it was Colt who began choosing to hang out with me instead of Tripp, when he wasn’t busy working for my father on the ranch or playing football for our high school’s varsity team. But that’s what happens. Kids turn into teenagers, and teenage boys start to choose teenage girls over their best friends. I felt bad, but at fifteen years old I’d fallen head over heels for that green-eyed boy from the wrong side of town, and neither my father nor my brother could do anything to get in the way of a star-crossed love like ours.
The second time I broke my father’s heart was when Colt asked me to marry him. He’d surprised me on the five-year anniversary of that first date, with his grandmother’s ring tucked into the pocket of his pants. Colt, dressed in his Wrangler jeans and pearl-snap shirt, and the big shiny belt buckle he’d won at some rodeo a few months earlier that had secured him the money to be able to fly out to New York, looking so out of place in the city. He got down on one knee right there by the fountain in the middle of Washington Square Park and asked me to be his wife. And of course I said yes. I loved him. More than life itself. He was my all. My everything. I couldn’t imagine my life not being with Colt, and I immediately started to plan a June wedding at the ranch for when I would be home that coming summer.
Despite his reservations about ultimately being replaced as the man in my life, my father was happy. Even Tripp was okay about our engagement. In fact, everyone was excited for us; mine and Colt’s wedding was the talk of the Canyon, the event of the year. The wealthy rancher’s daughter and the boy from the wrong side of town. We were that couple. Two people who were born for one another. Our love was a love that people depended on. It gave them hope that true love really did exist, and that it was more than a myth read about in fairy tales.
Sweet Home Montana Page 3
