Karson had been my closest friend. The day he hadn’t showed up at school, I’d gone to check on him. When I’d peeked through his window and saw his backpack was missing, I’d known he’d finally had enough.
When I’d hit the same breaking point, I’d sought him out. There hadn’t been a lot of other options. Karson had already made the junkyard his home. Then he’d helped make it mine.
A month later, Londyn came along. I’d found her digging through a Dumpster behind a restaurant, picking off a piece of wilted lettuce from a sandwich and actually opening her mouth to eat the damn thing. I gagged remembering that stench.
I’d ripped that sandwich out of her hand and tossed it back in the trash where it had belonged.
We’d been best friends ever since.
After saving her from the sandwich, I’d hauled her to the junkyard, made her a peanut butter and jelly, and introduced her to Karson. It had taken them three months to finally admit they liked each other. And another three months before Karson began spending his nights in her Cadillac.
A lot had changed since then. Life had split us all apart, though Londyn and I had always stayed friends. We’d both spent years living in Boston, meeting for drinks and manicures on a weekly basis. But Boston hadn’t been right, for either of us.
I was happy she’d found Brooks and a home in West Virginia. Had the others found happiness too? A few years ago—driven by curiosity or nostalgia or both—I’d hired a private investigator to look everyone up. It had taken him a few months since I hadn’t given him much to start with besides names, but he’d found them. Karson had still been in California, Clara in Arizona, and Aria in Oregon.
And Katherine was in Montana, where I’d left her behind.
The sound of my ringing phone startled me and I stretched to grab it from the passenger seat, seeing Londyn’s name on the screen.
“I was just thinking about you,” I answered.
“Good things?”
“I was thinking about how we met.”
“You mean how you saved me from food poisoning and ultimate starvation?”
I laughed. “Yep.”
“Ah, good times.” She giggled. “How’s the trip?”
In the background, I heard her husband, Brooks. “Ask her if the car is running okay.”
“Did you hear him?” she asked.
“Yeah. Tell him it’s running fine.”
“She says there’s a strange knocking sound every few minutes. And if she gives it too much gas at once, the whole car lurches.”
“What?” His voice echoed to my ear. “I just tuned it up. Give me that phone.”
I laughed at the sound of her swatting him away.
“I’m kidding,” she told him. “The car is fine. Now go away so we can talk. Ellie needs her diaper changed. I saved it just for you.”
“Gee, thanks,” he muttered. Through the phone, I recognized the sound of a soft kiss.
Jealousy would be easy if I wasn’t so happy for her.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I crossed into Colorado about twenty miles ago. I’m hoping to get to Denver tonight. Then maybe tomorrow, I’ll put in a long stretch and see if I can get to Las Vegas.”
Londyn sighed. “There’s no hurry, Gem. Why don’t you stay in Colorado for a week? Explore and relax.”
“Maybe.” Did I even know how to relax?
“When was the last time you took a weekend off?”
“Um . . .” It hadn’t been in recent years. “Montana, I guess.”
“That was—what?—eleven years ago? I’d say you’re overdue,” she said. “So you were thinking about the junkyard days, huh? Why?”
“I don’t know. Reminiscing, I guess. Wondering where do I go after this trip. Things were hard, but life seemed easier back at Lou’s.”
Lou Miley had owned the junkyard where the six of us kids had lived. He’d been a loner and a gruff old man. Unfriendly and irritable. But he’d let us stay without question.
“Are you okay?” Londyn asked. “Should I be worried?”
“No,” I promised. “I was just thinking about how we all scattered. Everyone but Karson. I wonder how everyone is doing.”
“You’re still upset about the Katherine thing, aren’t you?”
“I screwed up.”
Londyn sighed. “You were nineteen years old and jumped at an opportunity to make some money. I highly doubt she holds it against you. Considering where we all came from, Katherine, above all people, couldn’t fault you for wanting to better your life.”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled.
I’d broken a promise to a close friend. I’d ditched her, choosing money over that promise and the decision had haunted me since.
This was a fresh start for me. There was nothing holding me back. Londyn wanted me to take an overdue vacation. Maybe what I really needed before I could concentrate on the future, was to make an overdue apology for a past mistake.
An idea stirred in my mind, calling and demanding some attention. It was like a flashing light, one that would keep blinking until I gave it my focus. This feeling was familiar, and usually, it meant another successful business venture.
But not this time.
This idea had nothing to do with money.
“Would you care if it took me longer than planned to get the Cadillac to Karson?” Because my intuition was screaming at me to take a massive detour.
“Nope,” she said. “It’s your trip. Make the most of it.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “Thanks, Lonny.”
“Of course. Call me soon.”
“Bye.” The moment I ended the call, I pulled up my digital map and punched in a new destination.
These spontaneous decisions of the past few weeks suddenly made sense. They had purpose. They had meaning. They were to get me here, in this moment.
I was setting out to right a wrong. To find myself again.
On the wild highway.
Chapter Two
Gemma
I’d forgotten the majesty of Montana. I’d forgotten how vast the state was. How the landscapes changed from savage prairie to rugged forest as you traveled from one side to the other.
The last time I’d traveled through Montana, it had been on a bus destined for Boston. Back then, I’d cursed the driver for taking the trip at such a lazy pace. This time, I’d let myself find excuses to slow down.
In the past five days, I’d made a conscious effort to drive unhurried. Mostly, it was to avoid a ticket. But there was also a part of me nervous about seeing Katherine again, and that anxiety had given me plenty of excuses to stop along the way.
My journey had taken me north, through Colorado and Wyoming. I’d spent last night in Missoula, not wanting to arrive at the ranch at dinnertime. Really, I was a coward and had needed one more night to work up the courage for what I was about to do.
So I’d stayed in town and found a cheap nail salon for a last-minute mani-pedi. This morning, I’d taken care with my appearance, going for the makeup treatment and adding loose waves to my long hair.
The tattered boyfriend jeans I’d been wearing on repeat were traded for a pair of dark wash skinnies. My green sweater brought out the caramel flecks in my hazel eyes and my tan booties had enough of a heel that they took my outfit from casual to chic.
Still, I’d wished for one of my designer suits.
I’d worn blazers, pencil skirts and six-inch heels, almost exclusively, over the past decade. Since leaving West Virginia, my laid-back attire of jeans, oversized sweaters and sandals had been an adjustment. I didn’t feel prepared. Powerful.
My wardrobe in Boston had become an armor of sorts. When I’d walked into the office in a suit, my hair twisted into a tight chignon, no one had questioned who was in charge. I needed that armor today—a bit of the old Gemma to help me get through this.
But the suits were all in storage. Today, I had to face this without airs. I’d be vulnerable. Humble. Sincere. Because today
wasn’t about conquering the world or turning a profit. Today was about making things right with a friend.
The trees along the road were changing. Stark yellow and orange leaves popped against an evergreen backdrop. The fall air was crisp and, if I hadn’t spent time on my hair this morning, I would have driven with the convertible’s top down.
The miles disappeared too quickly and when the first sign for the Greer Ranch and Mountain Resort came into view, my stomach somersaulted.
I could do this. I had to do this. I hadn’t made many apologies, lately. Arrogant as it was, I did my best not to screw up, and for the most part, I had a good track record.
This would bruise my ego but would be worth it.
I turned off the highway, my heart pounding, and traversed the gravel road that led from the highway toward the lodge. Being here, on this road, took me back to another lifetime. I struggled to keep my eyes on the road as I took it all in. The mountains. The meadows. The buildings coming into view past a grove of trees.
It was exactly as I’d remembered. In the past decade, the Greer Ranch hadn’t seemed to change.
The lodge was a rustic log building and the focal point for guests—or it had been when I’d worked here. Behind it was an enormous barn beside a doubly enormous stable.
All three were the same, rich brown color. The windows of the lodge gleamed in the morning Montana sunshine. Maroon and golden mums spilled from a toppled whiskey barrel beside the front steps. Three wooden rocking chairs were positioned to the left of the hand-carved front door.
I’d once cleaned those windows. I’d planted flowers in that barrel. I’d rocked in one of those chairs and walked through that front door.
Katherine had been the one to pick Montana. She’d found us jobs at this guest ranch when Londyn and I had agreed to come along. The three of us had packed our meager belongings, bought bus tickets and waited for her to turn eighteen. Then we’d said goodbye to Karson, Clara, Aria and our beloved junkyard, setting out from California to Montana on a Greyhound bus because we’d craved adventure. Not for money or power or fame, but for an experience worth retelling.
We’d been so excited. So eager. We’d been so free.
No, not we. Me. I’d been excited and eager and free.
Somewhere along the way, that eighteen-year-old girl had gotten lost.
I parked the Cadillac in one of the guest spaces, not designated by a curb, but by an old-fashioned hitching post. My hands were suddenly like Jell-O and it took all my strength to shove the car in park.
Was it too late to turn around?
Yes.
I was here and damn it, I was doing this. With my eyes closed, I sucked in a calming breath and blew it out with an audible whoosh. When was the last time I’d been this nervous?
Leaning heavily into the door, I shoved it open. My purse stayed in the passenger seat because there was no such thing as petty theft at the Greer Ranch. The guests here didn’t need to steal and I doubted any employee would dare cross the Greers—they were too well respected and that likely hadn’t changed.
I swallowed down the lump in my throat and began the trek to the porch. My fingers gripped the wooden railing as my unsteady legs climbed the five stairs. Then with another shaky breath, I turned the knob on the door and walked inside.
The smell of cedar and cinnamon filled my nostrils. Someone had started a wood fire in the hearth. The couches surrounding the fireplace and rock chimney were the same chocolate leather. The plaid toss pillows looked new.
I tipped my chin to take in the vaulted ceiling’s wooden beams. A wide, sweeping staircase ran to my right and another to my left, both the same wood color as the floor. Directly in front of me was the reception desk, currently unoccupied. And behind me, above the door, was a mounted, eight-point bull elk bust.
Clive.
Londyn, Katherine and I had affectionately named the elk Clive the month after we’d arrived. None of us had ever seen a taxidermic animal before Clive, and we’d thought he’d deserved a name.
I smiled, happy he was still here. Happy that, besides minor changes, this place hadn’t changed.
It was like stepping back in time, to the days when my younger self had two best friends and ambitions bigger than the sky.
This room hadn’t changed.
But the woman standing in it sure had.
I walked to the counter, spying a silver service bell that hadn’t been there before. I touched my finger to the plunger and the ding chorused through the room.
“One minute!” a voice called from the hallway that ran behind the staircase on my left. One minute was actually ten seconds. A flash of white hair caught my eye first as a woman emerged, drying her hands on a white towel.
“Morning.” She smiled and my heart melted.
I’d missed that smile.
“Good morning,” I said, praying she’d recognize me. Though I wouldn’t fault her if she didn’t. I’d only worked here for eight months, eleven years ago. The Greers had likely met a hundred seasonal workers since.
“What can I do for”—her head cocked to the side and her eyes widened—“Gemma?”
Thank God. She hadn’t forgotten me. “Hi, Carol.”
“Oh my word, Gemma!” She threw the towel on the reception desk and came right into my space, pulling me into a tight embrace. “My God, girl. How long has it been?”
“About eleven years.” I laughed. “It’s good to see you, Carol.”
“Honey, you are just . . .” She let me go to look me up and down. “Stunning. Though you always were.”
“And you are as beautiful as always.”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m old.”
The lines around Carol’s eyes and mouth had deepened over the years but her hair was the same bright white, braided in a long, thick rope that draped over one shoulder. Her eyes were the same welcoming brown.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Where have you been all these years? Can you stay for dinner?”
I laughed, thinking that Benjamin would love Carol and her endless string of questions. “I’ve been living in Boston, but I’m on a vacation of sorts.”
Permanently.
“Great.” Carol’s hands flew into the air, then she rushed around the side of the counter and began shaking a mouse to wake up a computer. “Do you want a king-size bed facing the valley? Or a queen with the mountain view?”
“Oh, no. That’s okay. I’ve got a room in Missoula.” It was forty miles away and the perfect excuse to leave before I wore out my welcome.
She ignored me. “King or queen?”
“Really, I don’t need a room. I just wanted to swing by and see the place. If Katherine is still here, I’d, um . . . I’d love to say hello.”
Understanding filled Carol’s gaze and she nodded. The look wasn’t harsh, and it didn’t hold judgment, but she knew what I’d done to Katherine. She just wasn’t holding it against me.
Carol might be the only one here who didn’t.
“Yes, Katherine’s here,” she said. “She’s in her office working. I’ll take you up there after you tell me what room you want so I can have one of the boys haul up your luggage.”
Maybe I’d known or hoped this would happen, because my luggage was packed in the Cadillac and I hadn’t extended my reservation in Missoula. I’d just asked the clerk this morning if they had vacancies in case I returned.
“Queen, please.” I wanted the mountain view. “My credit card is in my car.”
“You’re not paying,” she said as she clicked and scrolled, eyes glued to the screen.
“I insist.”
“Honey, I know it’s been a lot of years but a smart girl like you, I’m sure you remember who’s in charge around here.”
I laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Better.” She clicked one last time, then shoved the mouse aside.
Carol was in charge. She and her husband, Jake Sr., had started the Greer Ranch nearly fifty years
ago. After their livestock operation had become successful, they’d expanded to start the resort, eventually passing it all down to their son, JR.
JR had been the manager of the entire operation when I’d worked here. Maybe he still was.
Or maybe Easton had taken over.
Regardless, Carol was in charge. She told the men exactly what she expected and heaven help them if they didn’t follow orders.
Carol came around the counter and looped her arm through mine. “How did Boston treat you?”
“Quite well for a time.”
“I can see that.” She gave me another appraisal. “You always were classy. Even without a penny to pinch between your fingers, you had that air of sophistication about you. That air is still there, but I see you’ve got the pennies now too.”
“I’ve saved a couple.” My net worth was close to twenty million dollars. Yet standing beside Carol, I was the poor person in the room.
The land they owned in this gorgeous valley in Western Montana was worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Not that she’d flaunt it. That wasn’t Carol’s style. No, she was the woman with money in the bank and horse shit on her boots because a good day to her was working on this land.
I smiled and leaned in closer. “How is Jake?”
“Ornery.” She shook her head. “That man hates being retired but he’s so damn stubborn he won’t admit it. So he putzes around, driving the rest of us who are trying to work crazy. Especially Easton. It’s not a weekday if those two aren’t fighting.”
My heart skipped at the mention of his name. It had crossed my mind countless times on the drive here.
Easton Greer was another reason I’d stayed away. Another mistake. Someone I doubted would welcome me with open arms.
But this trip wasn’t about him. I was going to find the courage to make things right with Katherine.
Any amends with Easton would be a bonus.
Maybe he’d forgotten all about me. In a way, I hoped he had.
Wild Highway: Runaway Series - Book 2 Page 2
