The Birthday List

by Devney Perry

  Next to that photo was my favorite photo from our wedding day. After I’d moved into his house, we’d gotten married in the spring in a small ceremony at a local church. The reception had been catered at The Maysen Jar. It had been such a hectic day that Cole and I had hardly spent time together, so we’d snuck away for a few quiet moments to share a piece of cake at the kitchen table. Just like our first date. Molly had poked her head through the swinging door and caught it on camera.

  Most of the others were pictures of the kids. I’d pinned photos from the day each was born. One of Cole kissing MacKenna’s forehead after the nurse had handed her over. One of Jimmy whispering a secret to a swaddled Brady.

  I had a couple old pictures from college of me, Jamie, Finn and Molly. I had pictures of all our nieces and nephews. I even had a picture of Tuesday Hastings and her daughter, Kennedy, standing by Jamie’s old truck.

  Tuesday had flourished in Oregon. She’d taken a job working with her grandmother at a bed-and-breakfast on the coast. I didn’t hear from her often, but every once in a while, she’d send me a picture with a recipe on the back.

  Not once since the night she’d left had she ever come back to Montana. Not even after Cole had put Tommy Bennett in prison for twenty years. Not even after a judge had sentenced Nina Veras with two life sentences in prison for first-degree murder.

  Nina wasn’t the only one in prison either. Her boyfriend, Samuel Long, had been sentenced to sixty years without parole for conspiracy to commit murder. He’d denied his involvement, of course, but when the police had found the murder weapon in his house, he’d had a harder time peddling his lies.

  And the day of the sentencing hearing had been the day I’d put it all in the past. So had Cole. It had taken some time, but he’d stopped blaming himself for the murders. The hearings had given us both some overdue closure.

  Jamie’s parents had attended the sentencing hearings too. They’d sat behind me and Cole in the courtroom as the judge had handed down sentences, but that was the last time I’d seen Kyle and Debbie. I wasn’t sure if they’d ever move on from their son’s death. Now that I had children of my own, I didn’t know if I would have been able to either. But I hoped, for their sake, they’d find some peace.

  “There you are.” Cole stepped into the office. “What are you doing?”

  I held up the picture. “I was just deciding where to put this.”

  He stepped closer, looking down at the photo. The smile that spread across my husband’s face made my heart flutter just as strong as it had five years ago.

  “Where are you going to put it?”

  I turned back to the wall, assessing my options. The eye-level strip was full, but I still had plenty of space to fill up to the ceiling or down toward the floor. I had plenty of room for more memories.

  “How about here?” I stood on my tiptoes and pointed to a free spot toward the ceiling. “Would you hang it for me?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  He took the picture and I stepped back, watching as he pinned the photo.

  “I like it.” Cole stepped back from the wall and pulled me into his arms, kissing me softly, before looking back to the pictures. “We have a good life, beautiful.”

  I hugged him tighter. “We do.”

  One I’d never take for granted. One I’d always cherish.

  Minute by minute.

  Enjoy this preview from Tattered, the first novel in Devney’s Lark Cove series.

  TATTERED

  Prologue

  “What can I get for you?” I asked the man across the bar.

  He flashed me a straight, white smile. “Macallan 18, if you’ve got it. Double. Neat.”

  I nodded and turned to the shelves at my back, glad for the task. I needed a distraction from the heat. He’d turned the hotel bar where I worked into a sauna.

  For the last three years, I would have argued that this room was always cold, even at the peak of summer. Even with the heat blasting through the vents, like it was now. But here I stood, sweating like I’d just run to catch the late train.

  From the moment this handsome stranger had walked through the door, my heartrate had spiked. Not because of the way his dark hair styled in a soft wave that fell around a part above his left eyebrow. Not because of the expensive suit that hugged his broad shoulders and draped down his long legs.

  My heart was thundering because of the air.

  He charged the atmosphere with his confident stride. His deep-brown eyes had taken me in with no more than a blink. He exuded class and power and heat.

  He’d walked into my bar and claimed it as his.

  And I was drawn to him, like shivering bones to a warm blanket.

  I guess that was natural. People always wanted what was out of their reach. And this man was so far out of my reach, he might as well be standing on the moon.

  He drank whisky that cost twice my hourly wage, while I splurged on cab rides every Saturday night instead of walking home at two in the morning. If my tip jar allowed it, I ate lunch on Wednesdays at the corner diner instead of nuking ramen noodles in my cramped apartment. I was just a bartender, surviving life one lick at a time.

  He was probably a corporate raider with the world at his feet.

  Still, I couldn’t resist pulling in a deep breath of his Armani cologne as I reached for his whisky on the top shelf.

  Even in my mandated heels, it was a stretch to grab the bottle that I’d just cleaned yesterday. It wasn’t uncommon for rich men to stroll in and order our most expensive whisky, but it didn’t happen often enough to avoid a weekly dusting.

  “Quiet night?” he asked as I came back to the bar with the bottle.

  “Mondays are always slow.” I set out a glass on a black square napkin, then poured him two jiggers.

  “Lucky me.” He took the glass. “I get your undivided attention.”

  “Yes, you do.” I set the bottle aside, doing my best not to blush. Hopefully I wasn’t sweating through my cheap shirt.

  Everything about this man was smooth. Sexy. Even his voice. Definitely the way he licked his lips after taking a sip.

  But despite him being my only customer, I stayed quiet as he swirled the amber liquid in its glass. I’d been bartending since I turned twenty-one, and I’d learned these last three years to let the patrons do the talking. No one wanted a bartender who couldn’t shut her mouth—especially in a classy hotel like this. Especially when I was as far from classy as you could get.

  My black slacks and white button-up shirt didn’t have a stitch of natural fiber—just a synthetic blend that was uncomfortably affordable. My tattered heels had gotten a new scuff tonight, one I’d have to cover with a Sharpie later.

  He swirled his whisky a few more times, his gold cufflink peeking out from underneath his suit jacket. “I’m sure you get this question a lot in your line of work. What’s your drink of choice?”

  I smiled. “I do get that question a lot. Normally, I answer with whatever was the first drink I served that day.”

  The corner of his mouth curved up. “And today’s?”

  “A local IPA.”

  His mouth split in a full-blow grin. “What’s the real answer?”

  That smile made my heart beat wildly again, sending my temperature up another notch.

  “It depends.” I pushed off the bar and walked down to my gun, filling a glass with mostly ice, then water. “I’ve always believed in pairing drinks with the occasion.”

  “I’m intrigued.”

  I took a sip of my water. “Weddings, obviously champagne.”

  “Obviously.” He nodded. “What else?”

  “Bachelorette parties require anything fruity. Beer always goes with pizza—it’s one of my drinking laws. Margaritas on Tuesday nights because I don’t work on Wednesdays. And tequila shots if anyone says, ‘We need to talk.’ ”

  He chuckled. “What about whisky?”

  “I don’t drink whisky.”

  “Hmm.” He took a long, s
low sip from his glass then set it down. “That’s a shame. A beautiful woman drinking whisky is my weakness.”

  The water glass in my hand bobbled and I nearly spilled it on my apron. I’d heard a lot of pick-up lines standing behind this bar, and I’d mastered the art of turning down a man without bruising his ego—or losing his tip. But I’d be a fool to dodge that line.

  “Then maybe I’ll give it another try.”

  “I’d like that.” He smiled wider as he reached across the bar, his long fingers leading the way. “I’m Logan.”

  I placed my hand in his, already lost in the fairy tale. “Thea.”

  Chapter 1

  Logan

  Six years later . . .

  “I hate Montana.”

  Nolan rolled his eyes. “How can you say that when you’re standing in front of that view?”

  I gazed past the tree trunks to the lake on the other side of the forest. I hated to admit it, but the view was rather stunning. The deep blue water had a glassy sheen. The summer sunlight bounced off its gentle, rolling waves. In the distance, the mountains still had white snowcaps. There was even a bald eagle circling the shoreline across the bay.

  But I wouldn’t give Nolan the satisfaction of admitting the truth.

  “What is that smell?” My nostrils flared as I sucked in a long breath.

  Nolan chuckled. “That would be earth. Dirt. Trees. Wind. Also known as clean air. It’s what air is supposed to smell like without all the carbon emissions.”

  “Always with the sarcasm.”

  “I save it all for you.” Nolan Fennessy, my friend and the CEO of my family’s charitable foundation, loved to give me shit.

  “Lucky me,” I deadpanned, turning away from Flathead Lake so he wouldn’t see my grin. Then I scanned the camp, giving it a more thorough inspection than the cursory glance I’d taken when we’d arrived ten minutes ago.

  Beneath the evergreens, six small log cabins were scattered throughout the forest. Next to them was a building marked SHOWERS with a separate wing for boys and girls. The main lodge sat at the back, closest to the road and the gravel parking area. And as it was the hub for most camp activities, the lodge was as big as the six cabins combined.

  It was a child’s paradise.

  In Nowhere, Montana.

  Personal experience had tainted the state for me, but I couldn’t deny this camp had a certain appeal. And it would be a perfect addition to the Kendrick Foundation.

  “Five million?” I asked Nolan, confirming the purchase price.

  “Yes.” He turned away from the lake, stepping to my side. “The price includes everything. Buildings. Furniture. Appliances. Though the bulk of the value is in the land.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go.”

  “Logan, we can’t go until we meet with the director and hear her pitch.”

  At the mention of the director, a flash of long, blond hair caught my eye. She came scurrying out of the lodge with a handful of pamphlets and a manila folder tucked under her arm. I knew without seeing that it contained the proposal she’d sent into the foundation three months ago.

  “I don’t need to hear her pitch. I’ll approve the purchase and kick in another fifty thousand for improvements.” I glanced at my Bulgari watch. “It’s only two. Let’s say our hellos, give her the good news and head back to the airport.” We’d be back in New York tonight.

  Nolan chuckled. “As much as I’d like to sleep in my own bed tonight, we can’t leave.”

  “Why?”

  He stepped past me—hand extended—ready to great the director, then smirked over his shoulder. “It’s rude.”

  Damn. “Well played, Fennessy,” I muttered.

  Nolan knew I’d never let my personal hang-up about being in Montana impede my reputation as a philanthropist. As my father had taught me years ago, just as his father had taught him, the Kendricks—above all else—took the utmost care to preserve preserving our appearance.

  Which meant I was in Montana for the night.

  I sloughed off my mood and gave the camp director, Willa Doon, a pleasant smile.

  “Mr. Fennessy.” Willa’s smile widened as she shook Nolan’s hand. “Thank you so, so much for coming out here. I couldn’t believe it when you called. I’m just . . . it’s so awesome you even read my proposal in the first place.”

  “The pleasure was mine. Your proposal was one of the best I’ve read in months.” Nolan released her hand and gestured toward me. “Let me introduce you to the chairman of the board for the Kendrick Foundation. This is Logan Kendrick.”

  “Ms. Doon.” I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  She blushed scarlet as our hands connected. “Mr. Kendrick.”

  “Please, call me Logan. We’re looking forward to learning more about your camp.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile was confident but her fingers were trembling with nerves. “I’m not sure, um . . . should I just go through the proposal again?” She fumbled the brochures in one hand as she went for the file folder. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to read it or have questions. I, um—shoot.” A pamphlet dropped to the dirt.

  “How about a tour?” Nolan bent to retrieve the paper for her. “We’ve both read your proposal, so if it’s all right with you, we’ll keep this informal and just ask you any questions as we walk.”

  Willa nodded. “That sounds great.”

  Five minutes into the tour, the nerves began to leave her voice. Once she began telling us stories from past camps and the children who’d spent countless summers here, her confidence rallied.

  While Willa’s stories were endearing, they didn’t keep my mind from wandering back to my last visit to Montana. The visit where I’d come to surprise my then girlfriend—the one I’d proposed to twice without a yes in return.

  I’d come to Montana to surprise Emmeline for a Thanksgiving weekend. The ring I’d bought for her had been in my coat pocket. My plan had been to propose and convince her to move home after she finished a year teaching kindergarten. Instead, I ended a five-year relationship when I learned she was still in love with a man from her past.

  Her husband.

  After our breakup, I’d gotten the hell out of Montana, flying back to New York without delay. The second the plane’s wheels had touched down, I’d ordered a courier to return Emmeline’s ring to the jewelry store.

  It had been over six months since we’d broken up, and I’d spent that time working my ass off. Not only was I more involved than ever in the Kendrick Foundation, but I was also overseeing a heavy caseload as a managing partner at my law firm, Stone, Richards and Abergel.

  I didn’t think of Emmeline much these days—there just wasn’t time. But being back in Montana dredged up a slew of unwelcome memories. Memories of what I’d lost.

  And I hated losing.

  “Have you ever been to a camp like this?” Willa asked me as we stood outside one of the smaller cabins.

  “No, I haven’t.” I peered through the cabin door, taking in the wooden bunks inside. “Where are all the kids?” Sleeping bags were laid out neatly on the beds, backpacks on the floors, but no campers.

  “Oh, they’re all on a hike today. We bussed them out early this morning. They’ll have a picnic lunch and then be back before the dinner bell.”

  “I see.” I stepped away from the cabin and gestured toward the lodge. “Can we see the main building next?”

  “Of course.”

  I took a step to follow Willa just as a streak of dark hair and skinny limbs went flying past the cabin.

  The young girl didn’t slow down a bit as she sprinted for the lodge. She looked over her shoulder, giving Willa a huge smile, but kept on running.

  Willa waved. “Hey, Charlie!”

  “Did she miss the bus?” Nolan teased.

  “No, that’s Charlie.” Willa laughed. “Her grandmother volunteers in the kitchen so she spends her mornings and afternoons here.”

  Charlie’s lo
ng hair streamed behind her as she ran, only trapped by the backward baseball cap on her head. Her sneakers were covered in dirt, just like the seat of her shorts. “Cute kid.”

  “She’s adorable.” Willa smiled. “Should we continue the tour?”

  “Actually,” I said, “I think I’ve seen enough.”

  Willa’s feet stilled and her shoulders fell. “Oh. I see.”

  “From what I’ve seen and read in your proposal, this camp would make a wonderful addition to the Kendrick Foundation.”

  Willa blinked twice before her entire face lit up. “Really?”

  I nodded. “Really.”

  “Gosh.” Her hands flew to her cheeks. Pamphlets and her manila envelope dropped to the ground. “I can’t believe it. I just—oh my goodness.”

  Nolan grinned at me as we gave Willa a moment to let it all sink in.

  She was young, likely in her mid-twenties, with a delicate face. Her wavy blond hair fell nearly to her waist. Her hands were constantly fiddling with something—the tie on her simple navy sundress or her papers. But despite her timid demeanor, it was clear that Willa loved this camp.

  A camp we’d just saved from closure.

  The local church that currently owned the camp was letting it go due to increased overhead and maintenance costs. Luckily for us, the church wasn’t looking to make a payday on the property; otherwise they’d be selling it off for private development. Instead, they just wanted to recoup their investment and find new owners who would continue it as a children’s summer camp. The only problem was, they hadn’t had any offers in a year and were looking at closing it down permanently.

  Now it would be part of the Kendrick Foundation.

  We’d keep the original charter intact but come in with fresh eyes and a bigger wallet. The foundation would make a few overdue improvements and teach Willa how to better manage expenses while increasing attendance. We’d ensure this children’s paradise would be around for many more years to come.

  “Thank you,” Willa whispered as tears filled her eyes. “Thank you so much.”