“I need to head back to the ranch,” Ty said. “Unless Kacey desperately needs me.” The way he said it, she had the feeling she might never desperately need him.
“Depends on the weather, but I can handle it.”
Ty got up, headed out of the room. She heard footsteps on the stairs.
“Ty’s just knocked out of place because Chet hired you to take his spot,” Gage said.
“She didn’t crash a 1.3-million-dollar helicopter,” Jess said. Then she looked over at Kacey. “Right?”
“Not recently,” she said, deadpan.
“Chet says you earned a bronze star.”
Kacey offered a smile and reached for the Parmesan cheese. “Where is Chet?”
“He’s in the office, in back. Probably assembling weather reports or talking to Sam. Apparently there was a body that washed up today south of town. Ty helped with the recovery.”
“Thanks. I need to check in with Chet,” she said, picking up her plate. She slipped down from the high-top and headed over to the office.
The back office—once a bedroom, she supposed—housed a twin bed, a table on cement blocks, a computer on said table, and a host of communication equipment. A giant map of the park papered one wall, whiteboards with personnel updates on the other.
Chet sat in his chair at the table, reading through weather reports.
“Knock, knock,” she said, and he turned, offered her a smile.
“I thought I heard you out there.”
He motioned for her to sit on the bed. She came in, cradled her plate on her lap.
“So, how was your first trip out?”
Where to start? She lifted a shoulder.
“Good. I was hoping in the morning you might go back up, bring some of those kids home. Their parents are pretty nervous.”
She was one of those parents. But she spoke to herself as much as to Chet. “They’re fine. Ben’s with them.”
“I sent up Pete and Miles too—you remember Miles, right?”
“And Pete. He played football with Ben.”
“Oh yeah.” Chet grinned. “That kid could run when he had the ball.” For a moment, he wore a faraway look, as if caught back in the stands, watching Ben toss a perfect arc to his receiver.
He would have been a wonderful grandparent. The thought caught her up, made her jerk.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, looked away, blinking back a sudden rush of heat in her eyes.
“Can I ask you something? How did you find me? I mean, when you called, I assumed you’d contacted my parents.”
Chet had his own plate of spaghetti, now finished, but he picked up a cup of coffee, took a sip. “I read that article about you in the Mercy Falls Register—about getting the bronze star. I didn’t know your parents were in Whitefish until then. I gave them a call, but your dad wasn’t that keen on giving out your location. Probably for security reasons.”
Kacey nodded, as if that were exactly it.
“But I did get out of him that you were stationed stateside. It was just a matter of contacting the right people, old friends in the military. Florida, huh?”
“For the past eighteen months.” She had lost her appetite and now put the plate on the table. “So, you haven’t talked to my parents for, what—thirteen years?”
Chet frowned, as if thinking. “Yeah. I thought maybe Ruth had kept in touch, but really, after you moved away, I figured, well . . . There was a lot of healing that needed to be done, I know. I wanted to give you space. Time to put your life back together.” He gave her a warm smile. “And you certainly did. If I haven’t told you already, I’m so proud of you, Kacey.”
And now her stomach twisted, threatening to give up her meal.
“Thanks,” she managed, the sudden urge to tell him everything lumping in her throat, nearly choking off her air supply.
“And now that Ben’s back . . . I know that was a surprise. I should have told you, but there was so much between you two, and I don’t know about you, but Ben has never really been the same since you two broke up.”
“Really?”
“I know I shouldn’t meddle, but I think it’s because you two never really said good-bye. Never, well, resolved things. If anything, you two were friends—good friends. And I thought that maybe you could sort it out if you spent some time together. Sorry if I overstepped . . .”
He sat there wearing the benign smile of a pastor, and she suddenly wanted to stand up and let him have it.
Overstepped? Try a giant, Paul Bunyan–sized overstep.
But she’d been trained to keep her voice even, her emotions fisted. “Do you know how long Ben plans on sticking around?”
Chet set his coffee down. “He’s got it in his head that he wants to move me back to Nashville as soon as possible. And I suppose with his partner bugging out on him, he probably needs to figure out what’s next.”
“His partner—you mean Hollie Montgomery? She left him?”
“And took one of his original songs with her. Or so he says. He won’t talk about it much, but I know he’s tore up inside. Feels betrayed, I suppose . . .”
Oh my. She looked at the night pressing against the glass.
“So, I don’t know how long he’ll be here until he gives up and realizes I’m not moving to Tennessee anytime soon.”
She glanced at him. “But you need . . . um, I mean—”
“I need help? Yep, I suppose. But not in the way Ben thinks. He wants to check me into some fancy rehab facility when all I need is time and prayer. God is going to put me back together, honey. It’s just a matter of time.”
She wanted to smile, nod, agree. But from her vantage point, once you derailed your life, once it shattered, there was no putting the pieces together again. You had to live with the broken pieces the best you could.
Except she wasn’t Chet, was she? Maybe God simply sorted out the worthy from the unworthy, and gave whom he chose a second chance.
She knew where she landed—had always landed.
“You get some rest. There’s a couple bunk rooms upstairs—men’s and women’s dorms. Hunker down and we’ll get those youngsters off the mountaintop in the morning.”
The main room was empty when she returned. She emptied her plate, then loaded it in the dishwasher, turned off the kitchen light, and debated.
Upstairs to the bunk room, to stare at the ceiling—or worse.
Or, down here, maybe catching up on her classic movies.
But she had to fly tomorrow.
She grabbed her backpack and headed upstairs.
Two bedrooms, one to the left for men, the right, women.
She eased open the door and found Jess sitting on the lower bed of one of the four bunks, pulling on wool socks. “I know it’s summer, but my feet get cold. I keep a drawer of socks here, just in case I have to pull an overnighter.”
Kacey sat on the other bunk, noticed it was covered with a homemade quilt. Probably Ruth’s touch. “How often do you stay here?”
“Oh, it depends. If there’s a snowstorm, or maybe rain, or if there’s fire in the park—situations where Chet thinks we might get called out. And definitely after a callout. I’m so tired, I just bunk here. Besides, my new place doesn’t have running water, so I’m partial to the showers here.” She winked, then pulled herself under the quilt.
“No running water?”
“I bought a fixer-upper—an old Victorian in town. Needs a few repairs. Like plumbing, electricity. A roof and a floor.”
Kacey laughed. “Seriously?”
Jess pulled the covers up to her chin. “What can I say? I like projects.”
Kacey unzipped her jumpsuit, thankful she’d worn a pair of leggings and a thermal shirt underneath. She climbed into bed. Glanced at Jess, but she had her eyes closed.
She pulled out the Ambien, popped one out, and downed it dry.
Please, let her sleep hard and dreamless.
She sighed, probably too loudly, because Jess roll
ed over and propped her head on her hand.
“Okay, I know it’s none of my business, but Ben says that you two used to date? And, I’m so sorry, but am I mistaken in making the connection that Audrey is your daughter?”
“My daughter, yes—”
“Not Ben’s? Because—”
“Yes, I know she has his eyes.”
“Oh. Actually, I was going to say that Willow mentioned that she and Nate played in a band together, and it made me think that maybe she had inherited Ben’s love of music.”
Oh, shoot. Yes, of course she had. The girl had been singing since she could talk. Kacey pulled the covers up over her head. “This is a nightmare.”
“What?”
Kacey sighed, put the covers down, and looked at Jess; the Ambien had kicked in enough to relax her. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Jess nodded, made a little cross over her heart, a poke in her eye.
“Yes, Ben and I dated. In fact, we were engaged, although that part was a secret. I got pregnant at seventeen, and he and I were—well, at the time I thought we were in love.” She’d skip over dissecting the emotions, the words, the foolishness of believing in true love and soul mates and the rest of that emotional quagmire.
“Ben got a job working down at the Sweetwater Lumber Company, and we were going to live”—she finger quoted the rest—“happily ever after. Except, he didn’t show up the night Audrey was born. I thought he’d gotten drunk, and I was furious. I didn’t take his calls. And then, when Audrey was about a week old, he just left town. Just like that, moved away. I only found out where a few years later when his first album came out.”
“Oh boy.”
“Yeah. I had just gotten my rating, was being sent to Iraq for my first tour, and there he was, on the radio, singing a song he wrote for me.”
Jess’s eyes widened. “What song?”
“‘Mountain Song’?”
“Oh, I love that one!”
Her too. “I thought he was the one. And then, suddenly, he abandoned me and my daughter, and I didn’t know what to do. So I joined the military and went on with my life. Until today.”
“I don’t understand. Why today?”
“Apparently, Ben thought I gave up our baby for adoption.”
Silence, and yes, it only confirmed that it was as bad as it sounded.
“You mean, he found out that you kept the baby . . . today?”
Kacey winced, nodded. “And he’s really mad.”
Jess said nothing.
“I know that maybe I should have contacted him—but he walked out. Moved away. That sent a pretty clear message.”
Jess only nodded.
“And now he wants to tell her that he’s her dad—and I get that, I really do. But according to Chet, he’s not sticking around here. I know Audrey would like to have a dad, even if she’s never said it. And it killed me, knowing he’d turned his back on her. But the fact is, if he could walk away from us once, despite what he believed, then he could leave us again. I don’t think she could take that. She’s thirteen. And according to my parents, she’s had some trouble at school . . .”
No. “The real truth is that I had something happen to me at Audrey’s age that I just couldn’t deal with. And it led me to right now. To a daughter who doesn’t know her father, and a mother who is—well, more comfortable in a cockpit than making cookies.”
It was a revelation she hadn’t expected to make, but in the shadows of the bunk room, after spending the last six hours saving lives together, Jess just might have the makings of a real friend.
It occurred to Kacey, then, that probably she should have called Sierra, let her know she was back in town. So much for being a real friend.
“I’m no good at cookies, either,” Jess said.
Kacey glanced at her, and Jess was grinning. Then, her smile dimmed. “Listen, I know a bit about life blindsiding you and people walking away. And I know that if I had a chance to redo some of the big events of my life, I would go back, give certain people a chance to make different choices. I don’t know Ben, but if he is serious about knowing his daughter, then maybe the question isn’t if, but how.”
Kacey tucked the covers up under her chin. The room was starting to blissfully swim.
“Be the one who invites him in, on your terms. Tell him that you’ll tell your daughter the truth when you think she’s ready, when you can trust him. She’s already pretty dazzled by him—”
“I know. She’s apparently a fan.”
“Who isn’t? Benjamin King won Entertainer of the Year a few years ago, and he’s been on a few most-eligible lists on the internet.”
“I know. But what if he swoops in, dazzles her, and then . . .” And then she could hardly breathe. “What if he sues me for custody? Tries to take her away?” She put her hand to her head. “I don’t have his money, his resources—”
“You’re her mom. Just take a breath. Like I said—you control this. Invite him in.”
Kacey swallowed, refused to let the panic spread.
“Besides, you can’t keep this secret forever. And you don’t want to. Trust me on that—secrets only tear relationships apart.”
She had nothing for that except a nod.
“This doesn’t have to go south. There could be a happy ending out there, somewhere. Maybe even for you two.”
But to that, Kacey shook her head. “We had our chance at happy endings. Trust me on this one—there’s nothing left between us but a sad country song.”
For five years Sierra had been telling herself one thing.
Ian Shaw was not her entire life.
Even if sometimes it felt that way. Why else would she rise before dawn, her body knotted after sleeping in the community center on a cot, and hike out to her rattletrap Aveo and force the little four-cylinder hatchback over sidewalks, down alleyways, and generally fight to untangle herself from the sandbagged and fortified perimeter of Mercy Falls?
Maybe because while Ian Shaw was not her entire life, she was his. Keeper of his schedule, manager of his domain, and organizer of everything that kept Ian’s life running.
Okay, that might be an overstatement, but she did help him stay sane, and cement his persona as one of the wealthiest, eligible—and let’s not forget devastatingly hot—bachelors in the country. And one with a heart of gold, evidenced by his yearly giving statement. The man thrived on supporting lost causes.
And, of course, it was the least she could do, frankly, after the consequences of keeping Esme’s secret.
So yeah, when Ian had asked her to help disentangle him from his bachelor-gala nightmare, what did a good assistant say?
Especially an assistant who felt like a homeless vagabond in her muddy jeans and ratty T-shirt—the only clothes she managed to grab in the wee hours of the night when Deputy Sam Brooks and his cadre of volunteers decided to oust her from her cute 1910 Sears kit Victorian a block from the river.
So, sure, dress her up, fly her to NYC, feed her gourmet food, and drive her around in a limo. The sacrifices she made for her job.
Except Sierra hadn’t counted on her heart getting ripped from her body as she watched Ian expire before her eyes.
Breathe! Don’t die! Her own words echoed back to her inside the hollow cavity of her chest.
Everything that came after that she easily justified.
The scream from the open ceiling of the limo.
Panicked mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
The lie that gave her access to his bedside.
Fiancée.
Well, she was dressed the part, and it worked for Sandra Bullock in While You Were Sleeping.
Besides, she knew enough to be his fiancée; she’d filled out his intake papers, from his insurance information to his past injuries, surgeries, and yes, his allergies. All one of them, including the Most Important, Life-Threatening One that she’d for sure faxed to the hotel over a month ago.
Not that they could amend the food list for every patron, but fo
r one who donated over six digits a year?
Now Sierra stood at the end of Ian’s hospital bed, watching as the nurse took his vitals, part of her wee-hours-of-the-morning routine. She ran her hands together, listening to his oxygen pump. He looked so . . . so frail laying there in his bed.
It scared her. Reminded her of those early days after Esme went missing. How he’d disappear for long rides across the ranch and she’d take the four-wheeler out, just to make sure she could spot him on the horizon. Or call Chet for a quick heli-trip across the ranch.
Ian had so thoroughly blamed himself, and she hadn’t known him as well back then.
He lay bathed in the half-moon light, pale and wrung out, his face still puffy despite the meds they’d pumped into him. She couldn’t help but wind her arms around her waist to keep from shaking.
Ian Shaw had nearly died.
What if he’d been alone?
Or with someone who didn’t know him, didn’t understand—
And that’s when the thought caught her up, ran fingers around her throat.
Ian Shaw was her entire life.
She knew better than this. Knew better than to go there, to step in that emotional place where she saw him as more than a boss.
More, even, than a friend.
Her stomach knotted, and she walked over to the window, clenching her jaw.
No, no, no, she could not be in love with Ian Shaw. She’d tried so hard to keep her distance.
She pressed her hands on the cool glass. His fifteenth-floor room looked out over Central Park and the glittering skyline on the west side of Manhattan, so far from the grandeur of Montana.
She wanted to go home. Back to normal where she could tuck away her feelings and find her footing as his perfect, dedicated assistant.
Keep his world together, without worrying what might spill out and threaten everything.
They’d put him in a private room, and only the sound of the oxygen tank feeding life down his throat and the beep of his pulse monitor convinced her he was alive.
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