Wild Montana Skies

by Susan May Warren

  Except for the days she’d come over, helped him sort through the names and numbers.

  Helped him pick up the search, again. Not that he couldn’t make a phone call—he’d somehow managed to get his calendar under control, talk with all his branches, even postpone the quarterly Shaw Holdings board meeting.

  But having Sierra back in his living room, looking at him with those eyes that told him everything would be okay . . .

  He hit the bag again, then let it fall back and caught it, breathing hard.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. That might be the worst part—remembering how she’d kissed him back, her arms around his neck, her perfect body against his, kissing him like he’d only dreamed of for the past five years.

  Finally.

  Until . . . “You need to let this go.”

  He’d spent the better part of today arguing with the Amtrak office, threatening, cajoling, and attempting to purchase the security footage that might give him a clue as to what train Esme might have taken.

  And dissecting just why Sierra’s words tore at him.

  Maybe he didn’t want to let it go—because he didn’t want to let her go.

  Ian walked away from the bag, sweat streaming down his chest, and picked up a water bottle.

  “You can’t make the world obey you.” Maybe that was it—if she didn’t have to search for Esme, there was nothing pulling her to him but . . . him. And he knew how that worked out.

  Ian sprayed water into his mouth, then grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his neck, scrubbing it up into his hair, rubbing away the heat.

  He glanced at the bag, debating another go. At least it felt better than leaving another voicemail with Sheriff Blackburn asking about the coroner’s report.

  He was reaching for his free weights when the doorbell rang, a resonant boom through the house. He came down the hall in his bare feet and athletic shorts, the towel around his neck.

  Sam Brooks stood on his doorstep.

  “Please tell me you’re here with a coroner’s report.”

  Sam shook his head. “I just got back from the Kalispell hospital. Chet was having chest pains.”

  Ian pulled the towel off, wiped his face. “Oh no. Is it a heart attack?”

  “They’re still working that out, but I thought you should know.”

  Ian held the door open. “Come in.”

  Sam stepped inside, and Ian closed the door behind him and headed to the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

  “Sure.” He slid onto a high-top chair. “I thought Sheriff Blackburn called you about the coroner’s report on Dante.”

  Ian grabbed two bottles of water and closed the fridge. “No.”

  “Hmm. Well, the results were inconclusive. Probably Dante drowned—but the coroner said he also suffered a skull fracture as well as a broken shoulder. Although that might have happened in the fall.”

  “And what about the other body—any identification?”

  Sam shook his head. “But Blackburn is on duty today. Give him a call.”

  “I’ve called five times. He’s probably avoiding me.” He handed Sam a bottle, opened his. “I wish Sierra were here. She always had a way of making people talk.”

  Sam let one side of his mouth slide up. “She sounds like the KGB.”

  Given the secrets Ian had told her, she could be. “No, I just mean she could get things done.”

  Sam took a drink, then considered his bottle for a moment. “So, you two are . . . I mean, she’s not working for you anymore, right?”

  Ian had thrown his shirt over a chair when he’d gone to work out, and now retrieved it. “No.”

  “And so you’re not . . . I mean, there wasn’t anything between you two, right?”

  Ian turned, looked at him. “Why? Did she say something?” He felt a fresh heat curl through him, the memory of her in his arms suddenly bold in his mind.

  “No. But sometimes, well, I thought maybe you sort of liked her.”

  Ian pulled on the shirt. “No. We’re just . . . no.”

  Sam stared at him, his expression enigmatic. “Okay. So you don’t mind if I ask her out, right?”

  Ian tried not to stiffen, to keep his voice casual. “Sure. Why not?”

  More silence then. “Okay. Good. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t overstepping.”

  “Nothing to overstep.” Ian took a long drink of his water, tried not to let it choke him. Cleared his throat. “She’s a great gal.” Normal voice, and he managed a smile.

  “I agree. I’ve known her almost my entire life, but something about her—ever since she started working at PEAK. She’s just always so cheerful, and she has the most amazing hazel-green eyes.”

  “Blue. Her eyes are more hazel-blue than green.”

  “It depends on the light, maybe.”

  Ian finished off his drink, crushed the bottle in his fist. Refused the urge to argue.

  “She’s had a rough go of it, with her mother,” Sam said. “She practically raised Willow on her own. And then she dated Rhett Thomas for a long time.”

  “The hockey player? For the Minnesota Blue Ox?” How did Ian not know that?

  “Yeah. They dated four years—and then he left for Minnesota and got engaged three months later to one of the cheerleaders on the ice crew. Sierra took it pretty hard. The worst part is that they were engaged for three of those four years. I think he was just trying to hang on to her. But he took four years from her that she can’t get back.”

  Ian stared at him, hoping he hadn’t flinched at Sam’s words.

  “She’s always been an amazing godmother to Audrey, Kacey’s kid. She’d make a great mom.”

  “Sam, you haven’t even asked her out yet, and you have a ring on her finger?” Ian didn’t mean for his voice to emerge quite so brusque.

  “No, dude. I’m just saying that she’d be a great catch. And maybe I’m the one to catch her.”

  He didn’t mean it in such a way that Ian should want to hit him.

  Except, he did.

  Sam finished off his water, handed the bottle to Ian. “Thanks.” He slid off his chair.

  And something like panic flamed in Ian’s chest—a sense of losing something he might never get back.

  Yeah, I mind. The words formed in his head. I want to date Sierra.

  He opened the recycle bin, dropped the bottle in.

  Sam headed toward the door.

  “Sam.”

  He turned. “Yeah?”

  Ian came around the counter, trying to find the words. “About Sierra.”

  On his belt, Sam’s cell phone buzzed. He answered it. Listened. “Oh no. Was there anyone inside?”

  Sam shot a glance at Ian, and he didn’t know why, but his gut tightened at Sam’s expression.

  “Okay, I’m on my way.” He hung up, his jaw tight as he looked at Ian.

  “What?”

  “That was dispatch. Another house collapsed in Mercy Falls.” He swallowed. “It was Sierra’s.”

  “And was there someone inside?”

  Sam hadn’t finished nodding before Ian swept up his shoes and headed out the door.

  “So he’s not having a heart attack.” Ben stood at the desk, down the hall from his father’s ER cubicle, trying to tamp down his own heart attack after two hours of pacing, panic, and not a little frustration at his own helplessness.

  It hadn’t helped that Kacey hadn’t answered one of his texts or returned his calls.

  He’d left the team in the waiting room when the ER doctor pulled him aside. He should probably update them.

  Although, frankly, the doctor should have probably talked to Pete or Jess. After all, it seemed they knew his father better than he did.

  “No. Your father’s EKG came back normal. But you need to follow up with his primary care doctor to see if he’d like to run a stress test.”

  “So I can take him home.”

  “We just need his discharge paperwork.”

  He was nodding when he spotted her
. Oh, for crying out loud. “Hollie, what are you doing here?”

  She wore a pair of cowboy boots, a ripped sweatshirt falling down one shoulder, a glittery baseball cap, and leggings that outlined her petite frame. “You left this in the waiting room.”

  She held up his phone, and he took it, pocketed it. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I stopped by the ranch. I wanted to talk to you. A nice woman named Kelli sent me here. Is your dad okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Oh, that’s good. I was so worried.”

  He frowned but let the words bounce off him. “Thanks. I gotta—”

  Her hand on his arm stopped him. “I came to see if you were okay after last night. You seemed so upset.”

  Really? “I’m fine.”

  “Because I love that song you were working on before the concert. I took some video of you playing it and posted it on Twitter. It’s already trending.”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “It’s a good song, Benji.” She broke into a hum.

  “Hollie—”

  “Just come back home, Ben. We’ll go back in the studio, make that music magic we do.”

  “I gotta check my dad out of the hospital.” He pushed past her, toward his father’s cubicle.

  But Hollie’s voice trailed after him, lifted to carry down the hall. “She doesn’t want you, Ben.”

  He stilled.

  Turned.

  Hollie shrugged. “I’m sorry. She called while you were in there. And she said that she didn’t want you to call her.”

  He stared at her, searching for venom in her tone, her expression. She just gave him a sad smile. “Sorry. I really am.”

  “I have to get my dad home.”

  “Our flight doesn’t leave until later tonight. I have a ticket for you.” She shrugged, a sudden vulnerability in her expression he hadn’t expected.

  It reminded him of their early days, when she hung on his every word, when he’d thought they might be a real duo, partners.

  “Just in case you want to make great music,” she finished.

  He headed to his father’s cubicle.

  Chet sat on the table, already wearing his clothing. “I told you it was just the barbecue.”

  “Dad, don’t. You really scared us.”

  Chet nodded. “Sorry. I guess I scared myself a little.” He winked. “Thanks for sticking around.”

  “Are you kidding? Dad, c’mon. I’m not leaving you. But you need to take better care of yourself. This might have been a shot across the bow.”

  “I know.”

  He did? Ben expected a fight, but the old man gave him a crooked smile.

  “Edamame and quinoa for me.”

  It took a second, but Ben let out a laugh. “Okay, Dad. Let’s find you a wheelchair. The team is waiting to take you home.”

  “Good. Then let them. You go find Kacey.”

  “No. Kacey was right. I just made it worse. And now she doesn’t want me around.”

  “So? You’re Audrey’s father.”

  “I haven’t been her father for thirteen years. So why do I think I have the right to be now?”

  “And that’s your problem, son. You’ve let shame tell you how to run your life. You have since the day Cash Murdock made fun of your boots.”

  “You knew about that?”

  “Of course I did. I’m your dad. And I was proud of you that I didn’t have to pick you up from the principal’s office. You turned the other cheek.”

  “Until I didn’t.”

  Chet frowned. “You were young, Ben. And angry. And, frankly, afraid.”

  Ben flinched at that.

  “Stop blaming yourself. You were barely eighteen. And Judge Fairing made it very easy for you to walk away. And you let shame tell you that you should. Shame is a powerful voice.” His voice softened, and he looked away. “I know. Because I’m ashamed that I failed you.”

  What? “Dad, how did you possibly fail me?”

  Chet looked away, and the fluorescent lights turned him thin, old. “Because you’ve lost so much of yourself, and I did nothing to stop it.”

  Oh. “Dad, if you’re talking about my career choices, they aren’t your fault.”

  “Yes, they are.” He looked at Ben, his jaw tight. “Maybe not all of them, but I’ve had thirteen years to figure this out. You needed me, and I wasn’t there for you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  His father’s barrel chest rose and fell. “You called Judge Fairing that night you landed in jail instead of me. And I knew it was because you thought I’d be disappointed in you.”

  “I . . . you always said it wasn’t worth fighting over. And in retrospect, it probably wasn’t.”

  His father shook his head. “I should have been the one you called. Instead of thinking you disappointed me, you should have trusted in my love for you. That I would be on your side.”

  “I didn’t blame you, Dad. I did something wrong—I didn’t expect you to come to my rescue.”

  “But you should have expected that. I’m your father—and regardless of whether I agreed with you or not, my love for you doesn’t change. But you thought it did, and for that I am ashamed. I should have stood beside you. I knew Kacey better, and I should have said that I didn’t think she’d give up her baby for adoption. But I was also embarrassed in front of our town, and let that shame rule my decisions. I admit I wanted you to leave, and for that . . . I’m so sorry, Ben.”

  A fist had tightened in Ben’s chest.

  Chet managed a tight, small smile. “You’re not the only one longing to fix your mistakes.”

  Ben looked away, eyes burning.

  “When you came home that summer, I thought you’d stay. I admit it—you started working on the SAR team, and suddenly I had this chance to fix everything. I thought maybe we could just forget what happened, start over. But then I realized you’d come home for Kacey, and it would only tear you apart to stay. Your mom thought maybe it would be better for you in Nashville.”

  “She’s the one who told me to go back. I really wanted to make her proud.”

  “She had all your albums, Ben. She loved them.”

  Ben blinked, nonplussed.

  “Even . . . the last one?”

  “She knew your heart, your mom did.” His voice fell. “There’s no pressure to stay, Ben. But don’t leave because you think you’re not wanted here. And don’t let shame drive you away. Or tell you that you can’t be a dad to this little girl who needs you.”

  “She doesn’t need me, Dad.”

  “All children need their dads, Ben. It doesn’t matter how old they are.”

  Ah, shoot, he was right. Because Ben just stood there, longing like a stupid kid to fall into his father’s embrace.

  As if his father knew, Chet shot him a sideways look. Ben met it, nodded.

  Then Ben said softly, “I have no idea how to be a dad to Audrey. I see her with Kacey, and she just . . . she just knows what to do.”

  “I saw you today, teaching her how to play the guitar.”

  “That was ten minutes. That’s not the rest of her life.”

  “You don’t have to figure it out today. You just have to start. Like physical therapy, right? Progress, one day at time, leaning on God for the steps, the strength, the healing.”

  And, of course, it came right back to God. “Dad, why would God help me? I got myself into this mess. He’s not going to get me out of it.”

  “Ben. That’s exactly what God is going to do. That’s what he means when he calls himself the Good Shepherd. He restores your soul, gives you new strength, and then he leads you in the right direction. And it has nothing to do with whether you’ve made a mess out of your life. He is the Good Shepherd for all the sheep who call his name—whether you’re a white sheep or a black one.”

  Ben closed his eyes.

  “So, son, you have a choice. You can keep trying to fix this on your own, or you can give your tru
st—your heart—to God. Every day, one day at a time. And don’t let your mistakes tell you that God isn’t for you, that he won’t help you fix them.”

  He slid off the table, used it to balance himself, and put one hand on Ben’s shoulder. “How about this—let’s not let our past determine whether God loves us or not. He does. And we’ll never get it right without him.”

  Ben swallowed, wanting to believe him.

  His father suddenly pulled him to himself, holding him. “I love you, son. And I’m so proud of you.”

  Ben closed his eyes, letting let the words find root. “I’m so sorry, Dad. For everything. I embarrassed you and I cost Mom her grandchild, and I just want to do this right.”

  Chet didn’t let him go. “You will, Ben. Because it’s time to come home. Because you finished your song, right?”

  Ben leaned back, met his dad’s eyes. “You heard me on the deck last night.”

  Chet nodded. “I forgot how much I love listening to you sing.”

  Before he did something embarrassing like burst into tears, Ben ducked his head out of the cubicle, spied the orderly with the wheelchair. “Over here.”

  He saw Pete, Jess, and Gage sneaking in behind the orderly.

  “He’s good to go.”

  Thankfully, no sign of Hollie.

  His dad shrugged off his help getting into the chair. But he grinned up at Ben, winked.

  He held up his hands in surrender as the orderly wheeled him out.

  Pete had run ahead and now pulled up his F-150. He came around to help, but Chet was climbing into the cab on his own. Pete had brought his crutches from the house and now threw them into the back.

  “I’ll catch a ride with Gage,” Sierra said. Gage was twirling the keys to his Mustang around his index finger.

  “Ty also drove,” Jess said, nodding toward Ty’s Silverado. “I’m sure he has room.”

  “Wait, guys—”

  This from Pete, who held his phone up to his ear. “Hey, Sam . . . Yeah, I got your text, what’s up?”

  He looked at Sierra, then Ben. “She’s here. . . No, I don’t think Ben tracked them down yet, why?”

  Ben looked at him, and Pete’s face seemed to lose a shade. He swallowed. “I don’t know.” He looked at Ben. “What kind of car does Kacey drive?”