Dedication

To everyone with a story trapped inside them. May you find the courage to write, the heart to share and the joy of seeing your words set free.

Chapter 1

Juniper

The day she died, Juniper Connelly had just finished firing her latest intern.

For three weeks, June had tried to be as patient as possible. She loved mentoring other women, especially bright, creative women like Alison Wells. With a shiny new law degree but no practical experience, the woman had seemed like a good fit for the corporate development program at Move Inc. On paper, she seemed perfect. An undergraduate degree in business. Second in her class at the University of Utah law school. Accolades from multiple professors.

Move Inc received hundreds of applications from recent graduates for their highly coveted internship program, with only a handful chosen each summer. Alison Wells’s name had quickly risen to the top of the pile to be June’s personal protégé.

She had high hopes that Alison would be another triumph like her predecessor, who had gone on to take a prestigious position at Microsoft, straight out of her internship. But after three weeks of the woman’s blunders and missteps, June had to accept that Alison wasn’t a good fit for the internship program.

She had tried to be as kind as possible. June might have a reputation for brusqueness in her position as head of marketing at one of the fastest growing tech innovation companies in the world, but she wasn’t cruel.

Still, June didn’t see any value in wrapping the hard truth in pretty paper.

“I am sure you will agree that these past three weeks have been something of a disaster, from start to finish,” she said, keeping her voice deliberately calm as she surveyed Alison over the wide expanse of her desk.

Out her window on the twenty-first floor, she had a stunning view of the Seattle skyline and the water of Puget Sound beyond. It never failed to give her a rush of joy.

“I didn’t think it was a complete disaster,” Alison said, her voice low and her eyes fixed on the hand-loomed carpet June’s designer had assured her was the finest quality, straight from the souks of Morocco.

An unmistakable note of hurt pierced the other woman’s voice like a splinter hidden beneath the skin.

June sighed, wishing she could point out that was exactly what she meant. Alison needed to be more tough if she wanted to succeed in this fast-paced, cutthroat world at the top executive level.

She could try to teach Alison how to run a meeting and ways to organize and inspire a team, but she couldn’t help her grow a spine. The woman was nervous every time they were in the same room, even after three weeks. She hardly said a word and when she did, she fumbled through her sentences, aiming most of her responses to the floor.

“You have potential, Alison,” June said as gently as she could manage. “If you didn’t, I wouldn’t have chosen you as my intern. I am absolutely certain you will achieve wonderful things, once you figure out what you want to do with your life. It’s clear that life goal isn’t working as an executive at Move Inc.”

Was that relief she saw in the other woman’s eyes? June couldn’t quite tell.

“Maybe not, Ms. Connelly,” she said after a pause. “I am a little lost when it comes to new technology. But I am grateful for the chance you gave me, even with the obvious holes in my base knowledge.”

“I appreciate you saying that.”

“The experience has been enormously educational. I’ve learned more than I can ever tell you, watching you in action.”

June wasn’t entirely certain that was meant as a compliment. She started to answer but before the words could emerge, she felt a sudden intense pain in her chest that stole her breath.

She clutched at the monster pain ripping through her chest and uttered one imprecation she rarely ever used before she slid off her chair to the floor.

Chapter 2

Alison

For a few brief stunned seconds, Alison could only stare at Juniper Connelly, crumpled on the carpet behind her sleek midcentury-modern desk.

Her brain couldn’t quite connect the dots.

One moment, June had been her normal take-no-prisoners self, her voice confident and assured as she made it clear what a failure she found Alison to be.

Big surprise there. She had been a nervous wreck as soon as she walked into the offices of Move Inc.

The next, June had clutched her chest and fallen over.

What the hell?

She felt paralyzed with shock and the echo of recent trauma for only a second or two, and then she rushed forward.

“Ms. Connelly? June?”

When she didn’t get a response, she pushed the chair out of the way and lowered June all the way to the floor. Her face had gone pale, her features chalky against the thick pile of the carpet, and her eyes were fixed and open, staring at nothing.

Alison felt for a pulse. When she didn’t find one, panic clawed at her. This couldn’t be happening!

“Help!” she screamed. “We need help!”

With a quick breath to calm herself, she turned back to her boss. “Hang on. Hang on, June.”

She loosened the woman’s tailored black shirt and positioned her flat on the floor. She mentally rehearsed the steps she had learned in the class she took a few months ago. She checked again to make sure she couldn’t feel a pulse. Nothing. June’s chest wasn’t moving either, and Ali couldn’t see any sign of life.

Okay. She could do this. She had the training. If only she could find the courage.

She inhaled sharply and was just about to give the first rescue breath before starting cardiopulmonary resuscitation when she sensed someone else in the room.

“What’s going on?”

The baffled, alarmed voice came from Jason Taylor, she saw at a glance. He was June’s administrative assistant. One of two, actually, who worked in cubicles next to Alison’s.

“What have you done?”

He clearly hadn’t been impressed by her timid performance of the past three weeks, either. She stared at his haughty features for a fraction of a second. “June has collapsed. Call 911. Tell them we’ve got a medical incident of unknown origin. She’s not breathing. She needs CPR. Do you have any training?”

He stared. “CPR?” he repeated as if he had never heard the acronym.

She didn’t have time to deal with his. Time was of the essence. She had only a tiny window to avoid irreversible hypoxic brain damage. “Call 911,” she ordered, her voice as firm and direct as she could make it.

That recent trauma pushed through her consciousness, the helplessness and the fear and the inevitable crushing grief.

Not June, as well. Especially not before she had any chance to tell her . . .

Alison jerked her mind away from the information that had brought her here, to this high-rise building in Seattle and the sleek office of the woman who intimidated her so very much. Instead, she forced herself to focus on the matter at hand.

She would never have the chance to tell Juniper Connelly anything if the woman didn’t start breathing again.

She inhaled once more and then reached down to give a rescue breath. It seemed to go in and remain trapped there so she knelt beside the woman, covered one hand with the other and began the count in her head.

Performing CPR on an actual human was much different than practicing on the dummy she had used during the training class she had forced herself to take after her father died. This was real. Not training. Someone’s life was at stake. Juniper Connelly’s life was at stake.

She was on her third round of compressions when Jason rushed back into the office.

“Okay,” he said. She could hear the fear in his voice but didn’t take time from her efforts to look up. “Help is on the way. Is she breathing?”

“Not yet.” Ali couldn’t spare even a look at him, focused solely on her efforts.

She heard him repeat the information into the phone, then he moved closer to the two of them. “The dispatcher wants to know if you’re familiar with CPR.”

Wasn’t it obvious?

“Yes,” she said, her arms moving in the steady “Staying Alive” cadence. “I finished training two months ago.”

Later, she knew she would be deeply grateful she had made herself go through the training. She had been driven by grief and pain and her helplessness at being unable to help her father. She never wanted to endure again the pain of watching someone die in front of her. Especially not someone she loved.

Surely, June looked a little better, didn’t she? She was still deathly pale but there seemed a smidge more color in her cheeks. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. Ali lost track of time and how many cycles she went through as the room seemed to fill up with people.

A dozen? Two? She didn’t stop even after the paramedics came in, answering their questions automatically with one side of her consciousness while instinct forced her to keep up the relentless rhythm. Finally, one of them nudged her aside.

“Miss? You need to step away now. I’ll take over from here. We’ve got an AED. We’re going to try to shock her back.”

She eased back on her heels. Someone—maybe Jason?—reached a hand down to help her up and she rose, her arms, shoulders and spine on fire from the exertion.

She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the drama unfolding on the floor, Juniper so pale and still while a half dozen paramedics worked around her. One continued CPR while another applied an oxygen mask attached to a bag to cover her nose and mouth. A third opened a machine and pulled out adhesive stickers that she attached to June’s now-bare chest.

“Okay, Mike,” the woman said in an authoritative voice. “Stop compressions. Everyone stand clear.”

A mechanical voice spoke from the box, announcing that a shock was being delivered, then seconds later said, Shock delivered. Provide chest compressions and rescue breaths.

They all seemed to bustle around her again. “Anything?” the paramedic performing chest compressions asked.

“Not yet.”

They went through the shock process a second time. This time, even Ali from her vantage point could see something was different.

“I’ve got a pulse,” one of them called out.

A pulse. June might survive this. Alison nearly collapsed back to the floor in relief. Fortunately, Jason was there and to her surprise he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders while the paramedics continued working on June.

“Yes. She’s got a pulse,” the woman paramedic said. “It’s thready but there. Keep going with the bag valve mask.”

She didn’t regain consciousness, but Ali could see her chest rising and falling on her own now. They worked on her until two more paramedics came in with a gurney.

“Where are you taking her?” she asked one of the paramedics.

He gave her the name of a hospital, but she hadn’t been in Seattle long enough to know where that was.

“Does she have family we should contact?”

She stared blankly at him, not at all sure how to answer that. Jason quickly stepped in.

“No. She doesn’t have any family,” he answered. “She has a couple of good friends. She is close with Adam Greene, the president of the company, but he’s in Hong Kong this week. I can notify him.”

“Will she be okay?” The words rushed out of Ali.

The paramedic shrugged. “The doctors can figure that out better than we can. You did what you could. Good work. If not for you, we would be taking her to the morgue, not the emergency room.”

After they left, a pall descended on the office. The floor was littered with medical debris. Empty canister wrappings, a discarded oxygen mask. The air smelled of alcohol wipes, sharp and distinctive.

In the strange silence, Ali felt as if she had somehow miraculously survived a tsunami and was wading her way back to dry land.

“Wow. You saved her life.” Jason looked shocked.

Margaret Thuy, Juniper’s other assistant, who must have come in while Alison was performing CPR, gave her an admiring look. “You had nerves of steel. I would have been terrified. How did you learn how to do CPR?”

“My dad died of a heart attack six months ago. I . . . couldn’t help him. I took a class so I would never find myself in that position again.”

She was shaking, she suddenly realized. Her arms trembled and her shoulders jerked with fine, small shudders. She was nauseated, as well. But then, she had not eaten much that morning.

June had been in the middle of firing her. Well, since she was an unpaid intern, she had been in the middle of telling Ali that her services were no longer needed.

I am sure you will agree that these past three weeks have been something of a disaster, from start to finish.

Ali had seen the disappointment in the other woman’s expression, a kind of pained resignation.

She couldn’t say she didn’t deserve to be canned. She had made a lousy executive intern, especially in a fast-paced tech innovation company like Move Inc. Juniper left her as nervous as a bag of cats, as her grandmother would say, and she had been completely out of her comfort zone.

That didn’t matter now. The woman who was the entire reason she had come to Seattle was in the process of being transported to a hospital and now Alison didn’t know what to do.

She couldn’t simply . . . walk away. June would need help over the next few days or weeks. Or maybe months. Ali couldn’t abandon her.

She would stay and help where she could. She could check on her in the hospital, run errands for her. Whatever she needed.

She hadn’t been able to do anything to save her father. But even if June had been in the middle of firing her, Alison wouldn’t simply slink away in the night, abandoning one of the few family members she had left.

Chapter 3

Juniper

Later, when June tried to remember those first hours after her heart stopped beating and then she was brought back to life, she would mostly have vague impressions of confusion, fear, pain.

Tiny shards of memory lingered: the shock of finding strangers peering over her; wondering why she was lying down on some kind of stretcher in the elevator; why she had a mask over her face; where they were taking her.

Waking up to find herself here, in this hospital room, while someone sat in the corner and a nurse bustled around checking her IV, the leads on her chest, her oxygen settings.

She wasn’t sure exactly what was happening. She only knew her chest ached like hell. Once she had suffered a cracked rib after a hard fall during a race. This felt worse somehow.

The person in the corner didn’t move, even after the nurse left. She couldn’t quite see anyone, could only sense a presence out of the corner of her gaze.

Could it be Adam? He was in Hong Kong this week, wasn’t he?

It was a woman, anyway, she realized. Not Adam. A small woman, at that.

Maybe it was Jade or Luce, one of her two closest girlfriends. Except the person whose face she couldn’t quite see didn’t have Jade’s long, sleek black hair or Luce’s auburn curls. June shifted for a better look and saw a woman with honey-colored hair caught up in a messy bun.

Recognition flared. She knew this woman. Her rather incompetent intern, Alison Wells, looking much more rumpled and casual in yoga leggings and a hoodie than she did in the business attire she usually wore.

What was she doing here?

June frowned, trying to grasp hold of her thoughts that seemed slippery and elusive.

She must have made some kind of noise. Alison uncurled from the chair, blinking her eyes open.

“Oh. Hi. You’re awake.”

“What happened? Why am I here?” Her voice came out in a raw croak. She desperately wanted a drink of water. On a rolling table slightly out of reach of her arms, she could see a plastic cup with ice water and a straw.

Alison must have seen her looking toward it. Without being asked, she lifted it and held it out to June, who sipped at the straw gratefully, then had to lower her head back to the pillow in exhaustion.

“You’re okay to drink. The nurse said it’s fine, otherwise I wouldn’t let you.”

“What happened to me?” she asked again.

Alison looked uncomfortable. “The doctors and nurses can explain it all better than I can.”

“Tell me,” she pressed, trying for her most commanding voice. It came out like a ridiculous little squeak.

Alison pursed her lips, looking undecided. “It would be better if you heard it from a medical professional.”

“I need to know. Please.”

The other woman sighed. “You had a cardiac event apparently. A pretty major one.”

That couldn’t be right. She was thirty-four years old. A very healthy thirty-four. She ran half-marathons. She couldn’t have had a cardiac event. Whatever that meant.

“No, seriously. What really happened?”

Alison’s expression melted into sympathy. “Exactly what I said. One moment we were talking in your office, the next you collapsed at your desk. You stopped breathing. It was terrifying.”

Her brain seemed to be slowly clicking back into action. The pieces were all there but she couldn’t quite fit them together.

“I . . . stopped breathing?”

Alison nodded. “You didn’t have a pulse and your heart wasn’t beating so I started CPR while Jason called 911.”

“That’s . . . impossible. No way.”

She worked out every day. She had been a high school track star and had run at the collegiate level. Her entire life was devoted to fitness. For heaven’s sake, she was an executive vice president and head of marketing for Move Inc, which made the hottest fitness devices on the market.

“Impossible,” she said again. Alison didn’t appear to be joking, though.

“They’re running tests to figure out what happened and are hoping to have some answers tomorrow. Meanwhile, you’re in the cardiac intensive care unit. They are taking good care of you here.”

Nothing made sense. Why was Alison here? And why was she lying to June about why she was here?

She had a flash of memory of walking into her mother’s hospital room, seeing her bandaged and pale as death, eyes lifeless, with tubes attached everywhere.

She remembered her bewildered and frightened fifteen-year-old self sobbing as she said goodbye while a social worker from child protective services waited to take her to the next phase of her life.

Panic flared, harsh and noxious. “I can’t be here.” She started clutching at her leads and moved to get up.

“Hey. Don’t do that. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Alison stepped closer to the bed and rested a hand on her arm. A nurse in blue scrubs also hurried in and adjusted some settings on the machines.

“You can’t do that. If you’re going to be agitated, we will have to ask your guest to leave,” she said, her voice stern, before she walked away to the patient in the next bay over.

“Why are you here?” June asked, forcing herself to breathe through the ache in her chest.

“They needed someone to sign forms and give them information about you. We—Jason, Margaret and I—didn’t know who else to contact. We couldn’t find Mr. Martinez so we called Mr. Greene and he asked one of us to handle it. He’s got meetings in the morning but plans to fly home immediately afterward so he should be here tomorrow evening or the day after.”

Adam Greene and Rudy Martinez had been her dearest friends for years. Together, they had started Move Inc when they were all in college and had built it from the ground up. Rudy was gay with a long-term partner. She and Adam had tried to date once but quickly realized they were much better as friends than as lovers.

After more than fifteen years as friends, she saw Adam too clearly. He could be selfish and single-minded, with little patience for the weakness of others. No doubt he had a list of her own faults that probably stretched much longer than his.

Still, they were the closest thing she had to family. She needed one of them here right now, not tomorrow when it was more convenient.

“Do you have family in the area I could reach out to?” Alison asked, as if reading her thoughts. “I asked around the office and neither Jason nor Margaret knew whether there was someone else we should be contacting.”

Despite the busy hospital and the activity she could see through the glass windows, she suddenly felt very alone.

What was new about that? She had been alone for years.

“No. I don’t have any family in the area and I don’t need you to call anyone.” She curled and uncurled her fingers against the sheet. “This is all so stupid. I don’t need to be here. I’m perfectly fine.”

Again, she lifted her fingers as if to reach for the leads attached to her chest, but Alison placed a restraining hand on her arm. “I know you’re upset. I’m sorry. This has no doubt been a shock. I mean, it’s not every day a person dies and is brought back to life.”

If she had died, who would have grieved her death?

Adam and Rudy and his partner would. Her other friends, some of her coworkers. But that was about it.

The nurse bustled in again, this time holding a syringe.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier. We had a bit of an emergency next door. Hi, Juniper. My name is Katherine and I’ll be your nurse tonight. How are you feeling?”

Like she had been hit by a truck and then thrown over the side of a cliff.

“June. My name is June. I shouldn’t be here. This is a mistake.”

“I imagine all of this has been very upsetting. But you’ve got the finest cardiac team anywhere taking care of you and they will get you sorted.”

She nodded, not sure what else to say.

“I’m going to give you some medicine now for the pain. You’ve got a cracked rib from the CPR, which I know must hurt like the devil. It’s going to make you sleepy but that’s completely normal.”

She gave a comforting smile and pushed something into the IV hooked up to June’s arm.

As the medicine seeped through her blood, she felt almost instantly better. She was so very tired. She would sleep for a while and maybe when she woke, she would find this was all a bad dream.

As she looked at Alison Wells, whose face was swirling in her vision now, June had the random thought that there was something she should be remembering about the other woman. Something important between them had happened or was supposed to happen today.

She couldn’t seem to grab hold of any of her increasingly slippery thoughts, so she simply closed her eyes and surrendered to the inevitable.

Chapter 4

Alison

Ali exhaled with relief as she watched June’s eyes drift shut and her features relax. Her face looked bruised and pinched, with deep hollows under the eyes and a pallor that worried her.

Despite that, she was still lovely, with high cheekbones, finely arched brows and blue eyes that reminded Alison very much of her father’s.

Over the past three weeks while she had been making a total fool of herself trying to carry out intern duties for which she was entirely unqualified, Alison hadn’t had the chance to really look at the woman. Now that June was asleep, Alison studied her relaxed features, hoping for some kind of resemblance to her.

They didn’t look much alike. Where June was tall, willowy, athletic, with chestnut brown hair and eyes the color of a mountain lake, Alison was eight inches shorter, petite, definitely more curvy than athletic.

Also, June was a high-powered company executive who both impressed and intimidated every other employee at Move Inc, while Alison had been a lowly intern, nervous and uncomfortable if anyone even talked to her.

She still couldn’t wrap her head around the results of the DNA test that had completely shaken the natural order of things in her world a few months earlier. It still seemed inconceivable that her late father, literary icon Carson Wells, could have a secret love child somewhere out in the world who was now thirty-four years old, eight years older than Alison. Or that the secret love child was now a smart, savvy executive at one of the top technological innovation companies in the world.

She knew it had to be true, though. Their DNA was too closely linked to be anything other than sisters, especially as June’s DNA also closely linked to their father’s DNA.

When the match had come through for the test she had almost forgotten she and her father had taken before his death, Alison had been stunned and upset.

How could Carson have kept such a huge thing from her? And how could the man who always wrote books about honor and integrity have walked away from a child?

She had wanted to reach out as soon as she had learned about the link. After some detective work, she had traced the user to Seattle, to one woman: tech executive Juniper Connelly, who had a reputation for fierce creativity and brilliant focus.

She didn’t feel like she could simply rush up to her and tell her they were half sisters. She wanted to get to know the other woman first to see if Allison even wanted a relationship with her. This business leadership internship seemed the perfect opportunity.

After weeks of observing her half sister in her natural milieu, Ali still didn’t really feel as if she knew her. Juniper could be prickly, tough, demanding, driven. But also compassionate and gentle, like when Alison had discovered by accident that she donated heavily to a Boys and Girls Club in the area and that she personally volunteered at a community recreation center, working with at-risk youth who were in danger of slipping through the cracks.

She was an enigma. Which was why Ali found herself here, in the cardiac ICU at Seattle’s biggest hospital, trying to figure out what she was doing there and, more importantly, what she should do next.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the nurse said gently. “I’m sorry, but she needs her rest, especially with all the tests she will be having tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of her.”

She had just walked back to the ICU waiting area when her phone buzzed with an incoming text and she pulled it out.

Are you still in Seattle? Let me guess, you’re at one of the hundreds of Starbucks there.

Xander Scott, one of her oldest and dearest friends, could always make her smile, even in the most stressful moments.

Still in Seattle but not at Starbucks, she texted back. You wouldn’t believe where I am right now. The story is too long to tell you over text. Definitely a mojitos-and-nachos kind of tale.

Sounds good to me. And on that note, I’m passing through Seattle next week on my way back from Indonesia and could stop for a quick layover before I fly back to Wyoming for a few weeks to stay with Aunt Sylvia after her hip surgery. Would love a chance to catch up and maybe crash on your couch.

Xander’s schedule as one of the most successful travel vloggers on YouTube was insanely busy. She couldn’t remember the last time they had been able to cross paths.

At his text, she had a sudden longing for home. Bridger Peak, their Wyoming hometown, was small and quaint, with spectacular surroundings and hardworking people.

It was home, even though being there without her father seemed wrong, as if a vital life force had dried up.

She still had her grandmother Loretta, the bookstore, the Painted Sky ranch her father had loved so much. But she didn’t have Carson, with his sharp mind, his compassion, his deep love for her and their mountain community.

She pushed away the familiar ache to text Xander back.

Sounds good. I would love a chance to catch up. I hope I get the chance to meet Giselle.

The words were a lie. She didn’t know much about this latest girlfriend but what little she did know didn’t endear the other woman to Alison.

Giselle was as gorgeous as a model, with brilliant green eyes in a sleek tanned face. She spoke English with a pronounced French accent that only seemed to add to her appeal. The woman was freakishly stunning no matter what they did together, whether that was climbing a mountain in the Himalayas or surfing on the beaches of Morocco or having dinner at a posh seaside restaurant on the Amalfi Coast.

She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around the changes to her best friend. After spending his teen years as king of the geeks at their high school, the guy who played trumpet in the marching band and was the Dungeon Master of their Dungeons & Dragons group, Xander had come into his own as an adult, especially when it came to women.

In his exotic travels that he documented through his channel, it seemed he was always accompanied by a different gorgeous woman. For the past year, it had been Giselle, a fellow vlogger from France who seemed to hang on Xander’s every word.

It took a moment for his reply to come through.

Giselle decided to head back to France. We’ve gone our separate ways.

She stared at the words, trying to ascertain whether he was hurt or relieved or . . . something else. She didn’t know if she should tell him she was sorry they had split or if she should offer a supportive good riddance.

She had only met the woman a few times through video calls, the most recent that she had made to Xander a month ago to tell him about her newly discovered sister and to let him know she was staying in a mutual friend’s apartment in Seattle during her last-minute internship.

In a brief interaction before she left the room so they could talk, Giselle had been haughty and dismissive, full of politeness while giving the distinct impression she was looking down her elegant nose at Ali.

She dithered as she gazed down at his text message before she quickly texted him back

I’m sorry?

He sent back a shrugging emoji.

It’s for the best. She wouldn’t have enjoyed Bridger Peak.

Gotta go, he texted almost immediately, before Ali had a chance to absorb that. On my way to catch a train. I probably won’t have great internet for a while. I’ll reach out when I’m back in civilization. Talk soon.

She tucked her phone back into her pocket, feeling a mix of emotions at their interaction.

Xander had been her closest friend since they were in elementary school, when he moved to town with his great-aunt and -uncle. She had been asked by their teacher to sit by him at lunch and welcome him to Bridger Peak. While she had dreaded the assignment, it turned out Xander had been funny and nice and she had liked him immediately.

Through the years, their friendship had sustained her through some tough times. Moving to Colorado for her undergrad and then Utah for law school. Breaking up with her first real boyfriend. And her second.

Most importantly, losing her father.

Lately, something seemed to have shifted between them and she couldn’t quite put her finger on exactly what it might be. Their conversations had become increasingly stilted, and she couldn’t shake the fear that they were losing their friendship.

She wouldn’t worry about that now. He was coming through Seattle and they would have the chance to meet up. They would also probably see each other in Bridger Peak, as she intended to return for the summer as soon as she could arrange it.

Which brought her right back to the problem of what she was supposed to do now. June had been in the middle of ending Ali’s internship when she suffered her cardiac event.

She sighed as she walked out of the waiting room and headed for the hospital exit. She would grab something to eat and then come back to stay with the woman she had come to Seattle to meet.

Ali had fully intended to tell June about that DNA test and had been trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject. She had known that the longer she delayed being honest with her, the more awkward the inevitable conversation would be.

How could she tell her now, though? June had just suffered a cardiac arrest. She had been dead, for heaven’s sake. The only reason she was here instead of lying on a slab in the morgue was because of Alison and her dogged determination to learn CPR after their father’s death.

Maybe that was the reason she had been so compelled to come to Seattle, to meet her sister in person and try to establish a link between them.

Yes, she might have been a complete failure as an executive management intern. But she had done at least one thing right.

She couldn’t help feeling fate was giving her another chance to connect with Juniper.

Chapter 5

Juniper

She awoke twice in the night, when nurses came in to take her vital signs or change her IV medication. Each time, she battled panic, not knowing where she was or what had happened.

Each time, the same quiet voice would assure her she was all right, that she was in the hospital, that the doctors and nurses were taking good care of her. She had vague impressions of a soft, gentle hand on her arm that soothed her panic.

For some reason, it made her think of her mother. Doctors had removed June’s tonsils when she was eight and she could remember her mother snuggling in the hospital bed with her, her vanilla-and-lavender scent surrounding them both as Elizabeth sang her to sleep.

She missed her mother deeply. She had been gone nearly twenty years but June still ached from the loss of the only family she had ever really known.

Her mother felt closer than ever now as she lay in a hospital bed trying not to think about how close she had come to death.

She awoke fully with sun pouring in through the blinds of a high window and a nurse speaking to someone in the corner, telling her a cart was coming around with free coffee and bagels.

Coffee would be great right about now. June opened her eyes and looked over to the corner. To her shock, Alison Wells again sat in an uncomfortable-looking recliner.

“You’re still here.” Her voice came out raspy and thin and more abrupt than she intended.

Alison blinked at her, looking rumpled and sleepy and rather disgruntled.

“I went home for a while to grab something to eat and change into more comfortable clothes.”

“Why are you still here?”

Alison seemed to hesitate. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone,” she finally said, then gave June that scared-kitten look she sometimes wore, as if she was afraid someone might jump out at her from around the corner.

Had June really been that awful of a boss that she had completely terrified the younger woman? She hoped not.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, touched, despite her discomfort with the whole situation.

“I know I didn’t. But you’ve been through a terrible ordeal and you didn’t seem to have anyone else to stay here with you.”

And that, in a nutshell, clarified her life down to the bare essentials.

Alison moved closer to the bed and gave an unexpected smile. “And to be honest, I feel bonded with you now, since I did save your life.”

She seemed to be joking, but June couldn’t completely tell.

She didn’t know what to say. When was the last time someone had been so kind to her? Not saving her life. She still hadn’t quite processed that. Staying all night in an uncomfortable chair of a hospital room with a woman who was a virtual stranger. Wasn’t that taking devotion to duty to the next level?

“Thank you,” she said, feeling overwhelmed and out of control again.

The nurse, a different one than the woman she had met the day before, hurried over and was adjusting some settings on her IV when the door opened and the room suddenly filled with a whole crowd of people.

An older man with dark hair, glasses and a kind smile seemed to be in charge. “Hello, Ms. Connelly. I’m Doctor Singh. I am a cardiologist here and I was called in to help yesterday in the emergency department when you arrived. You gave us all quite a fright.”

“So I understand. I don’t remember most of it. Can you tell me what happened?”

“You had a cardiac arrest. You were lucky your coworkers knew what to do or we wouldn’t be talking right now.”

June’s gaze shifted to Alison, who seemed thrilled at the doctor’s words.

She turned her attention back to Dr. Singh. “I don’t understand how this could happen. I had a checkup three months ago and all of my numbers were good.”

He looked at something on a laptop. “Have you had any dizzy episodes or possibly even fainted momentarily?”

She frowned, thinking back. “Dizzy spells. Yes. More over the past year, I suppose. That’s one of the reasons I went for a full workup with my primary care doctor. My blood pressure was quite low so my doctor suggested that might be responsible. At the time, I was also under a great deal of stress at work and traveling quite a bit.”

That particular state of affairs wasn’t anything new. She had been working hard for years while she, Adam and Rudy worked to build the company.

“Your case is an interesting one. I’ve been going over your file and the test results we’ve done so far. I’d like to run a few more tests today while you’re here in the hospital. Our initial test results suggest you might have a condition called Catecholaminergic Polymorphic Ventricular Tachycardia.”

“What is that?”

“It’s a big, scary name, I know. You can call it CPVT. Again, we won’t know for sure until we do some further tests.”

How could this be possible? Maintaining healthy habits was an important part of her life.

“Is it . . . fatal?”

“In certain cases, it can be, especially when it goes undiagnosed into adulthood. Your case might have been if circumstances had been different. But it can also be very well controlled through the use of an implanted device that helps regulate the electric pulses of your heart.”

“A pacemaker? You’re talking about a pacemaker?”

“This would be what we call an ICD. An implantable cardioverter-defibrillator that senses an irregular heartbeat and can administer a tiny shock to your heart to get it back on track. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still have some tests to run today and will hopefully have a better plan at that point.”

“This can’t be happening.”

“If we determine such a device is indicated in your particular case, you can, of course, choose to decline the surgery. I would highly recommend against that. It would place you at serious risk of another cardiac event, especially now that you’ve had a serious event and your heart has sustained damage.”

Heart damage. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. She suddenly yearned for Adam or Rudy or one of her other close friends. How was it possible that the only person here was an intern she barely knew? An intern she had been in the process of letting go, she suddenly remembered.

“We don’t have to make any decisions yet. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, I would like to run these additional tests to see if there might be something else we’re missing, if that’s all right with you.”

“Do I really have a choice?”

His eyes were kind even as his expression was firm. “You always have a choice. But again, we won’t have a clear picture of what’s going on with your heart without these tests.”

Right. She was always telling her team that information was power.

“It’s important to remember that you are an extraordinarily fortunate young woman. You’re here, you are alive, you have the chance to resume a normal life, for all intents and purposes.”

That was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and IV lines and having to confront the harsh reality of her own mortality.

He did a quick exam, listening closely to her heart and her lungs, then two other younger medical professionals, whose name tags also included the descriptors Resident and Medical Student, followed his lead and listened, as well.

After they left, June fought the ridiculous burn of tears. She had almost forgotten her erstwhile intern was still there until the woman spoke from her chair in the corner.

“Ms. Connelly, is there someone else you would like me to call for you?”

She blinked rapidly. “No. I’m fine. You don’t have to stay, either. While I appreciate everything you’ve done, you’re under no obligation to camp out here with me.”

“Does it bother you to have me here? I can go, if that is your preference. But I would like to stay, if you don’t mind.”

She didn’t quite know how to answer. It was more than a little mortifying to find out that despite everything she had achieved, all her vaunted independence and how far she had come, she still felt like a small, frightened child here in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines and strangers.

“Surely, you have something better to do.”

Alison raised an eyebrow. “Like what? I don’t have an internship. You let me go, remember?”

The casual way she said it made June wince a little. “I wondered if you remembered.”

To her surprise, the other woman smiled. “I can’t say I wasn’t expecting it. You should have done it a week ago. I’m grateful for the second and third chances you gave me.”

“The fact that you apparently saved my life certainly doesn’t make you responsible for me. You don’t have to be nice to me or stick around for hours in a hospital room.”

She sounded stuffy and ungrateful, she realized with a qualm. “As much as I appreciate it,” she added.

She knew some of those who worked with her at the company considered her remote and unapproachable and perhaps even arrogant. She wasn’t, at all. June had just learned through hard experience to rely mostly on herself.

“I don’t feel any obligation toward you,” Alison insisted. “It didn’t seem right to leave you alone here. I wanted to be sure you had someone in case you needed anything during the night. My mom spent a few weeks in the hospital before she died and I remember her saying how much she hated waking up alone in a hospital bed. I don’t want to be intrusive, though. If you think you’re okay, I’ll get out of your hair and let you rest.”

“I’m fine. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.” Alison suddenly looked young and uncertain again. “Would you mind if I came back later to check on you?”

She should tell her not to bother, but somehow the idea of someone being so concerned about her felt . . . comforting. She didn’t feel quite as alone.

“No. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Great. I’ll be back this afternoon. Try to get some rest.”

She nodded. After Alison left, June closed her eyes and wondered how her carefully organized life had fallen so completely off the rails.

Chapter 6

Alison

Five days after she saved Juniper Connelly’s life, Ali again walked into the hospital and took the now-familiar elevator up to the cardiac unit. She had spent more time here the past five days than she had in her borrowed apartment, but she didn’t regret a moment.

At first, she had visited because she felt sorry for the other woman. The normally confident, brusque June Connelly had seemed so frightened to be alone, especially after doctors talked about putting in an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator to shock her heart if it stopped again.

For all her success and wealth, June seemed . . . lonely. Ali had seen friends stop by, accomplished professionals like June who dropped off flowers, small gifts, tasteful, luxurious slippers and throws.

All their visits seemed to Alison to be superficial. They talked around June’s heart health and rarely addressed it, focusing instead on things happening at Move Inc, about their plans for the summer, about how happy they were to see her doing so well.

Ali would slip away whenever visitors arrived and then would pop back into the room to make sure June didn’t need anything before she left for the day. June always seemed happy, almost relieved, whenever she showed up, though Ali wasn’t sure if she was projecting her own feelings onto the other woman.

The true breakthrough in their relationship had come after June’s second night in the hospital, after doctors had confirmed her diagnosis of CPVT and again had recommended surgery to implant the small device under her collarbone that would sense if her heart rate became irregular or, heaven forbid, stopped entirely again. It would provide a small shock to return it to its usual beat.

Ali had offered to stop at June’s apartment to pick up anything she might want or need after the surgery, scheduled for the next day.

“You don’t have to do that. You’ve done so much for me already.”

“I really don’t mind,” she assured her. “I know you terminated my internship but we never had the chance to fill out the paperwork so I’m still technically your intern. I’m happy to help. Make a list of what I can pick up for you and where to find it and then you can text it to me.”

June shook her head with resignation and began composing a text message on her phone to send to Alison with her list.

After her phone pinged, Alison read through the list to make sure she didn’t have any questions. Her gaze had stopped on the third item, after face moisturizer and before reading glasses.

“You want me to pick up a copy of Purgatory River?” she asked, almost dumbstruck.

“Yes. It should be easy to find. It’s in my bedroom, on the bedside table.”

At Ali’s continued silence, June had frowned. “Is that a problem?”

“No. Not a problem. It’s just . . . I didn’t realize you were a fan of Carson Wells.”

June had given a rough laugh. “Who isn’t? He’s the best American novelist in a generation. Since his tragic death, I’ve been rereading my favorites. They’re my comfort reads.”

Her thoughts in a tangle, Alison had stared at the woman. What did that mean? Did Juniper know about her own connection to Carson? If she didn’t, why would she love his writing so much and call his work her comfort reads?

She had cleared her throat, trying to find the right words. “You know he’s our . . . my father, right?” she quickly corrected.

For a long moment, June had only stared at her. “No, he isn’t!” she had finally exclaimed.

“Yeah. Pretty sure he is.” She quickly opened the photos on her phone and found the one she used as wallpaper, one of her favorites of them in the mountains near their ranch.

She held her phone out to June, who looked at it in astonishment, then back at Alison.

“Good Lord. Why didn’t you tell me your father is Carson Wells?”

She shrugged. “It’s not something I casually drop into conversation with everyone.”

June’s face had softened. “And he’s only been gone six months, too. I’m so sorry. He seemed like an amazing man. I saw a documentary about him on PBS a few months ago and discovered he lived an even more adventurous life than the characters in his books. I would have loved to have met him.”

She spoke about a stranger, not about someone to whom she was closely connected. Clearly, Juniper didn’t know he was likely her own father.

“Have you always been a fan?” Alison asked carefully, trying to sound casual.

“As far back as I can remember. My mother and I read Purgatory River together. I was twelve, too young to understand the subtext and the layers then, but I still loved it. We read several others over the years before she died when I was fifteen. He was always her favorite author, and reading his work helps me feel a connection with her somehow.”

Alison had tried to word her next question as carefully as possible. “Had your . . . mother met him?”

June nodded. “Apparently, she went to a signing of his in Jackson Hole when she was a grad student, trying to earn money during the summer working at a lodge in Grand Teton National Park.”

So that was when the two of them must have connected. At a book signing. Her mind whirled with questions but she suspected Juniper wouldn’t know the answers any more than she did.

“Her signed first edition copy of the book was her most prized possession,” June said. “Now it’s mine.”

As odd as that made Ali feel, she couldn’t wait to tell her father’s friend Beckett Hunter, who was the cotrustee with her of Carson’s literary trust.

He was one of only a few people she had confided in after her shocking DNA test.

He had speculated that maybe June’s mother had been a literary groupie who had hooked up with him in those heady early days of Carson’s career, when his debut novel had launched him into instant success.

That conversation with June here in the hospital had been three days earlier. In the time since, somehow she and her half sister had begun to forge an unlikely friendship.

She stepped out of the elevator when it stopped at the cardiac unit, smiling at a young father and two young girls still inside who carried flowers in a blue basket, along with a small balloon on a stick that said It’s a Boy.

Hospitals were a constant source of drama, she thought. Births, deaths. Cancer diagnoses, miraculous healings. The people who worked here were making a difference in people’s lives.

Unlike her.

Her own discontent annoyed her. She had a law degree. She only had to take the Wyoming bar later that year and then she could start the rest of her life.

When she walked in, she found June sitting up wearing a robe Ali had brought in over her hospital gown. She looked bright and alert, with more color than Ali had seen on her features.

“Alison. Hi. I was telling Adam what a lifesaver you have been, literally and metaphorically.”

She saw at once that the very handsome CEO and tech genius of Move Inc sat in the visitor’s chair. He had been delayed by business overseas. While he called every day, as far as she knew, this was his first visit to the hospital.

“This is Alison Wells, our courageous intern?”

He had never spoken to her before and she felt deeply intimidated.

“Yes,” June said.

To Ali’s shock, he rose and reached out to fold both of her hands into his. “I can never thank you enough for what you have done. Move Inc would be lost without our Junie. She was in on the ground floor, since we were in college, dreaming of brighter days.”

“I’m glad I was there at the right time and the right place and knew what to do.”

“We all are. I want you to know we’re purchasing AED kits for every single department at Move and I’ve initiated a new program through HR where every new hire will be required to learn CPR and other basic first-aid skills as a condition of their employment. I can’t imagine why we haven’t implemented such a thing before.”

“You never know how important training is until someone needs it.” That was the only reason she had learned. Because she hadn’t been able to help her father.

She knew now that her father had been beyond help from the very moment he collapsed. That didn’t help her guilt.

“So true. So true.” Adam reached for June’s hand now and squeezed her fingers. “I wish I could stay longer but Rudy is having fits with both of us gone. I’ll check in with you again. You take care of yourself, Junie. I can’t lose you.”

After he left, Ali couldn’t help but notice how most of his conversation had centered on himself.

“I didn’t realize you were part of Move Inc from the beginning.”

“Adam, Rudy and I went to university together. I wasn’t as good at the coding as the two of them were, but I was definitely in on the brainstorming.”

“That’s great.”

“It’s always been a joint endeavor, even though Adam gets most of the recognition. Rudy and I are both happy to be behind the scenes.”

“How are you feeling today?”

June shrugged. “Fine, though every time I take a breath I’m reminded I have a broken rib and a tiny piece of tech inside my chest that’s keeping me alive.”

Ali couldn’t imagine how difficult that must be. “Are you supposed to go home today?”

“Apparently, the plan is for me to leave tomorrow. Doctor Singh wants to watch me another day to make sure the settings on the ICD are correct.”

“I hope you’re not planning to immediately jump back into work.”

Even as she said the words, she wondered if June would consider her too presumptuous. While their relationship had shifted to something more than boss and incompetent intern over the past few days, Ali knew she had no right to nag June about her work habits. Maybe if June knew she was her younger sister, yes. But she still hadn’t told her about the DNA test results.

June didn’t appear offended by her effrontery. She frowned, looking disgruntled. “I’ve been ordered by Doctor Singh as well as Adam and Rudy to take at least a month off. I don’t know how that will be possible. Maybe I can be gone for a week but any longer than that and I’ll have to pop into the office to check on things.”

“Why don’t you come back to Wyoming with me?” Alison blurted out the idea that had been spinning in the back of her mind for days.

June stared at her. “Wyoming?”

“Yes. My father’s ranch, The Painted Sky. It’s spectacular. It’s in a beautiful valley, on a river. The nearby town, Bridger Peak, is small, but has everything you might need. No matter what else is going on in my life, I always find peace there.”

“I couldn’t do that. You’ve already done more than enough for me. I can’t impose on you more than I already have.”

Ali wanted June to come to The Painted Sky. She wanted her to see the place their father had loved, where he found inspiration and where he wrote.

Beyond that, she needed to tell June they were sisters, though she didn’t feel quite ready to blurt that out yet. Maybe it would help June deal better with the shock if she came to the ranch first and had a chance to get to know Loretta and Beck and everyone else in Bridger Peak who had adored Carson.

“There’s plenty of room,” she assured her. “We have five unused bedrooms in the ranch house. If you would rather be on your own, my father’s writing cabin is a fully contained guesthouse, with three bedrooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. When Dad was trying to finish a book, he would sometimes stay there for an entire month, coming up to the main house only for the occasional meal.”

June looked intrigued by the insight into Carson’s writing process. “I don’t imagine your mother loved that. I’ve always thought how hard being married to a writer must be.”

“My mom died when I was fourteen. For most of my teenage years, it was just me, my dad and my grandma Loretta.”

“My mom died when I was fifteen, but it was always just the two of us. I never knew my father.”

“I’m sorry,” Ali murmured.

She wanted to say that going to Bridger Peak would give June the chance to get to know that father better, but the timing wasn’t quite right to tell her.

“I can’t impose on your family that way,” June said again.

“It’s no imposition, I promise. It’s only my grandma and me now. The ranch is mine. I can invite anyone I like to stay.”

June studied her as if trying to make sense of a complicated coding problem. “You own a ranch in Wyoming. Yet, you were working as an unpaid, overworked intern to the marketing director at Move Inc. Why?”

Ali gave a bland look in response, though she could feel her palms sweat a little. “I love the ranch, don’t get me wrong, but as I said on my application, I graduated from law school this year and needed something to do while I study for the bar. I wanted some actual experience in the corporate world and it seemed a great opportunity to explore that option.”

“Lucky for me, you did,” June murmured. “Adam would probably call it fate or destiny that our paths crossed so you could save my life.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I’m too prosaic to believe in destiny,” June said.

“I don’t know. I think I was in exactly the right place at the right time. And maybe going with me to The Painted Sky is exactly where you need to be while you recover.”

June looked undecided.

“Adam wants me to go to his place on the California Coast near Napa. It’s lovely, don’t get me wrong. But you know, I think I would prefer the mountains of Wyoming. Are you sure it isn’t too much to ask?”

Ali beamed. She wouldn’t have to say goodbye to June yet, and she could choose the best time to tell the other woman that her favorite author was actually her father.

“That would be amazing,” she exclaimed. “I’ll call my grandmother and have her make sure the cabin is ready for a guest.”

“I won’t be ready to leave as soon as I’m discharged. It will take me a day or two to pack and make arrangements.”

“Totally fine. I’m in no hurry. And I can help you with whatever you need to do before you leave.”

That was what family members did for each other, wasn’t it?

Chapter 7

Juniper

Funny how a person’s life could change in an instant.

Only days ago, she was in her office trying to fire her latest intern. Now she sat in one of the plush chairs in the smaller of the Move Inc corporate jets, heading for a town in Wyoming she had never heard of, with that same intern sitting in the seat next to her.

She touched the fingers of one hand to the steady pulse beating in her other wrist. She found it both comfort and curse that she was so aware of her heartbeat now. For thirty-four years, she had taken that beat for granted, never expecting she had a congenital heart condition that could have ended her life at any second.

Everything she had achieved—her work at Move Inc, her prestigious penthouse condo, the healthy portfolio, her charitable contributions—could have disappeared in a blink.

The fragile nature of life had never been so apparent to her.

“We should be there soon.” Alison peered down at the landscape passing quickly beneath them. “I think that’s Jackson Hole. I recognize the Grand Teton below us and to the right.”

Glen Little, one of the Move Inc pilots who had flown June around the country several times before, chimed in over the intercom. “We’re beginning our descent. Another ten minutes or so and we will be on the ground. It might get bumpy as we head over these mountains, but I will do my best to keep things nice and easy for you.”

“It’s kind of fun to fly on a private jet,” Alison said, looking around the comfortable surroundings with interest. “This is my first time. It’s so weird that we didn’t have to go through security or anything.”

Though Alison was at least in her midtwenties if she had already earned a law degree, she had the fresh-faced excitement of a child discovering how to skateboard for the first time.

“That is definitely an advantage,” June said, feeling ancient at her advanced age of thirty-four.

“If we were flying commercial, we would probably have to go to Jackson Hole, which is never a direct flight from anywhere. And then we would have to find somebody willing to drive more than an hour to pick us up. The county airport near Bridger Peak is only a fifteen-minute drive to our house.”

June would have been fine flying commercial to Wyoming but Adam had insisted they take one of the corporate planes. He had been overly solicitous since returning from his overseas trip, telling her several times that she needed to stay healthy since the company would collapse without her.

She didn’t quite buy that. Her role as head of marketing was definitely important to their bottom line, but they had a deep bench of excellent people who could step up and take over her responsibilities, even if she needed to be here longer than a few weeks.

“Will we need to hire a car to take us to your ranch?”

Alison gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s all taken care of. My grandma is working today and neither our housekeeper Jo Bailey or her husband, Patrick, who is our ranch foreman, could pick us up as they had other appointments.”

“Do they have Uber or Lyft in rural Wyoming?”

“Not really, though there is a couple who runs a business taking tourists into Jackson Hole or dropping them off at various trailheads in the area. But I’ve asked a good friend to pick us up.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“Doctor Singh said you should not drive for another week so I’m happy to take you anywhere you want to go. Anybody at the ranch would do the same. After you can drive again, I’m sure we will be able to find a ranch vehicle for you to use. It’s nice to have the freedom to explore or run into town when you want without having to wait for someone to give you a ride.”

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t quite figure out why Alison Wells was being so kind to her. Inviting someone who was a virtual stranger to recover from surgery in your guesthouse in Wyoming seemed an extreme offer, simply for a good letter of recommendation.

More to the point, why had June agreed to the plan? It was completely unlike her to take off with a woman she had known less than a month to travel to some isolated ranch in Wyoming, simply because June’s mother had adored literary icon Carson Wells.

She had never been so impulsive.

Then again, she had never died and been brought back to life before. Maybe something central inside her had changed, more than the implantable cardioverter device underneath her skin.

As the plane began to descend, June looked out the window at the small town surrounded by huge mountains on all sides. Scattered ranch houses dotted the landscape, patches of color in a sea of green.

The plane landed smoothly and Glen came on the intercom. “Everybody okay back there? Hang tight for a minute while I finish things up here in the cockpit and put down the steps for you.”

The door to the jet opened a few moments later and he reached up to take her hand as she walked down the steps to the tarmac.

June’s immediate impression as she looked around the Bridger Peak airport was one of space and grandeur. On all sides, mountains reached up to the sky.

The air seemed fresh and clean, with a hint of sage and pine. She inhaled deeply, already feeling some of the strain seeping away.

She wanted to stand in this spot all day and simply inhale.

“Hey, Beck!” Alison Wells sounded happier than June had ever heard her. “Thanks so much for coming to pick us up at the last minute.”

“Not a problem,” a deep, laconic voice echoed. “You know I’m always happy to help.”

“Right. You might even say you’re at our beck and call,” Alison said with a grin, which made the man groan, though he reached out to hug her with clear affection.

When he released her, the man turned toward her with an open, welcoming expression and June froze.

Beck, the neighbor and friend Alison had greeted fondly, was none other than Beckett Hunter.

She knew this man. Well, she amended, she didn’t really know him so much as she knew of him. Beckett Hunter was famous in some circles. Infamous, really.

She couldn’t quite reconcile that the hard-nosed prosecutor she had read about in the papers when she worked in Silicon Valley—and heard about from those with firsthand knowledge—was this man in jeans, boots and a T-shirt that hugged a well-muscled chest.

What was he doing here, at a tiny airstrip outside a small town in Wyoming? Besides picking them up, obviously.

“Good to have you back,” he said to Alison. “How was the big city?”

“About what I expected. Noisy, busy, crowded. A lot like Salt Lake, though I’m not sure the traffic was as bad.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said in a rather oblique tone that June didn’t understand.

For the first time, he seemed to become aware of her. He stepped away from Alison and gave a welcoming smile.

“Hello. I’m Beckett Hunter. Alison’s neighbor.”

“I know who you are.”

Her voice came out more clipped than she intended, and he frowned slightly, looking off balance at her sudden hostility.

“Okay, then.”

Alison seemed oblivious to the undercurrents. “This is Juniper Connelly, Beck. My boss. Well, my former boss, anyway. She sort of fired me.”

For some reason, Alison seemed to emphasize the word boss.

“So you decided to bring her home with you?”

“It’s a long story.”

She seemed uncomfortable suddenly, as if she didn’t want to get into the details of their situation, and she quickly rushed on before he could respond.

“Thanks for giving us a ride back to The Painted Sky. Ms. Connelly is going to be staying at Dad’s cabin.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. I’ll explain everything later,” she said as Glen handed their bags to them from the cargo area of the jet.

“Is that everything?” the pilot asked.

“That’s all for me,” June said.

“Same for me. Thanks so much for the ride,” Ali said warmly. “It was really fun to fly in style.”

“You’re welcome. Maybe when I head back to pick you up, I’ll be able to come in a day early and do some flyfishing around here. I’ve heard it’s amazing.”

“It’s great,” Beck said. “If you come, let me know and I can point you to a few good places.”

“Deal.”

Glen seemed to have no idea who Beckett Hunter was. Why should he? Glen was a native of Seattle and wouldn’t have had any reason to read about a San Jose attorney.

Beck had been a much-celebrated assistant prosecutor in San Jose, on his way to becoming the district attorney someday. He had a reputation as hard charging, ruthless, relentless.

She had nothing against prosecutors. She had watched plenty of Law & Order in her day and knew all about the important role they played in the criminal justice system. But Beckett Hunter had been ambitious and driven, completely focused on winning. If a case didn’t meet his personal criteria for being successfully litigated, chances were it wouldn’t go to trial.

June had always made a point of not holding a grudge against people. She had seen enough vindictive, petty personalities throughout her career in the Big Tech world to know they always paid a price in the long run. Karma drove a big bus.

June was willing to make an exception for Beckett Hunter. She found it impossible not to dislike a man who had—at least once that she knew about—put the interests of the prosecutor’s office above those of a crime victim.

What were the odds that she would find him here, in this place she had come to for refuge and healing?

Juniper could feel her pulse begin to accelerate, throbbing in her neck. She filled her lungs with mountain air, willing herself to relax and breathe.

Wyoming was a big place. Surely, their paths would seldom cross. She would simply have to do her best to avoid the man.

“I’ll load that up for you. The truck is over there,” Beck said, pointing to a dark blue extended-cab pickup truck.

She wanted to refuse and tell him she could handle her own bag, but that would sound ridiculous. Instead, she gave a polite nod.

Alison was busy chattering away to Beck about some of the touristy things she had enjoyed in Seattle so June reached for the rear door of the pickup truck.

“You can ride shotgun if you want,” Alison said, and June wanted to tell her she didn’t need to still act like her subservient intern here. Not that she had needed to in Seattle, either.

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile, reminding herself that Alison Wells wasn’t responsible for any decisions Beckett Hunter had made nearly a decade ago.

She climbed into the back seat of the pickup truck and came face-to-face with a large dog who seemed to be smiling at her.

Her gasp was as instinctive as it was embarrassing.

Beckett, about to climb into the driver’s seat, sent her an apologetic look. “Sorry. I probably should have warned you about Hank. He’s harmless, but if you don’t like dogs or would be more comfortable, you can sit in the front. Hank and Ali are old friends.”

She would much rather deal with a slavering dog than have to talk to Beckett Hunter. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice clipped. “I like dogs. I was just surprised.”

She did not, however, care much for shortsighted prosecutors.

The truck smelled of leather, dog and some kind of masculine, undeniably appealing scent she couldn’t precisely identify. He probably doused his floorboards with aftershave, she thought sourly.

The dog, who had pointy ears and a gray-and-white-mottled coat, continued to grin at her, tongue lolling. June had never had much experience with big dogs, but this one seemed friendly enough.

As Beckett Hunter pulled away from the airstrip and turned onto a two-lane road that headed toward the largest of the mountains, June gave the dog a tentative pet and asked herself again what the hell she was doing there.

Chapter 8

Beckett

Apparently, Carson Wells’s secret daughter didn’t much like him.

He looked in the rearview mirror and saw her gazing out the window, her slender jaw clenched and her expression remote.

He might have thought Alison had told the other woman something unfavorable about him except he and Ali had been friends for years, and she was treating him with her usual affection.

Either Juniper was the kind of person who could form an instant dislike for someone or she had some justifiable reason to look at him with the hard expression of someone who had suddenly encountered a lifelong enemy.

He didn’t remember ever meeting the woman. She lived in Seattle and he had only been there a few times. Maybe their paths had crossed and he simply didn’t recall, though he was certain he wouldn’t have forgotten that long, willowy frame and her deep blue eyes.

Or perhaps he had prosecuted someone she cared about.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel as the inevitable thoughts of Kathleen Morton rattled through his mind.

Sometimes his pain felt as fresh and raw as it had five years earlier.

Alison kept the conversation going, needing little more than his occasional responses as they drove to the ranch.

He passed his own property then went a short distance farther before driving under the log arch that read The Painted Sky. The nearby mountain range was a stunning backdrop to the trio of horses that ran along the split-rail fence, as if racing them toward the house.

“Why don’t you take us both to the cabin?” Ali suggested right before the driveway split. “That way I can help June get settled and show her where to find everything.”

“Since the house is right there, I can drop your bags off first and then head over to the guesthouse. That way you don’t have to lug them through the woods.”

“Oh, good idea.”

When he pulled up in front of the beautiful log-and-glass structure Carson had built, she hopped out of the passenger side and went around to the back to show him which bags were hers.

“You probably figured out I haven’t told June yet,” Ali said, her voice low. “Don’t say anything to her, okay?”

He frowned. “Why not? You’ve been in Seattle nearly a month.”

She looked back at the pickup truck before speaking in a low voice. “Because I’m a chicken. She wasn’t exactly approachable when I was a lowly intern and then she had a cardiac arrest, for heaven’s sake. The time has never felt right.”

“If she doesn’t know about the connection between you, why did she agree to come all the way to Wyoming with you? The two of you barely know each other.”

While he hadn’t been a prosecutor for five years, Beck still had a bad habit of always looking for the holes in a person’s story, the points where logic and reason didn’t always connect.

Ali looked sheepish. “Apparently, her mother was a big fan of Dad’s.”

Beck gave her a dry look. “I would say that’s obvious. She apparently had his baby.”

He regretted the words as soon as he said them, especially when Ali winced.

“Sorry. That was crude.”

“But accurate. I’ve done the math and they must have connected right after his first book came out. June has a signed copy of Purgatory River.”

Ali had come to Beck in shock after she received the results of the DNA test she and Carson had both submitted to find out more about their heritage. She had spent her life as an only child. For more than a decade, since her mother’s death, Ali and her dad had been a single unit, though he supposed her grandmother Loretta formed another link in that chain.

He understood why the idea of finding a long-lost sister appealed to her, especially coming so close on the heels of Carson’s unexpected death.

Beck had cautioned her against suddenly bursting into Juniper Connelly’s life, especially after he did his due diligence as both Ali’s friend and as her cotrustee in Carson’s literary trust.

He had learned Juniper had a reputation in business circles as smart and creative but also ruthless and determined.

He hadn’t learned that she apparently despised former prosecuting attorneys from San Jose.

“I’m waiting for a good time to tell her,” Ali said. “I want her to settle in here, heal a little more. It’s probably a good idea to make sure she feels comfortable at the ranch before I spring that kind of shocking news on her.”

“Secrets are never a good idea, Al. They always come back to bite you in the ass.”

She sighed. “I know. But I still think it’s for the best not to tell her quite yet. You won’t say anything, right?”

He worked his jaw, hating the deception but not seeing he had any choice in the matter.

“Fine. I hope you don’t regret it. Something tells me she won’t appreciate being lied to, whether overtly or by omission.”

“I know. I’ll tell her as soon as the moment feels right, I promise.”

“Is this everything of yours?” he asked once he had removed the two large suitcases from the back of his truck.

“Yes. The other two are June’s. You can leave mine on the porch.”

“I can take them inside for you.”

He picked them up and walked up the steps to the house then punched in the security code. Inside, the house smelled fresh and clean, but was still far too empty without Carson’s presence.

When he climbed back into the truck, he found Ali telling June about The Painted Sky.

“No. It hasn’t been in our family for long. Dad was raised in Wisconsin but always wanted to have a ranch in Wyoming. He and my mom bought it right after they were married, after his second book, Beneath the Dusty Sky, won the National Book Award.”

“It’s truly stunning.”

Alison seemed pleased at the praise of her home. “You’re lucky that you came at the most beautiful time of year, when the mountains still have snow on the tops but everything else is green and lush. Dad called this time of year nature’s Renaissance.”

“That’s lovely. I’ll have to remember that. Every time I read one of your dad’s books, I discover something new.”

He could only imagine how she would feel when she discovered Carson was actually her father, as well.

A quarter-mile path led through the trees from the house to Carson’s writing cabin. He always used to say it was far enough away for him to be able to have room to think, but close enough that he could wander home for lunch when his brain needed a rest.

He missed his friend with a fierce ache. Carson had been gone six months, but Beck still thought of him each time he saddled a horse or drank a Scotch or gazed up at a star-kissed sky.

By car, the distance to the cabin was about twice what it took to walk the path, traveling along the paved driveway that curved around pastures and outbuildings. His own house was only about two city blocks in the other direction from the writing cabin, because of the landscape.

Whenever he drove this road, he had to admire the ranch all over again. It wasn’t really a working ranch, though Carson kept several horses and a small herd of about fifty cattle and liked to grow alfalfa in a few of the fields.

It was hard not to imagine him standing on the porch of the cabin where he spent so much writing time, a smaller log-and-glass structure similar to the main ranch house, that Carson had designed himself.

Carson, a man of many talents, had also built some of it. Beck could still remember the man showing off his carpentry skills: the window frames he had built, the writing desk made out of a tree that had been cut on the property and planed in town.

That love of carpentry had been one of the things that had solidified their friendship. Carson loved to watch Beck work on the tables he made for commissions across the world.

Carson had firmly believed every writer needed another creative hobby he could turn to when his brain needed a rest.

After he pulled up to the cabin, Ali and June Connelly climbed out of the truck. June, he noted, looked at the structure with an expression of reverent awe.

“Oh,” she breathed. “It’s lovely.”

He had to agree. Carson had chosen one of the prettiest spots on the ranch for the place he called alternately his writing cave or his writing palace, depending on his mood and how his current book was going.

Surrounded by tall trees and with spectacular views of the mountains, the cabin had been designed to fit its surroundings. The creek ran behind it, covered with a wooden bridge, and the cabin featured both a stone patio and a wraparound porch, complete with porch swing, where Carson would sometimes sit for hours, deep in thought.

By the time Beck had pulled June’s luggage out of the back of his pickup, Ali had let them both inside.

If one didn’t know this was a writing retreat, it would have been easy to think it was an ordinary guest cabin. Carson wrote by hand in a notebook and he liked to move around while he worked. While one of the three bedrooms contained that desk he had built, Beck had rarely seen him sitting there.

Instead, he would be out on that porch swing or at the scarred pine kitchen table or in the big comfortable easy chair next to the fire during colder months.

“I can’t believe this is really where your dad worked.”

Ali gave a small laugh that sounded more hollow and sad than amused. “It really is. He loved this place.”

“Are you sure it’s okay that I stay here? I feel like I’m intruding.”

“Dad would want you to use it. Don’t you agree, Beck?”

“Sure,” he answered slowly. What else could he say?

“It’s so kind of you to let me use it. I can’t imagine a better place to recuperate.”

“It’s definitely a peaceful place,” Ali said. “You don’t have to do anything but listen to the birds or the water in the creek or the wind in the treetops. Dad’s whole library is here, too. Feel free to read what you like.”

One entire wall in the living room and two in the office were covered with books. Carson had an extensive and eclectic collection. He picked up books wherever he went. Nonfiction, fiction. If any book caught his interest, he would buy it. As a result, his library contained everything from esoteric research tomes to romance novels to old Westerns to the latest thrillers.

“Also,” Ali went on, “we’re only a five-minute walk through the woods to the house. Faster than that if you use the bike that’s parked on the side over there.”

Could the woman ride a bike? She had a cardiac arrest a week earlier. Also, was it really a good idea to leave her down here by herself, with her medical condition? What if she needed help?

It wasn’t his place to lecture, Beck reminded himself. Especially when she clearly didn’t like him.

“I can take those into the bedroom for you,” he offered, gesturing to the luggage.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice terse, as if she had forgotten he was there until he spoke.

He carried her bags to the room where Carson would sometimes sleep when he was deep in a project. It was an undeniably masculine room, with a dark blue log cabin quilt and another big, sturdy armchair beside a gas fireplace.

He set the suitcases beside the craftsman-style dresser before returning to the living area.

“Grandma and Jo stocked the refrigerator with low-sodium meals and made sure you have fresh sheets and towels,” Ali was saying.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of them.” She smiled, though he could see exhaustion filter through. She looked tired and fragile. What was it about Juniper Connelly that brought out all his protective instincts?

His urge to watch out for her annoyed him, especially given her obvious dislike of him.

She didn’t need or want him to take care of her. He needed to stay away and let her heal in peace.

“Looks like it’s starting to rain. I can give you a ride back to the house so you don’t have to get soaked running through the woods,” he offered to Ali.

She looked briefly torn then nodded. “Thanks. That would be good. Give me a minute.”

He nodded and walked down the steps to his truck to wait for her.

Chapter 9

Alison

She really wasn’t sure this was a good idea.

After Beckett walked out to his truck, Ali confronted the misgivings that had been plaguing her ever since she had come up with this impulsive, ill-considered idea to have June stay here, purely as a way to lure her to The Painted Sky.

“I don’t feel great about you being here all alone,” she said. “You’ve only been out of the hospital two days.”

“And I spent those two days on my own at my apartment,” June reminded her.

Alison thought of that huge penthouse space that seemed far too grand to be called an apartment. It hadn’t at all resembled the cramped quarters Ali had shared with two other law students for the past three years.

As large and as elegant as that Seattle penthouse had been, June had seemed lost there when Ali had taken her home from the hospital.

“Why don’t I sleep on the sofa tonight to keep an eye on you?”

“Not necessary.” Some of the briskness in June’s manner that Ali had observed as her intern returned to her tone now. “Honestly, I’ll be fine. I feel good. My ICD seems to be working well. I also have my cell phone. If there’s a problem, I can always reach out to you.”

Ali didn’t want to point out that if June had a medical complication, she might not be in any position to make a cell phone call. Only days earlier, she had been fine in one instant then not breathing the next.

“Okay. If you’re sure. I’ll check in on you every few hours. If you don’t text me back, I can be here in five minutes to make sure everything is okay.”

“Alison. Stop. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me but I’ll be fine. I’m used to being on my own.”

“Maybe so, but you also never had a cardiac arrest before. If you won’t agree to text me back, I’ll sleep on the couch. Which do you prefer?”

June blinked, looking surprised at her firm tone. Ali couldn’t really blame her since she had been meek and gutless as an intern.

After a pause, the other woman sighed. “Fine. I’ll try to text you back. If I don’t get right back to you, I might be napping, though.”

“Then I will pop in to check on you quietly and disappear again,” Ali answered. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

June studied her, her head tilted as if Ali were some foreign creature. “I still don’t understand why you’re so concerned about me. I wasn’t exactly easy on you when we were working together.”

Because we’re sisters. Because we share the same father. Because I almost lost you and the thought of that terrifies me, especially before we have the chance to get to know each other.

She could not tell June any of that. Not yet.

“Maybe I’m just a very nice person. Even to a boss who makes Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada seem like a breeze.”

June made a face. “Come on. I wasn’t that bad.”

“You weren’t at all,” Ali agreed. “I was just teasing. You were very kind to me, especially since I was completely incompetent.”

“You weren’t that bad, either. I would like to try again with your internship after I return to work. And not only because you’ve been so kind to me.”

Not in a million years. Ali had no desire at all to work in the corporate world.

“Beck’s waiting. I should go.”

She wanted to give June a hug, but their relationship wasn’t quite solid enough for that.

Yet.

“I will for sure see you in the morning.”

“Sounds good. Thank you again for everything.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re here.”

She slipped out the carved wooden door to the cabin before June could reply.

It was raining softly enough that she almost would have preferred to walk back to the ranch house. The air smelled delicious, of wet pine needles and the flowering wild roses that grew along the creek.

Oh, how she missed Wyoming and The Painted Sky when she wasn’t here.

Choosing Salt Lake City to attend the S.J. Quinney College of Law at the University of Utah had been a wise decision, though. She wouldn’t have been able to survive somewhere back east.

Whenever she had been particularly homesick, she could take a short drive into Little or Big Cottonwood Canyons or drive farther into the Wasatch Back to be surrounded by wild nature.

Sometimes taking a late-afternoon hike on a mountain trail was the only thing that saved her sanity after spending hours in the classroom talking about tort law and jurisprudence.

Still, it wasn’t home. She had missed the ranch, her grandmother and most of all her father.

She missed him far more than she had missed the ranch. Since her mother’s death, Carson had been her only parent. Yes, her grandmother had willingly stepped in to help, but her father had been the one Ali had gone to first whenever she had a skinned knee, an academic disappointment or a broken heart.

He had been her confidant, her cheerleader, her best friend.

She thought she would have forever to enjoy his steady support, his quiet calm. But fate was vicious and unrelenting and had taken him far too soon, robbing her of her beloved father and the world of his awe-inspiring talent.

She sighed as she slipped into the passenger seat of Beckett Hunter’s pickup truck.

“That sounds like you’re carrying the weight of the world, Al.”

“Not quite. Just missing my dad.”

He gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Same here. The world doesn’t feel quite right without him in it.”

Beckett understood. He and her father had become close friends over the past five years, since Beck had moved to Wyoming. Carson had respected and liked the younger man and had offered friendship and compassion to a man who had come here broken and grieving.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, bringing Juniper Connelly home with you?” he asked as he turned around and headed back toward the house.

All of her misgivings rushed back. “No. I’m not sure of anything. But what else was I supposed to do? I didn’t feel right about leaving her in Seattle by herself, and I had no good reason to stay there after losing my internship.”

“I don’t expect she will appreciate that you brought her here under false circumstances.”

“Not false. I told her I had the space for her to stay and that I thought she would find it peaceful. None of that is a lie.”

“It’s not the whole truth, though. What if she’s angry with you for not telling her all of it?”

“That’s a risk I have to take. She’s not in any position right now to handle the shock of finding a long-lost sister and a father she didn’t know existed.”

She didn’t like thinking about her father having a love life at all before he met Ali’s mother, Sarah.

DNA didn’t lie, though.

“So what is your plan now that you’re home?” Beck asked as he drove toward the main house. “Are you ready for the bar exam in September? Have you been studying?”

Ali gazed out the windshield as the wipers beat away the afternoon storm. Something else she didn’t want to think about.

“Working on it. I still have a few months. I want to take the chance to enjoy the summer and to help Grandma with the ranch and the bookstore.”

“The ranch itself is a pretty well-oiled machine. Pat and Jo have always done a good job of keeping things running around here.”

“I know. I don’t plan to get in anybody’s way.”

“It’s your ranch now. It’s good for you to know the inner workings. You won’t be in the way. But you can’t lose sight of taking the bar, either. Why do all that work and not cross the finish line?”

She sighed. “I know. I feel like the past six months have been a total blur. Losing Dad so unexpectedly, then still having to power through so I could finish my classes when I was numb with grief. And on top of that, I found out about Juniper. It’s been a roller coaster on steroids. I could really use a moment to catch my breath, you know?”

“I get it. But you can’t spend so much time catching your breath that you throw away all your hard work. Your dad would never forgive either of us if I don’t push you to follow through.”

She knew he was right. Her father had been thrilled when she was accepted into law school and never let a conversation go by without telling her he was proud of her.

“I’ll study, I promise,” she said as Beck pulled up in front of the house.

“In other words, stop nagging.”

She shot him a grin. “Something like that.” She opened the door to the pickup truck. “Thanks again for the airport run. I know it’s not your favorite duty, but I really appreciate it. And thanks also for not telling Juniper she’s my half sister. I’ll tell her when the time feels right.”

He shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, but I will respect your wishes. I’ll let you break the news in your own time.”

“Thanks, Beck. You are the actual best.” She gave him a hug across the seat then waved goodbye before hopping out of the truck and hurrying into the house.

When she walked inside, the only creature who came to greet her was one of the Siberian cats her father had loved.

Hemingway had his famous polydactyl cats, whose six-toed descendants still wandered around Key West. Carson Wells had his Siberians, with their unique coats and blue eyes.

“Hi there, Chaucer,” she said. He was named after one of her father’s characters, as were all the ranch cats. Not that her father necessarily approved, but Ali and her grandmother—and Ali’s mother, Sarah, before that—had picked the names of the three cats who lived in the house and the half dozen more in the barn and other outbuildings.

She thought perhaps she had been the one to name Chaucer, but she couldn’t precisely remember. She didn’t have time to give the cat more than a quick pet when a tall, willowy older woman with trendy short gray hair and glasses walked into the foyer. Her features lit up when she spotted Ali.

“Oh, my girl. There you are. I saw your luggage in the hall and couldn’t figure out why you didn’t seem to be with it. It’s so good to have you home.”

Ali hugged her grandmother, feeling a little as if she were a lost and frightened teenager again after her mother died.

“We stopped about twenty minutes ago to drop off my suitcase and I assumed you were in town.”

“I was. I’ve only been home five minutes. I barely had time to start looking for you before I heard you come inside and start talking to that silly cat.”

“He’s not a silly cat. He’s an amazing cat. Aren’t you, Chaucer?”

The cat purred loudly, rubbing his head against her leg. She smiled and reached down again to pet him as two other cats shot into the room, looking for attention, as well.

“Now you’ve done it,” Loretta said with a rueful smile. “You’ll be here all night being greeted by one cat after another.”

“I don’t mind. I love them all. Hi, Louie. Hi, Mabel.”

“Did you get your boss all settled at the cabin?”

Ali schooled her features into one of casual nonchalance. She had not told her grandmother yet about the genetic connection she had found to June Connelly. She still wasn’t sure how Loretta would handle finding out she had a thirtysomething-year-old granddaughter she had never known about.

What if she had known?

That might be one of the reasons Ali hadn’t brought it up with Loretta. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to her about it yet. If her grandmother had known about Juniper, that would mean Carson had known he had another daughter.

“Yes. She’s settled.” She gave a bland smile. “Bringing her here to the ranch to recover seemed like a great idea at the time, but I have to admit I’m not all that crazy about leaving her down there at the cabin all by herself.”

Concern furrowed her grandmother’s brow. “I hope she knows she’s welcome to stay here at the house. We have plenty of room.”

“I think she would be more comfortable on her own. She’s a pretty independent person and doesn’t like to be anyone’s responsibility. And she was a big fan of Dad’s.”

“I’ll admit while I’m happy to have her here, I’m still not quite sure why you brought her back with you. I get that you saved her life, but that does not mean the two of you are bonded for life.”

She deliberately didn’t meet her grandmother’s sharp-eyed gaze. She hated keeping the truth from her, but she suspected if she did tell Loretta, she would instantly rush down to the cabin to smother her newfound granddaughter with love.

“It seemed like the right thing at the time. She doesn’t have anyone else and I feel like it’s something Dad would have wanted me to do.”

Loretta smiled with a trace of sadness. “My boy did tend to bring home strays, didn’t he?”

Their house had always been filled with struggling writers and artists, trying to find their way in the world.

“Yes. You can think of Juniper Connelly as one more stray.”

“This is your home. You can bring anybody to stay here that you want, honey.”

“I hear a big but in your voice.”

Loretta frowned. “But I still don’t understand why you invited her, even if you did save her life. From everything you said, I didn’t get the impression you loved your internship working with her.”

That was definitely true. Thank heavens she didn’t have to go through that again.

“It’s not for long. Only two or three weeks while she rests and recovers. Before we know it, she’ll be heading back to Seattle and will forget all about us and The Painted Sky.”

She truly hoped that wasn’t the case, though she was fully aware that June might not want a relationship with her at all when she found out they were half sisters.

“We’ll make her as comfortable as we can during that time, then.”

“Thanks, Grandma.”

She hugged her grandmother again, feeling so very grateful for Loretta. After Sarah Wells died, Loretta had quit her job, packed up her whole life in Wisconsin and had moved here to help her only son with his daughter.

She had been tough and loving and always there for her with supportive words and a warm embrace.

Alison hated keeping secrets from her but she reminded herself that for now she didn’t have any other choice.

Chapter 10

Juniper

If she had been looking for quiet and solitude when she came to Wyoming, the cacophony that greeted the break of day her first morning in the cabin would have quickly disabused her of the notion.

June sat before dawn on the porch of Carson Wells’s writing cabin, listening to the sounds of the mountain waking up. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed, a horse whinnied and a couple of dogs barked.

Closer to her temporary home, she heard the sharp piercing cry of a hawk circling above the trees, joined by the chittering of squirrels and the morning song of dozens of birds flitting through the treetops.

It was worlds away from the city sounds she was used to.

Steam swirled up from her tea into the cool morning air that smelled sweet and clean.

She hadn’t slept well the night before. She didn’t know if it was from the unfamiliar surroundings or from the low edge of anxiety that seemed to simmer just below her skin.

Her entire world seemed wrong, somehow, and she wasn’t doing a good job of adjusting to the changes.

She lifted her face to the sun slanting in from the treetops.

She would have loved a big cup of coffee. Or two or three. She had never been much of a breakfast eater, preferring coffee and the occasional piece of toast. Her doctor had warned her against too much caffeine, though, and she couldn’t have toast without a smear of butter, which her doctor had also warned against.

The kitchen had been stocked with all kinds of food: fruit, vegetables and other heart-healthy options. With all the restrictions Dr. Singh had given her, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to eat.

Good thing she didn’t have much of an appetite.

She wanted to bury her head in the sand and forget about everything. It would be so much easier if she could pretend her cardiac arrest had never happened.

She didn’t have that luxury, though. Her life had changed, whether she liked it or not. She would have to figure out how to go on from here.

The mountains beyond the cabin stretched toward the sky, rugged yet somehow comforting, too. She had a sudden fierce longing to explore them, to discover all the canyons and peaks and plateaus of the terrain that Carson Wells had described in his writings with such evocative grace.

The wind whispers through the crevices, carrying with it the stories of time—of glaciers that carved these peaks, of wildfires that roared through the underbrush, of the quiet persistence of life that clings to every inch of this sacred ground.

The words from Purgatory River seemed all the more resonant as she sat on a porch swing that had been used by the man who had penned them.

She found it so strange to be here, to be sleeping on the bed he had sometimes used, sitting at the kitchen table where he wrote, gazing at the same scenery that had inspired him.

She had picked up a copy of his second book, Beneath the Dusty Sky, the night before and had read several pages. As always, she found something new to savor in his books each time she picked one up.

A literary masterpiece worked because a person could make new discoveries about the words, about themselves, about the world around her every time she read it. This time, June caught an undertone of sadness and loss as she read. Of loneliness.

She somehow didn’t feel lonely here in his writing retreat. She felt . . . comforted, surrounded by all of the books and the emotions and memories that seemed embedded in the log walls.

She was shaking her head at her own fanciful thoughts when she sensed movement out of the corner of her gaze. She turned to find an animal bounding down the path between the trees toward her.

After her initial surprise, she recognized the dog she had met the day before in the back seat of Beckett Hunter’s pickup truck.

“Oh. Hello, Hank,” she said as the Australian shepherd climbed the steps and greeted her eagerly, his entire hindquarters jiggling as his tail wagged with enthusiasm.

She petted him dutifully. “What are you doing here? Does your person know where you are?”

He didn’t answer, of course, only gave her a happy look that warmed her heart. Apparently, she had made a friend during that short ride from the airport.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around on your own. It’s not safe. Are you lost?”

Again, no answer. She looked toward the path, half expecting the dog’s owner to come striding through the trees.

Ali had told her that Beck Hunter’s house wasn’t far away, on the other side of the creek. The dog must have wandered away from home that morning.

Did Beck even know he was gone? How irresponsible to simply let his dog traipse through the forest on his own, where anything could happen to him.

Hank sniffed around her pockets with a hopeful kind of look. “I don’t have anything to feed you. I’m sorry,” she said. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be interested in any of the healthy offerings of her kitchen. She wasn’t even interested in them.

The dog seemed to sigh and June had to smile.

“I should keep you here with me,” she said as she scratched between his ears. “If you don’t go home, maybe the man would learn not to be so careless.”

Hank rested his chin on her knee and gazed up at her with soulful, adoring eyes.

“I suppose it’s not your fault your owner is who he is,” she said after petting the dog. “Let’s go see if we can find him.”

She rose from the swing with a rattle of chains and opened the door wide enough for her to grab one of the walking sticks she had seen near the door in an umbrella stand that looked like a hollowed-out log. She had no idea what kind of terrain she would find between the cabin and Beckett Hunter’s place. Better to be prepared.

Plus, this way she would have a weapon if she needed to beat off any cougars or bears.

Or Beckett Hunter.

She headed off along the path in the direction the dog had come and where Ali had said Beckett lived.

The path was covered in pine needles that crunched under her feet. Wildflowers bloomed in patches of red and purple and it all smelled delicious.

How did someone ever get used to this kind of grandeur? Did they become inured to it?

Another line from one of Carson’s books ran through her mind.

Here, in the solitude of the mountains, one can feel the pulse of the earth, ancient and eternal, a reminder of the beauty and power that exists beyond the grasp of human hands.

She had always been drawn to the Rocky Mountain region. While she had visited Idaho before and went on a ski vacation once to Colorado, she had almost deliberately chosen not to come to Wyoming during any of her infrequent vacations.

Why was that?

She did not have a good answer, especially when her mother used to talk often about the time she spent working in Jackson Hole.

Perhaps she knew that visiting would only cause her to miss her mother more, as Elizabeth had loved it so much.

She walked through the forest, listening to the birdsong and enjoying the cool breeze that ruffled her hair. The morning seemed perfect, like something out of one of those relaxation videos on YouTube that she watched when she couldn’t seem to wind down after another eighteen-hour workday.

She had almost missed this.

All of it.

The realization chilled her more than the morning mountain air.

She had been dead, not breathing on her own for several minutes before the paramedics arrived, kept alive only by Alison Wells and her fierce determination.

Why had she survived? Was there something else in store for her?

She was only thirty-four years old, but she felt as ancient as the mountains. Old and withered and exhausted. Even walking this short distance left her tired.

And what was next for her? Try as she might, June couldn’t quite picture herself returning to her hectic corporate life of travel, meetings, product launches.

While she could certainly afford to retire and live off her investments as one of the three founders and major stockholders of Move Inc, she couldn’t see herself living a life of leisure.

Anxiety pressed in on her and she forced herself to breathe, pushing away the stress. She didn’t have to decide anything right now. She was only days removed from a major life change, when everything she thought about herself, everything she planned, had vanished in a literal heartbeat.

“Are we getting close?” she asked the dog. She could swear he beamed at her before he bounded away again along the trail.

Ahead, beyond the treetops, she could see the roofline of a decent-size structure. Curious now, she walked farther and then had to catch her breath as the trees opened up, revealing the property beyond.

How was it possibly fair that someone like Beckett Hunter lived in such an enchanting place?

The house was beautiful, smaller than The Painted Sky ranch house, made of log and stone. A pasture surrounded by split-rail fences held four horses who grazed in the morning sun. Closer to her was a large wood-framed outbuilding with a peaked roof and a massive barn-style sliding door.

From inside, she heard the low buzz of power tools that seemed to ring through the whole property.

The large door was open to the morning breeze, and the dog ran straight inside before June could call him back.

“Hello?” she called out. “I brought back your dog.”

When no one answered, she took another step closer, then another, until she could peer through the doorway.

It was a workshop of some sort. As her eyes adjusted to the lower light inside, she saw someone working with a power tool, polishing a slab of wood. His back was to her and she saw strong muscles working beneath a snug red T-shirt.

She waited until the machine stopped and he lifted the wood and blew away sawdust before she took a few more steps into the building.

“Hello.”

The worker whirled around in surprise and she was glad she had waited until he was done. She wouldn’t want anyone to cut off any body parts because of her.

“Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Beckett Hunter. Do you know where I can find him?”

He lifted the safety glasses and the ear protectors that had concealed his identity and she blinked when she realized that muscular back she had noticed belonged to the man himself.

“Oh. Morning. Sorry. I can’t hear anything with these things on. I hope you haven’t been there long.”

“I just got here.”

“I tend to lose track of time when I’m deep in a project.”

“Time is not the only thing you lose track of. That must be why you didn’t notice when your dog disappeared.”

She gestured toward Hank, who was lapping at a large water bowl before wandering over to a dog bed in the corner.

“He didn’t disappear. He’s right there.”

“Because I brought him back. He came by Carson’s cabin this morning. I was afraid he might take off into the mountains and get attacked by a cougar or something.”

He grinned, looking ridiculously attractive for a man who wore safety goggles on his head. “Hank knows better than that. He has his morning routine. He likes to greet my horses, then go say good morning to all the animals over at The Painted Sky.”

“When was the last time you fed him? He seemed to be starving when he came to the cabin.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners with amusement, reminding her again what an astonishingly good-looking man he was.

“Don’t let him fool you. He puts on a good show, but he gets plenty to eat. As part of his morning routine, he always used to stop by and visit with Carson, who invariably gave him a treat. The man’s been gone six months yet Hank still wanders over to the cabin every day about this time, hoping he might be there.”

The thought made her sad, for a host of reasons. For Hank, who would never find Carson at the writing cabin again. For Alison, who had lost her father so recently. And for the world that had lost a man of immense talent and insight.

“If you want, I can drop off some of his treats so you have something to give him when he wanders over. Or you can ignore him and eventually he’ll stop coming around.”

She quite liked the dog and didn’t want to discourage him from the habit of stopping by, even if she was a poor consolation prize for Carson.

“I can pick up some treats for him. At some point I have to catch a ride into town for some supplies, anyway. Is there a particular kind of treats he likes?”

“He’s a very indiscriminate eater. I mean, he eats spiders and deer poop.”

She grimaced. “Remind me not to let him lick me.”

He smiled again. “Good luck with that. You might have noticed Hank has a mind of his own.”

“Don’t you have a fenced yard where you can keep him? What if he ran out to the road and was hit by a car?”

“He’s a ranch dog. He doesn’t go anywhere near the road. He knows better.”

“He’s a dog. Not a doctoral candidate.”

“I don’t know. He’s a pretty smart dog.”

She didn’t want to argue with him about his dog’s intelligence quotient. “What are you making?” she asked instead.

She looked around the workshop and for the first time noticed various other huge pieces of gorgeous wood.

Her gaze drifted to the piece he had been working on. It wasn’t only wood, she realized. Weaving from edge to edge was a striking blue that seemed to cut through the piece of timber like a river through a steep canyon.

“Eventually, it will be a console table for a Hollywood director who is renovating a house in Jackson Hole.”

She looked around the workshop and saw other similar pieces in various stages of completion. Each one she could see was breathtakingly lovely.

She moved to take a closer look at the piece he had been working on, and all the pieces suddenly clicked into place.

“Oh, my gosh. You’re B. Hunter.”

She shot him a look when he said nothing and saw what looked like discomfort in his eyes.

“You are, aren’t you? I can’t believe this. Last year we bought one of your tables for our conference room and paid a fortune for it. I love having meetings in that room. It always feels like we’re having a meeting on the banks of a beautiful river.”

Now she saw pleasure join the edge of embarrassment. “Is that right?”

“And you have a YouTube channel where you demonstrate how you make these. I’ve watched it. I should have recognized the workshop.”

That was why it had seemed familiar to her, she realized.

“You never show your face in the videos,” she said. “Only your hands.”

She recognized his hands now, big and callused, with a pale scar running from the tip of his index finger to the first knuckle.

They didn’t look at all like an attorney’s hands.

“Nobody needs to see my face. They only need to see the work.”

She couldn’t help thinking that if he did show his face, he would have far more people watching. At least people of the female variety.

She had stumbled onto his channel one night by chance when she had been watching a relaxing nature video to help her mind calm after a frenzied day at work. For some reason the algorithm had played a B. Hunter video next, with him pouring the resin in a channel he had hand-carved through a piece of wood, going with the natural grain of the wood.

She had been mesmerized by those powerful hands shaping exquisite pieces out of wood and colored resin. It had been oddly soothing, too, especially with no sound beneath it.

She had been the one, in fact, who had told Adam about the artist and he since had become a passionate collector of B. Hunter’s work.

“You have to let me watch you create something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“Okay, you don’t have to. But I would really love to see the process from start to finish.”

“You can watch this video after I’m done. Don’t worry. I’ll cut out this part, with you haranguing me about my dog, who was only stopping by your place for a friendly visit.”

She couldn’t quite believe that the man who created such works of art was none other than Beckett Hunter. She didn’t like the man, she reminded herself. He was rude and abrasive and arrogant.

His blunt refusal to take action had left at least one woman devastated, unable to find justice. She couldn’t forgive him for that.

But he was most definitely an artist, one who fascinated her.

“I would be so quiet, you wouldn’t even know I was here.”

“Trust me, I would know,” he muttered.

She frowned, not sure what he meant by that. “Does Alison know about your work?”

He shrugged. “It’s not a secret. Everyone in town knows. I show some of my work at a gallery in town.”

A dozen questions raced through her mind. Did he do this in his spare time or was this now what he did in place of prosecuting criminals in California? Or not prosecuting them, as the case may be?

“Making videos of my work was Ali’s idea, actually, and her friend Xander. He has a friend who does all the editing and producing of the videos. I shoot them and he adds the audio.”

“The production value is great. It’s strangely relaxing, watching you take a big hunk of wood and turn it into a work of art in only a few moments.”

“Don’t believe everything you see on the internet. A big table like the one you have in your conference room takes more than a week. We edit out the boring parts, like building the frame and letting the resin dry in layers.”

He seemed eager to end the conversation. “Anyway, thanks for bringing back Hank. I can’t promise he won’t stop again tomorrow. Old habits can be hard for some dogs to break.”

And for plenty of people. She now had no choice but to let go of some of her old habits, like not getting enough sleep, working too hard and drinking coffee for breakfast. She wouldn’t recommend a cardiac arrest as a motivating factor to anyone.

“Can you find your way back to the cabin?” he asked, clearly eager for her to go so he could return to his work.

“I can follow the path.” She held up the walking stick. “And I have this, in case I run into any bears along the way.”

He gave a short laugh. “In the extremely unlikely event that you did run into a bear, what exactly were you planning to do with Carson’s favorite walking stick? Didn’t anybody teach you not to poke a bear?”

“You’re not supposed to poke a sleeping bear. Isn’t that the saying? I would only poke a bear that was charging at me, just long enough to slow him down so I could try to outrun him.”

“I think you should be safe. We occasionally see a black bear around here, very rarely, but they’re likely to be more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“I doubt that’s possible.”

“Do you need me to walk you back?”

She did not want to find any other positive traits in Beckett Hunter, besides his undeniably beautiful carpentry, but June had to admit it was kind of him to suggest it, especially when she had interrupted his work.

“I should be fine. Thanks for the offer.”

She didn’t press him about letting her watch him work. As she waved goodbye and headed back to the cabin, she thought it probably wasn’t a good idea, anyway.

Chapter 11

Beckett

He watched until Juniper Connelly had slipped back into the trees along the path to Carson’s cabin.

She moved with grace, all long limbs and the slender build of an athlete—tall, strong, willowy.

Watching her move, it was hard to remember she had nearly died days earlier or that she was trying to adjust to life with an implanted device ready to shock her heart back to life if it stopped again.

Genetics could be a cruel son of a bitch.

He considered himself a winner in the genetics lottery. His grandparents on both sides were still active, including his paternal grandfather, who was nearly ninety and still insisted on mowing his own lawn.

Beck’s own parents were both strong and vital in their sixties, still working hard. His father was a judge in Los Angeles and his mother was a pediatrician with a busy practice. They loved him dearly and worried about him, living here in the wilderness.

He looked back in the direction June had taken. She watched his videos. He wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.

The video series had been a crazy whim in the first place. He still wasn’t sure why he had agreed to the idea when Ali and Xander had suggested it.

Xander knew exactly what he was doing when it came to social media. He was a travel vlogger with more than a million followers. His videos were stunningly shot, exploring off-the-beaten-path destinations with ethical care aimed at protecting and preserving.

Beck had thought producing a video of him working was a ridiculous suggestion, but he had figured it wouldn’t hurt anything. Who would want to watch a washed-up attorney creating a tabletop out of wood and resin?

Turns out, plenty of people. The video had been enormously successful, so he had agreed to make a second one and a third.

The money he earned off the channel, he donated to some of Soledad’s favorite causes, including the foundation in her name that gave scholarships to underserved students in the school district where she had taught.

If Beck ever imagined his audience, he pictured other artists who were doing similar work, looking to compare techniques, maybe.

He didn’t imagine a busy tech executive watching him work as a way to help her relax after a hard day.

Sometimes his life didn’t feel real, even to himself. The past five years seemed to have passed in a blur and he felt as if he had lived an eternity since then.

He felt the familiar raw pain in his gut when he pictured Soledad the morning he had last seen her, bright and happy and newly pregnant.

She had only been going for a walk on her first day of summer vacation from teaching her first graders when everything had been taken away by one angry, revenge-filled, psychotic mother.

Beck let out a breath and only realized he was holding one hand curled into a fist at his thigh when Hank padded over and brushed his head against it.

He uncurled his fingers and scratched the dog’s head. “I’m okay,” he assured the Aussie. “Don’t worry about me.”

Still, the dog stayed beside him, planted on his haunches as both of them watched a ground squirrel scamper across the trail Juniper had traveled.

Finally, Beck returned to his workshop that smelled of sawdust and resin and lacquer.

This was his sanctuary, his cathedral, the place he came when he needed to empty his mind and focus on something physical that required skill and effort.

The work, along with the unlikely friendship he had forged with Carson Wells, had saved him. Beck had come here at the lowest point in his life, intending only to stay a few weeks in the remote cabin owned by a friend of his father’s.

Instead, five years later he had bought that particular cabin and renovated it; had turned a woodworking hobby into an artistic endeavor he loved, and had carved a good life for himself in Bridger Peak.

He really didn’t need a tall, slender, fragile woman like Juniper Connelly bursting into his life with her lost eyes and her broken heart.

Chapter 12

Alison

When she pushed open the door to Bridger Books, Ali truly felt as if she were coming home.

She loved this store, with its warren of shelves and deep, comfortable chairs and the seductive smell of ink and paper embedded in the air.

Her grandmother had opened the bookstore sometime after she moved to Bridger Peak to help out after Ali’s mother died from a virulent strain of pneumonia that turned septic.

Loretta hadn’t even given her grieving son or granddaughter a chance to chime in on her decision. She had simply moved in at The Painted Sky and provided love and support, a steady buoy that kept them both from sinking into despair.

When they finally began to find their way after Sarah’s death, Loretta had looked around for something else to do. She had worked as a manager in a bookstore in Wisconsin and had decided it was an outrage that a town the size of Bridger Peak didn’t have a bookstore of its own, especially when it was the chosen hometown of one of the country’s most celebrated authors.

Sometimes she thought perhaps her grandmother had only opened the bookstore as a project for Ali, a distraction from the constant, unrelenting grief.

She had been a young teenager, but a passionate book lover. She and her grandmother had shared that, trading book recommendations.

Alison had helped Loretta renovate the space in the building her parents owned, where her mother had practiced law upstairs and the ground floor had been leased to a series of restaurants that never quite took off.

They had washed years of grease off the walls, had gutted the interior down to the original brick and converted the outdated kitchen area into a small café with a half dozen tables, where book lovers could read or do homework or simply people-watch.

Throughout high school, Ali had helped stock shelves, run the children’s story hour and place orders when customers wanted a book they didn’t have on hand.

As much as she loved The Painted Sky, with its green meadows, rolling horse pastures and view of the soaring mountains, she had come to realize this was her happy place.

For much of her life, she had dreamed of following in her mother’s footsteps and becoming an attorney. She had pictured herself using the same office where her mother had practiced, on the second floor above the bookshop, popping down to grab a sandwich and a coffee and pick up the latest bestseller during her lunch hour.

Now that she was so close to realizing that dream, only one test away from being able to practice in Wyoming, she wasn’t sure what she wanted.

After the gut punch of her father’s death over the holidays, Ali had begun to question her life plan.

She had worked so hard to become an attorney. Hours and hours of academia. She had wanted to help the poor, the struggling, vulnerable children in need of a powerful advocate to protect their interests.

Had that all been her own dream or had it been her father’s?

He had been so proud of her, telling her often how very much she looked like her mother and how thrilled Sarah would have been that their daughter was following in her footsteps.

How could Ali let everyone down now, when she was so close to her goal?

She pushed away the angst for another day. She wasn’t going to let anyone down. She was going to pass the bar exam and follow her dream of working here in Bridger Peak, upstairs where she could come down here to the bookstore whenever she wanted to savor the intoxicating smell of adventure in portable form.

Her grandmother was deep in an animated conversation at the counter with one of her long-time customers, JoAnn White. Knowing the two of them, they would be at it for some time, trying to solve all the world’s problems from their quiet corner of Wyoming.

No matter. Ali didn’t want to interrupt them. After waving to them both, Ali grabbed a book off the shelf, based solely on its appealing cover, and found a spot in one of the cozy reading nooks, with its deep armchair and perfect light.

The nook gave her a perfect view out the front bay window, where she could see all the activity on Main Street. It was raining again and a few shoppers hurried past with colorful umbrellas while puddles reflected the lights of passing cars, and the mountains were enshrouded with low clouds.

She loved this town, too.

When she graduated high school, she couldn’t wait to leave, to explore the world outside this Wyoming valley.

While she was grateful for the study-abroad courses she had loved in France and the trips she had taken back east to visit her maternal grandparents, Bridger Peak always called her back.

She was engrossed in her book when Loretta finally hurried over to her.

“Oh, there you are. I wondered where you wandered off to. I should have known you would be here in your favorite nook.”

“Where else?” Ali smiled.

“Sorry about that. JoAnn just came back from Phoenix. She’s been there for months, visiting her daughter and grandchildren. Apparently, her Lucy has set up a whole tiny house for JoAnn in the backyard of her place and they had a marvelous visit. She expects to go back every year from now on to avoid the cold.”

Wyoming winters could be brutal. Ali couldn’t blame the woman for wanting to escape those rough months.

“I’m fine,” she assured her grandmother. “I’ve been enjoying my book. I’ve been seeing it all over social media and wanted to give it a try, anyway. I’ve only read a few pages but I’m hooked. I am going to have to buy it now.”

“Music to my bookseller ears,” Loretta said with a smile. “You know what I always say. A good first chapter is like a secret door that opens the way to a magical world.”

She loved that she and her grandmother shared this passion for reading. Without Loretta’s love of literature and the books she had constantly read to her son, Ali doubted her father would have become a reader himself and ultimately a writer of renown.

“What brings you this way?” Loretta asked, taking the armchair next to her with a happy sigh. “I didn’t know you were coming into town.”

Town was only a few miles away from the ranch but sometimes felt like another world.

With slightly more than four thousand inhabitants, Bridger Peak wasn’t large but it had a grocery store, a few good restaurants, even a decent pizzeria.

Ali had lived here her entire life, had gone to school in town from kindergarten through high school and knew many of those four thousand residents, barring the newcomers who had moved in while she had been away at university.

“I’m supposed to be meeting Xander here in a few minutes. We’re heading next door to the café for lunch.”

Loretta’s eyes behind her glasses brightened. “Oh, that’s nice. I talked to Sylvia on the phone earlier. She said it’s been a total joy to have that boy home. Like he never even left.”

She had to smile when she pictured Xander’s great-aunt, who had raised him.

The two older women had become dear friends after Loretta moved to Bridger Peak, quilting together once a week, serving on a few town committees together and attending the same book club, one of several Loretta had started.

“How is she feeling after her hip surgery?”

“She says she’s fine but I am not sure she’s telling the whole truth. I dropped a couple of casseroles off the other day and Xander was so sweet to me. He sure grew up since he left town, hasn’t he? I believe he’s . . . What’s the word your generation uses? A thirst trap? A snack?”

Okay, no. She didn’t want to think about Xander as a thirst trap or a snack. He was just . . . Xander.

“Something like that,” she mumbled.

“He used to be so quiet and shy, skinny as a rail with glasses and braces and that wild hair of his. He’s really changed.”

“Yes,” she agreed. Lucky for the women of the world, who apparently flocked to him wherever he traveled.

Before she could say more, the front door to the bookshop opened and the man in question walked through.

Immediately, her day felt lighter.

She hadn’t seen Xander in person since her father’s memorial service, she realized, as effervescent happiness bubbled through her.

More than happiness. She felt a rush of joy at knowing they would be hanging out for at least the next hour. For some silly reason, her throat closed up and she felt perilously close to tears.

He headed straight for them with the same bright, genuine smile that lit up his content.

“Two of my favorite people in the world, in one of my favorite places,” he said.

“Hey, you.” Ali beamed. If the bookstore was her happy place, Xander was her sanctuary.

When he opened his arms, she sank into them, her arms around his waist, all the angst and stress she had been carrying for what felt like forever evaporating like those puddles on the road would as soon as the sun came out.

Here, with Xander, everything was better.

She wanted to rest her head against his chest and stay there forever.

Xander had been her closest friend since they were kids. Well, since he came to live with his great-aunt and -uncle when they were both in fourth grade, anyway.

He had been painfully shy, in torn jeans, thick glasses and an ultrashort haircut.

Years later, after he had come to trust her, Xander had confessed that his grandmother had to shave his head because of lice he brought with him when his drug-addicted mother had dropped off him and his younger sister with Sylvia and her husband, Robert, then took off.

Because Ali had been relatively popular and well liked, her teacher had asked her to befriend the new kid so he didn’t have to sit by himself in the cafeteria.

She hadn’t wanted to, she remembered now. He had seemed so strange and awkward and in the cruel, thoughtless way of children, she had been afraid that sense of other about him might be contagious.

But she had been a dutiful girl so they had sat together at lunch, where she discovered after some painful initial conversation that they both were reading the same book series. As they talked about the books and their favorite characters, she had also discovered Xander was funny and smart and kind, despite the chaos of his first nine years.

He was also fiercely loyal. He passionately defended her and his younger sister against any possible slight or insult.

Xander had been her rock during her mother’s brief illness and after her subsequent death. Whenever she was at her most low, he would text her a funny meme or video clip he had seen or a thought-provoking quote from whatever book he was currently inhaling. She didn’t always feel better but knowing he cared enough to try lifting her up invariably helped.

Sometimes they would meet up at the library to ostensibly study together, and she’d find herself simply staring into space while fighting a flurry of emotions that felt too big for her to handle at the time.

He wouldn’t say a word, but he always seemed to know.

Unfortunately, as much as she wanted to, Ali knew she couldn’t stay here in the bookstore forever, grasping hold of him like a lifeline. Too soon, he released her and hugged her grandmother in turn. “Loretta. Good to see you again. Twice in a week. It must be my lucky day. You look beautiful, as always.”

Loretta snorted. “I wasn’t beautiful even when I was forty years younger. Luckily, I’m fine with that.”

She gave him an appraising look. “I would say that you haven’t changed a bit, but that would be a bald-faced lie. Ali and I were just talking about how you don’t look at all like the shy boy with glasses and crooked teeth who used to come in here to do his homework and read the latest science-fiction release.”

He raised an eyebrow and slanted a look at Ali. “Were you?”

To her dismay, she could feel herself blush, though she couldn’t have said why. Later, she would have to tell him how her grandmother had described him as a snack. It would make him laugh.

“We should run. I don’t want to be away too long. Lindsey is staying with Sylvia while I’m gone, but her kids tend to run wild. They might tear the house apart.”

His sister was three years younger than Xander, but had been married since right after high school, with two young children and a third on the way. Ali knew that spending time with her and his niece and nephew was one of the main reasons Xander had come back for the summer.

“I’m ready. Bye, Grandma. Can I bring you something back from the café?”

“I’m good. I packed a lunch. Thanks, though. You two have fun.”

That bubbling happiness continued fizzing through her as they walked out into the drizzle toward the restaurant next door. The Owl used to be a run-down dive that nobody ever went to until a friend of theirs from high school had bought out the old owners and reenergized the place.

The interior had been redesigned to focus on the tin-stamped ceiling and the original long polished wood bar that had once been a soda fountain.

Because of its historic Old West decor as well as the delicious food and canny marketing by the owners, the Owl had become something of a social media sensation, with people traveling from as far as Jackson to eat there, and of course photograph themselves and their meals for the rest of the world to see.

The frenzied-looking hostess told them to find their own seats in the crowded restaurant, if they could, so they chose a booth near the front windows.

“I can’t believe we have finally managed to find ourselves in the same space,” Xander said as they slid across from each other. “How long has it been?”

“You came to Dad’s funeral. And you stopped briefly in Salt Lake to see me at the U that time you were doing a series on the national parks of the Mountain West,” she reminded him.

“I forgot about that series. That must have been, what, two years ago?”

“Something like that.”

“Your dad’s memorial service wasn’t exactly the best opportunity for us to catch up.”

“No,” she agreed.

Xander had been a steady comfort to her throughout the memorial service. Simply knowing he was there, that he had flown across the world to support her through her grief, had meant so much.

Still, she had been so busy and so consumed with her own grief to really talk to him.

“We’re here now, though. Both of us spending at least the next month in the same zip code,” he said.

“And it’s all because of your aunt Sylvia’s bad hip,” she said with a rueful smile. “Somehow it doesn’t feel quite right to thank her.”

“Probably not.”

The server came over to take their beverage orders before Ali could say anything else.

They both looked through the menus, interrupted a few times by friends who stopped at their table to say hello.

As much as Ali had been looking forward to seeing him, she couldn’t help thinking something felt . . . off.

It wasn’t awkward, so much as not quite as easy as usual. They couldn’t seem to find their typical conversational rhythm, as if they were dancers who had both forgotten the steps.

The realization left her sad, but she tried to convince herself it was only a momentary glitch in the matrix of their friendship. She hoped it wasn’t because they were growing apart as they both grew older.

Their life experiences had certainly diverged, especially the past four years. He had earned his bachelor’s in communications three years after high school, but had spent the intervening years traveling the world, while she was finishing up her undergraduate and moving on to law school.

“So what happened with Giselle?” she finally asked. “Was it, um, mutual?”

Ali had dutifully subscribed, followed and liked all his videos on the channel, but she had secretly admitted to herself that something about Giselle got under her skin.

Maybe it was the way she tended to touch Xander like she was marking her territory or the flirtatious looks she would give the camera that Ali sensed were intended for the camera operator, not for the audience.

She tended to skip large sections of those videos and didn’t have much to say in the comment sections.

“Mostly,” he finally answered. “I still care about her, but we both decided we wanted different things out of life.”

What did she want? And what did you want? And how were they different?

In the old days, Ali would have felt completely comfortable asking him anything. For some reason, Giselle seemed a particularly awkward topic.

She was almost relieved when a tall, gorgeous guy, who was apparently on his way out of the café, stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of the two of them.

“Look at this!” Clint Maclean, her high school crush, gazed at the two of them. “It’s Ali and the Brainiac! Have I somehow stepped into a time machine? Talk about old times! I feel like I should be carrying a lunch room tray with my usual burrito and those nasty cafeteria french fries.”

Xander, she saw, looked annoyed at the interruption before he gave a polite smile.

“Clint. Hi. I didn’t realize you were in town. Last I heard, you were fighting fires up in Alaska.”

“I was. It was great money. But I’ve been back a while helping on the family ranch since my dad got sick. He died last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked exactly the same, Ali thought. Same slightly shaggy hair that looked great under a Stetson, same tight Wranglers, same cowboy boots.

He had been the star running back on the football team and captain of the baseball team and had always treated Ali with just enough casual flirtation to keep her hanging on, hoping he might someday ask her out.

“Why are you two back?” he asked.

“My great-aunt broke her hip and needed someone to stay with her for a few weeks while she recovers,” Xander said. “I was between projects so it made sense.”

“And I’m here for the summer,” Ali said. “I’m studying for the bar exam.”

“Is that right? You’re staying at The Painted Sky?”

His ranch bordered her dad’s land on the other side from Beck Hunter’s. “Yes.”

“Maybe we’ll bump into each other. Oh, hey. I’m sorry about your dad. I didn’t hear about it until it was too late to go to his memorial service.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Would there come a point in her life when thoughts of Carson didn’t hit her like an avalanche of rock and debris?

She hoped not.

“It’s so great to see you, Ali. You look amazing!”

She could feel herself flush at the admiration in his gaze. If he had once looked at her like that when they were in high school, she would have been ecstatic.

“Scott. It’s good to see you, too.”

“Likewise,” Xander said, his voice desert dry, though she didn’t think Clint noticed.

He waved to them both and headed for the cashier up front. Ali felt silly and breathless, as if she had ridden her horse down a steep embankment.

“He doesn’t seem to have changed much.” Xander’s voice was carefully neutral, as it always was when it came to Clint.

No, she thought as she watched him walk out of the restaurant with his lean-hipped walk that was almost a swagger. He hadn’t changed much. He looked as good as ever.

“Looks like your summer is shaping up nicely.”

She sent Xander a sharp look. “Why? Because Clint Maclean smiled at me? Give me a break, Xan. I’m older and wiser these days.”

She was grateful he didn’t point out that she was staring at Clint’s ass.

“So what are you looking for now in a guy?”

“More than a cute smile and a wicked curveball.”

That surprised a laugh out of him and she couldn’t help thinking that when it came to cute smiles, Clint had nothing on Xander. All those years of wearing the braces he had hated had definitely been good to him.

She knew his videos weren’t only popular because of his dreamy destinations or the beautiful women who accompanied him. Xan emanated a sincere kind of charm that had always drawn people to him, and that came through unmistakably in his videos.

Yes, the years had been kind to him but she had always refused to let herself see Xander in a romantic light. They weren’t that kind of friends.

More to the point, he didn’t look at her in a romantic light. Judging by his travel companions, Xander was more interested in lush, gorgeous model-types who spoke with sexy accents and gazed at him lovingly through the camera.

To her relief, the server brought their food before he could press her about what she did want in a romantic relationship.

“How are things working out with your houseguest?” he asked after taking a bite out of his BLT.

“Fine so far.” June had been staying at the cabin for several days and seemed to be settling in.

“I stopped by to check on her before I came here to meet up with you. She’s not supposed to drive for another week so I asked her if she wanted to come into town with me for a change of scenery. She was reading something from my dad’s library and said she was fine. I love that she’s such a fan of his.”

He gave her a careful look. “When are you going to tell her the truth about your DNA match?”

She looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. The last thing she needed was for word to get back to Loretta before Alison had a chance to tell her grandmother herself.

“I don’t know. You and Beckett are both pushing me on it. But like I told him, the woman just had a life-changing cardiac event. I don’t think she needs this kind of shocking news right now, while she’s still healing.”

“Is it really your place to make that decision for her?”

“Yes! I’m her sister!”

“By blood only. You didn’t even know she existed a few months ago.”

“I’m trying to build a relationship with her. I don’t want to suddenly blurt it all out and ruin everything.”

He shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing. In my experience, secrets have a way of eating you up from the inside.”

“That sounds ominous,” she teased. “What kind of deep, dark secrets do you have lurking in your psyche?”

“You have no idea.”

He said the words so solemnly, she almost did a double take. But she knew Xander almost as well as she knew herself. He was a good guy who tried to travel responsibly and sustainably and to leave the world around him better than it was before.

Again, the conversation felt stilted and unusually awkward.

“What are your plans while you’re home?” she asked.

“I have enough work to keep me busy, editing videos I’ve already shot and making travel plans for the next year. It will be nice to stay in one place for a while and catch my breath. Plus, I promised Sylvia I would clear out all my old stuff in my room so she can use it for another guest room for her growing crowd of great-grandchildren and great-great-nieces and nephews.”

Sylvia and her husband had raised two children of their own, whose children were now having babies. And Xander’s sister would soon have three of her own.

“Sounds like a fun job. Do you need help?”

“Maybe. But I know you don’t have any spare time. Won’t you be busy preparing for your big test?”

“That’s the plan.” She had missed the most recent two meetings of her online study group that had been gathering in a virtual chat room a few days a week since they all graduated from law school in the spring.

“I’m hoping Grandma also will let me return to work at the bookstore.”

“You can never stay away from a bookstore, can you?”

“Not that one, anyway.”

“I wish you could have seen this really cool café I found in Estonia where the walls are filled with shelves of books, like a lending library. Patrons are welcome to grab one and take it home and then bring it back next time they come to the café.”

“Oh, I would love that!”

“I thought of you when I was there.”

Did he think of her often when he traveled? The question left a funny knot in her stomach, for some strange reason.

“I also would like to do some horseback riding while I’m home. You and I have been talking for years about heading up through Outlaw Canyon to Hidden Lake.”

“We have. I’d forgotten about that.”

The canyon was deep in the Wind River mountain range, at least a four-hour horseback ride in and back out.

“We should do it this summer, while we have the chance,” she said impulsively. “When are we both going to find ourselves in Bridger Peak at the same time? Oh, but I guess you probably can’t leave Sylvia overnight.”

“Right. She is the reason I’m home. But a trip to Outlaw Canyon could be fun. I could do a mini-break episode for the channel.”

“Or we could simply go and enjoy it.”

He laughed. “True enough.”

Had he lost any of his joy of traveling because he now explored with the purpose of documenting where he went? Somehow, she doubted it.

“Maybe I can figure out a way to make it work. Maybe Lindsey could stay with her overnight or one of my cousins. I can check with her about specific dates to see if we can find something that works with your schedule at the bookstore and your study plans. Oh, and I’ll have to borrow a horse.”

“We have several at the ranch who could use some exercise. My dad’s horse Comet misses him.”

“Bryce and Lindsey have a couple of horses I ride whenever I’m home. I’m comfortable on both of them. I’m sure they would be fine with me taking one.”

Anticipation and excitement curled through her. “It will be great to spend time together. Real time, not only the quick video chat here and there. I’ve missed hanging out with you,” she said.

He opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it again.

“Same here,” he finally said, though she had the distinct impression he had been about to say something else.

Chapter 13

Juniper

She had no idea what to do with free time.

What a strange realization.

June gazed down at the stack of books she had randomly pulled from the shelves of Carson Wells’s writing cabin. They were an esoteric lot, everything from the history of Wicca to a philosophy book to an in-depth look at water use in Western Australia.

All seemed interesting when she had spied them among Carson’s library. She had wondered with each book her fingers had trailed over on the shelves why he had purchased this particular title. For book research, for general interest or on a whim?

She had paged through several of them and couldn’t seem to settle on one that held her interest long enough to dig any deeper.

The past few days had been that way. She had taken a leisurely walk to the horse pasture and back. She had answered a few emails. She had tried, and failed, to take a nap. She had attempted to stream a movie she had heard good things about but hadn’t made it past the first fifteen minutes before she had lost interest.

She had even broken down and called the office, only to be told by both Jason and Margaret in the same apologetic tone that they were under strict instructions from Adam not to take any calls, texts or emails from her for at least the next three weeks.

Three weeks. What was she supposed to do during that time? The idea of that much leisure time left her vaguely panicky.

Her entire adult life, June had been grinding and pushing and planning. Longer, even. Back to the days when she had been a grief-stricken teenager in a situation beyond her control, June had focused on making plans.

From high school onward, she had done her best to study hard so she could earn top marks in school and had filled every available moment she wasn’t studying with part-time jobs or volunteer work.

When you fail to plan, you plan to fail. It had been one of her mother’s favorite phrases. Yes, it was a cliché. But Elizabeth Connelly had lived by those words and had carefully mapped out their future.

As a working mother raising June on her own, what other choice did she have?

She supposed her mother had laid out the pattern June had ended up following. Elizabeth had taken few moments of relaxation for herself, except at night when she would curl up in her favorite chair and escape into books.

Her mother had always worked two jobs to support them. She had taught high school English during the day and had a second job as a freelance proofreader for various local businesses that filled many of her evening hours.

She had saved all the benefits she had received as a military widow in an account for June.

They never had much money to spare, but they always had enough for books.

Her mother would have loved this writing retreat, with its walls of books and its comfortable chairs and its cozy vibe, especially knowing it had been the place where Carson Wells had created many of his most iconic works.

What would Elizabeth say about June staying here? She couldn’t even imagine.

Her mother had been gone nearly twenty years and she still found herself wanting to call or text her something every single day.

June set down the books. She wasn’t in the mood to read, though she still didn’t know what she did want to do.

She was tempted to take the path between here and Beck Hunter’s place to see if he had finished the table he had been making.

Watching him the other day had been a strangely visceral experience. She still didn’t understand why it had impacted her so much.

No. She wasn’t ready to see the man again. Not until she had a chance to build up more immunity to him and remind herself why she didn’t like him.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t still take another walk. The Painted Sky ranch had several scenic walking trails. From what Alison had told her, Carson would sometimes walk for hours along the same paths when he was trying to figure out a particular plot point or character arc, his own sort of meditation circle.

She decided to follow the creek and see where she ended up.

The afternoon was lovely, with a few scattered clouds and a light breeze that rustled the leaves of the undergrowth. She couldn’t get enough of those mountains that loomed beyond the ranch.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen mountains before. Seattle had lovely green hills. On a clear day she loved seeing them from her penthouse yet somehow, these Wyoming mountains seemed more wild and rugged.

A narrow path followed the creek, which was no wider than six or seven feet across, and she enjoyed picturing a famous writer trying to work out his plot problems here.

Something silvery and fast glinted in the sunlight. Was it a trout? Ali had told her the creek was teeming with them and was famous for fly-fishing.

She leaned over for a closer look, grabbing hold of a tree branch so she didn’t slip into the water.

When she straightened, she felt that odd flutter in her chest, a reminder of the device that was ready to shock her back to life if necessary.

Panic spurted through her and for one terrible moment, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Bark gouged her fingers as she gripped the tree limb tightly.

She hated this. She wanted her life back. She wanted herself back!

She closed her eyes and tried to center herself. It took a good five minutes before she felt as if she could return to the safety of the cabin.

With sweat crawling down her spine like she was running a long race on a humid summer afternoon, she made her slow way back. She had covered maybe half the distance back to the cabin when she heard someone calling her name. Alison, she realized.

Sweet relief poured through her. She was still panicky, but at least she didn’t have to be afraid she would die alone here on the trail.

“I’m here,” she called back. “On the creek trail.”

A moment later, she spotted the younger woman coming toward her.

“Is everything okay?” Alison asked. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine. I might have overdone things a little.”

“I’m glad I found you. I was worried when you didn’t answer your phone.”

“I must have forgotten it,” she confessed. As if she needed more proof that everything was upside down in her life right now. She never went anywhere without her phone.

“You should always keep your phone with you if you leave the cabin, in case you need help or something.”

“I’ll do that,” she said, feeling chastened, but still grateful for Alison’s concern and her generosity in sharing her family’s ranch. June still didn’t quite understand why Alison was being so kind to her, but she had decided to simply accept it.

She drew in another deep breath, feeling more centered now that Alison was there.

“Was there a reason you dropped by?”

“Nothing major. I wanted to see if you would like to come up to the house for dinner. It won’t be fancy, only salmon and some early vegetables from the garden, but Jo, our housekeeper, is a great cook and so is my grandmother.”

Her instinct was to refuse the invitation, unsure if she was up for an evening of making small talk with Alison and the grandmother she had yet to meet. But how could she refuse, when they had so kindly offered this comfortable, restful place to recuperate?

“That would be nice. What time?”

Ali checked her watch. “Anytime. Grandma is home from the bookstore and is working on a salad. She likes to have dinner early.”

In her Before life, June would still be working at this hour, with a few more hours left at her desk before she grabbed a quick sandwich and another coffee on her way home to continue working until bedtime.

Right now, the thought of that life completely exhausted her.

“Sure. Now is fine. I don’t have any other plans.”

Alison smiled. “Great. Grandma will be happy.”

“I should grab a sweater and run a brush through my hair.”

“Sounds good.”

They turned together and headed back toward the writing cabin, with its green roofline and river-rock chimney.

“I’m glad to see you out exploring the area. Have you done much hiking?”

June remembered that uncomfortable spurt of fear on the trail. “Not really. I went to the horse pasture earlier today and tried to walk along the creek just now, but didn’t make it far.”

“You will. Don’t be discouraged. You’ve been through an ordeal. It takes time to recover your strength.”

“I suppose. I have to admit I’m struggling with the inactivity. I’m not used to doing so much . . . nothing.”

Alison laughed. “I know exactly what you mean. I keep having this nagging feeling between my shoulder blades that I’m forgetting to do something important. I’ve only been out of school since April and still can’t shake the feeling I should be studying for a test or writing a paper or something.”

“You are studying for the bar, though.”

Alison sighed. “I know. That gives me plenty to do. I just have to push myself to get going.”

The clear reluctance in her voice made June frown. Why did she sound so conflicted? She would have thought Alison would be eager to take the last step to becoming an attorney.

At the cabin, June washed her face and brushed her hair, then changed into a fresh shirt.

As they walked the short distance to the ranch house, Alison chattered about her day spent at the bookstore and about Xander Scott, the friend she’d gone to lunch with in town.

“I’m sure you’ll get the chance to meet him,” Alison said. “We’re in and out of each other’s houses all the time. He and I might be taking a horseback ride into the mountains sometime this summer. Will you be okay if I’m not around for a few days?”

Why wouldn’t she? “You’re not responsible for my health, Alison.”

“Will you please call me Ali? Everybody does except my grandmother. When you call me Alison, I feel like I’m back at the Move Inc offices being reprimanded for not speaking up about something in the marketing meeting.”

“Was I really that terrible to work for?”

“Not at all. I simply wasn’t cut out for the management internship.”

“Why did you apply in the first place?” June asked. “I’ve been trying to figure that out. It seems an odd choice for you.”

Alison hesitated. “I can’t really tell you. I guess it was a fluke, really. One of those random decisions we don’t always understand. I heard about it and for some reason I was intrigued.”

What was that evasive note June heard in her voice?

“I had heard good things about you and about your management training program,” Alison went on. “I thought I might be a good fit. I was obviously wrong, but if I hadn’t been there, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

That was true on many levels. June could only be grateful for whatever twist of fate had brought them together that day so that Ali could save her life.

“Oh, look. Beck is here. Great! Grandma didn’t tell me she was inviting him, too.”

June looked quickly up at the house, where she saw a man walking in.

So much for avoiding him. That might be difficult when they were seated at the same table, sharing a meal together.

When they walked into the ranch house, he greeted them, looking dark and gorgeous in tan slacks and a casual blue shirt.

June was uncomfortably aware of a sudden thrum of awareness that took her completely off guard, as if she had accidentally touched an electric fence.

When was the last time she had reacted physically to someone? She honestly couldn’t remember. She hadn’t dated anyone in more than a year and hadn’t really missed it.

That was definitely a tingle, though. Maybe the kick-start to her heart had also started something in her hormones, a side effect the doctors hadn’t bothered to mention.

“Hey, Beck! I didn’t know you were coming to dinner.” Alison smiled broadly.

“It was kind of a last-minute thing. I was about to make a sandwich when Loretta texted to invite me a half hour ago.”

“I always make too much when I grill salmon.” An older woman joined them. “We have plenty. You know what I always say. The more, the merrier.”

When she smiled, Alison’s grandmother’s entire face seemed to light up from the inside. “Hello, my dear. I’m Loretta Wells. I hope you’re enjoying your stay here at The Painted Sky.”

“I am, thank you. I’m grateful for your kindness in letting me stay.”

“Of course. Of course. It’s no trouble at all.”

There was something familiar about this woman, but June couldn’t put her finger on exactly what that might be.

“Is everything all right for you down at the cabin? Jo and I tried to fill the pantry and the refrigerator with anything you might need, but please let us know if there’s something else we can get you.”

“You’re very kind. Thank you.”

“I tried to persuade Alison you would be more comfortable here at the house, but she insisted you would enjoy the cabin more. I hope you know that if you ever get lonely down there and need company, you’re more than welcome to move up here. We have plenty of room.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Loretta made a dismissive gesture. “Nonsense. Any friend of Alison’s is a friend of mine.”

Were she and Alison friends? June shifted her gaze to the other woman, who was chatting with Beckett about one of the ranch horses. Somehow, they had become friends over the past few weeks and not only because the other woman had saved her life.

She liked her. When not worrying about her job performance, Ali was funny and warm and smart. She had also been incredibly supportive to June after her cardiac arrest.

“This is almost ready. I only have to take the salmon off the grill.”

“I appreciate you going to so much work.”

“Jo did most of it. All I had to do was throw together a salad and toss the salmon on the grill. Why don’t we eat out on the deck? It would be a shame to waste such a lovely evening.”

“Great idea,” Ali said. “How can we help, Grandma?”

“You can move everything outside for me.”

Together, they grabbed plates, glasses, cutlery and several bowls of food and carried it all out to a covered deck that overlooked a small lake—more like a pond—edged with a thick stand of pines and the grand mountains soaring to meet the setting sun.

“Oh,” June exclaimed. “How beautiful.”

“The house was built on this exact spot to take advantage of the view,” Ali explained. “Dad loved to sit out here in the evening and read a book.”

When they had carried all the dishes out to the cedar-plank table, Loretta flipped a switch that illuminated sconces along the walls and the pillars holding up the roof over the deck. She also switched on a gas fireplace, more for the mood than for heat, as the evening was mild.

June wasn’t sure if it was the setting or the company, but the meal was delicious. The salmon was flavorful and the salad tasted fresh and delicious.

Since her cardiac event, the flavor of everything she tasted seemed enhanced.

She enjoyed listening to the easy camaraderie among Beckett, Alison and Loretta. The man seemed more like family than merely a neighbor.

“We are monopolizing the conversation,” Loretta said after they had nearly finished with dinner. “How rude we are, talking about people our guest doesn’t know. I’m sorry about that, Juniper. Why don’t you tell us about yourself. Where are you from? Do you have a big family?”

June thought she saw Ali and Beck exchange an odd look, one she couldn’t quite interpret. “I’m afraid not. I don’t have any family.”

“None at all?” Loretta’s eyes widened with shock and something else that looked like pity.

“None at all,” she confirmed. “My father died when I was only a few months old. My mom raised me by herself. It was always just the two of us.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been incredibly difficult for her. But at least she had you.”

June blinked, her eyes suddenly burning. “Yes. We were very close.”

“Were?” Loretta asked with a sympathy in her expression that almost made those tears spill out, much to June’s dismay.

“She died when I was fifteen.”

“Oh, no. I’m so very sorry. You poor thing. What did you do?”

“I was lucky enough to be placed in a loving foster home in a California beach town for my last few years of high school. I still keep in touch with them.”

“That is lucky. I hear so many horror stories about the foster care system.”

June would be forever grateful for Stella Davenport and the nieces she had raised on her own, who had opened their home not only to June but also many other foster children over the years. Stella still ran a charity event in Cape Sanctuary to benefit other foster families, and June donated generously to support her work.

“Well, now you have another family here in Wyoming,” Loretta said with a sincerity that touched June all over again. “Alison saved your life so that makes you one of us.”

Ali and Beck, she saw, were exchanging another one of those looks June couldn’t quite interpret. Ali spoke up quickly.

“Grandma, June is looking for a project while she’s staying at the cabin. Is there anything she could do while she’s there? I had the idea that maybe if she wanted to, she could help us sort through some of Dad’s papers that we plan to donate to the university special collections in Laramie.”

Loretta made a face. “Oh, she wouldn’t want to go through all those dusty boxes. He never threw anything away.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” June said quickly. She would love poring over the papers of Carson Wells to see into the inner workings of his mind.

“She and her mom were both big fans of Dad’s work,” Alison said.

“Do you have any training in document preservation?” Beckett asked in a doubtful tone.

“Not a bit,” she admitted.

“We might be better off letting the Special Collections department handle the boxes. His papers are already a jumbled mess. We might take a chaotic situation and make it worse.”

Ali’s expression mirrored June’s own disappointment. She had been warming to the idea. How could she argue, without sounding ungrateful for all that everyone had already done for her?

At least she was grateful for one thing—Beck had reminded her that she had good reason to dislike him.

Chapter 14

Beckett

Juniper Connelly was seriously annoyed with him.

Beck could see the tension in her jaw and the slight narrowing of her gaze when she looked at him.

Did she really want to dig through boxes of dusty papers, handwritten manuscripts, old letters from editors—all the flotsam and jetsam of a writer’s life?

He could certainly understand her boredom. She was used to helping run a high-powered tech company. It must be tough to find herself sidelined from such an undertaking, when she was used to the responsibility, pressure and prestige that came along with being a vice president at Move Inc.

He understood that feeling well. When he first moved to Wyoming, he had struggled to figure out how to fill his time. He had tried all kinds of projects, until he had accidentally stumbled onto the fun and challenge of making resin tabletops.

Carson had helped distract him. They had fished together, had gone for rides into the back country, had sat in front of the fire at the cabin, sometimes talking for hours in the evening or often merely reading their respective books without saying a word.

Beck had worried he was keeping the celebrated author away from his work, but Carson never made him feel as if his presence was intrusive in any way.

Oh, he missed the man.

Juniper Connelly was struggling. As much as she clearly disliked him, the woman was trying to come to terms with a difficult diagnosis. His situation wasn’t completely analogous to hers, but he did understand what it felt like to have your life upended in an instant. He understood her upheaval.

She was Carson’s daughter, even if she didn’t know it yet. Loyalty to his friend compelled him to help her, even if she clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

“What about the journals?” he said suddenly. By the expressions of all three women at the table, he realized his outburst probably interrupted a conversation about something else.

“What?” Alison asked, clearly confused.

“Sorry. That was random. Go on with what you were saying.”

“We weren’t talking about anything important,” Loretta assured him. “I was only telling Juniper about a few events on the schedule for the bookstore this summer. What journals are you talking about?”

“Carson’s journal entries.”

“Oh, those journals. He was always writing in them,” Loretta said with a rueful smile.

“Right. There are at least thirty years’ worth.”

“More. He kept them before he ever published his first book.”

“Ali and I had talked with his publisher about possibly coming out with a collection of short essays from his journal entries at some point,” Beck said.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t had a minute to go through them,” Alison said. “You haven’t either, have you?”

“No. I’m afraid not,” Beck answered. In truth, he might have been able to carve out the time, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to sort through his friend’s most intimate thoughts yet.

“Beck and I are the cotrustees of his literary trust,” Alison explained to June, who was looking blank.

“I’m not familiar with a literary trust.”

“It’s a legal entity intended to protect an author’s legacy after he or she passes away. Carson assigned all the copyrights for his work to the trust before his death, which allows Alison and me as the cotrustees to make decisions about republishing his work or assigning sub-rights.”

“Movie deals, foreign editions, that kind of thing,” Ali explained.

“If you’re interested,” Beck said, “perhaps you could start reading through his journal entries and flagging some you might think might be of interest to his readers, if we ever decide to publish some of his journal entries as possible essays in book form.”

Her eyes lit up with more excitement than he had seen there in the short time he had known her. “Are you serious? That would be amazing! I would love it!”

Her enthusiasm faded a little. “I don’t have any more experience in the literary world than I do in document preservation, though. You should probably do it yourselves.”

“I wouldn’t be able to get to it until after the bar exam,” Ali said. “And to be honest, I’m not sure I’ll be able to bring myself to read his journal entries for a while. It’s still hard for me to read anything he’s written, even the books and short stories I’ve read before. I can only imagine how painful it would be to read his personal thoughts and reflections.”

Beck felt the same way. He knew that state of affairs would eventually change, but right now the loss seemed too sharp.

“You don’t have to feel pressure,” he assured her. “It was only an idea. And if you did want to read through them, we certainly wouldn’t expect you to make any final decisions. You would only be flagging those entries you find meaningful or particularly insightful as a reader and fan. Anything that might help the world get a better picture of Carson, both the man and the writer.”

“I would love it,” she said again. Her face seemed to light up from more than the dying rays of the sun. He liked seeing her animated instead of defeated and lost.

“It sounds like a perfectly lovely idea,” Loretta said. “How kind of you to even consider it.”

“I would be honored to read any of Carson’s writings, especially anything the general public hasn’t yet had the chance to discover.”

“Your perspective would be wonderful,” Ali said. “I also love that through reading his journals, you can come to know Dad a little better.”

That might be overplaying her hand, Beck thought. June blinked in confusion, as if wondering why Ali might want her to come to know Carson better, though she didn’t ask the question.

“When can I start?” she asked instead. “Tonight? Where are the journals?”

He had to smile at her eagerness, grateful the idea had come to him. “They’re actually in a fireproof safe in the walk-in closet of his office. You might have noticed it.”

She shook her head. “I haven’t been in that room yet. It seemed . . . presumptuous.”

Ali opened her mouth as if to disagree, but seemed to change her mind.

“Do you have the key?” she asked Beck instead.

“I have the code.”

“Oh, good.” Ali looked relieved. “I know I wrote it down somewhere but I can’t remember where. I was suddenly having nightmares about having to call in a safe cracker to break into it.”

“We shouldn’t have to resort to that. I can open the safe.”

“Tonight?” June asked. “After we’re done here?”

He smiled again at her eagerness. “Sure. If you want me to.”

“I do. Thank you so much.”

They talked about inconsequential things until after Loretta brought out dessert, separate bowls of poached fruit with a delicious chocolate sauce.

June, he saw, ate only a few bites of the fruit before pushing the bowl away.

“Thank you for inviting me for dinner. I had a lovely time,” she said after they had all worked together to clear the dishes and load them into the dishwasher.

Here in the brighter light of The Painted Sky kitchen, she looked tired, with lines of exhaustion bracketing her mouth.

He again had that sudden wild urge to protect her somehow, to keep her safe and warm and comfortable.

What a ludicrous thought, when he had certainly demonstrated with abundant clarity that he couldn’t protect anyone.

“Let me grab a flashlight and I’ll walk you home,” Ali said, setting down the dishcloth she was using to wipe dishes.

“That’s really not necessary,” June said.

“It’s not,” Beck agreed. “I’ll walk her home. It’s basically on my way.”

“You walked all the way here?” Ali asked.

“It’s ten minutes through the trees,” he pointed out. “I was glad for the exercise. I’ve been hunched over a project all day and I needed to move. So did Hank.”

“Hank’s here?” June asked. “I didn’t see him when we came over.”

“Last I saw, he was hanging out by the barn with the ranch dogs. He’s not a big fan of the cats who rule the house here. I think he’s scared of them.”

Loretta and Alison both walked them to the door, where one of the Siberian cats sidled up to Ali until she picked him up.

“Good thing you have a sweater,” Loretta said to June. “It gets cold up here at night.”

He didn’t have a sweater, but she apparently wasn’t as worried about him. Just as well. He tended to run hot, anyway.

As if to contradict his words, Hank was waiting for them on the porch and June greeted the dog with a warm enthusiasm that took him by surprise. She crouched down to the dog’s level and scratched behind his ears.

“What have you been up to, Hank? Have you been chasing any squirrels lately?”

The dog angled his head and gave that funny look of delight he sometimes wore around people he truly loved.

The three of them took off through evening. It wasn’t full dark yet, though the sun had set and everything was the amber and blue of dusk.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” she said, lifting her face to the mountains, where the moon was showing as only a rim above the highest peaks.

“It really is. These summer evenings are precious and rare.”

“So, Beckett Hunter,” she said after they had walked a few dozen more yards. “What brought you out here to Wyoming?”

“How do you know I’m not a local?”

She sent him a sidelong look in the pale evening. “Because I know who you are. My first job out of Cal Poly, while we were still trying to get Move Inc off the ground, was at a start-up in San Jose. You were kind of a big deal there.”

“Ah.” He didn’t know what else to say as memories crowded his mind.

“Last I knew, you were an up-and-coming prosecutor going after all the bad guys. Now you’re wearing jeans with holes in the knees and making artistic furniture. What brought you here?”

He hated when his past rose up in front of him like that moon over the mountains, inexorable and inescapable.

“Circumstances change. People change with them.”

“They do. Which doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“I moved here five years ago. My place was originally owned by a friend of my father’s. I came here to visit and fell in love with the area and the property.”

“And you decided to stay.”

“I decided to stay. I bought it a short time later.”

There was so much more to it than that. He had been lost, grieving, battered by circumstances beyond his control. Much like June herself, he realized.

“You must have really loved Bridger Peak to give up everything in California.”

“What’s not to love?” He gestured around to the mountains, the pines, the expanse of darkening sky.

“True. But you were a big deal in San Jose, as I remember. There was even talk in the media of you running for a state-wide office.”

He gazed ahead, wishing they could talk about something else. Anything else. “I prosecuted a few high-profile cases. And plenty of others that didn’t make headlines.”

One of those quiet, low-key, under-the-radar cases had completely changed the course of his life.

“You and your office chose not to prosecute plenty more.”

He had years of experience with depositions and courtroom testimony, trained to pick up the nuances in someone’s tone. Not that he needed any particular insight here. June Connelly made no effort to hide her bitterness.

“Did we have some kind of professional interaction in San Jose? Is that why you seemed to instantly dislike me?”

She was quiet as they walked through the trees toward the cabin. He thought for a moment she wasn’t going to answer him, but she finally spoke in a low voice. “You and I didn’t have any interaction before I came here.”

“But?”

“But a good friend of mine was a victim of a horrific sexual assault. You and your office decided her case wasn’t strong enough to go to court.”

Ah. He couldn’t say he was surprised. Sexual assault cases could be the hardest to prosecute, though he had tried his damnedest.

“I’m sorry. If it had been up to me, I would have given every single victim their day in court. I hated having to tell someone that I couldn’t see a path to conviction in their case.”

“How can you possibly make that proclamation when you weren’t even willing to try?”

He chose his words carefully. “I was a prosecutor for years, working hundreds of cases. You get a sense for it. Sometimes the evidence isn’t there. Sometimes the victim won’t testify. Sometimes the police don’t feel confident in the case they’ve brought us and sometimes we didn’t feel they had enough evidence. I can’t say which was the reason, in your friend’s case. What was her name?”

“Robin Sanchez. We were college roommates.”

He had memory flash of a tall, elegant, traumatized woman who had told her story with quiet dignity and unmistakable sincerity.

“I remember that case. He was an acquaintance, if I recall.”

“Her boss at the tech firm where they both worked.” June’s voice shook a little. Much as Robin’s had, he remembered, when she recounted the attack. “They were working late on a project when he came on to her. When she refused him, he didn’t give her a choice. He forced the matter. This was before the Me Too movement and it took her a few days to summon the courage to report. He was her boss. It was her first real job, and he was a Big Name in the industry. All the usual reasons.”

She gave a sound of disgust. “A few of us finally persuaded her that reporting the assault was the right thing to do. And then you and the detectives working the case all told her bluntly that she didn’t have a case. Robin was devastated for a long, long time.”

Oh, damn. He hated cases like that one, when he and the local detectives felt like Sisyphus, endlessly pushing the same lousy rock uphill.

“I remember the case. It was a tough one. We all believed her, that wasn’t an issue. But he claimed the encounter was consensual and said she became angry when he wouldn’t give her full credit on the project they were working on together.”

She scoffed. “Sounds like him.”

“The detectives and our investigators tried to find others with similar stories who could support her story. We knew they were out there and we heard several friend-of-a-friend accusations, but nobody else would come forward.”

“There were definitely more cases out there.”

“How is Robin doing?”

He remembered her as bright, articulate, sincere. She would have been an amazing witness, though better if she had reported the assault immediately afterward instead of waiting three days, when they could no longer find physical evidence to go along with her testimony.

“She’s okay,” June said as they neared the cabin. “She’s had a great deal of therapy and it seems to have helped. She’s married now, to a good man who adores her, and they have a toddler. She left the tech industry shortly after the assault and now works very successfully as a marketing consultant.”

“I’m glad to hear she’s on a path to healing.”

“Meanwhile,” June went on, her tone acid, “absolutely nothing happened to her boss, who is still widely known in the industry as a sexual predator on the hunt for vulnerable, defenseless young women.”

Her accusatory tone was nothing he hadn’t heard—or felt—about himself before.

“Only one of many reasons I’m no longer working in the prosecutor’s office. For every perp we were able to convict, a dozen more slipped through the cracks in the system. I hated it.”

“Not as much as the victims of those perps did, I imagine.”

He thought of Soledad, so full of life and promise.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. As much as we tried to change things, we were sometimes forced to make a lot of decisions based on a misogynistic system that unfortunately gives the predator the benefit of the doubt, especially where the victim is a woman of color and the accused is not and when the accused is in a position of power. It’s a lousy system and it’s wrong. I want to say things are changing, but any progress is far too slow.”

In the glow of the porch light coming from the cabin, he could see his words didn’t do anything to appease her. Nor should they. He was the first to admit the flawed justice system often didn’t work for those who needed it most.

At least he knew her dislike of him was related to his previous work decisions and not necessarily personal. Somehow, that didn’t make him feel any better.

“So that’s why you’re here spending your days in a workshop instead of a courtroom?”

“One of the reasons.”

That was as far as he was willing to go to explain all the events that had led him here.

“Do you want me to grab those journals for you tonight or would you prefer I come back tomorrow?”

She gave him a long look, as if trying to peer past his obfuscation. Finally, she shrugged. “Tonight works for me, if you’re okay with that.”

“Sure. It won’t take long to open the safe.”

That was at least something he could probably manage without screwing up.

Chapter 15

Juniper

She was trying to hang on to her anger at Beckett Hunter but was finding it harder with every moment she spent with him.

As she turned on the lights inside the writing cabin, she replayed their conversation.

It’s a lousy system and it’s wrong. I want to say things are changing, but any progress is far too slow.

He had sounded genuinely upset about being unable to prosecute Robin’s boss.

She understood entirely too well about the hard choices that sometimes had to be made. As a top-level executive at a tech company with thousands of employees, she sometimes had to make decisions that still kept her up at night.

All that stress. How was she going to return to it?

Her chest felt tight again and she tensed, somehow not at all surprised when she felt the little jolt from her ICD that was becoming painfully familiar.

She sank down onto the nearest chair, her fingers automatically pressing against her heart while she caught her breath and fought for calm.

She was mortified when she lifted her gaze to find Beck watching her with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“It’s nothing.” She forced a smile. “Just the device in my chest shocking me back to life.”

He looked aghast and she instantly regretted her flippant response.

“I’m still breathing. Don’t worry. I’m not going to croak right here in front of you. Probably.”

She muttered that last word in a much more bitter tone than she intended, which earned her a careful look from the entirely too perceptive Beck Hunter.

“At some point in this journey, I expect I will learn to be grateful I’m still alive and be able to focus on being a medical miracle instead of another statistic. I’m not quite there yet.”

“Understandable.”

Her eyes suddenly stung at the compassion in his expression and she furiously fought away tears.

“I would tell you that the tough things we all have to face only make us stronger, but personally I know that’s BS. Sometimes life deals us things that would crush even a champion bodybuilder.”

What did Beck Hunter know about life’s crushing trials? she wondered. She wanted to ask, but he turned away before she could, as if he regretted opening the door into his life even a crack.

“I’ll grab those diaries for you,” he said, heading into Carson’s office.

Grateful that he wasn’t focusing on her momentary pity party, June followed him. She had to admit she was curious about Carson’s office.

The room was exactly as she might have envisioned, with more of those floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a huge desk made of timber and a gorgeous oil painting on the wall of a red-rock mesa in the setting sun.

“Wow. This is beautiful.”

He looked around as if seeing the space for the first time. “It is. I still don’t know why Carson didn’t work here more often. I can probably count on one hand the times I saw him at his desk. He mostly preferred working at the kitchen table, in his armchair by the fire or outside on the porch.”

She loved picturing him at work, pen in hand and a pensive look on those rugged features.

“More often,” Beck went on, “he would pack one of his notebooks into a bag and head off into the mountains, either on foot or riding one of the horses. He wouldn’t come down until past dark some nights.”

Her mother would have loved learning these insights into the writer she had admired so very much.

“I wish my mother had been able to meet him. She would have been over the moon.”

His expression tightened briefly before relaxing again. “I thought your mother had a signed first edition of his debut novel. So she must have met Carson at least once.”

“She did, though she didn’t talk about it much. I meant she would have loved to meet him here, in the surroundings where he was most comfortable and creative.”

“Ah,” he said. “Well, he didn’t let many people see his space here. I guess you should consider yourself lucky.”

“I do, actually. About staying here, anyway. And I feel extraordinarily fortunate that I will have the chance to look through some of his personal writings.”

“Right. I’ll grab the journals.”

He headed to the walk-in closet, where she could see a huge safe, twice the size of a typical gun safe.

“Would you like me to go into the other room?” she asked.

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know. So I don’t spy on the combination or something and break into the safe in the middle of the night.”

He laughed, a low, sexy sound that somehow seemed to ripple down her spine, much to her dismay. “These diaries are the only thing of value in here and I’m handing them over to you.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

He worked the mechanism on the safe, not bothering to hide the code. The door slid open smoothly and from inside the cavernous space, he pulled out a large archive-grade box, then a second one and a third.

“Carson went through at least a few journals a year, always the same kind.”

He held one up and she saw it was a medium-size black hardcover notebook she recognized as top quality and exclusive.

“He started each writing day by jotting down some of his thoughts. He said it was his way of purging his mind of all the minutiae before he settled down to the serious business of writing.”

“You said you haven’t read any of them?”

“I’ve paged through a few of them, but it feels very personal, reading someone else’s journal. Especially when that someone was a good friend.”

She looked at the boxes and was suddenly overwhelmed at the task. “It’s going to take time for me to get through all of these. Perhaps I should only take out a few at a time. What if the cabin catches on fire while I’m staying here and they’re all lost to the world?”

He smiled a little. “Probably smart.”

“I guess that means you’ll have to come back to open the safe again when I work my way through these, but I would rather be safe than sorry.”

He shrugged. “I’ll give you the code.”

She stared. “You would do that?”

“Why not?”

“You’re surprisingly trusting for a former prosecuting attorney.”

“About some things,” he said with enough of an edge to his voice to make her wonder what might be behind it.

“Where do you want to start?” he asked.

“I guess at the beginning, for continuity’s sake.”

“Sounds good.” He looked through the boxes and pulled out several that looked older than some of the others.

“These are the earliest, I think. By the dates on the cover, he started them a few years before Purgatory River came out.”

It seemed almost mystical to imagine him paging through these books, recording his hopes and fears. She took the notebook from Beck and opened the pages at random.

The entry she scanned was a fairly banal one, where he talked about a phone call with his agent the day before and how he had written eight pages that day.

To paraphrase Steinbeck, I have sat long at my work and the pen felt good in my hand.

She couldn’t wait to dive into more.

“Here’s the code for you,” Beck said, scribbling some numbers on a sticky note he pulled out of a small box on the desk, bound with saddle-colored leather. “When you finish those and are ready to start more, you won’t have to wait for me.”

She felt profoundly honored that he trusted her with something so important.

“Thank you.”

“I’m grateful for your help. You’re providing a valuable service, giving an important perspective.”

She didn’t know about that. What perspective did she have to offer, except that of a devoted reader? “Are you sure you’re not simply finding some busywork to keep me from pulling out my hair?”

He gave a low laugh. “Positive. If a side bonus is preventing you from going bald, even better.”

She returned his smile. Despite her initial antipathy toward Beck, she was gradually coming to like the man.

“Did you finish the table I saw you working on the other day?” she asked as they headed out of the office to the main living area.

“No. It’s going to take a few more days.”

“I suppose you can’t rush a creative genius.”

He made a face. “You can’t rush a perfectionist,” he corrected. “It’s a curse. If I see the slightest flaw, I try to figure out a way to fix it. I wish I could take the Japanese approach and embrace the flaws. Have you heard of kintsugi?”

“Yes. That’s translated to golden repair, right?”

“That’s right. When a piece of pottery cracks, instead of trying to hide the damage, it is repaired with gold to highlight the crack and show the beauty of imperfection.”

She knew the philosophy. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to do that, embrace her own cracks and wounds.

“I meant what I said the other day. I’m still interested in coming to watch you work. The whole process fascinates me. What will you be making after this one?”

“Another console table for the house in Jackson Hole. This one’s for the front hallway. I have a gorgeous piece of oak I’ll be using for the slab.”

“When do you start? I would love to watch you from the beginning.”

He looked uncomfortable at the idea. “I’m not sure when I’ll get to it. I usually have several projects going at once. And I’m really not accustomed to having spectators while I work.”

“You said Carson used to come and watch you.”

“He would sometimes pop in and hang out with his notebook, but I think he was focused on the company rather than the process. He’s really the only other person who has ever been interested.”

“Except your legions of online fans,” she pointed out, which only made him look more uncomfortable.

“Legions is a bit of an exaggeration. They don’t really count, since I can ignore the camera.”

“You can ignore me, too,” she assured him. “I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m there.”

At his skeptical laugh, she gave him an indignant glare. “What? I can do unobtrusive.”

“I’m sorry to break it to you, Juniper, but you couldn’t fade into the woodwork if you tried.”

What did he mean by that? She didn’t have a chance to ask before he continued.

“I guess if you really want to, you can watch me. It’s pretty boring at first, mostly building the form and making sure I have all the supplies I need.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“I can’t promise I’ll be very good company. I tend to get completely absorbed when I’m working, which is why I have to set up the camera first thing. If I didn’t, I would completely forget it was there.”

She couldn’t imagine being so engrossed in a project that she forgot a camera was recording her actions.

“I don’t need conversation. I would like to observe what you do. It’s a process that fascinates me. While I enjoy watching your videos, seeing it in person would be even better.”

He still seemed baffled at her interest, but finally shrugged. “Fine. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to get started.”

“Thanks, Beckett.”

“Beck. You don’t have to call me Beckett.”

“And I’m June. Hardly anyone calls me Juniper.”

“I like it, though. Junipers are some of my favorite trees. They represent strength and resilience and can grow in both acidic and alkaline soils, in even the most harsh conditions. They can grow out of rocks and can survive and thrive even with very little water.”

She did not represent her namesake tree, at least not right now. She wasn’t thriving at all.

“Should we head home?” he asked Hank, who had come in with them and was curled up on a small rug in front of the fireplace.

The dog cocked his head and gave a sharp bark, almost as if he understood every word.

“Good night,” Beck said.

“Same to you.” She held up the journals. “Thanks for these. I’m excited to dig in.”

“You’re welcome. I hope we haven’t given you too daunting a task.”

“I’m up for it,” she assured him, though she wasn’t entirely certain that was true.

She watched the man and his dog head off through the trees in the moonlight until the darkness quickly swallowed them.

After she could no longer see them, June returned to the cool, quiet cabin.

She suddenly realized she was exhausted. She had hardly done anything that day, but she still felt as if she had hiked to the top of Bridger Peak then raced back down.

Dr. Singh had told her it would take time to regain her energy. Her body had sustained a shock, literally and metaphorically, and was trying to adapt to the new normal. Whatever the hell that meant.

She let out a breath and sank down onto the long sofa, setting Carson’s journals on the coffee table.

Life somehow didn’t seem as bleak as it had that morning. She now had two things to look forward to. First, she would have the chance to dig into the journals that could reveal the famous author’s psyche. And second, she couldn’t wait to watch Beckett Hunter at work again.

Both men fascinated her.

She was attracted to Beck.

She remembered again seeing him at the ranch house, when she had felt tingles in places long dormant.

She wasn’t even sure she liked the man yet, but she was definitely drawn to him.

What did it matter? Through the fabric of her shirt, she traced a hand over the bandage covering her incision, below her collarbone.

She could be attracted to Beckett until the cows came home. Nothing would ever come of it. What would he—or any other man—want with someone like her now, someone whose new normal involved an implantable device in her chest, a history of cardiac arrest and the potential for further complications in the future?

Chapter 16

Alison

Funny how her life seemed to have changed so much over the past seven years while she had lived away from Bridger Peak, but some things about the town remained exactly the same as she remembered.

The day after her dinner with June, Beck and her grandmother, Ali walked up to the front door of the small brick home where Xander had lived with his aunt and uncle from the age of ten. This place hadn’t changed. It was comfortable and neat, with flower boxes that overflowed with early summer blossoms.

While the house itself was modest, the flower gardens were exuberant and lush, though somewhat overgrown, she noticed. Probably not that surprising. Robert, Sylvia’s husband and Xander’s great-uncle, had been the avid gardener in the family. Most mornings and evenings in the late spring and summer would find him out here, creating beauty out of his surroundings.

She rang the doorbell, smiling at the sign above the door that still read Love Lives Here.

She could vouch for that. She had always felt loved by Xander’s family.

When he opened the door, his eyes widened with surprise and delight. “Ali! Hey, you. This is a surprise.”

She returned his smile. “I had some free time this afternoon and I’ve been meaning to stop by and check on Sylvia. How is she doing?”

“So far it’s been a pretty good day. I know she’s hurting, but she refuses to complain.”

She picked up the tote bag she had brought along, emblazoned with the Bridger Books logo. “I thought she might be bored so I picked up some magazines, some adult coloring books and a few books of word puzzles for her.”

“She’ll love that. You know Aunt Sylvia. She’s never been much of a TV watcher, so all this enforced inactivity is tough on her.”

“I also picked up some sugar cookies at that new bakery in town. They’re so good. Have you tried them yet?”

She held out the lavender box that held a half dozen elaborately decorated cookies.

“I haven’t had a chance yet,” he admitted. “I’m sure Aunt Sylvia and her sweet tooth will enjoy them. Come in and you can deliver your basket of goodies yourself. She’ll be pleased to see you.”

When she walked in, she was immediately thrust back to her childhood and the many happy hours she spent here. Sylvia and Robert lived exactly halfway between the elementary school and the middle school/high school complex, so it was natural for her to walk here after school to hang out with Xander and his sister until Ali’s mom was done with work at her law office and could pick her up to take her back to the ranch.

So many happy memories. She hadn’t been here in years, but it all felt like yesterday.

“It hasn’t changed much, has it?”

He gave a rueful smile. “Not much. Sylvia says she likes it this way. Every chair is apparently broken in to her butt now. She doesn’t see any point in wasting money on fancy new furniture and then having to make it all comfortable again.”

“She does have a point.”

How many hours had they spent studying here, rehearsing lines for the plays they had both been in together, hanging out playing Mario Kart in the basement family room or D&D with their friends?

They found his aunt in the sunroom off the kitchen, with her leg stretched on the sofa and a book across her lap. Her features lit up. “Alison. Darling. It’s been too long.”

Ali crossed the room, set the tote bag and the cookies on the low coffee table and leaned down to hug the woman. For a moment, she felt as if she were hugging her own mother. Sylvia and Sarah Wells had been close friends and involved in several civic and church committees together, though Sylvia was nearly twenty years older than her mother.

“It really has been too long. What have you done to yourself?” She gestured to Sylvia’s leg.

“Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, I turned into an old lady. It sucks.”

“You’re not old. Merely well seasoned.”

Sylvia laughed. “I’m old. Simple as that. So old, all my parts are starting to wear out. Good thing they have come up with replacement parts these days, though they will never be as good as the originals.”

“Maybe it’s because of all that hiking you’ve done over the years.”

“You could be right. If that is the case, I would have to say even a lousy hip replacement, as painful as this has been, is a small price to pay. It’s all been worth it. I’ve seen the whole state of Wyoming, nearly every inch. And a big part of Idaho, Montana and Utah, as well.”

“Only last summer, you hiked Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park,” Xander reminded her.

“I did. Gorgeous hike. Wish I could do it all over again, but I’m afraid my hiking days might be over.”

“I’m sure they’re not,” Ali said, taking the chair next to Sylvia. “As soon as that hip heals, you’ll be back at it.”

“I don’t know about that. It’s not the same without my dear Robert there to walk the trail with me.”

Robert had died the previous year. Ali had missed his funeral, to her deep regret, because she had been out with COVID at the time and hadn’t wanted to spread the joy to the other mourners.

“I’ve told you a hundred times that I’m happy to go hiking with you,” Xander reminded his aunt.

“I could go with you, too,” Ali offered.

“That is so sweet of you both, but you’re busy with your own lives. As you should be. This is the first time since high school that you’ve both been in the same place at the same time, isn’t it? You should plan some outings together!”

“We’re talking about riding up to Hidden Lake,” Ali told her.

“Oh, you should. I love that place. Did I ever tell you about the time Robert and I ran into a mountain lion up there? It was right on the trail, just staring at us. I thought for sure we were going to be cougar chow, but he only looked at us for a minute and then sauntered away like he had no cares at all.”

“Oh, wow. I hope we avoid the mountain lions while we’re there,” she said

“Make sure you take bear spray. It’s effective for cougars as well as bobcats and bears.”

“Good to know.”

“Aunt Sylvia,” Xander said. “Ali brought you a few distractions.”

“How kind of you!”

“It’s not much. Some adult coloring books and colored pencils, some puzzle books, a few magazines. Oh, and a new book release my grandma said is by one of your favorite authors.”

She held it out and Sylvia’s wrinkled features brightened. “I can’t wait! I’ve been wanting to get this one.”

“She also brought you some sugar cookies from the new bakery,” Xander added.

Her eyes sparkled. “Delicious! Sugar and books. You know the way to my heart. You may have noticed that I’m not very good at sitting still. It will be lovely to have something to keep me from expiring of boredom. That is so thoughtful of you.”

She didn’t necessarily consider herself thoughtful, though her mother always had been. Sarah Wells seemed to invariably know when a neighbor or friend needed a visit or a phone call or an invitation to lunch. Her kindness and generosity had been legendary around town.

“I’m glad you don’t already have the book.”

“I can’t wait to read it.”

They sat in the sunroom chatting while the summer breeze poured through the screened windows, sweet and fresh from the climbing roses outside.

“What have you been up to while Sylvia recovers?” Ali asked Xander.

“He’s always doing something. He’s like me in that way. He doesn’t stop unless he’s asleep,” Sylvia said with a fond smile to the great-nephew she treated more like a son.

“I had some video editing to do, a newsletter to write and a few updates to the website,” he answered.

“How’s the room cleaning going?” Ali asked.

He sighed. “I can’t believe I kept so much crap. I still have spelling bee ribbons from sixth grade.”

“That was a big deal,” she said. “I still can’t believe you beat me. Spelling was kind of my thing, whereas you were good at everything.”

“I can’t help that I knew how to spell delinquent and you didn’t.”

She scoffed, which only made him laugh.

“It’s hard to part with things,” Sylvia said. “I get it. I’ve been working on clearing out my bedroom of Robert’s things since he died. It takes me a week to go through a single drawer and then I feel like I have to recover for another few weeks before I can clear out something else.”

Xander touched her hand and his great-aunt gave him a warm, if watery, smile. It made Alison grateful all over again that Loretta had stepped in to clear out Sarah’s clothes, about six months after she died. Alison’s grandmother had made a wedding-ring quilt for her out of material taken from Sarah’s favorite clothes. It was on her bed at the ranch and she felt close to her mother every time she looked at it.

“Need a hand?” she asked. “I don’t have any other plans this evening. I could help you.”

He looked skeptical. “You’re telling me you really don’t have anything better to do than sort through books I haven’t read and clothes I haven’t worn in a decade?”

“Sure. Why not? The two of us can get the job done in half the time.”

“Or it might take twice as long because we’ll be so distracted talking,” he said.

A valid point, she had to admit. They never seemed to run out of things to tell each other.

“I think it’s a marvelous idea,” Sylvia said. “A dull task is always more enjoyable if you have someone else to talk to while you’re doing it. When I was a girl, my dad had a cherry orchard. Every June we spent dusk to dawn picking those darn cherries. I never minded the work because my sister, your grandma, Xan, would always join me and we would talk and laugh and eat cherries.”

Sylvia laughed now at the memory. “We ate so many during those summers and got so sick that now I can’t stand cherries unless they’re baked in a pie.”

“That is a lovely way to eat cherries,” Ali said.

“Isn’t it? I can think of few things I enjoy more than a warm cherry pie with a dollop of vanilla bean ice cream.”

“Next time, I’ll be sure to bring you a cherry pie from the bakery.”

Sylvia made a face. “That wasn’t a hint, you know. I’m sure the cookies you brought are delicious. In fact, you should have one now. It might give you strength to tackle the job ahead of you.”

“I got them for you, though.”

“I insist you both have one.”

“Fine,” Xander said. “We’ll share one.”

He reached into the bakery box and pulled out one of the sugar cookies. He broke it in half and gave her the bigger half, as he always did. She sometimes thought that was a habit from a tumultuous childhood spent looking out for his younger sister.

The cookie was as delicious as it had looked, not oversweet and with a slight almond undertone. She finished hers in only a few bites, thinking she was definitely going to have to avoid that bakery or she would gain twenty-five pounds from sugar and butter.

Fortified now, Xander led the way to his bedroom off the family room. Walking down the stairs into the cool, dim basement brought back a flood of memories.

They had spent so many happy hours here at that old-fashioned big-screen TV that seemed as big as a chest freezer and probably weighed ten times or more than the current ultraflat big-screen TVs.

Besides video games, they used to love watching movies. She remembered one summer when they had binged all twentysomething hours of Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit extended cuts and another when they had watched every single Star Wars and Marvel movie out at the time.

The furniture was the same as it had been through their childhood, a big green sectional with recliners on either end.

“Sylvia said she really only comes down here to vacuum and clean up toys after her grandkids or Lindsey’s kids have been over to play.”

“I hope she never changes it. It’s retro cool now.”

He led the way into his bedroom and memories again jostled through her mind.

“Oh, my word. Talk about a time machine.”

“It’s not that bad. I’ve taken down all my jazz and soccer posters.”

She gestured to the mess on the floor. “How can I help? Do you have a system going here?”

“The usual. Save, recycle, toss.” He pointed to three boxes lined up in front of the mirrored closet doors.

She saw his reflection in the mirror and thought again how kind the years had been to him.

She had always thought Xander was a cutie, even back in the day when he was skinny and shy and had braces. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to get any of her friends to see it.

Now they did.

She knew from reading the comments on his social media that Xander had a big following among women, including several she knew personally from here in town who had completely ignored him in high school.

She loved seeing it. Good for Xander. It was about time the rest of the world saw what she always had.

“You really don’t have to help me,” he said.

“Too late. I’m here. I hope you’ve already taken out all your porno magazines.”

“Ha. I never had any porno magazines. I used the internet, like every other guy.”

She had no idea what to say to that and could feel herself flush, though she had been the one who started it.

He seemed suddenly embarrassed, too. “I would be happy with your company, but I guess if you insist on helping, you could start sorting through the clothes. I’ve already gone through everything and set aside the few things that still fit and that I want to keep. You can pull the others off the hangers and throw them in a bag for Goodwill.”

“Got it.”

The clothes were old and out of date and would never fit him now that he was more muscled these days than the skinny kid he had been, but she still remembered with fondness seeing him in some of them. The suit he had worn on a date with Amber Lake to the sweethearts dance their senior year. His favorite hoodie with a print of Louis Armstrong on it, cheeks puffed as he blew his horn. The parka he had worn when she tried to teach him how to cross-country ski.

In short order, she had loaded up two large garbage bags of clothes.

“Wow. I didn’t think I had that many clothes,” Xander said as he saw her cram the last item from the closet into the second bag.

“Who knew you were such a fashionista?” she teased.

“Yet, I still consistently wore my three or four favorite T-shirts and ignored everything else. I’ve got several boxes here in the donate pile. I should probably start taking more things out to Uncle Robert’s pickup truck in the garage, where I’ve been storing all the other stuff I’m donating.”

“Okay. I’ll start on your drawers, if you want.”

“Lucky for you, I’ve already thrown away all my old underwear,” he said, making her laugh.

“Whew,” she said in exaggerated relief.

“Leave the stuff in the top drawer. Those are things I’m keeping.”

After he left, carrying the heavy bag of clothing with one hand and a couple of boxes with the other, she went to his chest of drawers and started pulling out old pajamas and jeans.

She was curious about what he might have in the top drawer and opened it to find several of those favorite T-shirts he had talked about. She was looking through them, walking down memory lane, when her hands closed on something that didn’t feel like clothing. It was a book of some kind, tucked in the bottom of the pile of shirts.

She pulled it out and discovered it wasn’t a book, it was a compact photo album, made to fit four-by-six prints.

Xander had been the photo editor at both the student newspaper and the yearbook and could always be found around school with his camera. She smiled a little, thinking that he hadn’t changed much in that regard, only now his videos and photos were seen on a much bigger stage.

She wondered what photos he had cherished so much that he kept an album of them in his dresser drawer. Curious, she turned the page and was astonished to find her own younger face looking back at her, in profile, turned away from the camera.

She turned the second page and found two more pictures of her, one where she was dancing with the guy who had taken her to the junior prom, another where she was sitting on the bleachers at the football field, wrapped in a blanket against the chilly Wyoming autumn evening, her features animated as she cheered something happening in the game.

She turned the page and found more photographs of herself, some at school, some in the mountains where they used to hike, some here in his family room.

A few she had vague memories of posing for, with goofy expressions or exaggerated smoldering model poses like Ben Stiller in Zoolander.

Others looked like candid photographs, shot when she was unaware he was even taking her picture.

Why had he printed these? She could see him keeping a folder on his phone, maybe, an album to help remember the fun they used to have. Photos that he could look through when he was feeling nostalgic for the good old days. She had an album of him and her other friends from home on her own phone, and looking at it invariably cheered her up when she was having a bad day.

But Xander had gone to the trouble to print these photos of her and to put them in a photo album. Who even did that anymore?

And why had he then tucked it away here in his drawer?

She stared at it, her mind whirling. She suddenly heard his footsteps coming down the stairs and froze, not sure what to do. In the end, she quickly tucked the photo album back where she had found it and piled a couple of old shirts on top of it, closing the drawer as he came back in.

“I’m running out of room in the pickup. I might have to make a run to the thrift store tomorrow,” he said.

“That should be fun.” Her smile felt stiff and unnatural and she tried to relax her mouth a little.

He gave her a careful look. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, entirely too nonchalantly.

“Are you sure? You look . . . strange.”

You have twenty pictures of me in a photo album tucked in a drawer.

“Thanks,” she managed to say dryly. “Sorry I’m not one of your exotic girlfriends from your YouTube videos, with their barely there bikinis and their tans that go on for days.”

“I didn’t mean you look strange strange. Only that you seem . . . distracted or something.”

“Totally fine here,” she lied. “Only wondering why it’s taken you so long to throw all this away.”

And why do you have so many pictures of me?

“I guess I just never got around to it. My visits home were always brief, and I didn’t want to waste my time with my family clearing out my bedroom. Sylvia and Lindsey offered several times to do it for me, but I didn’t want them to have to deal with my mess. You don’t have to, either.”

“I don’t mind,” she said. “We’re almost done. Only the bookshelves and your dresser drawers to go.”

She tried not to focus too much on that photo album as she finished going through the other drawers. Instead, they chatted about the trip they were planning into the mountains, about items they boxed up that brought back specific memories, about upcoming plans.

“If you’re not taking Giselle with you, will one of the other supermodels go?”

He frowned. “I don’t know any supermodels.”

“I mean the hordes of gorgeous women you feature on your travel videos.”

“They aren’t supermodels. And there aren’t that many. For the record, I’ve only had three women travel with me over the past four years and I was only dating one of them. Giselle. The other two were only good friends.”

“Really?” she asked, skeptical.

“Really. One of them, Liza, is gay and deeply in love with her partner, who doesn’t like to travel, and the other one, Claire, is the fiancée of my video editor.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And he didn’t mind you traveling with his bride-to-be?”

“No. Because he went on that trip to India, too. My pal Marcos. He preferred to be behind the camera, not in front.”

She thought of how much she had resented those lovely women when she would watch those uploads, a sensation that surprised her as much then as it did now, in retrospect.

She wanted to ask him again about the photo album, but somehow she was afraid that if she brought it up, she would change the dynamics of their relationship forever.

She cared about Xander too much to risk anything that might damage their friendship. Instead, she remained quiet and pretended she hadn’t seen it as they finished cleaning out his room, though she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to discard the memory nearly as easily as he discarded his old things.

Chapter 17

Juniper

June spent the entire next day hunched over the kitchen table of the cabin, losing herself in the personal perspectives of a man she had long admired.

She was humbled and honored at the trust Alison and Beckett had placed in her, giving her unfettered access to the journals of a man as loved as Carson Wells.

What was it about these people who gave their trust so freely to her? She still couldn’t figure it out.

At first, it felt intrusive, sneaky almost, to poke around into the inner thoughts of a man she had never met. After only a few pages, though, she became fascinated by his thoughts and observations.

She started at the beginning, the journals he kept while writing his first book. They were filled with an unexpected self-doubt, a writer who perhaps sensed instinctively he had talent but hadn’t yet gained the confidence to believe in his ability to tell a compelling story.

I can’t believe the manuscript is finished. It feels like I’ve ripped open my chest and spilled everything onto those pages. There’s excitement, but also this gnawing fear. What if it’s not good enough? What if I’m not good enough? I’ve poured years of my life into this story. What if no one cares?

Using the abundant collection of sticky notes she had found in a kitchen drawer, she had marked at least twenty entries in the first journal she read, all of which she thought Carson’s readers would find as touching and meaningful as she did, detailing his journey toward publication.

She loved reading what he wrote about his parents’ disappointment in his decision to leave his university studies and focus on his writing, about his troubles finding an agent to represent him, about the writing conference he went to in the Midwest where he was treated like a child trying to sit at the grown-up table.

The tone of the entries seemed to change, become more confident as he worked on finishing the book that would later become Purgatory River.

There’s this strange mix of pride and shame whenever I think about my book. Pride that I’ve actually done it, shame that maybe it’s not as brilliant as I hoped it would be. I’ve never felt so fragile, so vulnerable.

Then he wrote about the agent who had finally taken him on as a client, about receiving an offer for that first book almost right away and how much courage it had taken him to refuse the offer and instead send the book to auction, where it had been sold for a staggering sum to a publishing house his agent felt would be the best fit for him.

I feel like I’m on the edge of something big, but I’m terrified of falling. The closer it gets to reality, the more I doubt myself. It’s like staring into the abyss. So much potential, but also the possibility of complete failure. I’ve always wanted this, but now that it’s close, I don’t know if I’m ready.

The second journal was all about the path to publication. The heady excitement, the whirlwind of edits and revisions and cover art discussions. Through it, he had started and discarded three other ideas for his second novel, talking at length about the dreaded sophomore slump.

She knew nearly four years passed between the publications of his first and second books, but that he wrote a book every two years after that.

After Purgatory River came out to a whirlwind of praise and a clamor of publicity, he seemed excited at times but apprehensive, too, as if afraid to believe it was all real.

Today I allowed myself a moment of peace. I reread the book, trying to see it through someone else’s eyes. And you know what? It’s not perfect, but it’s mine. Every word, every sentence, is part of me. No matter what happens, I’ve created something that didn’t exist before. That has to mean something.

And then the tenor of the entries changed. Apparently, Carson fell in love. He met someone he called only E and he wrote about how the world seemed different now.

Theirs seemed a doomed relationship. He wrote about their one charmed week together and how his life had been forever changed. She had obviously broken his heart somehow. He seemed both angry and resigned that she had left him, taking all his dreams with her.

June read until her eyes crossed and her shoulders ached. She needed to sleep, she decided, as much as she didn’t want to leave the fascinating journals.

Early the next morning, she was doing yoga on the front porch of the cabin while the morning sun dappled the wood-slat flooring when her favorite canine ambled out of the woods. He stopped at the bottom of the porch and gazed up at her.

“Hey there, Hank. Good morning.”

As if he had been granted permission, the dog trotted up the steps and stuck his nose into her hand.

She petted him obediently, amused at how clearly this nonverbal creature could obtain what he wanted.

“Does Beckett know where you are?” she asked. In answer, the dog simply lolled his tongue.

She hadn’t had the chance to pick up dog treats for him yet, but she had some chicken she had cooked the other day. She went inside to the refrigerator and pulled off a small piece, which she handed over to the dog once she returned to the porch.

“Sorry. That’s all I have,” she said after Hank gobbled it up in one bite and gave her an expectant look, clearly wanting more.

The dog eventually seemed to accept the harsh reality of no more treats and instead settled down on his belly beside her, as if prepared to launch into one of her yoga poses.

She sighed. “You can stay for a while, then I probably need to take you home.”

She went through a few more yoga poses, feeling more refreshed than she had since she arrived in Bridger Peak.

Staying active had always been important to her. She had made a career of it, after all. It had been solace to her after her mother’s death and had provided her an emotional and social outlet in high school and eventually a college scholarship.

She loved the exhilaration of running, of finding her rhythm, of pushing her body to its limits.

She still ran the occasional 10K and half-marathon and had been considering trying to qualify for the Boston Marathon the next year. Alas, she suspected she would have to permanently table that dream.

Harsh reality pressed in, leaving her almost breathless with sadness. She pressed a hand to her chest, aware with each inhale and exhale that everything had changed.

She wouldn’t be running any marathons now. Better to focus on everything she still could do. She was still alive to enjoy the pure morning sunshine, the song of the birds and the climbing roses sending out their lush, delicious scent.

Her heart was still pumping, even if it did need the occasional shock to keep it on task.

Hank seemed to sense her turmoil. He nestled closer to her thigh and rested his chin on her leg, gazing up at her with those understanding eyes.

She smiled down at the dog, grateful for his uncomplicated affection. “All right. Let me change first and we can take you home.”

She rose to go into the cabin when a voice called out.

“Hank. I told you not to come over here and bother the nice lady.”

When she looked across the clearing, she found Beckett walking toward them, sunglasses shielding his eyes and sunlight glinting off his dark hair. Her chest suddenly felt tight, but she suspected it had more to do with her unease at his presence than any actual cardiac issue right now.

“Good morning,” she said. “I was about to take him back to your place. He stopped by to do yoga with me, apparently.”

He smiled as he walked closer and June willed herself not to respond. “Hank has skills I never realized.”

“You might think he would excel at downward dog, but it’s actually morning sun salutation where he really shines.”

“Good to know.” He smiled again, then looked at her with concern. “Are you okay to do yoga?”

She wiped a towel across her forehead, wishing she were wearing something slightly less revealing than body-hugging workout pants and a bright pink tank top with the Move Inc logo across her breasts.

“Yes. Every day I feel stronger, but I am afraid I have a long way to go before I feel like myself again.”

“You’ll get there. Before you know it, you’ll be commanding board meetings again and running with all the movers and shakers.”

“My running days might be over. I’ve been feeling sorry for myself about that.”

She suddenly didn’t want to talk about her health issues or anything else about herself. “Would you like coffee?” she asked on impulse.

Surprise flitted across his expression at the offer. “Coffee would be great. Thank you. You’re a lifesaver, actually. I ran out yesterday and need to head to the store.”

“Come in.”

She was drinking decaf, unfortunately, but Carson had a whole drawer of pods for the high-end coffeemaker in the kitchen.

“I’ve already put hot water in,” she said as Beck went straight to the drawer with a familiarity that spoke of his long relationship with the author. Hank, she saw, had stretched out in his usual spot in front of the fireplace, even though there was no fire going.

After making his coffee, Beck picked up the mug and sipped with a grateful look before he wandered over to the dining table, where all the journals were spread out.

“You look like you’ve been working hard. I hope it hasn’t been too onerous for you.”

“Not at all. It’s fascinating. I loved his work before because my mother did, but now that I’m coming to know him as a person, I admire what he accomplished even more.”

“He was a complicated man, as I’m sure you’re learning from the journals.”

“Yes. Did you know he ran away at sixteen? Not because he was unhappy at home, only because he wanted to experience more of life than the suburban Green Bay home where he was raised.”

“I did. He talked about what a mistake it was and how much he regretted hurting his parents.”

“I could relate to how alone he felt when he left home. I had a wonderful foster home after my mom died, but still struck out on my own at seventeen, when I left for college. In retrospect, I was way too young to be responsible for myself.”

“How did your mom die?” he asked.

She debated how to answer, then decided on the truth. “She was a high school teacher and was in a car accident on her way home from school one day. There one moment, then gone the next.”

“I’m sorry.” The harsh lines of his features softened with compassion.

She wanted to make some kind of casual acknowledgment of his sympathy, but she couldn’t find the words. Losing her mother had shaped her entire life. “It was devastating,” she said honestly. “She was . . . all I had.”

She could remember it so very clearly. Waiting at track practice for her mom to pick her up. Finally jogging home after leaving several frustrated voice mail messages when she couldn’t reach Elizabeth on her cell, only to find a police officer waiting for her at their house with the grim news that her mother was on life support and not expected to survive.

That night, June had stayed with a neighbor, one of her mother’s good friends who had rushed over as soon as she heard the news and had driven her to the hospital. Tamara Aoki had wanted to take her in, but she and her husband had been going through a nasty divorce at the time, fighting over custody over their own children, and June hadn’t wanted to add to the chaos.

She knew she had been extraordinarily lucky in her foster care placement. Living in Cape Sanctuary had truly been idyllic. Stella Davenport had welcomed her into her home with a generous love that still made her want to cry whenever she thought about it.

As loving as Stella had been, her kindness still hadn’t filled the gaping void Elizabeth’s death had left in June’s life.

“What about your dad?” Beck asked.

She pictured the framed photograph of a handsome man in uniform that had always hung in their home. Another one had hung in her mother’s room.

“He was in the military and was killed in a training accident while serving overseas. I was too young to remember him at all, but my mother always talked about what a good man he was.”

“And your mother didn’t marry again, in all that time?”

“Never. She didn’t even date, though she was beautiful and I’m sure plenty of men asked her out. She always said she would have time to date again after I graduated from high school. I wish she had been given that time.”

He sipped at his coffee and said nothing and she realized she had revealed more about herself to Beck than many of her good friends of longstanding ever learned about her.

“What about you? Do you come from a big family?”

“I have a couple of older sisters and a younger brother. My parents are still alive, still living in the home where I was raised in Los Angeles.”

“What do they think about you moving out to the wilds of Wyoming to live in a log cabin and make furniture?”

He looked rueful. “They love me. I think they’re mostly happy I found a relatively safe place to land after . . . after my wife died.”

June wished she hadn’t pushed their conversation in that direction, but now that he had brought up his wife, she didn’t see how to avoid the topic.

“I looked you up online the other day, wanting to see some of your other work. I hope that doesn’t sound too stalker-ish.”

He shrugged. “I’ve looked you up, too. Isn’t that what people do these days when they meet anyone new?”

What had he read about her? Probably that article that had been written a few years ago in her alumni magazine. Adam had been thrilled at the exposure for Move Inc, but June had mostly been embarrassed about the attention.

“I read about what happened to your wife. I’m sorry, Beckett. How tragic.”

His features seemed to grow even harsher than usual, his expression more shuttered. “It was a tough time, but it was five years ago. I like to think I’m finally starting to find my way to the other side.”

“One of the articles I read online said the woman who ran down your wife was arrested and convicted of voluntary manslaughter.”

His jaw tightened. “They couldn’t prove Kathleen Morton was out for revenge after I convicted her son.”

“But you believe otherwise.”

“How could I not? After her son’s conviction, she told me outside the courtroom that she would find a way to make me pay.”

What a heavy burden he must carry. She couldn’t imagine the pain of believing someone he loved had died because of his actions.

Whenever she started to feel sorry for herself because of a health diagnosis she didn’t want, she needed to remind herself that everyone struggled with something.

In that moment, she realized her bitterness and anger toward Beckett over what had happened to Robin had somehow dissipated.

It wasn’t right, no. Her friend deserved justice and a sexual predator should have been put away to protect other women. But it wasn’t fair to blame Beck for that. He had been doing his job the best he saw fit.

The same job that had taken so very much from him.

“This is a pretty grim topic of conversation over coffee on a beautiful summer day,” he said, lifting his cup again. “Why don’t you show me what else you’ve found in the journals?”

She also couldn’t blame him for wanting to change the subject.

“What do you know about an unpublished manuscript Carson may have written?”

He stared at her, looking shocked. “Nothing at all. That would be amazing, if it were true. An additional Carson Wells manuscript to add to his canon would thrill his readers.”

“It might be nothing,” she warned. “I’m only up to the diary he was keeping around the time Purgatory River came out, but he’s already planning the next book he wants to write and it bears no resemblance at all to his second published book, Beneath the Dusty Sky.”

“One of my favorites of his.”

“Mine, too. Let me show you the sections I’ve marked and you can tell me if I’m on the right track.”

She picked up the journal she had been reading most recently and held it out to him. “I’m interested to know what you think. Start where I’ve put the purple sticky notes.”

He sat down at the table, picked up the journal she handed him and started reading.

Chapter 18

Beckett

After June showed him a half dozen entries she had marked, Beckett sat back in his chair and studied the pages.

“What do you think?” she asked, an edge of nerves in her voice. “Am I being completely delusional or does he appear to be referencing a book that was never published?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of The Forgotten Road but titles are changed all the time.”

“But not entire characters and plot points. I thought I had read everything he has ever published, from short stories to novels. I don’t remember anything close to this, with magical realism and a doomed love affair.”

“I don’t, either,” he admitted.

Before coming to Wyoming and moving next door to Carson, Beckett had only read a couple of his books. He had read Purgatory River in high school, as it had been assigned reading, and had picked up The Bridge to Nowhere on an airplane.

After he escaped here and Carson basically took him under his considerable wing, Beck had read all of his books and had come to love every word.

Carson had unmatched insight into the human condition and a beautiful way of clarifying complex concepts.

He had no doubt the man had earned a place among the greatest writers in a generation.

“Who might know about a possible unknown manuscript?” June asked. “Did he have any other confidants from around that time?”

Beckett considered what he knew about the early days of Carson’s career. “I don’t know. He was very private about his work, until the book was done and sent away to his editor. Hemingway famously said it was bad luck to talk about his work, and Margaret Atwood said talking about the writing process while you’re in it is like trying to describe a garden while it’s growing.”

“What about someone at his publishing house? Would they know?”

“Possibly. But I know both his first agent and his original editor have passed away. We had a conversation shortly before Carson himself died, about how everyone he started out with has gone.”

She looked so forlorn, as if he had ground his heel into a cherished dream, that he wanted to comfort her somehow.

“It’s possible the missing manuscript might be among his papers.”

Her eyes lit up. “Do you think so?”

Did she have any clue the author whose career interested her so much was actually her father? What would her reaction be when she found out?

Beck hated the deception. She deserved to know why Alison had sought her out in Seattle, why she had brought June here to the ranch. He wanted to tell her, but he had promised Ali he wouldn’t.

“It could be in his papers,” he said. “But there’s also a chance he burned it. Carson was his own worst critic. If he hated the way the manuscript turned out, he might have destroyed it.”

What a tragedy that would be for his readers, who would probably embrace any newly discovered book from Carson, flaws and all.

“Would he really have destroyed it?”

“Who knows? Once I had a conversation with him where he brought up Flaubert, who famously burned every draft he didn’t like of Madame Bovary until he came up with the final version. Carson said he could completely relate. Another time, we talked about Emily Dickenson, who only published a handful of her thousands of poems during her lifetime, and how her family had discovered she had destroyed a significant number of her poems before anyone else ever had the chance to see them.”

“How heartbreaking. If he did have another work out there somewhere, I truly hope he didn’t destroy it.”

“I would suggest continuing to keep your eyes open while you’re going through the journals. Maybe you can learn more.”

“I will.”

“Keep in mind that Carson wrote the first draft of all of his books longhand, in the same notebooks he used for his journals.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yes. He would use black notebooks for his journals and blue for his manuscripts, but I don’t know if he always had that system.”

“Did he have someone else transcribe his writings into a computer file?”

He shook his head. “Nope. He did it all himself, rewriting as he transcribed. I always thought it was a laborious and time-consuming process and suggested he have someone else at least input his work into the computer but, as I said, he was very private about his work. Like an artist who keeps his canvas covered, I guess. He didn’t want anyone else to see his words until he judged them ready for the world.”

He looked at the stack of journals. “Maybe it’s hidden somewhere among his other notebooks and you’ll find it as you go through them.”

“That would be too easy.”

He had to agree. “It’s an interesting mystery. You can ask Alison. He might have said something to her.”

“I’ll do that.” She looked down at the notebooks then back at him. “I’m afraid I’m becoming a little obsessed.”

He liked the woman, he had to admit, far more than he thought he would when she first showed up at the airport with Ali, looking frosty and remote and yet somehow lost.

“I wouldn’t spend too much time thinking about it. You’re here to relax and heal, not to become embroiled in trying to find a missing manuscript that may or may not exist. I’m feeling guilty enough that we asked you to look through the journals in the first place.”

“You have no reason to feel guilty. I’m grateful for the project. I have discovered an uncomfortable truth about myself, that I’m not very good at doing nothing.”

He had to wonder if she was focusing on the mystery of a possible missing manuscript as a way to distract herself from the significant health challenges suddenly confronting her. He couldn’t blame her for that.

“I’m sure it’s a challenge for you. It can’t be easy, trying to come to terms with everything.”

She sighed. “I thought I had everything in my life figured out. A great career, financial security for the rest of my life, a penthouse apartment that I own, free and clear. All the things I dreamed about when I was that seventeen-year-old leaving my safe foster home bubble.”

He fought the urge to reach out and pull her into a hug, a gesture he knew she wouldn’t appreciate.

“You’ve worked hard for your success. Nobody handed it to you.”

“If you had asked me a month ago where I thought I would be in a year, five years, ten years, I could have told you in exact detail. I’ve always made a plan for my life and followed it.” She released a heavy breath. “And now I don’t know if I can plan beyond next week.”

“I can only imagine how difficult the past few weeks must have been for you.”

He thought of his own turmoil and grief when he first arrived in Bridger Peak and how the mountains had somehow healed him. “I can’t say I know what you’re going through. No one who hasn’t been through something similar probably can. But I do understand what it is to have your life turned upside down in an instant.”

Her eyes softened as she turned her gaze to his, and he knew she was also thinking of his wife and the emotionless news stories she had probably read about her, the brief explanations about what had happened to her that captured none of Soledad’s vivacity and grace.

“Grief takes time to work through. You can’t expect everything will be fine overnight.”

“I’m alive. That’s the thing. What do I have to grieve about when I’m still breathing? I was given the priceless gift of more time. Many people who have a cardiac arrest don’t ever get that. Carson didn’t.”

He again had to fight the completely ridiculous urge to pull her into his arms. “You’re alive. But you were also changed because of what happened, because of your diagnosis. You aren’t the same person you were two weeks ago. But then again, none of us is, even if we didn’t have a life-changing cardiac arrest. We are all constantly changing, hopefully for the better. And that makes me sound like I should be making inspirational videos instead of woodworking ones, doesn’t it?”

She smiled a little, he was happy to see, and some of her tension seemed to seep away. “A little. Yes. I think you should stick to making tables.”

“Good idea.” He paused. “I’m probably starting a new project tomorrow. You said you would like to watch the early stages. I can’t imagine why anyone would, but then, I also don’t understand why people watch the YouTube videos.”

“Because you’re creating something beautiful, which always fascinates people.”

He wasn’t sure about that, but it was nice to hear her say it. “I’ll be starting about 8:00 a.m. You’re welcome to drop by.”

“Thank you. I will do that.”

“See you then. Come on, Hank. Let’s go home.”

The dog rose slowly from his spot by the empty fireplace. He seemed reluctant to leave and Beck couldn’t really blame him.

At least they would both have the chance to see her the next day. He wasn’t prepared yet to say whether or not that was a good thing.

Chapter 19

Alison

Alison climbed into her father’s old bright red Jeep and was immediately hit by another wave in a seemingly endless tide of grief.

The thirty-year-old Jeep smelled of him. Leather and pine and sawdust.

She knew that her grandmother or Pat Bailey, the ranch manager, started it up and drove it around every week to keep the battery charged and the oil flowing freely. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to climb behind the wheel before, though.

Her father would never drive it again, and the reality of that hit her every time she looked at the Jeep.

He had loved this toy. After the winter snow melted and the mountain roads became drivable for the summer and fall, Carson used to love taking the Jeep into the mountains. After her mother died, he would take Ali with him sometimes. He would load up the dogs, a notebook, his fishing gear and a lawn chair and they would head up, exploring all the two-track roads in the area.

He didn’t accomplish much writing during those trips, but she knew that hadn’t mattered to her dad. He had taken her because she had been lost and sad and desperate to be with her one remaining parent.

While he sat beside a stream and scribbled thoughts in his notebook, she would walk the dogs or drop her fishing rod into the creek or stretch a hammock between a few trees and curl up with a book.

She didn’t have her dad anymore, but at least she had memory after memory.

Doing her best to ignore the dull ache in her chest that never quite seemed to go away whenever she thought about Carson, Ali turned the key in the ignition. The Jeep started with a low thrum.

Around the time she turned fifteen and had her learner’s permit, he let her drive it along some of those mountain roads, as long as the terrain wasn’t too rough. She had learned to drive a stick shift that way.

As she pulled away from the house and turned toward her dad’s writing cabin, the sun sent long shadows across the road.

The air flowing through the open windows felt good after a long day at the bookstore.

What would she do if Loretta decided to sell the place? She couldn’t really blame her. Her grandmother was getting older. She had plenty of volunteer work and hobbies to occupy her time, and the bookstore wasn’t a huge moneymaker, anyway.

What difference would it make if Loretta decided to sell? Ali was set to take the bar exam and would probably be moving to Cheyenne to work at one of the three law firms that had made offers to her, until she had enough experience and felt confident enough to open her own practice.

Whenever she thought about it, the future seemed like a big, muddled mess. Better not to think about it, she decided. Right now she would simply focus on her sister.

When she pulled up to the cabin, she found June sitting on the porch with her feet up on the railing. She wasn’t reading a book or looking at her phone or anything. She was simply sitting and looking out at the mountains.

When she spotted Ali, she dropped her legs from the railing and stood up.

“Hi. Good to see you,” June said.

Ali stepped out of the Jeep. “I brought you a present.”

June looked completely confused, until Ali crossed the space between them and handed her the keys to the Jeep.

“Today is the day you can officially drive again, right? I thought you might like some wheels to use while you’re here.”

June stared down at the key then back at Ali, her expression stunned. “I had forgotten I could drive again. Is this yours?”

Ali shook her head, though technically she had inherited everything of her father’s. “It was Carson’s. He loved this thing.”

June took in the Jeep with its big tires and its removable roof and doors. Ali couldn’t deny it was great fun to drive.

“He also has a fancy electric car. You’re welcome to drive that one instead, but there’s nowhere to charge it here at the cabin so you would have to walk up to the house to get it every time you wanted to go anywhere.”

June walked down the porch steps and headed over to the four-wheel-drive vehicle for a closer look.

“The Jeep is ancient, but it’s in great shape and it’s really fun to drive. I was thinking you might want to use it to explore the mountain. Though in retrospect, it’s probably not a good idea for you to take off on your own in an unfamiliar area. I would be happy to go with you when I’m not working at the bookstore.”

“Or studying.”

Ali made a face. She didn’t want to think about the bar exam, since it filled her with all kinds of conflicting emotions.

“Right. Or studying. Maybe we could study while we go. You could drive and I can go over case law.”

“Deal. Thank you! That is really thoughtful of you. I would like to at least go into town on my own. I need a few groceries and I would also love to check out your grandmother’s bookstore.”

“Want to take it for a spin?”

“Now?”

“Why not? It’s a beautiful evening. We have another few hours of daylight. Though I guess I should have checked. Can you drive stick?”

June smiled. “The very first car I ever bought when I was in college was a really decrepit old Toyota with a manual transmission. I loved that car.”

“Great. Let’s go, then.”

June climbed into the driver’s seat, looking nervous.

“Where do you want to go?” June asked after Ali walked around the Jeep and climbed into the seat next to her.

“We can go anywhere. This thing can handle any kind of terrain. If you head out to the main road, I can show you some of the closest mountain tracks where you can head into the back country.”

June started up the vehicle, looking nervous at first as she worked the clutch and the gearshift into Reverse and backed out to the driveway then headed toward the ranch exit.

At first, she seemed uneasy, her shifting between gears slightly jerky, but she gradually relaxed.

“It feels good to be able to drive again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it.”

“I have a friend from school who lost his sight from a congenital condition. He once said driving is like sex. You never know how much you need it until you can’t do it.”

“I don’t know. I think I’ve missed driving much more than I’ve missed sex.”

Ali grinned. “Then you obviously haven’t been doing it right.”

To her delight, June laughed out loud. “I can’t disagree.”

“How did your day go?” Ali asked.

“Pretty good. I stayed busy reading your dad’s journals. I’m very sorry I didn’t have the chance to meet him.”

“He would have loved meeting you, too,” she said quietly, earning a surprised sidelong look from June.

She shifted, suddenly uncomfortable at the secrets between them.

“Take the next right,” Ali said. “Ahead of this curve.”

June slowed down as she approached the turn then sent Ali a wary look. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. The first part is a little bumpy, but then it smooths out. Or at least it did the last time I came this way with Dad.”

The road was worse than she remembered, rutted and rocky, jostling them from side to side as they bumped along.

“I’m not so sure about this,” June said. “Maybe we should turn around.”

“Give it a minute,” Ali said.

Sure enough, when they turned around the next bend, the road evened out substantially. It was still a mountain road, not a paved highway, but it wasn’t as rough.

“See? Not so bad.”

“Says the person who’s not driving,” June muttered. She kept both hands on the wheel as the Jeep climbed a hill then dipped down another one.

“Where does it lead? How far do you want me to go?”

“There’s a waterfall about a mile in. We can go that far, if you want. It’s really pretty in the evening.”

June looked doubtful, but she kept pressing forward. Ali leaned back in the seat, closed her eyes and simply inhaled the familiar, beloved smell of pine and sage and mountain.

“This is great,” June said, “but I’m afraid I’ll end up lost somewhere in the mountains if I ever headed off on my own.”

“I’ll go with you anytime you want. We have a couple of off-road maps for the area at home. I’ll find one for you and you can look through it and plan your next adventure.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

They drove on and were nearly to the waterfall when Ali caught movement through the trees in the early-evening light.

“There’s a moose,” she said as her gaze sharpened.

“Where?” June hit the brakes as if afraid she was about to hit it.

“Right there, to your left. See that big pine? Look to the left in the river bottom. Oh, it’s Morty. He’s a big bull who always hangs out here.”

“Morty? Why do you call him Morty?”

“Dad named him one year and it stuck. We’ve always called him that.” She smiled at the memory of their delight whenever they would cross paths with him. Her dad had written an essay about him once, she remembered. She would have to look for it.

“How do you know it’s the same one you call Morty? I would think all moose look the same.”

“He’s the biggest guy around. Hard to mistake him for anyone else.”

They sat in the Jeep, watching the big creature, who didn’t seem to be paying any attention to them. Eventually, he ambled into the willows along the river where they could no longer see him, and June put the Jeep in gear again.

They turned another corner and there was the waterfall. It was more of a cascading series of small falls as the river moved downhill to follow the terrain, but Alison had always loved coming here. The river rock was all covered in moss, and trees hung over the water, creating an idyllic spot that was as lovely as it was restful.

“You can pull off here,” Alison said, pointing to a place where the road widened. It wasn’t really necessary, since she doubted anybody else would be driving on this remote track, but driver etiquette dictated it was best to get out of the way in case someone else came along.

June turned off the engine and the two of them walked to the water’s edge. The water glinted silver in the afternoon light, and Ali thought she could see a few fish darting between the rocks.

She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with sweet, clear mountain air.

June’s shoulders seemed to relax and she closed her eyes, lifting her face to the dying sun.

“You were right. It’s beautiful. I’m amazed this is so close to the main road.”

“There are all kinds of magical places that are only a short drive into the mountains. Now you have the Jeep, you can come here whenever you want.”

“If I’m willing to jostle through those first rough few minutes.”

Ali suddenly frowned. “I should have thought about your heart. Are you okay?”

June momentarily looked annoyed. “I’m fine. My broken rib is a little tender, but not bad. I’m glad you brought me here. It’s lovely.”

Ali nodded, guilty she hadn’t been more protective of her sister.

“If he were here, Dad would have offered up some philosophical commentary about how most of life is like the drive up here to the falls. Whenever you want to see the beautiful spots, you have to first find the courage to bump your way through the rocky parts.”

June looked out at the rippling water, lifting a hand to right below her collarbone then dropping it again.

“I actually wanted to talk to you about your dad.”

Our dad.

Alison tensed, the truth hovering between them. She had to tell June. If the other woman could handle driving a Jeep on a rough mountain road, why couldn’t she handle finding out everything she thought she knew about her life was wrong?

“Oh?” she asked, her mouth suddenly feeling frozen and stiff.

“Do you know anything about a manuscript he might have written years ago, one he might never have published?”

Ali released a breath, relieved at the switch in topic. She didn’t have to say anything about their shared paternal DNA. She didn’t want to ruin the beauty of the evening and risk setting back June’s recovery.

She would tell her, just not yet.

“Dad doesn’t have any unpublished manuscripts. Purgatory River was his first-ever book and then Beneath the Dusty Sky came after that.”

“What about between the two? It was nearly four years between his first book and his second. What if he wrote another one in between there?”

Ali considered the possibility, but quickly discarded it. “He couldn’t have. He always said that during the gap between books, he was searching for his soul. He traveled through Africa, India, parts of Tibet and Vietnam. He worked on a cargo ship. He studied eastern philosophy. He walked the Camino de Santiago and lived in a monastery for a few months. He said he needed those years to figure out who he was.”

“I’ve been reading about some of his adventures in his journal. He sprained an ankle badly on the Camino during his first week and that’s why he lived in the monastery, recovering until he could finish. And he fell overboard on that cargo ship during a winter storm and had to be rescued.”

“OMG. You’re kidding? He never told me that!”

“You’ll have to read the journals.” She paused. “But he also made some notes about a manuscript he was working on that bears no resemblance to Beneath a Dusty Sky or any of his other works, as far as I can tell. This one is more of a Great Gatsby kind of story about an ill-fated love affair and a man in love with another man’s wife, which wasn’t at all like the coming-of-age story in Dusty Sky. He called it The Forgotten Road.”

“If he wrote another book that remains unpublished, I’ve never heard about it. But he didn’t talk a lot about the early days of his career. I didn’t know anything about the cargo ship, for instance.”

“I could be wrong, but he writes so clearly in his journals about it. He even records a few passages from it. He says, It wasn’t in the way she left, but in the silence that followed. I knew, as I watched her go, that there would be no letters, no whispers of regret. She loved me, yes, but love was never enough to bend the world to our will.”

Could her father have been writing about his relationship with June’s mom? Ali was still trying to figure out the timing, but June had said her father was in the military and died when she was a baby overseas. Was it possible her mother had been married when she met Carson?

“If he wrote it and didn’t publish it, there must have been a reason. Maybe he thought it was too imitative of Fitzgerald.”

“Beck said he might have burned it.”

She blinked, surprised. She had no idea the two of them had the sort of relationship that encouraged literary discussions.

“When did you talk to Beck about it?”

Alison was suddenly interested to see a slight tinge of pink across June’s cheekbones.

“This morning he came to the cabin looking for Hank. He agrees that it’s curious. He thought we might find something in his papers that are stowed around the cabin.”

“There are boxes and boxes. But if you want to sort through them, I’m totally fine with that.”

“Thank you. Right now I wouldn’t know where to look. I would like to read further in the journals first to see if I can find out more.”

“I’m heading on an overnight ride into the mountains Sunday with a friend, but when I get back, I can help you.”

“That sounds fun.”

For some reason, Ali could feel her face heat now. She couldn’t seem to shake the memory of that photo album.

“Yeah. I’m going with my pal Xander. We’ve been talking about it for years and this is the first time in forever we’ve been home at the same time. He’s a travel vlogger who’s always on the road, but he’s home for the summer to stay with his great-aunt who raised him and his sister. She had hip replacement surgery. Xander was my best friend in school. My ride or die, you know?”

She clamped her teeth together, aware she was talking entirely too much about the man.

“That’s nice,” June said. “I feel that way about Adam and Rudy.”

“You’ve been friends since your college days, right?”

“That’s right. I don’t know where I would be without them.”

“Yet, you never . . . dated either of them?”

“I dated Adam for a while. It felt wrong somehow. We both realized we were better off as friends.”

Yeah. That was what she had to remember about Xander. He was closer to her than just about anyone else on earth. How could she risk ruining that by letting herself see him in a romantic way?

She sighed, her head aching from chasing the same thoughts through her brain around and around.

“We should probably head back if we want to make it out of here before dark.”

“Good idea, especially since I’m driving.” June stood up and swiped the dirt off her legs before she climbed into the driver’s seat of the Jeep, turned around and headed back down the road toward home.

Chapter 20

Juniper

She dreamed she was back in college, running hard to catch a bus to take her to an important job interview. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t make it. It remained just out of reach. She almost reached it and tried to run faster, then felt a shock as Ali driving a Jeep came out of nowhere from the periphery of her vision and ran straight into her, sending her flying through the air.

She woke feeling disoriented and vaguely queasy. She blinked at the sliver of vertical light coming through the curtains she hadn’t closed completely the night before.

As had happened to her every morning since she had come to Wyoming, it took her a moment to remember where she was, until the pieces clicked into place. She was sleeping in the bedroom of the writing cabin belonging to Carson Wells, where she was recovering from a cardiac arrest.

The reality still seemed as bizarre and outlandish as anything her subconscious could conjure up.

The alarm on her phone went off when she was still trying to drag herself fully awake. Why had she set it so early? She didn’t have to go to work.

Suddenly, she remembered.

Beckett Hunter was starting a new project today and had agreed to let her watch the beginning stages.

She pushed away the warm quilt and sat up, sliding her feet to the cool wood floor. Out of habit, she touched a hand to her heart, as if to reassure herself it was still beating.

More excited than she had been about anything since she arrived in Wyoming, she hurried to the bathroom. After a quick shower, she dressed and headed to the kitchen. She still had a half hour to eat something and make the short walk over to his workshop.

She poured coffee and threw a piece of whole wheat bread into the toaster, then slathered on no-salt almond butter when it popped up. She was halfway through when she heard a snuffling sound out on the porch.

Peering through the window, she wasn’t at all surprised to find Hank on his haunches on the door mat, as if he had arrived to escort her to Beck’s workshop.

“Good morning,” she said when she opened the door. The dog wagged his tail and she grabbed a couple of the treats she had picked up at the grocery store the night before.

He wolfed them quickly then sat waiting patiently while she finished off her toast and took a few more sips of her coffee.

“Okay. I’m ready,” she said. She locked the door behind her and the two of them started off through the trees, birds chirping noisily along their way.

She was grateful she had grabbed a hoodie, since the mornings here in the mountains were cool and refreshing.

She usually walked the mile to work in Seattle, even in heavy rain. She had to admit that she preferred the birdsong to horns, sirens and the other sounds of the city.

It would be tough to go back.

She frowned at the thought. No. It wouldn’t be hard at all. That was where her life was, her career, the business she had helped build. She loved it and missed it and couldn’t wait until she was healthy enough to return.

When they neared the clearing and Beck’s workshop, Hank trotted ahead of her with his tail wagging as he headed through the wide doorway, the sliding barn door open to the morning air.

“Hey, bud,” she heard Beck say. “Where did you wander off to?”

She followed the dog. “Apparently, he came to escort me. I thought maybe you sent him.”

He smiled. “No. Wish I’d thought of it, though. Good morning.”

He looked gorgeous, wearing jeans and a navy blue T-shirt that showed off his wide shoulders and muscled forearms.

June did her best to ignore the sudden nerves fluttering through her.

“Are you still okay with me watching you work today?”

He grimaced. “I suppose. Are you sure you don’t have something more interesting to do? Like, I don’t know, watching grass grow?”

“Yes. Positive. I want to watch, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If you would rather we forget it, I can head back home.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I need to set up.”

She watched as he placed three cameras at different angles, taking care to make sure they were focused on the work, not on him. She again had the thought that if he did ever film his face, his videos would definitely go viral. A hot guy working with his hands to create something beautiful and artistic was appealing on several different levels.

“I should have asked,” she said as he checked the cameras again. “Do I need to be quiet?”

He shook his head. “I never use the actual audio the cameras pick up. Who wants to hear power tools and all my occasional curse words when I screw something up?”

She laughed, earning a startled look from Beck.

“I speed it up, anyway,” he said. “Otherwise, each video would be hours long. If I’m going to use audio, I record commentary about what I’m doing separately, and the video editor dubs that in along with any music or sound effects.”

She found all of his videos fascinating, the silent ones and the few where he explained the process in that deep, arresting voice.

There was a very good chance she might have a small crush on her nearest neighbor.

She knew she should be horrified by the realization, but in an odd way, she found it comforting. She had come back from the dead only a few weeks ago. It was good to know the experience hadn’t left her completely altered. She could still feel tingles in all the right places, even if her attraction was completely futile and inappropriate.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked.

He pointed to a chair she didn’t remember being there earlier. “No. You can sit down and try not to be too distracting.”

Why would he find her distracting? she wondered as she sat down. Would he find anyone distracting or was it something specific to her?

“Unless it’s too disruptive, do you mind explaining what you’re doing as you go?” she asked as he unrolled what looked like a thin piece of flooring, then picked up a couple of two-by-six boards. He spread a bead of wood glue on them and used another tool to angle them together.

He briefly looked up from his work then back down to the boards as he picked up a drill and began screwing them together on the angle. “I’m building a form here that is the size and dimensions of the tabletop I’m making. In this case, it’s going to be a coffee table. I use laminate on the bottom and then peel it away once the resin has dried.”

“Do you have to make a new form with every piece you make?”

This time he didn’t look up. “Yes. I have to destroy each form in the process. I try to reuse as much as I can, but that’s not always possible.”

He worked in silence and she almost thought he had forgotten she was there except for the occasional moments when he would look up and find her watching the process carefully.

“What made you start creating tables?”

“I’ve always enjoyed working with my hands. My grandpa is a contractor in California, and I worked with him after school and during summer breaks in high school and again when I was in college. I grew up watching him tinker with wood in his spare time when he wasn’t building or renovating houses. He loved creating beautiful pieces. Still does. He always says he finds it immensely satisfying to take a piece of wood and create something both beautiful and useful out of it. I guess I inherited that from him.”

“Are you close to your family?”

He smiled softly. “Yes. Very. They wanted me to move home to Los Angeles after . . . well, everything that happened with my wife.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I did for a month or two. I couldn’t stay in our condo in San Jose. And then I realized I needed space to work things out. I came out here and instantly fell in love with this part of Wyoming. The people, the scenery. All of it. Now I don’t know if I could ever leave.”

They lapsed into silence as he continued building the frame. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. More like . . . restful.

She had a random memory of helping her mother make some bookshelves for Elizabeth’s classroom at the high school where she taught. They had both been terrible at it, but the two of them had laughed through the whole thing.

She hadn’t built much since then. She had hired a contractor and decorator when she bought her apartment and had let them furnish it.

At some point, the dog came over and settled at her feet and June reached down to pet his head, charmed at his easy affection.

For the next half hour, she petted the dog, watched Beck work and let her mind wander as the scent of wood glue and sawdust filled the air. Oddly, she felt more at peace than she had in a long time, even when she had been sitting beside the cascading waterfalls Ali had shown her.

“Do you mind giving me a hand?” he asked, jolting her from her thoughts.

He wanted her help? What could she possibly do? She wanted to warn him she would probably make a mess of things, but rose instead and moved toward the worktable.

“I can certainly try. What do you need me to do?”

He picked up a long piece of planed wood, gnarled and weathered-looking. Two other pieces rested on a quilted blanket on the floor of the workspace. “Now that the sealer has dried, I need to set the wood I’ll be using as the foundation of the table. I could use help figuring out how to arrange them.”

And he wanted her help? She was flattered that he thought she could offer anything of use.

The planks fit perfectly inside the form he had created, obviously cut to size already.

“I was thinking this big one in the middle and those two smaller ones on the side. They will create a natural channel on each side for the resin.”

“That looks good to me,” she said. “Maybe go a little off center with the big one instead of directly in the middle.”

“You’re right. That’s better,” he said after he had made the adjustment. “Thank you. Good eye.”

She found it hard to visualize the finished product, but loved being a small part of the process.

For the next hour, he shaped the wood, drilling out a few of the gnarls and planing and sanding it until the planks looked gorgeous, even to her untrained eyes.

“Now what?” she asked after he had vacuumed up any trace of sawdust with a shop vac.

“Now I need to mix the resin.”

He put on a face mask and gloves and lowered the safety glasses from the top of his head.

She watched as he poured liquid from one container to a bucket then added liquid from another one.

He used the same drill he had utilized to create the form, this time attached with a long mixer bit, and stirred the clear resin. She watched as he added several drops of something to the resin that spread out in a hypnotic cloud of color.

“Looks like I need a little more. I’m trying for a translucent bluish-green that I hope will resemble a mountain stream running through the wood.”

He added several more drops and stirred again with the mixer bit.

“How do you know when it’s right?”

He shrugged, still stirring. “Experience? Luck? Some of both? I don’t know. This is a big leap of faith where you have to hope you know what you’re doing.”

She envied that, since right now she certainly did not have faith in herself.

“The moment of truth,” he said when he was satisfied with the color.

He carried the bucket to the frame and poured the resin around the pieces of wood. It flowed in like that mountain river he had talked about, filling all the empty places between the boards with that iridescent blue.

“Are you bored out of your mind yet?” he asked.

“Far from it. There’s something almost . . . zen in watching the process.”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite Bob Ross,” he said.

She smiled. “Grow some facial hair and a curly hairdo and you could be.”

“I guess a guy can dream,” he said, which made her smile again.

After all of the resin was poured, he made sure there were no bubbles on the surface.

“I have to let this cure now then add another layer. Some people say it only needs to be tacky, but I like to leave mine overnight.”

They had been there for hours, she realized. It was almost lunchtime. The time had flown by. She rose stiffly from the chair he had set out for her. While she was reluctant to leave, she knew she couldn’t hang out for several hours.

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s as fascinating as I thought it would be.”

He looked over, in the process of turning off the cameras. “Are you hungry? I always find I’m starving after I’ve been focusing for a while on a project. If you want to come up to the house, I can throw something together for lunch.”

“You’ve already opened your workshop for me. You don’t have to feed me, too. I’m the nosy neighbor who won’t leave.”

“I invited you,” he pointed out.

The safe thing would be for her to turn around, walk out of his workshop and head back through the woods toward the cabin.

Was she doomed to spend the rest of her life being safe?

“Sure,” she said, almost defiantly, at least to herself. “Lunch would be good. But I can help make it.”

He smiled, looking dark and gorgeous with a small sprinkle of sawdust in his hair, and she had to shove her hands in her pockets to keep from brushing it away.

Chapter 21

Beckett

He was beginning to find Juniper Connelly entirely too fascinating.

After they walked together to his house, he held the back door open for her. She brushed past him and he caught the teasing scent of her, like tropical flowers with a vanilla undertone.

She was lovely, tall and lean, only a few inches shorter than his own six feet, with blue eyes that flashed with excitement when she was interested in something and a tiny dimple in one cheek that made the occasional intoxicating appearance.

Throw in the air of fragility that brought out all his protective impulses and he was basically a goner.

She had to stay off-limits, he reminded himself. He wasn’t looking for a short-term fling, especially not with a vulnerable woman dealing with a life-changing medical condition.

“Nice place.” She looked around his open-plan living area, with its soaring two-story windows and the river-rock fireplace that dominated one wall.

“Thanks. I like it.”

Beck had done most of the renovation work on the dilapidated cabin that had been here, creating an addition and rebuilding the original structure nearly plank by plank through the first endless year after Soledad died.

It had given him something to do with his grief besides drink and brood and spiral into guilt and pain and self-flagellation.

Somehow, he had created a space he found both soothing and comfortable.

“I’ll admit I’m not a great cook, though I’ve been working on it lately. I did throw together a really good vegetable soup a few days ago that turned out well. I need to eat it or freeze it within the next few days.”

“Sure. Soup sounds good, especially since today is cooler.”

He expected they would have rain by the afternoon. Why did soup taste so much better on a rainy day?

“I also have some homemade wheat bread from Jo, the housekeeper at the ranch. She is kind enough to make an extra loaf for me every week, since bread making is still outside my skill set.”

“I feel guilty having you serve me. You’ve been working all morning while I’ve been sitting on my butt. I can certainly heat up a bowl of soup.”

“I’ve got this,” he assured her. “You’re my guest.”

“A self-invited one,” she pointed out. “At least I invited myself over to watch you work.”

“And I invited you to have lunch. Relax.”

She looked reluctant, but took a seat at the table, watching as he pulled out a couple of large bowls from his cupboard and ladled soup into them.

“When I was in school, I used to make a big pot of vegetable soup every few weeks and freeze it in portion sizes,” she said. “I wouldn’t have survived without a microwave. It saved me from having to eat in the cafeteria every day for lunch when I was usually busy with homework.”

“Did you say you went to Cal Poly?”

“Yes. Track scholarship.”

“What event did you run?”

“A few different things. Mostly the four-hundred-meter and the eight-hundred-meter relay.”

“Impressive. You must be fast.”

She shrugged. “I used to be. Now I mostly run for my own enjoyment.”

“Sorry, but I can’t quite put the words running and enjoyment together. Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?”

She smiled, though he thought it sagged at the edges. “I’ve always loved running, but I’m not sure how much I’ll be doing in the future.”

“Have your doctors said as much?”

“I haven’t talked to them about it yet.”

“Who knows? I wouldn’t be surprised if running is still okay, eventually.”

She sighed. “That possibility seems a long way off right now. I mean, at this point, I’m afraid to even go hiking on my own. I’m living in a gorgeous place with mountain trails constantly beckoning me and I’m too scared to venture farther than five minutes from the house.”

He looked up from ladling soup into a bowl for her. “Afraid of what?”

“Dying on the trail somewhere by myself, I suppose. And then being eaten by bears.”

He couldn’t imagine feeling that constant apprehension at the edge of his subconscious.

“First of all, the likelihood of you being eaten by bears is pretty remote up here. Coyotes, maybe. And the occasional turkey vulture.”

“Oh, well, that makes me feel better.”

He smiled as he set the soup bowl in the microwave to heat. “Second of all, why do you have to go by yourself? Ali would probably love to take you.”

“We did go for a drive in Carson’s Jeep yesterday. She showed me a series of waterfalls.”

“I know right where that is. Deer Creek. It’s a lovely place.”

“I was glad she showed it to me. But I can’t expect her to entertain me all the time. She’s supposed to be studying for the bar and she’s also working for her grandmother at the bookstore. I can’t rely on her for everything.”

He pulled out her soup bowl and set it down in front of her, along with a piece of bread he had cut from the loaf Jo had brought him.

“If you get the itch to go hiking and Ali isn’t available, you can call me. I would be happy to go with you.”

Why had he said that? He should be doing his best to put distance between them. Instead, he was seizing every excuse to spend more time with her.

“That is a very kind offer, but I am already imposing enough by taking up your time and intruding in your personal workspace. I’m not about to ask you to babysit me on a hike.”

He pulled his own soup out of the microwave and went to sit across from her. “Don’t look at it as babysitting. I don’t. We would only be two friends taking a hike together.”

“Are we friends?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

He actually quite liked the woman, he realized. He would like to be friends with her, as long as he could manage to keep his unwanted attraction to himself.

“We’re certainly not enemies, as far as I’m concerned. And I would say someone who signs up to watch me work for hours is more than a passing acquaintance.”

At that, she laughed, her eyes bright and her tantalizing dimple flashing before it disappeared again. She was lovely. Not simply lovely. Breathtakingly beautiful.

He sipped at his water. He could not let himself be interested in her. Juniper Connelly was only a transitory presence in his life, like the cottonwood puffs that only blew off the river-bottom trees when conditions were right.

In a few short weeks, once she regained her strength and adjusted to her sudden life changes, she would be returning to Seattle.

“There are some really pretty trails not far from here that aren’t very strenuous. The Mary’s Lake trail, for instance, is only about a mile hike, mostly level. It’s a pretty walk, especially this time of year, with the wildflowers coming out. We could even go this evening.”

“This evening?”

“Why not? Do you have other plans?”

She made a face. “No. Only with Carson’s journals. What about the rain?”

“It’s only supposed to be a quick drizzle. The trail might be muddy, but the sunset should be spectacular.”

“You’re serious? You want to go this evening?”

Suddenly, he found that he did, quite strongly. Even if she didn’t want to go with him, he might take Hank up on his own.

“It’s a beautiful place and not far from here. It would be a crime if you left the area without seeing Mary’s Lake at sunset.”

June took another spoonful of soup and he was gratified to see she was halfway through the bowl.

“I didn’t realize I would be breaking the law. We can’t have that, especially not when there’s a hotshot prosecutor around who is telling me I have to do it.”

“An ex hotshot prosecutor,” he corrected.

She smiled. “I would actually enjoy taking a hike. I loved seeing the waterfall, but we cheated and drove the Jeep right to it.”

“Great,” he said. “How about I pick you up around six? The trailhead is about a fifteen-minute drive from here. That way we should be able to make it to the lake before sunset.”

She shook her head at his determination, which, quite frankly, Beckett didn’t understand himself.

“Fine. I’ll be ready. Why don’t I pack some sandwiches for us, since you provided lunch?”

“Sure.” It’s a date. He caught himself before he could say the words.

It wasn’t. They were simply two friends taking a hike into the mountains so that one of them could see their beautiful surroundings.

“That would be nice,” he said instead.

They talked through the rest of lunch about other hikes in the area, about a trip she had once taken to hike to Machu Pichu, about the gap year he spent backpacking around Europe and Australia with friends before he started law school.

It was comfortable and easy, confirming how much he enjoyed her company. Finally, they both finished lunch and she rose to take her bowl to the dishwasher.

“I should head back before I take up your entire day.”

He wouldn’t mind. It was a surprising realization for a man who had become used to his own company, especially since Carson’s death.

“I can walk you back to the cabin, if you want.”

“Not necessary,” she assured him.

“I could always send Hank with you, if that would help you feel more comfortable.”

She reached down to pet the dog, who had wandered over as soon as June stood up. “If something were to happen to me, would he come running back to you like Lassie to alert you that I need help?”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t need an escort, but thanks. You also do not have to babysit me on a hike this evening. I am quite sure you have better things to do with your time.”

“I can’t think of a single thing I would enjoy more. I’m looking forward to it. I’ll see you at six.”

She nodded and he held the door open for her. As she moved past him, her shoulder brushed his chest. She must have felt the contact as well because she froze and looked at him.

He wanted her.

Desire seemed to surge out of nowhere, like electricity crackling through the air before a lightning strike.

She caught her breath, her gaze locked on his, and he could swear he saw an answering flicker of desire in her eyes.

They gazed at each other for one sparkling moment. He leaned forward, unable to help himself. An instant before he would have kissed her, he came to his senses and turned his face away when he heard the distant rumble of thunder in the distance.

“You’d better hurry if you want to make it home before that storm moves any closer.”

She blinked several times before she spoke. “Yes. You’re right,” she said, sounding breathless, then she hurried down the steps and headed toward the cabin.

Chapter 22

Juniper

As she walked along the path through the trees, June was aware of every single beat of her heart.

Was it because of her stupid ICD or was it in reaction to the moment when she had been certain Beckett Hunter wanted to kiss her?

How was she supposed to know the difference?

Maybe she was wrong. She could have misread the signals. It was possible he had only been polite, holding the door open for her as he would for anyone else, and she had completely misinterpreted the sudden hunger she thought she saw in his eyes.

No. She hadn’t been wrong. In those few frozen seconds when they had stood only inches apart, he had looked at her with an unmistakable awareness.

Remembering it sent a wave of heat through her as that distant thunder rumbled over the mountains again and she picked up her pace.

She was in no position to be attracted to any man right now, especially not one as vibrant and alive as Beck. Her body was still trying to heal and her mind had much work to do, as well.

She was a mess. Everything she had once believed about herself—that she was tough, invincible, driven—had been shaken to the core.

She was in a lousy place to think about even kissing a man; forget about anything more.

Her track record in relationships wasn’t the greatest, anyway. After she had dated Adam briefly, she’d had a few casual relationships, but they never went far, mostly because she had never been tempted to carve out room in her hectic, demanding life for any kind of relationship.

Nothing had changed. If anything, her life was now far more complicated than it had been two weeks earlier.

As she hurried through the woods, she suddenly had to fight a fierce urge to climb into Carson’s Jeep, drive to the nearest city with a major airport and catch a flight that very night back to her real life in Seattle. To her apartment, her friends, those rare inconsequential relationships with guys whose names she could hardly remember.

She could even call Adam and have him send one of the corporate planes for her. He would do it in an instant, she knew.

And then what?

She would be stuck in her apartment in Seattle by herself. What would she be going back to? Adam had already told her she needed to take more time off before she returned to work. She knew they were handling things in her absence. The company wouldn’t fall apart without her.

She wasn’t ready to go back. That didn’t mean she was ready to jump into something romantic with Beckett Hunter.

The rain started to fall as she reached the cabin, sizzling in the dirt and undergrowth with huge drops that smelled earthy and clean.

She made it up the steps with only a few drops hitting her, and she stood for several moments on the protected porch, listening to the rain plopping onto the roof.

She was torn between hoping it would stop so they could go on their hike and wishing it would rain all afternoon, rendering any trails impassable.

Rain or not, she ought to call Beckett right now and tell him she had changed her mind and wouldn’t be going on any hike with him.

Spending more time with the man was a recipe for disaster. He gave her thoughts she didn’t want to think and dreams she couldn’t afford to indulge.

She gripped the railing to keep from reaching for her phone and chickening out. Surely, she could go on a simple hike with the man without trying to jump him, for heaven’s sake.

She had nearly died, but nearly was the operative word.

She was still alive. Somehow, she had to shift her mindset and start acting that way, embracing all the chances life was offering her. She didn’t want to hide away, afraid, in a little cabin in the woods.

She wanted to see the wonder of a mountain lake at sunset, even if it meant she had to take a few risks and push herself outside her comfort zone.

That didn’t mean she was ready to fall in love with the man. She certainly wasn’t. Anything lasting between them was completely impossible. She understood that.

But what would it hurt to indulge in a little crush? They were both unattached adults. If he wanted to kiss her, why shouldn’t she let him? She was smart enough to know it would only be a few kisses.

She could worry about that later. For now, she planned to go back to Carson Wells’s journals and all his angst and yearning for a woman he couldn’t have, writings that suddenly seemed to feel far more relatable.

Chapter 23

Alison

“Ooh. This one looks good.”

Ali picked a book out of a box she was supposed to be shelving. The colorful cover featured a bright cartoonish image of a woman in a lab coat being kissed by a nerdy-looking guy in glasses.

“Oh, man. I need it.” Tess Hutchins picked up another copy from the box. “I read her last book in, like, a day and a half. It was sooo good.”

Ali grinned. “I can’t wait to finally have time to read all the books I want to. As soon as I finish the bar exam, I’m going to curl up for days and work my way through my entire epic to-be-read stack.”

“Do you remember that summer when we devoured every single one of The Hunger Games books?” Tess asked as she pulled out more books to stack on the table of new releases in the front section of Bridger Books.

“Yes,” Alison admitted. “I reread that whole series a few years ago and enjoyed it every bit as much as I did when we were fourteen.”

She and Tess had been friends since middle school, when they had been assigned a partner project in their Wyoming History class and had extensively researched the fossil fields near the small, rugged mining town of Kemmerer. Her dad had taken them on a field trip there so they could wander through the museum, and she and Tess had been firm friends ever since.

Tess was a second-grade teacher at the elementary school now, but worked in the evenings and summers at the bookstore. Ali was thrilled to be able to spend time with her, too.

She was suddenly aware her time in Bridger Peak would be gone before she knew it, and she hadn’t spent nearly enough time with her friends.

“I hear there’s a concert tonight on the roof of the Bison Brew House,” she said on impulse. “I haven’t been there yet.”

“It’s really fun. The drinks are good and the sound system is fantastic. I saw J.C. Wyatt there a month ago.”

“This band is The Canyon Drifters. I’ve heard good things about them. Want to go with me?”

Tess made a disappointed face. “Oh, man. I would love that. Seriously. But I promised my brother I would watch his kids while he and Abbi go to a wedding out of town. I can’t bail on them.”

“It seems weird to think of Abbi and Tom having kids, doesn’t it?”

“Right? Seems like only yesterday he was my annoying younger brother, always trying to read our texts over my shoulder and make dumb comments on every single one of my social media posts.”

“Remember that time he told Lucas Porter you had a crush on him?”

“While I was standing right there. Yes. Still one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.” Tess grinned. “Now Tom is a husband and a dad of two adorable kids, along with being a business owner of a window-washing company. He really turned things around from his wild youth.”

Tom had been the epitome of a teasing younger brother. Ali knew he had married right out of high school to the girl he dated since eighth grade. He was two years younger than they were and already had a growing family. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around it.

She had always envied Tess her big family. Her friend was the middle of five, all of them close. The Hutchins house had always been noisy, chaotic, messy and wonderful.

As an only child, Ali had never doubted her parents loved her. She had been showered with attention, supported in every endeavor, given incredible opportunities. Still, she had often wished for a sibling, someone who would always be there for her, especially now that her parents were gone.

Maybe that was why she was so focused on creating a strong bond with June, to make up for all she had missed when she was a kid.

“Excuse me,” a customer interrupted them. “Where are your craft books? I’m looking for a specific knitting pattern that I can’t seem to find anywhere.”

“They are two shelves over and toward the back,” Tess said. “Here. I’ll show you.”

As Tess guided the customer away, Ali returned to shelving books.

She carried several more titles to the new-releases table and grabbed a few more to place on an endcap featuring staff-recommended reads, highly visible from her favorite cozy reading area of the bookstore.

As she was heading back to the front of the store, the bell on the door tinkled.

Ali looked up with a smile of greeting and felt her heartbeat give a little kick when she saw Clint Maclean walk through. What was he doing here? Clint didn’t strike her as someone who spent a lot of time in bookstores, but maybe she was making unfair generalizations.

His gorgeously rugged features beneath his Stetson lit up when he spotted her. “Ali. Hey!”

“Hi, Clint.” Fighting the urge to check her reflection in the window to make sure her lipstick hadn’t smeared, she walked closer to him.

“Welcome to Bridger Books. Can I help you find something?”

“I’m not much of a reader,” he said.

That didn’t come as a huge surprise to her and she had a sudden memory of once helping Clint pass their sophomore-year English class as a sort of informal tutor. She had helped him edit and basically rewrite two or three important essays.

“Don’t get me wrong, I read,” he clarified. “But mostly farm and ranch journals. I do like to listen to audiobooks while I’m working out in the fields. I’m a big fan of thrillers and crime fiction, especially when they’re set in the mountains.”

She had to admit she was glad to hear that. She wasn’t sure she could have an unrequited crush on someone who didn’t read, no matter how gorgeous he was.

“Audiobooks absolutely count as reading. You’re only taking in the story a different way.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I love getting lost in the story. Sometimes I’m so into it, I stay out on the tractor until past dark.”

“We don’t sell a lot of audiobooks,” she said. “Most people download them through apps on their phones.”

“That’s what I do,” he said. “I have a subscription to a service, but I also find a lot of them from my library.”

“I get it.”

She loved libraries, she truly did. They were fantastic for those on a limited budget or to introduce readers to new authors. She used her own library often. But she also knew small bookstores like her grandmother’s couldn’t survive without people actually coming in and spending money.

Tess and the customer she had been helping, now holding an armload of knitting books, headed up to the cash register. As they passed, Tess raised her eyebrows at Ali in a meaningful way that made Ali flush. Her friend knew all too well what a crush Ali had always had on Clint. It was bigger, even, than the one Tess used to have on Lucas Porter. Tess had outgrown hers, but somehow Ali’s for Clint Maclean was holding on.

“Actually, I had to stop in at the bank and since your bookstore was down the street, I came by hoping I would bump into you here so I could say hey.”

He had stopped to see her? She blinked, not quite sure how to respond.

“How nice.”

“So hey,” he said with a charming smile that made her pulse ratchet up.

“Hey right back.”

He gazed down at her with a bright smile. “Listen, there’s going to be live music tonight on the rooftop of the Bison Brew House. The Canyon Drifters. They’re pretty good. I was wondering if you would like to go with me to hear them.”

Was Clint Maclean asking her on a date?

She stared at him for a long moment, trying to process her shock. Impossible. He had never been at all interested in her before.

She remembered that appreciative look when he had bumped into her at the restaurant the other day with Xander. It wasn’t completely impossible, was it?

Tess, she saw, must have overheard his offer. As she helped the customer check out, she was giving a covert thumbs-up.

“I . . . Sure. Sounds like fun.”

His lean, rugged features lit up and he gave her that killer smile again. “Oh, great. That would be awesome. How late are you working? Should I pick you up here or at your dad’s ranch?”

Her ranch now. “I’m off at four. I’m assuming the band won’t be playing until this evening.”

“I think they’re supposed to start at eight. I can pick you up at the ranch at seven-thirty. You’re not far from the Rocking M.”

They were basically next-door neighbors, on the other side from Beck’s place. If not for the river that split them, The Painted Sky and the Rocking M land would adjoin each other.

“That would be great. I’ll look forward to it.”

“Me, too.” He smiled down at her, looking like he’d stepped off the cover of a romance novel.

“I’m so glad you came back for the summer,” he said, his voice slightly husky. “I can’t wait to spend more time with you.”

If she were one of the women in the books she loved to read, she would have some smart response, something cute and flirty. But she was not like those women, especially not when she was facing the man who had occupied all of her teenage daydreams.

“Um. Me, too,” she said, a completely ridiculous response that somehow didn’t seem to bother Clint.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said and then he tipped his hat to her and to Tess before turning and walking out again, right behind the crafty customer.

As the door closed behind both of them, Ali slumped against the nearest display, a table full of young-adult fantasy books.

Talk about a young-adult fantasy. That was Clint Maclean. In the flesh.

Tess rushed over before she could catch her breath. “Seriously? Did Clint Maclean just ask you out on a date?”

“I guess so?” she said, hearing the question in her own voice. She wanted to grab the nearest paperback and fan her face with it, but she didn’t want to risk breaking the spine.

“I don’t think he has dated anybody in the past year. Not that I’ve heard about, anyway. Not since Angel Herrera broke up with him for about the hundredth time since they started dating and then left town.”

Angel and Clint had dated all through high school, though they were always on again, off again.

“Maybe he’s just looking for company until she comes back.”

“I think he’s going to be looking for a long time. Last I heard, Angel was engaged to a plastic surgeon in Los Angeles with a hell of a lot more to offer than a broke-ass cowboy in Bridger Peak, Wyoming.” She paused. “Looks like you’ll get to go listen to the band at the Bison after all.”

“I guess. Should be fun.”

Tess reached for her hand and squeezed it in both of hers, eyes suddenly dark with worry. “I know you always had a thing for Clint. He is gorgeous and I totally get why, but I hope he doesn’t break your heart. I can’t help thinking there had to be a good reason he and Angel couldn’t manage to stay together.”

“We’re going on one lousy date. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

Another customer came in before Tess could say more but she didn’t really need to. Ali wouldn’t let her heart be in danger.

With everything she had going on right now: studying for the bar, dealing with a sister she hadn’t yet told about their connection and still grieving for her dad, she didn’t have time for a fling with Clint Maclean.

She only wanted an evening of fun, music and dancing with a hot guy.

Who could blame her for that?

Chapter 24

Juniper

Healing was an exhausting business, apparently, and June was more tired than she realized.

After a few hours of working through Carson Wells’s journals, she found herself dozing off and decided to take a nap.

She intended to only rest on the sofa for a half hour then go back to reading. Two hours later, she awoke with a stiff neck, gritty eyes and the realization that Beck would be there to pick her up in only a few hours.

After a few stretches and a large drink of the delicious water that came out of the faucet in the cabin, she made some sandwiches for their hike, as she had promised Beck.

As she still had time before he was coming, she returned to the table and quickly lost herself in the journals again.

Carson seemed to be making more frequent entries. Where the first few had each contained about six months of entries, the past few covered half that time.

She had reached up to a year past the publication of his first book and Carson still seemed to be struggling with his broken heart. He was apparently trying to write through it, finding peace and solace through words.

Winter is settling in and I wonder if she feels it, too. Does she still think of me when the nights grow long or has the memory of us turned cold, like everything else?

The doorbell’s sudden ring made her jump. She glanced at her watch and was stunned to see that while she had planned to read for only an hour, she had become totally absorbed.

She wasn’t at all ready for an evening hike, especially not with Beckett, the man she had dreamed about while she napped.

She marked her place and hurried to the door. “Sorry. I was so busy reading, I lost track of time. I need a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” he said with a smile that left her feeling slightly breathless. “I don’t mind waiting.”

She was tempted to try wiggling out of going with him, but Hank pushed his way past Beckett in the doorway, tail wagging as he pressed his nose into her hand. She sighed. She might be able to resist one of them, but she was helpless against both of them together.

“Come in,” she said. “I only need to put on my shoes and grab some water and our dinner.”

“That’s fine.”

She quickly grabbed a jacket, her water bottle and the wrapped sandwiches and cut vegetables she had prepared for them.

“I’ve got a day pack,” Beck said. “I’m happy to carry whatever you need.”

Since she didn’t have one here, she would take him up on that.

“Sounds good.”

“How are the journals?” he asked.

“Fascinating,” she admitted as she tied the laces of her tennis shoes. “For being a brilliant writer, he’s so full of self-doubt and confused angst. And he is dealing with a broken heart. He calls the woman only E. Very mysterious. He makes it clear their love can never be, but he doesn’t really explain why. I get the impression she might have been married or something.”

“That doesn’t sound like Carson at all.”

“I don’t know. He really aches for her.”

“Intriguing.”

She stood up. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Do you have sunglasses and a hat? You might want them. The sun can be fierce at higher elevations. People don’t always expect it, especially when the air is relatively cool.”

“I have sunglasses. But I’m afraid a hat wasn’t among the things Ali was kind enough to help me pack before we left Seattle,” she admitted. “I didn’t think of it and I guess she didn’t, either.”

“I brought an extra just in case, a new one I haven’t had the chance to shape to my head yet.”

“Thanks.”

He opened the door to his pickup for her then helped her up into the seat before letting the dog into the back seat, who settled in and promptly fell asleep.

The scent of Beck surrounded her and she found herself back in his house, reliving that moment when she thought he wanted to kiss her.

“How did you and Carson become friends?” she asked after he pulled away from the cabin and headed down the driveway toward the road. “From reading the journals, he strikes me as a complicated man who didn’t make friends easily.”

“You’re right about that. He didn’t trust people very easily.”

“Why you?”

“I can’t answer that. I wasn’t in a good place when I came here. I was a mess, if you want the truth. Drunk most of the time and angry the rest of the time. I didn’t want to be around myself. Not sure why anyone else would. That didn’t seem to matter to Carson. He came around every day to check on me.”

“That’s taking being a good neighbor a little far,” she said.

“Definitely. But Ali had just graduated from high school and left for college and I think Carson was looking for a project. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on your perspective—he found me.”

“You miss him,” she observed.

He gave a short laugh. “Every damn day.”

They fell into a companionable silence as he drove under the ranch arch and turned north. After only a few miles, he turned off onto a dirt road.

“I thought we were hiking. How far do we have to drive?” she asked as the truck bumped through a couple of ruts.

“Not far. The trailhead is about a mile in.”

A short distance later, he pulled into a small clearing and she saw a Forest Service sign for Mary’s Lake.

He let the dog out and Hank immediately ran to a small creek near the trailhead and took a big drink while Beck loaded up her sweatshirt, water bottle and their sandwiches into his day pack then handed her a red baseball cap.

It was obviously far too big for her head, but he made a couple of adjustments until it fit exactly right.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

He whistled for the dog, who came at once, and the three of them headed off through a trail that wound uphill among a meadow dotted with wildflowers.

“After this first slight incline, it’s mostly level, I promise,” Beck assured her.

June nodded. It wasn’t a big grade, maybe only ten degrees, but it felt more daunting than any of the much bigger hills in her neighborhood back in Seattle.

She felt the beginnings of panic fluttering through her. She shouldn’t be doing this. What if she collapsed here?

He seemed to guess her thoughts with uncanny accuracy. He grinned at her. “Don’t worry. If you have another cardiac event, I am fully prepared to give you mouth-to-mouth.”

His teasing words did exactly what she knew he intended. They made her smile, which helped the panic recede a little.

“You can do this,” Beck said.

“How do you know what I can or can’t do?” she asked crossly.

“From everything Ali tells me she learned about you in Seattle, you don’t give up. Someone who ran track in college and was considering training for a marathon is tough enough to handle anything.”

She would be fine. Dr. Singh had said she could return to regular activities as she felt able. He had also told her to trust her implanted defibrillator to handle another episode if she had one.

She let out a breath while Hank came up beside her, as if lending her his strength.

After a pause, she continued up the trail with Beck behind her and the dog still at her side.

She used to be able to run sprints all day and still have energy after track practice to run another three or four miles back to her apartment. Would that ever come back?

“Let’s stop here for a minute,” Beck said when they reached an area of the trail that leveled off, as he had promised it would. “I could use a drink.”

He spoke in a calm, steady voice that somehow made her want to cry. She knew he didn’t need a rest. He was taking things slow because of her.

She ought to be mortified. Instead, she could only manage gratitude. He handed her water bottle over and gestured to a large boulder. She leaned against it and sipped at her water bottle as birds flitted through the evening shadows and a squirrel chittered from the treetops, drawing Hank’s immediate attention.

“It’s so peaceful here. I can see why you love it.”

“Like so many things in life, it’s worth a little climb.”

She nodded, breathing in the mountain air and the scent of sage and pine and wildflowers.

After a moment, she handed back her water bottle. “Okay. Let’s push on.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it? We’re not in any hurry. We can go as slowly as you want.”

“I should be okay.”

They walked through thick Douglas fir and aspen, the undergrowth overflowing with wildflowers.

He was right; it wasn’t a long hike. After perhaps fifteen minutes of walking, she started to catch glimpses of color through the trees. Finally, they rounded a bend and she had to catch her breath.

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “You were absolutely right. It’s stunning.”

Mary’s Lake wasn’t very large, perhaps a hundred yards across and twice that long, but the color was a brilliant blue, like the mountain bluebirds she had seen in the trees around the cabin. Steep, jagged mountains rose up on three sides of it, enclosing it in its own small valley.

“It was originally a glacier-fed lake and is now filled by the summer runoff and a couple of small springs coming out of the mountains.”

“It’s beautiful. I’m glad I had the chance to see it.”

“Wait until sunset,” he said. “That shouldn’t be long now. Have a seat.”

He pointed to a fallen log, bark removed long ago by the elements, that formed a natural bench. She sat down on one end and he took the other, handing over her water bottle again.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.

“Like I said, sunsets are really stunning here, but they come early because of the mountains. Once the sun goes down below them, it can get dark pretty fast.”

“Will we be able to find our way back?”

“I brought along a couple of headlamps for us as well as flashlights. We’ll be fine.”

She trusted him, an astonishing realization for someone who didn’t let people into her life easily. Given her initial hostility toward him, she wasn’t sure at what point the shift had happened. The truth was she hardly knew the man.

Somehow, she instinctively knew Beckett Hunter was the kind of man a woman could count on when she needed him.

He pulled out the sandwiches she had made them, chicken salad with dried cranberries and celery on whole grain bread. “When I first moved to Bridger Peak,” he said after taking his first bite, “I used to hike up here almost every day. This was one of the few places where I could find peace.”

His admission touched something deep inside her and she sensed it wasn’t something he shared with everyone.

“Tell me about your wife. How did you meet?”

“You don’t want to hear about that.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know. But you don’t have to talk about her if you find it too painful.”

He gazed out at the lake, rippling in the breeze. “We met through mutual friends and immediately connected. Soledad was so passionate about her work. That’s what I admired first. She taught in an elementary school where many of the students live below the poverty line. She used to come home brimming over with ideas about how she could meet their needs. She convinced her administration to put a washing machine and dryer in her classroom so she could help students who might not be able to wash their clothes at home. She always kept clean clothes in her room so they could change while they laundered theirs before school.”

“She must have been lovely.”

“Inside and out. One of those people who was most happy when she was helping someone else. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be up until two or three in the morning working on some project or other for her students.”

“She was expecting when she was killed, wasn’t she? That’s what the news report I read online said.”

He nodded, his features suddenly looking as granite as the mountain face.

“Yes. Four months along. She loved children and couldn’t wait until we started our own family. She had two miscarriages before that pregnancy and we were both so thrilled she had made it to four months.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He shook his head. “I’m glad you did. No one here knew Soledad so I rarely have the chance to talk about her. She deserves to be remembered.”

She had never considered herself a particularly demonstrative person, but she was compelled to reach out and touch his arm in sympathy. He gazed down at her hand against his skin and she quickly pulled it away and folded her fingers around her water bottle again.

“What about you?” Beckett asked. “You’ve never married? Have you come close? I thought Ali said something about you dating the CEO of your company.”

“Adam? No. We dated a little in college, but quickly realized we worked better together as friends and coworkers. For all his talk about balance, Adam doesn’t tend to carve out a lot of room in his life for personal relationships. Neither of us are very good at that. We’re both classic workaholics, which isn’t a great combination.”

“Do you expect that might change for you now? Will you be able to go back to that high-powered life in Seattle?”

“Everything is changing,” she said, her voice low. She could hear the slight catch in her voice and wondered if he caught it, too.

She swallowed. “Two weeks ago, I knew exactly who I was. Now I feel like a stranger in my own skin.”

“You’ll figure it out. Give yourself time.”

“I don’t expect romance will play much of a part in my future.”

She hadn’t meant to say that, but the words had somehow spilled out like the spring runoff that filled the lake.

“Why not?”

She heard the shock in his voice, but couldn’t meet his gaze. “I am thirty-four years old and I just found out I have a congenital heart condition. I have a device in my chest that is keeping me alive. Who would ever want to sign up for that?”

She spoke the words in a remote, matter-of-fact tone, but even as she said them, she felt a hard jolt. Some deeply suppressed part of her longed for someone to love. How had she never realized that until now, when that possibility had been completely taken away from her?

She felt absurdly close to tears, sitting here on this fallen log overlooking a mountain lake. She set her sandwich aside, not able to eat more than a few bites.

This time, Beck was the one who reached between them. He took her hand in his, wrapping his strong fingers around hers, and she had no choice but to meet his gaze. The warmth and compassion in his expression nearly sent those tears spilling over.

She managed a shaky smile. “I’m sorry. That sounded terribly self-pitying, didn’t it?”

“It sounded real. The sad truth is I’m sure there might be certain guys who will never swipe right because you have a heart condition. They’re assholes who probably wouldn’t interest you, anyway.”

To her surprise, she gave a ragged-sounding laugh. “You’re probably right.”

“You are a smart, beautiful, courageous woman, Juniper Connelly. Any man would be lucky to be a part of your life.”

She gazed at him, his sharp, handsome features beginning to blur in the fading light.

Awareness suddenly bloomed between them again, as bright and vibrant as the wildflowers carpeting the meadows around the mountain lake.

She wanted to kiss him. Not only because of the sweetness of his words, but also because some part of her subconscious had been thinking about it all day.

Without thinking through all the ramifications, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his.

It was a slow kiss, quiet and sweet, but she felt the heat of it seep through every pore.

He tasted of mint and cranberries and his mouth was as cool and refreshing as the mountain lake.

She knew this was a mistake, but it felt so good to be kissed, to feel that sparkle in her veins and feel completely alive.

Desire for him had been simmering at a low burn all day, and now it seemed to bubble over. She knew she shouldn’t give in, that she should pull away, but she couldn’t do it. Too much had been taken from her. Couldn’t she have this, if only for a moment?

Chapter 25

Beckett

He should not be doing this.

The thought pushed in at the edges of his subconscious. She was fragile, emotionally and physically. He knew that, but somehow he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

He wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss, tasting her breathless response.

She sighed against his mouth, her arms sliding around his neck, and he could feel the tremor in her touch. It sent a shiver through him, a reminder of just how delicate this moment was. He should pull away. Every rational thought yelled at him to stop, but her mouth was soft, so inviting, and she pressed closer, dissolving his will with each passing second.

His heart raced and the mountains around them blurred, leaving only the sound of their breathing and his pulse pounding in his ears.

He knew better. He knew this wasn’t the time, wasn’t what she needed, yet with her in his arms, all the reasons to stop faded, replaced by the undeniable need to be closer still.

They might have kissed until long past sunset except Hank, bless him, barked at a squirrel or a bird or something. June froze in his arms and then slid away from him.

They gazed at each other for a long moment and then she shook her head.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t need to kiss me because you feel sorry for me.”

He made a sound that came out halfway between a laugh and a growl. “Is that what you think that was? I promise, I was feeling several things during that kiss, but I didn’t feel sorry for you a bit. I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to kiss you earlier today. And last night. I still want to kiss you.”

He almost told her about how much he had wanted to do much more with her there beside the lake, about the raw desire that still surged through his blood.

He bit down on the words and tried to ease the sudden awkwardness with lightness.

“When a guy finds himself alone with a beautiful woman in such a romantic setting, a mountain lake at sunset, he’s almost morally obliged to kiss her, isn’t he?”

As he hoped, she rolled her eyes and the tension passed, though he doubted either of them would soon forget that heated embrace.

“I told you the lake was spectacular at sunset, didn’t I?”

She turned her attention to the water and they both watched the play of colors across the lake. He was happy to see she ate more of her sandwich and even managed a few baby carrots.

The sun finally slipped behind the mountains, though bands of color still tinted the clouds gathered there.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said. “I can honestly say that was one of the most unforgettable sunsets I’ve ever experienced.”

Because of the beauty? Or because of their kiss? He would never ask.

“You’re welcome. We should probably start heading back while we still have some light.”

He took her water bottle and returned it to the side pocket of his day pack and made sure the headlamps were within easy reach, then the two of them took off back toward the trailhead with Hank in the lead.

They walked in silence, though Beck’s thoughts were anything but quiet. He could think of another powerful reason why he shouldn’t have kissed her—the secret Ali insisted on still keeping from her.

He knew things about Juniper she didn’t about know herself and he suspected when she did find out, she wasn’t going to be happy that they had all kept her in the dark for so long.

She was the daughter of a man he had loved dearly, a connection she had no idea about.

If he had his choice, he would have told her the first day she showed up in Bridger Peak. He hated lying to her by omission. If their roles were reversed and she was withholding important information about him and his past, he would be seriously ticked off.

When June eventually found out, as she undoubtedly would, she was going to be both hurt and angry with all of them for not telling her the truth earlier.

For all the beauty of the day, the wind had picked up as soon as the sun started to go down and the temperature had dropped.

“Need your sweatshirt?” he asked, when he saw June wrap her hands around her arms.

“That would be great. I forgot I gave it to you.”

He stopped and set his pack on a rock. The light was dim, but still bright enough that he didn’t need the headlamp yet. He handed her the hoodie, which she pulled over her head.

“Thanks.”

“Are you doing okay? The way back should be easier. It’s all downhill from here.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for showing me the lake. I’ll be back. I expect it will become one of my favorite places while I’m here.”

“I’m glad.”

She returned his smile without any trace of lingering awkwardness, he was relieved to see.

At the truck, he opened the door for June then dried the mud and dirt off Hank’s paws before letting him in the back seat, grateful all over again for the protective seat cover he kept back there for the dog.

“It’s been a long day for you. You’ll probably head straight to bed as soon as I get you home,” he said as he pulled away from the trailhead and headed back down the dirt road, his headlights illuminating the way ahead.

“I expect I’ll be reading Carson’s journals for a few hours. I can’t seem to stay away from them.”

“I’m glad you are so interested in them.”

“The more I read, the more convinced I am that he wrote another book that he never published.”

“This is important to you, isn’t it?”

Her teeth flashed with her smile in the darkness. “Who wouldn’t want to discover an unpublished book by one of America’s greatest literary icons?”

“I expect if Carson left a manuscript unpublished, he had a good reason for doing so.”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about it?”

“Yes. Of course. I would love to find it. But it might be terrible, considering he would have written it early in his career. The last thing I want to do is publish something that would tarnish his legacy. I’ve read about that happening before with other authors when their heirs rush to put out anything else they find posthumously and it doesn’t come close to comparing to their well-known work.”

“I wouldn’t want to do that, either. You and Alison would of course have the final say as his literary trust executors. But how can we know if it’s good or bad if we don’t make any effort to look for it?”

“You haven’t found anything else in the journals?”

“Only a few references to his work in progress at the time of the entries, a manuscript that sounds nothing like any of his published work I know about.”

He sighed. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“If you and Alison want me to, I’ll forget about it and focus only on the journals.”

“But you won’t be happy about it.”

She laughed. “Am I that transparent?”

And that stubborn. Her determination and focus were among the things he was coming to admire about her, and he couldn’t bring himself to discourage her.

“I’ll help you look. I should have some time this weekend. We can start combing through some of the boxes containing Carson’s papers here.”

Her delighted expression made him wish he could reach across the cab of the pickup and kiss her again.

How was he supposed to put that kind of thought out of his head when she looked warm and soft and approachable in his baseball cap and her hoodie?

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the door handle. “And thank you again for the hike. It was a lovely evening.”

“It was,” he agreed. Despite that kiss he suspected would haunt his dreams.

Chapter 26

Alison

As Ali walked into the Bison Brew House next to Clint Maclean, she felt as if she must be trapped in some weird teenage fever dream.

This was straight out of all her high school fantasies. Clint was as tall and muscular and gorgeous as ever, wearing a Western-cut dress shirt, Wranglers that looked brand-spanking-new, along with a big silver belt buckle and a pair of tooled-leather boots.

Ali hoped she looked good. She wore one of her favorite sundresses topped with a short red bolero-type sweater in case the air was too chilly atop the bar.

She could hear loud laughter and the clink of glasses as Clint opened the door, gesturing for her to go inside.

The place was packed with people. One of the newer hotspots in town and frequented by both tourists and locals, the Bison Brew House was known for live music, fun surroundings and its own microbrewed beer that people seemed to love.

When she had lived here, before she left for college, she had always been too young to go drinking.

Back then, most of her older friends hung out at the Sagebrush Saloon on the other side of town. Now it was slightly disreputable, dirty and dark, catering to the serious drinkers.

The newly renovated Bison Brew House was trendy and cute, with exposed brick and raw wood walls that looked great in social media videos and posts she had seen from friends.

After a quick scan of the room, she picked out a few people she knew and gave a friendly wave. It was obvious that Clint knew far more people than she did. In a short time, he had greeted about half of the customers, who all seemed delighted to see him. Were they surprised to see her with him? She couldn’t tell.

“We’re a little early for the band. You want to grab a drink? We could find a seat over there with Smitty and Tank. They’re waving us over.”

She followed the direction of his gaze and found a few guys she knew had played football with Clint. They weren’t hard to recognize, since they somehow looked exactly the same as they had back then.

They had been condescending and downright rude to the smart kids. She remembered they were particularly rough on Xander.

Xandork or the Brainiac. That was what they and their friends had called him.

While Xander hadn’t been weak, he had been skinny and preferred soccer to football, which didn’t go over well in the football-mad town.

Bridger Peak High hadn’t had much of a soccer team when they were in school. It still didn’t, from what she understood, but Xander had been a natural leader on the team. Still, that didn’t earn him many points with Clint and the other jocks.

She didn’t really want to sit with Smitty and Tank, but she couldn’t see any way out of it, especially when Clint started heading over to their table before she even had a chance to answer.

Everybody changed, she reminded herself. Maybe the years had matured the jocks, helped them see they no longer ruled their particular corner of the world.

“Hey, Maclean.” Tank Clark—real name Trevor—gave Clint a complicated handshake.

While the two of them were engaged in that, Smitty was looking at Alison with a look of appreciation.

“Who’s your friend, Mac?”

“You guys remember Alison Wells.”

They looked at her with little if any sign of recognition, as if they had taken one too many hits on the football field. Or as if she had been completely forgettable.

Which was likely the truth.

“Aren’t you the kid of that big-shot author?” Smitty asked.

“Yes. That’s me.”

To her surprise, he gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry to hear about your dad. I never read his stuff, but my folks always said he was the real deal.”

Before she could answer, a server came over wearing a black half apron with the brewery’s logo on it. Ali recognized Deb Sargent, who had also gone to school with them.

It was hard to escape high school when you lived in a small town.

Deb beamed at their table. “Clint, darlin’. I was wondering if we’d see you tonight. When these two morons came in without you, I figured maybe you found something better to do this weekend.”

“Or someone,” Tank muttered under his breath with a smirk. Yeah. He actually said that. Wow. She really did feel like she was back in the cafeteria at school.

Either Clint didn’t hear the comment or he chose to ignore it. “I would hate to miss the band. You know how much I enjoy live music, especially the Canyon Drifters.”

“I do indeed. You want your regular? The Frontier IPA?”

“Sure. That sounds good.”

“And what about you?” the woman asked with a polite smile to Ali that quickly shifted into one of recognition when Ali greeted her by name.

“Ali! Hi. Sorry! I didn’t recognize you. It’s so dark in here.”

She knew that wasn’t the only reason. They had run with very different crowds, yes. But Ali wanted to think she had changed from her years in high school when she had been eminently forgettable.

“It’s totally fine. It’s good to see you, Deb. This seems like a great place. Have you worked here long?”

“Since the beginning. It’s my brother Paul’s brewery. Did you ever know him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He’s five years older than we are so I guess you wouldn’t. He went off to Colorado for school and learned how to homebrew then decided to try things out on a bigger scale. So far, so good.”

“It has a great vibe.”

She grinned. “Thanks. What are you drinking?”

She wasn’t really fond of beer. “I’m not sure. What do you recommend?”

“You would like their Prairie Pale Ale,” Clint said, then turned to Deb. “Why don’t you bring her that?”

She had been thinking a Diet Coke with a splash of rum but she didn’t want to argue with him five minutes into her date. “Sure. That would be okay.”

After Deb left, the three men started talking about the upcoming NFL season, still several months away, and about another of their friends from the high school football team who had been in a car accident and had a broken leg.

She listened to them joke and harass each other with easy familiarity, feeling the odd person out. They didn’t so much exclude her as talk around her about people she didn’t know.

She felt out of place and wondered what had compelled her to agree to the date with Clint in the first place. And why had he asked her?

The self-doubt annoyed her. She was a funny, smart, well-read woman. She had plenty to offer Clint or any man.

“What time is the band supposed to start?” she asked during a break in the conversation, earning a slightly surprised look from Clint, as if he had forgotten her presence.

He looked at his watch. “About fifteen more minutes. As soon as Deb brings our drinks, we should probably head upstairs and find a table.”

Her question seemed to have reminded them all she was there.

“What are you up to these days, Ali?” Smitty asked. She was surprised to see his interest appeared genuine.

“I finished law school a few months ago and I’m here for the summer helping my grandma at the bookstore while I study for the bar.”

They all looked impressed. “Wow. Are you going to be one of those hotshot prosecutors like I watch on Law & Order?” Tank asked.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to go into criminal law. Family law interested her more, probably because that was what her mother had practiced.

“I haven’t decided yet. What about you guys?”

Tank told her he was driving a truck for a box store in Jackson Hole, and Smitty was an electrician who worked for his father.

“Any wives or kids in the picture?”

“Not me,” Tank said.

Smitty looked down at his drink. “I’m divorced. One kid. A boy. Cody. He’s three. Want to see a picture?”

“Um. Sure,” she said.

He pulled out his phone and she saw his screensaver was an adorable towheaded little boy wearing big boots and a cowboy hat that was three sizes too big.

“Cute,” she said. “He looks like you.”

“Yeah. Poor kid. My wife moved to Idaho Falls so I only see him once a month. It sucks.”

“I’m sorry. That must be tough.” She didn’t bother to point out that Idaho Falls probably needed electricians, as well.

“My divorce lawyer was shit. I should hire you to help me get a better custody arrangement.”

“I haven’t passed the bar so I can’t practice right now. But when I do, I’ll let you know.”

Deb brought their drinks then. “Am I adding to your tab?” she asked Clint in a resigned sort of tone.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind, Deb. I’ll catch up with you. Paul knows I’m good for it.”

She didn’t reply, but Ali thought she saw her mouth tighten slightly. “Make sure you do.”

Ali almost offered to cover their drinks, but the moment seemed awkward enough that she didn’t want to make things worse.

“We should probably head upstairs. You ready?”

“Sure,” she said, grabbing her pale ale.

“What about you guys?” he asked Tank and Smitty.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” they said.

They were heading toward the stairs that led to the rooftop dance floor when the door to the brewery opened, admitting three guys. Xan, his brother-in-law Jake and Jake’s brother Ty.

Xan’s face lit up with happiness. “Ali!” he exclaimed, then his features froze when he saw Clint’s hand on her arm.

She waved with her hand not holding her drink, her heart giving a funny little kick. She was so very glad to see him.

She didn’t have time for more than a quick hello as Clint ushered her up the stairs.

She hadn’t been up on the Bison’s rooftop venue yet, since it had been finished after she left to go back to school the previous year. Her few trips home since then had been focused on details surrounding her father’s death and she hadn’t exactly felt like going out.

She looked around with interest at the twenty or so rustic wood tables with metal accents, along with a small stage in the corner and a dance floor that could fit maybe thirty people.

During the day, she imagined the rooftop would offer expansive views of town and the nearby mountains. Now, with the stars overhead, string lights stretching from end to end and a band warming up on the stage, Ali found it enchanting. No wonder it had become so popular with the locals.

They found a table among the few that remained. By the time the band starting playing to raucous applause, every table on the rooftop deck was full—including one across the dance floor where Xander sat with Jake and Ty.

She had never heard the group before, but they were great, playing a mix of covers and originals with a country flair.

“Let’s dance,” Clint said after the band started their second song.

He didn’t give her a chance to argue. He simply grabbed her hand and pulled her out to the dance floor.

For the next hour, Ali hardly had time to catch her breath or even to sip at her drink. Every time she left the dance floor, Clint or one of his friends would grab her arm and drag her back out.

Xander, she couldn’t help but notice, wasn’t dancing. He was watching the band and talking with his friends. Every once in a while, she caught his attention on her, but he would quickly look away.

Finally, after Clint led her back to their table, where more drinks had been delivered, she managed to wave off Tank, who wanted her to go straight out to the dance floor with him again.

“I need to use the restroom,” she said. She didn’t really, but she imagined her lipstick could use some repair and at least she would have a chance to catch her breath.

She scooped up her purse from their table and headed down the stairs, as the rooftop deck apparently didn’t feature restrooms.

When she looked in the mirror, she was horrified to see she looked like a bedraggled mess. She managed to pull her hair back into a messy bun, patted a dampened paper towel on her neck and cheeks and reapplied her lipstick.

Feeling more like herself, she walked out of the restroom and immediately bumped into Xander, who was coming out of the men’s room.

He looked great, she thought. He hadn’t gone for Western clothes. He was wearing nice tan pants and a tailored light blue shirt, open at the neck.

“Hey,” he said with a smile. “You seem like you’re having fun.”

“I haven’t danced this much in a long time. I forgot how exhausting it is!”

“I guess we’re not teenagers anymore.”

They weren’t exactly ancient. She was only twenty-five and Xander was six months older. “True enough. I was surprised to see you tonight. Having a guys’ night?”

“Jake and Ty are good friends with a couple of guys in the band. The drummer and the bass guitarist. Apparently, they always try to catch the Canyon Drifters when they play anywhere close to the area. They invited me along.”

“That’s nice of them. It’s a great place, isn’t it? Is this your first time on the roof?”

“Yeah. What about you?”

She nodded. “Probably won’t be my last.”

“You didn’t mention you were coming when we talked this morning.”

They had exchanged a flurry of texts to make arrangements for their upcoming horseback ride into the mountains.

“It was kind of a last-minute thing. Clint stopped at the bookstore today and asked if I would like to come and listen to the band with him.”

“Ah.”

“I had no idea he planned to meet up with Smitty and Tank. Not sure if I would have agreed to come if I had known I was crashing a bro-fest.”

“I’m sure Clint wouldn’t have come into the bookstore in search of you if he hadn’t wanted you along.”

She couldn’t read his expression, probably because the hallway was as dim as the rest of the place.

“Weird, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “When he came to pick me up earlier, I didn’t exactly pinch myself to make sure it was real, but I wanted to.”

“Glad you’re having fun. The band is great.”

“You haven’t been dancing,” she pointed out.

“You know me. I’m not much of a dancer. I’m fine watching everybody else.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah. On a date with Clint Maclean. I’m sure he would love it if I came over and pulled you away to dance with me.”

“I’ve been dancing with Smitty and Tank, too, and he doesn’t seem to have a problem with that,” she pointed out. “Besides, Clint knows you and I are old and dear friends. He wouldn’t care if we danced together.”

He didn’t answer and again she couldn’t read his expression.

“We should probably head up,” he said.

“Right.”

He followed her up the stairs and she was weirdly aware of him behind her. When they reached the rooftop, she found three blonde women had pulled up chairs at their table. Two of them had pulled up chairs, anyway. One was sitting in hers. The six of them were engaged in an animated conversation. Ali was disconcerted to realize her reaction was mostly one of relief.

“Looks like I’ve lost my spot,” she said.

“You can sit at our table until the crowd clears, if you want. We have an extra chair. Or I can take it over there for you so you can join them.”

“I would rather drag you out to the dance floor with me,” she said with perfect honesty.

He rolled his eyes, which made her laugh as she held up her purse. “Let me put this down and let Clint know I’m back upstairs, in case he doesn’t see us, so he doesn’t send out a search party.”

When she approached the table, Clint stood up with a look of apology. “Oh, Ali. This is Kirstin, Anne and Mette. They’re visiting from Denmark. We were just telling them some of the highlights of the area. We can go find another table, if you want.”

“You’re fine,” she assured him. “I’m going to dance with Xander for a few songs.”

A muscle flexed in his strong jawline but he only nodded and sat down again, immediately returning to the animated conversation with the Danish women, and Ali crossed the dance floor to find Xander.

She wasn’t at all sure why her heart was suddenly pounding and her mouth felt dry.

Chapter 27

Alison

His dancing had improved since high school, when he had been too self-conscious to enjoy himself much.

“You’ve had practice. Do you remember how hard we had to work on the dances when we were both in High School Musical? Every time I hear the main song, I have flashbacks to practicing in your basement.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. That’s a period of my life I have tried to block out.”

She smiled as the band moved from a honky-tonk cover to one of their own ballads. After an awkward pause, he pulled her close to slow dance.

The heat of his body was seductive in the cool summer night, and she was suddenly intensely aware of the hard muscles against her.

She licked her lips, telling herself not to be ridiculous. This was Xander. One of her dearest friends. He was too important to her. She wasn’t about to screw things up with him by allowing herself to suddenly develop romantic feelings for him and make things weird between them.

It was tough to remember that under the café lights and the star-speckled night sky.

“Are we still good to go on our trip?” she asked.

“Planning on it.” His voice sounded a little strange to her, but she put it down to the loud music and the echo up here on the roof.

“Lindsey is looking forward to a sleepover with Aunt Sylvia. She said it will be good for Jake to have the kids overnight, and she and Aunt Sylvia can paint their nails and watch rom-coms until the early hours of the morning.”

“Ooh. That sounds fun. Maybe I should ditch you and go get my nails painted and watch movies all night.”

He shrugged and his shoulder muscles rippling under her hand sent funny little tingles through her.

“Your choice. I’m heading up to the lake regardless. Though I will remind you the whole thing was your idea.”

She smiled, ignoring her inappropriate reaction. “I know. I was just kidding. I’m looking forward to it. Anyway, I happen to be a woman of many diverse interests. I can love having my nails painted as much as I love taking a horseback ride into the backcountry to catch Arctic grayling.”

He smiled. “I’ll pick you up at 7:00 a.m. on Sunday. Does that work?”

“Should be great. I still have to gather my gear, but I should have time tomorrow after work.”

He smelled really good, she couldn’t help noticing. Some kind of subtle aftershave, sensual and tantalizing, a cross between warm solar notes and the cold salty sea.

For one wild instant, she wanted to rest her head against his shoulder and sniff his neck. That wouldn’t make things weird, would it?

Before she could do something so reckless and irrevocable, the band announced they were taking a break, and Xander released her.

“Thanks,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she suddenly felt.

“You’re welcome.” Was it her imagination or did his voice sound more husky than usual?

When he returned her to the table, she discovered the three Danish tourists were still chattering with Tank and Smitty, and they all had fresh drinks in front of them.

Clint had moved their drinks to a small, more intimate, table in the corner.

“You should probably get back to your date,” Xander said.

She was reluctant to leave him, for reasons she didn’t understand.

Why did he have so many photos of her in his room?

“Right,” she finally said. “Thanks for the dance.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Give my love to Sylvia,” she said.

“I’ll do that. Have a fun night.”

She had no reason to feel so forlorn when he turned and walked back toward his table.

She felt breathless and sweaty when she sat down across from Clint. “That was fun. I’m sorry the band is taking a break, but I’ll be glad for the chance to sit and catch my breath.”

He smiled before taking another sip of his beer. “Looks like you and Xandork had fun.”

She frowned, annoyed at the nickname on Xander’s behalf. Seriously? They had been out of high school for nearly a decade. Wasn’t it time to move on and be adults?

“We always have a good time together.”

“You’ve stayed friends over the years?”

“Yes. We try to connect whenever we can. We text a lot and try to connect through video calls. And of course I feel like I travel right along with him when I watch his YouTube channel. He has over two million subscribers. Can you believe that?”

Who’s the Xandork now? she wanted to say.

He didn’t respond and they spent the rest of the band’s break talking about other social media accounts they followed and about his efforts to create a website and social media presence for his family ranch.

When the band returned, they danced for a few songs before Ali’s energy level seriously started to dip.

Between songs, she tried to hide a yawn.

“You’re tired,” Clint said, concern in his eyes.

“Sorry. I took an early-morning ride trying to acclimatize myself to being on horseback again then worked all day at the bookstore. I’m working in the morning, too.”

“Yeah, my days start early. Should we head out?”

“Good idea. I think the band’s about done, anyway.”

To her dismay, Ali almost fell asleep on the drive back to the ranch. His truck was warm and he had soft jazz music playing, which surprised her. She would have taken Clint as strictly a country music kind of guy.

“That was really fun,” she said when he pulled up in front of her house and walked around to let her out of the truck. “Thank you so much for inviting me along with you.”

“I had a great time. The best I’ve had in a long time. I would love to see you again while you’re in town. What do you think about dinner this weekend?”

“Not this weekend. I’m sorry. I’m heading up to Hidden Lake. But I’m free most evenings next week.”

“Perfect. I’ll be in touch. I should have asked you this at the bookstore, but let me make sure I have your phone number.”

They exchanged information and entered it into their phones.

“I’ll reach out,” he promised.

“Great,” she answered. “Thanks again.”

“I would like to kiss you, Ali. I know in this particular day and age it’s better to ask than to just swoop in.”

She was shocked at how much she wanted to simply say a polite good-night and slip into the house. This was Clint Maclean, though, and she had spent her teenage years dreaming about doing exactly this with him.

She didn’t answer; she simply took a step toward him and lifted her face. He made a low sound and wrapped his arms around her, lowering his mouth to hers.

For the first few seconds, Ali felt dazed. Was she actually here, kissing her teenage crush? His mouth was warm and tasted of beer and cinnamon.

It wasn’t quite as earthshaking as she had once dreamed long ago, but it was nice. With everything in turmoil, she hadn’t gone on a single date since her father died, and she had forgotten how much she enjoyed first kisses, that initial intimate connection of mouths and bodies touching.

He made that low sound again as he deepened the kiss. It wasn’t quite a growl, more like a grunt. She wasn’t really into it, but she did like kissing him.

He smelled good, too, but not quite as enticing as she had found Xander during their brief date.

And why was she thinking about how delicious Xander smelled right now, when she was smack in the middle of kissing Clint Maclean? She tried to focus on the moment and push thoughts of any other man out of her head.

She did enjoy the kiss, but she wasn’t quite prepared when she felt one hand on her butt as he pulled her against him.

She eased away, though it wasn’t exactly easy. He was hard-muscled and tough, probably from years of fighting fires and working on a ranch.

“We should probably stop there,” she said, her breath coming in little gasps. “More than likely, my grandmother is hovering on the other side of the door.”

He groaned and lowered his forehead to hers. “You could come back to my place. I live by myself now since my mom moved down to Durango to be closer to my sister and her kids after my dad died.”

She should be at least a little tempted, shouldn’t she? Instead, all she wanted to do was go inside, take off her bra and relax.

“I’d better not. It’s already been a long day and I have to work tomorrow.”

“I could make you forget all the things you have to do tomorrow.” He gave her a smoldering look that, again, did nothing for her.

He really was gorgeous and she wanted to feel all tingly and alive. Maybe she was simply too tired.

Or maybe he wasn’t the right guy.

“I really do need to go. Thanks again for a great night, Clint.”

“Too bad,” he said with an expression of disappointment. “I understand, though. I’ll text you about next week.”

He gave her another quick, heated kiss then she opened the door and hurried inside before he walked down the porch steps toward his pickup truck.

She slipped into the house, where she was greeted by two of the cats. After following the sounds of the television, she found her grandmother asleep on the sofa, snoring softly with Chaucer stretched out next to her. One of the late-night talk shows was on with an actor she liked, pushing his latest movie.

She sat down and pulled a cat onto her lap while she watched the clip of the romantic comedy, making a mental note that she should arrange a girls’ night to go see it at the three-screen movie theater in town. She didn’t think she made any sound but after a few minutes, Loretta opened her eyes.

Her grandmother blinked and pushed up her glasses that had fallen down her nose. “Oh. You’re back. What time is it?”

“Nearly eleven,” she said, glancing at her watch.

“You’re earlier than I expected. I thought you and the Maclean boy would be partying the night away. How was it?”

“The band was great. I hadn’t heard them before. I guess they’re friends with Xander’s brother-in-law Jake and Jake’s brother Ty.”

“Oh? Were they there?”

“Yes. All three of them came together. They seemed to enjoy it.”

“That’s nice.” She sat up and gave Ali a careful look. “And what about you? Did you have fun with Clint? You evaded my question before.”

She was almost tempted to tell her grandmother that yes, she had enjoyed the date, but not as much as she might have expected. Oh, and also that Clint had wandering hands.

“I had fun.”

“Did he?”

“Well, he said he wants to go out again. So I guess.”

Loretta gave her a careful look. “Will you go out with him again?”

“We’re talking about dinner next week.”

“You’ve always had a bit of a crush on him, haven’t you?”

How had Loretta known that? Her grandmother’s perception and insight into Ali’s inner thoughts were often unsettling.

“No,” she protested. At her grandmother’s skeptical look, she sighed. “Okay. Yes. A little. But he had been with Angel Herrera since seventh grade. We were friends and I knew that was all it would ever be.”

Loretta opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m glad you had fun.”

This time she was the skeptical one. “Grandma. You were about to say something and changed your mind. Do you know something about Clint that I should know?”

“Nothing important.”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? I’m the one thinking about going out with him again.”

“You won’t like what I have to say,” Loretta predicted.

“How do we know that unless you tell me?”

Loretta rearranged the throw over her bathrobe and paused before she spoke.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, darling.”

In her experience, nothing good ever came after that sentence.

“I believe any man would be a fool not to be interested in you. You’re smart and funny and beautiful. And kind, too. But you also should remember that you are now the sole heir to your father’s estate, which includes a working ranch of more than two thousand acres. Even if you weren’t all those other things I said, I would imagine that makes you even more attractive to certain people.”

Yep. She was right. Nothing good ever came after don’t take this the wrong way.

“Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Loretta frowned. “You are an amazing person. Even if you had nothing, I believe any person you might be interested in should thank their lucky stars that he caught your eye. But the harsh reality is that Clint Maclean’s ranch is deeply in debt. Rumor is that he’s in danger of losing it if he doesn’t figure a way out of the mess his father left behind.”

Loretta gave her a sympathetic look. “And the fact is, marrying the sole heiress of the thriving neighboring ranch—an heiress who also happens to be a beautiful young woman—would be an extremely clever move on his part.”

She considered her grandmother’s words of caution with a touch of hurt and a great deal of wariness.

Loretta was right. Ali had never really thought about all the assets she would bring to any relationship.

Her dad had been frugal with his money and invested wisely. As a result, his estate was considerable. Not only the ranch, but the potential future earnings from his books, as well.

She would far rather be penniless and have her dad back, though.

She supposed it was a good thing she hadn’t been too attracted to Clint.

“I will keep that in mind, Grandma.”

Loretta rose and hugged her. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It just struck me as odd that Clint would ask you out now when he has never paid any attention to you before. It could be that he is genuinely interested in you, not the ranch. I only wanted you to be on guard. I would hate for any man to take advantage of your tender heart.”

Did she have a tender heart? Ali wasn’t sure. Her other relationships in college had been mostly casual. Fun while they lasted, but nothing that left a lasting bruise on her heart when things ended.

She had never been in love. Maybe she wasn’t capable of it.

“I’ll keep that in mind and be careful, Grandma. Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Always,” Loretta said.

Ali hugged her, kissing the top of her grandmother’s head.

“Thanks for waiting up, but with the flash sale you’re having at the bookstore tomorrow, we’re both in for a long day.”

“True enough.”

“And don’t forget that I’m leaving Sunday morning to head up to Hidden Lake with Xan.”

“That should be fun for both of you,” Loretta said as she started turning off the television and the various lamps around the room. “Maybe I’ll throw a wild party while you’re gone.”

“Sylvia and Lindsey are having a slumber party and doing their nails while they watch rom-coms. I’m sure they would be happy for one more.”

Loretta chuckled. “I might just do that. That sounds much more fun than sleeping in a tent and dealing with hordes of mosquitoes.”

“That’s what I said,” Ali said with a smile. “But Xander has his heart set on going and I don’t want to disappoint him.”

As they went to their respective bedrooms, Ali had the sudden realization that she was far more excited about spending two days with Xander than she was at the idea of going out to dinner with Clint Maclean.

Something was definitely wrong with that picture.

Chapter 28

Juniper

She was right. She knew she was.

Juniper read the passage again, tracing the words with her finger.

I wrote all day today. I believe this might be my best work. That sounds silly and arrogant when I’ve only finished one novel, but I believe The Forgotten Road rings with truth and heartbreak. I’m not sure if this story will ever be finished, or if it’s even meant to be. It feels more like a confession than a book. Still, I keep writing, chasing her ghost on the page.

June knew Beneath the Dusty Sky, his second published book, even better than she knew Purgatory River. She had once written a paper on it for her advanced placement English class in high school. It was a coming-of-age story about a teenage orphan in the 1960s who sets off on a quest to find his only living relative.

While there was a small romantic element to the story in the brief innocent relationship between his protagonist and the older girl he befriends along the way, she certainly wouldn’t have called it a love story, and she couldn’t imagine anyone else saying so.

She was immersed again in the journals when she heard the doorbell ring and caught her breath. She had almost—but not quite—forgotten that Beck had texted the night before to tell her he had to put aside the table she had watched him start while he finished an earlier project. She was still welcome to watch him, but it wouldn’t be the same project.

When she said she would stay and work on the journals, he had offered to stop by in the afternoon to take her on a short hike above the ranch if she wanted.

She rose, rotating her neck and her shoulders. Who knew that spending hours poring over a man’s journals could be so physically demanding? She should set a timer to remind herself to move a little more, as she tended to become completely absorbed in Carson Wells’s words.

She wished she could have met the man.

It felt truly odd to be living in the house of a stranger while still feeling as if you knew his inner thoughts and emotions.

She answered the door and had to smile when she saw Hank sitting on his haunches there with a few wildflowers tucked into his collar.

“For me? Oh, Hank. You shouldn’t have.”

“He picked them himself,” Beck said. He looked lean, rangy, with a baseball cap hiding his dark hair and sunglasses concealing his expression.

She smiled at him, too, though she was fiercely aware of him, and her mind instantly filled with memories of their kiss.

“Did he? I’m curious how he might have stuck them under his collar without opposable thumbs.”

“I might have done that part,” he admitted, charming her completely. “Are you still up for a short hike today?”

“Sure. I could use a break. Let me put these flowers in some water and grab my shoes.”

She found an old jar in the cupboard she had noticed earlier, filled it with water and plunked in the flowers.

They immediately brightened up the cabin, she thought.

“Have you been up to the old homestead site yet?” Beck asked. “It has a great view overlooking the whole ranch.”

She shook her head. “Is it far?”

“Not far at all and it should be mostly shady all the way. There is a slight elevation gain, but nothing too arduous. We can always turn back if you feel like it’s too much.”

She wasn’t sure about any elevation gain, but decided she couldn’t avoid hills forever. Life was full of them, wasn’t it?

“Sure.”

He waited while she slipped into her tennis shoes and grabbed her water bottle and the same baseball cap he had given her.

Outside, the air smelled sweet and clean. She soaked it into her lungs. It would be hard to leave this restful paradise in a few weeks to return to Seattle and the hectic frenzy of her life there.

“Make sure you tell me if I’m going too fast,” Beck said, then took off behind the cabin in a direction she hadn’t yet explored, following a trail through the woods that sloped up a low hill.

She was relieved she had no problem keeping up with him, though he paused a few times along the way, ostensibly to point out something in the terrain, but she knew it was mostly to allow her to catch her breath.

After a short walk, much of it uphill, they reached a clearing and what looked like an old stone foundation about twenty feet by twenty feet.

It was positioned at the top of a small hill with commanding views in every direction.

“How beautiful. I had no idea this was up here.”

“It’s well hidden by the trees. You have to know where you’re going or you will miss it.”

From here, she could see the rooftop of the large ranch house where Ali and her grandmother lived and the smaller cabin where she was staying.

The two of them sat on the higher of the foundation remnants, the one wall that remained about thirty inches above the ground.

She pulled out her water bottle and sipped. “Why would they move the ranch house from here? It’s so beautiful.”

“The spring that used to be here dried up. As the ranching family living here at the time had to dig a new well anyway, they moved down the hill. It’s better protected from the elements, too, especially the wind.”

“That makes sense.”

They sat in silence, enjoying the soft breeze while Hank sniffed at everything in sight.

She was intensely aware of him beside her. “Thank you for bringing me up here. I’ll definitely come back.”

“It’s a bit of a climb. If you’re worried about making the trip on your own, I’m happy to come with you.”

She studied him in the afternoon sunlight. “Why are you being so nice to me? Everyone around here is so nice. I can’t figure it out.”

“You say that like it’s unusual in your life. Why shouldn’t we be nice?”

“It all feels so . . . over-the-top. Alison has invited me to stay in her father’s writing cabin, and the two of you have given me a task I value by trusting me to look through Carson’s papers. You have also let me watch you work when you obviously didn’t want to, and twice now you’ve dropped everything to take me on a hike.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call this hiking. We walked five hundred yards up a well-worn path.”

“Well, thank you, anyway. I am grateful for your kindness, even if I am not sure I will ever understand it.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And I’m sorry more people haven’t been kind to you in your life.”

He spoke with a sincerity that made her want to turn to him, wrap her arms around his neck and rest her cheek against his broad chest.

The impulse shocked her, especially after she had spent nearly an entire day telling herself all the reasons why nurturing this attraction to him was a bad idea.

“We can head back down whenever you’re ready,” he said.

Pushing away the sudden yearning, she focused on the captivating view for another few moments before standing up.

As before, Hank led the way down the trail.

If she hadn’t been admiring the chaos of wildflowers growing around them, she might have noticed the softball-size rock on the path. Instead, she didn’t know it was there until her foot came down unevenly on it and she started to stumble.

She might have pitched forward if Beck hadn’t reached for her, his hands sure and steady.

“Easy there.”

“Thank you,” she said, painfully aware her voice sounded far more breathless than it should have, simply because she suddenly found herself in the arms of her very attractive temporary neighbor.

“You’re welcome.”

Was it her imagination or had his voice lowered a few notches?

She stared up at him, aware he was still holding her. The vivid memory of the kiss they had shared flashed through her mind. She wanted to do it again.

What was it about being with this man that made her feel more alive than anything else since her cardiac arrest?

She leaned forward, her lips parted slightly and her hands still pressed against his hard chest. A few inches. That was all it would take to kiss him again. She was tall enough that she didn’t even have to stand on her tiptoes.

Before she could act on the impulse, he released her and took a step back.

“Better now?” he asked.

She blinked, battling a mix of disappointment and relief.

“I . . . Yes. I’m good. I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“That can happen easily on these trails around here, especially on the downhill.”

“Good thing you caught me. I would have hated to add a broken bone to my extensive list of medical issues right now.”

He smiled and they continued walking back to the cabin.

Chapter 29

Beckett

He was becoming entirely too fond of Juniper Connelly.

As Beckett walked with her back to Carson’s cabin, he somehow managed to keep the conversation flowing. They talked about early mountain men and trappers who were the first Europeans to pass through the area, about the winters that could be harsh and relentless, about some of his upcoming projects.

The entire time they spoke, a corner of his brain kept asking what the hell he thought he was doing.

Even if he might have thought he was ready for another relationship, which he definitely wasn’t, what would be the point in even thinking about Juniper like that?

A month ago, he would have thought a woman like her was absolutely not his type. He could not imagine two women more different than Soledad and June.

His wife had been petite, barely up to his shoulder and curvy. June was only a few inches shorter than he was, tall and willowy. Beyond the physical differences, she was a driven tech executive, probably married to her work, at least according to Ali. She lived in a high-rise condo in the middle of bustling Seattle, whereas Beck did not even like visiting a smallish city like Jackson these days.

Despite that, he had these random moments when he was struck by her vulnerability, when he wanted to wrap her in his arms and protect her from any possible harm.

Hank loped ahead of them and was waiting on the porch of the cabin, tail wagging.

“I think you want a treat,” she said, scratching the dog behind the ears. She opened the door to the cabin. She must have had dog biscuits inside somewhere close to the door because she emerged seconds later with one in her hand that she handed to a grateful Hank.

Despite everything going on in her life, she had taken the time to purchase dog treats for an animal that wasn’t even hers.

She was a very hard woman to resist.

“Would you like a cold drink of water?” she asked.

He hadn’t thought to bring a water bottle for himself. While he only had a five-minute walk to his place, it was always good to hydrate, right?

“That would be great.”

“What about Hank? Does he need one”

“Sure.”

He followed her inside, noting again how the place had already begun to seem like hers in only the short time she had been here. A blanket had been tossed over the edge of the sofa; those wildflowers he had been silly enough to send to the door with Hank earlier now graced the room, and the kitchen table was covered with Carson’s journals.

It looked less like the cluttered writing retreat of a brilliant writer and more like a comfortable guesthouse.

“You look like you’re making progress going through the journals,” he said after she handed him a glass of water and filled a bowl for the dog.

“They’re so good. If you end up using all the entries I’ve marked for a collection of essays, you will have to put out more than one volume.”

“You’re really into this.”

“Yes. And I think I found more proof about the missing manuscript.”

She picked up a journal that had been open on the table, flipped to a page she had marked with a sticky note and handed it over. He scanned the words, feeling a pang of loss again as he looked at his friend’s familiar handwriting.

“It’s not definitive proof, but I have to admit it’s intriguing.”

“I would love to discover a missing manuscript. I am not one who believes in a lot of woo-woo stuff, but I almost feel like he wants me to find it.”

She looked embarrassed at her words. “That probably sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I can’t explain it, but I feel a strange connection to Carson, probably because my mom loved his work so much.”

He found her passion and drive compelling, but he didn’t tell her that. He also couldn’t mention that any connection she felt to Carson might have to do with genetics.

“I need to apply one more coat of varnish to the project I’m working on, then I can come back here and start going through boxes of his papers with you tonight, if you want.”

Her smile widened. “That would be great. Thanks. Why don’t you plan on dinner here? I have some chicken breasts I was thinking about grilling.”

That probably wasn’t the smartest idea. The more time he spent with June, the more time he wanted to spend with her.

He ignored his misgivings. “That sounds great. I’ll bring a salad.”

“Great. I’ll see you this afternoon. Thank you again for the hike. It was exactly what I needed.”

“I’m glad. That’s what I had hoped. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

He called to Hank, then headed for the door, already anticipating when he would see her again.

The rest of the day passed quickly. After applying the penultimate coat of varnish to the table he was trying to finish, he decided to run into town and pick up more lumber to be used as forms for future projects.

The lumberyard two towns over that he had found offered the best selection was busy with people working on home-improvement projects on a Saturday, and by the time he returned and unloaded the lumber from his truck to his workshop, he only had a quick few minutes to shower and change out of his work clothes.

He was coming down the stairs when his doorbell rang. Hank only lifted his head from his dog bed, not bothering to even bark.

“Some guard dog you are,” he muttered.

He was surprised to find Alison on the other side.

“Hey, you.” He gave her a quick hug. “What brings you out here?”

“I was hoping I could ask you a big favor. Xander and I are supposed to be riding up to Hidden Lake tomorrow. As I was throwing things together, I suddenly remembered our tent got a rip in it last year when Dad and I went on that quick fishing trip before I left to go back to school.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah. The whole zipper came loose on our last night, which means if I take it I’ll be sleeping with every mosquito in Wyoming. Plus, if it rains, I’ll be completely drenched. I’ll never dry out and be miserable the whole time.”

“We can’t have that.”

“Right? I don’t have time to order a new one and every place in town is closed by now. I was wondering if you might have one I could borrow.”

“Of course. It’s in the garage. You can help yourself. You can take anything else you need. Just lock up when you leave.”

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked, looking with interest at his wet hair.

“I’m heading over to the cabin.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you smell so good and look like you stepped out of the shower two minutes ago?”

He gave her a quelling look, hoping he wasn’t flushing. “I’ve been hauling lumber all afternoon. I smelled like a locker room.”

“Ah.”

He didn’t like her knowing look. “I usually take a shower at the end of the workday. It just so happens that at the end of this particular workday, I’m heading over to help your guest go through your dad’s boxes, looking for a lost manuscript.”

“Seriously? I want to help!”

Beck knew he was becoming too drawn to June when he instinctively wanted to discourage Ali from coming along. Was it because he had been looking forward to spending the evening alone with June?

So much for being careful around her. Maybe it would be for the best to have Ali along as a buffer to make sure Beck wasn’t tempted to kiss her houseguest again.

“Unless I’m going to be a third wheel,” Ali said when his silence lengthened. “In which case, I am more than happy to leave the two of you alone. Forget I said anything.”

He frowned at her implication. “There’s nothing between me and Juniper except friendship.”

“I didn’t realize you even had that.”

“We’ve gone on a few hikes,” he admitted. “And she is interested in my work and has watched me a few times.”

Ali’s eyes widened. “You really let someone come to your inner sanctum?”

“It’s not like I’m working in isolation, in some locked compound hidden away from the world. I have a stupid YouTube channel. Anybody with an internet connection can watch me work.”

“Still. That’s different. I remember how hard it was for you to even let Xander come that first time to film you.”

“I can’t help that I’m a private person.”

“Which makes it even more shocking that you let June watch. You like her, don’t you?”

Now he did feel himself flush and had to hope his coloring would mask it.

“I feel compassion toward her. She’s been through a tough time and is struggling to come to terms with her condition. Not to mention that the whole reason you invited her here was with the underlying motive of shaking her world all over again when you tell her the truth about your dad.”

Ali sighed. “It’s becoming harder and harder not to tell her.”

“Then why don’t you? While you are having trouble finding the right time and the right words, I have to struggle every time I talk to her not to spill the beans.”

He studied her. “You should come with me. What better chance to finally tell her the truth?”

Panic flashed over her features and she looked like she wanted to grab his tent and bolt back to the ranch house.

After a long hesitation, she nodded. “Maybe you’re right. She seems to be doing so much better. If I feel like she’s in a good place to hear it, I’ll try to find the perfect time to tell her.”

“There is no perfect time, Ali. Keeping the secret is only going to be harder as time goes on.”

“I know,” she said. “Fine. I’ll come with you, if you’re sure it’s okay.”

“We’re having dinner first. I’m sure June won’t mind if you come along.”

“I don’t need dinner. I grabbed a sandwich on the way home from the bookstore, but I can hang out while you eat and then help you go through boxes. Want me to give you a ride?”

He was relieved, he told himself, that she would be there to provide a buffer.

“Sure. Let me grab my tent out of the garage for you, then we can head over.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Beck.”

As they both walked toward the garage, he felt a twinge of apprehension. He could only hope June would still talk to him after Ali told her all the secrets they had both been keeping from her.

Chapter 30

Alison

As she made the drive toward the cabin, which probably took twice as long as it would have done if they had simply walked over from Beck’s place, Ali felt as if the butterflies in her stomach were putting on some kind of Vegas-style acrobatic show.

How would she ever find the right words to tell June the truth? She was going to upend her life completely. How could she simply blurt out the news that Carson was her father?

While that was the main thing giving her anxiety right now, it didn’t help that she was suddenly—and wholly unexpectedly—stressing about her trip in the morning with Xander.

She was not nervous about the trip itself. She loved riding into the Wyoming backcountry. The last time she had been to this particular area of the wilderness had been two summers ago with her father, and she was certain the familiar terrain would bring back a host of memories, both good and bad.

No. Her nerves seemed to intensify whenever she thought about spending two days with Xander, given the strange shift in their relationship.

She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about dancing with him the night before, and how she had wanted to rest her head against his shoulder and stay there all night.

What was wrong with her?

Something seemed to be changing between them. Whenever she thought of him, she felt edgy and off balance.

She had to hope this trip into the mountains would help her regain her equilibrium and return their relationship to its normal moorings.

She would worry about Xander later. Right now she had to face the half sister who had no idea they were related.

She pulled up in front of the cabin and opened her vehicle door before Beck could come around and do it for her.

The clearing in front of the cabin smelled delicious, of chicken and lemons and some kind of subtle spice.

June stood on the side deck wearing an apron while she worked the grill her dad kept there so he could cook the occasional burger while he was writing.

Ali could almost picture him standing in exactly that spot, in the very same apron. It was still so wrong to be here at The Painted Sky without him.

If June was surprised to see her arriving with Beckett, she didn’t show it.

“Hi, Ali.”

“Hi. I hope you don’t mind that I made Beck bring me along. I stopped at his place to pick up his tent and when he told me he was heading over here to start looking through Dad’s boxes, I wanted in.”

“It’s no problem. I’m about to pull some chicken off the grill.”

“Even I wouldn’t be rude enough to invite myself over for dinner. I already grabbed a sandwich when I closed up the bookstore today.”

“If you change your mind, there’s plenty.”

“Thanks.”

June seemed genuine in her welcome. Ali hoped she was still happy to see her after she told her everything.

“You look great,” she told June. “Every time I’m here, you seem a little more healthy.”

“I think the fresh air here has been good for me.”

“I’m glad.”

“I even had enough energy for a small hike today. Beck and I walked up to the old homestead site.”

“Yay! That uphill walk couldn’t have been easy.”

June made a face. “You don’t have to pretend to be excited that I managed it. I know it’s pretty pathetic for someone who had been training to run a marathon a month ago.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t pretending, June. I’m thrilled at your progress. You died in front of me, remember? The fact that you’re here right now feels like a miracle to me.”

She hadn’t meant that to sound quite so dramatic. Fortunately, Beck stepped in to ease any awkwardness.

“I brought along a Greek salad. Hope that is okay,” he said.

“That should be perfect. I made lemon-tarragon chicken. Why don’t we eat out here? It’s a nice evening.”

“Good idea,” Ali said. “I’ll grab some plates and silverware. It’s the least I can do since I didn’t bring any food.”

Inside the cabin, she found that June had already set the table for two. She again wondered if she was intruding on an intimate evening.

It seemed weird to think of them together, but not completely out of the realm of possibility.

She should make some excuse and back out now. The idea was wildly tempting, but she knew that would only delay the inevitable.

She had to tell June before the secret between them swelled to ridiculous proportions.

She grabbed another plate and silverware and carried all of the dishes to the small teak table on the patio where her dad would sometimes work when the mood struck him.

“This looks delicious,” Beck said when June had removed several chicken breast tenderloins from the grill and carried them on a serving plate to the table.

Ali wasn’t hungry, but she had to admit he was right.

“Thanks. I hope it is. I don’t cook very often in Seattle, but this is one of my few specialties. You marinate it for at least an hour in lemon juice, olive oil, tarragon, minced garlic and a little ground black pepper. Grilling makes it relatively heart-healthy. I grilled extra so I can add it to salads throughout the week.”

“Yum,” Ali said. Despite claiming she wasn’t hungry, she ended up taking a small tenderloin and some of the salad Beck had brought.

“I don’t have anything to drink but water, I’m afraid,” June said.

“That’s fine with me,” Beck answered.

“Did you check the wine cabinet? Dad usually kept a few bottles here at the cabin, but maybe Grandma took them up to the house.”

June smiled ruefully. “I didn’t feel right raiding your dad’s wine collection.”

“You can have anything you want,” Ali assured her.

It’s as much yours as it is mine, she thought.

“I’ll grab some.”

She hurried back into the cabin and went to the small wine rack in her dad’s office. He usually only had a glass or two a week, but he did like to collect it. She would have to figure out what she was going to do with it all now.

While she was far from a good sommelier, she found a nice California Chardonnay she thought would go well with the chicken.

She grabbed three glasses and carried all of it out to the patio. “I should have asked if your doctor said you can have alcohol,” she suddenly remembered.

“He said it’s fine in moderation. I’ll try half a glass tonight and see how things go.”

Ali poured for all of them with a flourish and then sat back down at the table.

“So how long are you and Xander staying at Hidden Lake?” Beck asked.

“Only overnight. It’s a quick trip because of his great-aunt.”

“Did you say you’re hiking?” June asked.

“We’re taking horses.”

“Which ones?” Beck asked.

“I’ll be on Nan and he’s going to take one of his brother-in-law’s. We’ll take Hutch along, since he’s a great packhorse.”

“Xander could always ride one of The Painted Sky horses if he wanted.”

“I told him that, but he insists he’s more comfortable with Robby.”

“Understandable. It’s better to go with the horse you know.”

“We’ve been wanting to go up there forever, but never found the chance.”

“Where is Hidden Lake?” June asked. She wasn’t eating much of her chicken, Ali noticed, only a few small bites, but seemed to be enjoying the salad Beckett had contributed.

“It’s about ten miles into the wilderness and you can only get there by hiking or on horseback. Not many people go, since it’s hard to access.”

“The fishing is really spectacular, with a unique population of native fish,” Beckett said. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

“I hope so.”

They talked about other things while they finished the meal. She let the conversation flow around her, aware she was stalling.

“That was really delicious,” Beck said. “Thank you.”

They all carried the dishes into the small kitchen, where Ali took charge of loading them into the compact dishwasher.

When everything was cleaned up, June sat at the dining table, with several of Carson’s journals stacked up in front of her.

“Where do you want to start in our grand quest?” Beck asked.

“I have no idea,” Juniper admitted. “I was hoping you might have some ideas.”

He gave Ali a meaningful look. When she remained silent, he sighed. “We’re specifically looking at something he might have written thirty-five years ago. We know when he published his first book and his second. If he wrote and discarded another manuscript in between those two, it would have dated from that window, according to your theory.”

“Right.”

“He didn’t buy this property right away. He was married to my mom and she was expecting me when they bought it.”

“He must have brought things with him, though, right?” June asked. “I mean, he kept all the journals.”

“He never wanted to throw anything away, especially when it came to his work. During my lifetime, anyway. I can’t say what he did before that.”

She considered what she knew of her father’s things. “There are boxes of his papers all over this place. They’re a mess.”

“We just have to gather them all up. The curators at Special Collections will organize everything,” Beck said, giving her another significant look. He was obviously hoping she would get on with it.

“An unknown manuscript or any papers relating to it shouldn’t be that hard to find, if it exists. I’ll go see what I can find in the spare room.”

With another speaking look at Ali, he left the two of them alone.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being too intrusive. I might be completely off base. I mean, he’s your father. You know him better than anyone else.”

Did she? She might have thought that before the DNA test came back, but her father apparently had a past she knew nothing about.

He had been in love, possibly with June’s mother. A married woman. They had created a child together.

“I suppose we never really know everything about our parents. Have you ever known anything about your parents’ romantic lives?” She was stalling, she knew.

“Not much,” June answered, looking surprised at the question. “I don’t know much about my dad at all. My mom said the two of them met in North Carolina when he was stationed there. They had only dated a few months when they decided to get married before he was deployed overseas.”

“Oh?”

“He came back briefly when I was born and she always said he adored me and loved showing me off to all his buddies. He had to go back when I was only a few weeks old and he was killed in a friendly fire accident while he was deployed.”

“Oh, how sad.”

“Yeah. My mom was heartbroken.”

“That must have been so tough for your mom. A young widow with a new baby. Did she ever talk about . . . anyone else?”

“No. Never.” June looked pensive. “And she didn’t date anyone else, either. I was always telling her to go out, assuring her I wouldn’t mind. She insisted I was her priority, not some guy who probably wouldn’t stick around, anyway.”

A pretty grim message for a mom to pass along to her daughter, and quite ironic when she hadn’t bothered to tell Carson about his daughter.

“I was fifteen when she died. She might have changed her mind once I left for college. When I look back from the perspective of an adult, I think she might have been deeply lonely.”

Why hadn’t June’s mother told Carson about their baby? Ali couldn’t imagine being a single mom doing everything on her own for fifteen years.

“What about your parents?” June asked. “How did they meet?”

“My mother worked at his publishing house. She was an associate editor while she was in law school. She never worked on his books, though. That would have been too weird. They met at a book event and started a correspondence. We might find her letters. If we do, I certainly don’t want to include those in what we’re sending to the archive. They’re personal.”

She had the sudden thought that maybe they would find letters from June’s mother among her father’s papers that might explain the mysteries around Elizabeth’s and Carson’s relationship.

Beck came out with his arms full of three dusty boxes. He looked warily between the two women, and his mouth tightened when Ali gave a tiny shake of her head to let him know she hadn’t said anything yet.

“I tried to sort through and find the oldest boxes I could,” he said. “These two appear to have documents inside dating them to right before Carson bought the ranch.”

“That’s too late in our hypothetic timeline,” June said.

“But not everything is perfectly organized,” he said.

“My dad was hopeless at that kind of thing,” Ali admitted. “Especially before he married my mom. I think she was more concerned about his legacy than he was so she tried to come up with a system to keep things straight, but I’m not sure how far back in his past she might have gone to put things in order.”

“I grabbed the oldest I could find. Maybe he has others somewhere else, but this is at least a place to start.”

They each took a box and began sorting through the various ephemera. Ali found royalty statements, review clippings, memorable fan letters and a printed manuscript that had her heart pumping until she realized it was for his fourth book that had come out shortly after she was born.

“Find anything?” Beck asked, setting aside his own box.

“Lots of interesting things,” June said. “But not what we’re seeking.”

“The other boxes in there all seem more recent. We can look through them, but I don’t think we’ll find anything.”

He grabbed more and they started the process all over again.

“Did he keep any papers anywhere else?” June asked after they each had sorted through four boxes, to the same negative result. “A safe deposit box? A secret vault somewhere in the ranch house?”

“If only,” Ali said with a laugh. “There might be some boxes in the attic over at the house. We could always check.”

“But not tonight,” Beck said. “You’re leaving early in the morning.”

Ali looked at her watch and was shocked to see it was past nine and she still had to throw together a few more supplies for their trip.

“Thank you both for indulging me,” June said. “As I was telling Beck earlier, I have no idea why everyone here in Wyoming has been so kind to me but I’m deeply grateful for it. I don’t want to sound like a cynic, but in my experience, people almost always have an ulterior motive. It’s so refreshing to find people who are kind simply for the sake of being kind.”

Beck turned to look straight at Ali with such a meaningful, unmistakable expression on his features that she knew she couldn’t put this off any longer.

She drew in a deep breath and faced the other woman.

“Don’t pin any medals on me, June. I did have an ulterior motive. I’ve just been afraid to tell you the truth.”

Chapter 31

Juniper

June looked between Beck and Alison, nerves suddenly jumping through her like grasshoppers in tall grass.

What might her ulterior motive be? Random thoughts, each more outlandish than the previous one, raced through her mind in the few seconds it took her to marshal a response.

Maybe she had brought Juniper here to this remote Wyoming ranch so they could harvest her organs or something. Too bad, since she had a wonky heart.

“What ulterior motive?” she finally asked when the silence dragged out.

“You had better sit down,” Alison said.

June sank down onto a kitchen chair. “What are you talking about? What possible ulterior motive might have compelled you to invite me here?”

“It actually goes back longer than that,” Alison admitted, shifting in her own chair. “I had an ulterior motive before I ever applied for the internship at Move Inc.”

Those nerves jumped even harder. What was this all about?

Beck eased toward the door. “This is between the two of you. I’ll get out of your way and head back to my place.”

June speared him in place with a look. “Do you know what this is all about?”

When he didn’t answer, she knew he must. He had been keeping secrets from her. She shouldn’t feel this sense of betrayal, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

“Stay,” she said. “I have a feeling you’re part of this.”

Alison nodded. “Stay, Beck. Please.”

With clear reluctance etched on his features, he returned to the table and sat down.

Ali folded her hands together so tightly, June could see veins in her knuckles. “It’s a really long story. I’m not quite sure where to start.”

June’s sense of foreboding only increased. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you applied for an internship with me?”

Ali hesitated then met her gaze. “You know my dad died in December. I was home from school on break when it happened. We had just shoveled after a snowstorm and we were both changing into dry clothes. Grandma had already gone into the bookstore since they were extra busy in the weeks leading up to the holidays.”

She fell silent and Beckett reached out and squeezed her clasped hands. She sent him a grateful look before returning her attention to June.

“His cardiac arrest came on fast. The widow-maker, a blockage in the left anterior descending artery, which supplies fifty percent of the heart’s blood supply. I heard him collapse from my room and ran in to find him on the floor.”

“That must have been terrifying.”

How astonishing that Ali had experienced a similar medical emergency twice in a matter of months.

“I didn’t remember how to do CPR at the time. I had been trained when I was younger as part of a babysitting class I took in Girl Scouts, but I had never refreshed my skills or anything. As I remember, they mostly talked about doing the Heimlich on a choking kid and stuff like that. Not on a fully grown adult man who weighs twice as much as you do. I didn’t know what to do for him.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Beckett said gently. “We’ve talked about this, Al. You know he was gone before he even hit the floor.”

Her chin trembled slightly and she took a few breaths to compose herself before she continued.

“It still doesn’t change the fact that I should have at least been able to try helping him. You never know. It worked with June.”

“You obviously had some training between December and a few weeks ago.” June could only be grateful, though she found it bittersweet that she had only been saved because a brilliant writer had been lost.

“I enrolled in a CPR class the day after the funeral so it would never happen again.”

“And that’s why you were able to help me.”

Alison nodded.

“I’m sorry you went through that. I’m still not sure what any of it has to do with me.”

Alison looked at Beck then back at June. “A few weeks before my dad died, we had both sent in one of those online DNA tests to find out more about our heritage. My grandma Loretta was adopted and she doesn’t know much about where she came from, and my dad was curious about what we could find out.”

“I did the same thing a few years ago, since both of my parents’ ethnicity was a mystery to me.”

“I know you did.”

She frowned at the odd response. “How would you know that? Did we talk about it when you were my intern?”

Alison released a heavy breath. “I don’t know if you remember this from when you took the test, but one of the things you can find out is whether you are connected to anyone else who has done a DNA test through the same company.”

She had found a few distant relatives, but had forgotten all about it until right this moment. Was that why Alison had connected with her? Because they were distant cousins or something?

“Yes. I remember being surprised that I had some Native American heritage. I had no idea before then. I think it came down on my father’s side.”

“A few weeks after my father’s death, I received an email that my results were in. I was numb at the time. Still reeling and trying to catch up with my classwork for my final semester. I had wanted to drop out completely after Dad died and stay here, but Grandma and Beck wouldn’t let me.”

“I was afraid if you left, you would have a hard time going back. You were one semester away from your law degree,” he said, his voice mild. “Too close to give it up after all your hard work.”

Alison didn’t look convinced, and June had the thought again that she wasn’t completely sure the other woman even wanted to be an attorney.

“When I received the email about the results, I cried right there at my laptop because it was one more thing I could never talk to my dad about.”

Beck squeezed her hands again as June experienced a quick flashback to after her mother had died, when she had walked around in a daze, wondering when she would wake up from the bad dream and her mom would walk through her bedroom door to greet her with a smile and hug.

“Losing a parent is tough no matter how old you are,” she said.

“After a good cry,” Ali continued, “I went to their website to look at my results. There was nothing too earthshattering, other than that I also have some Native American heritage, also from my father’s side.”

She faced her with an intensity in her expression that June found unsettling. That sense of foreboding crawled down her spine again.

“Way down at the bottom, after I had been through pages and pages of info, was a small mention that the test had detected several relatives who had also submitted their DNA. Including one mystery connection that shared a substantial number of DNA markers with me. So many, it meant that connection was either a parent or a half sibling.”

“Right. Because your dad had submitted his DNA, as well.” What did any of this have to do with her?

“Yes. This wasn’t my dad, though. I saw his, as well. This was someone else. A female contributor.”

She gave a significance to the words, as if she expected everything to make sense to June.

“I was completely baffled and couldn’t figure out who it might be, but the test gave me a username and email that had been used to submit the test. After a bit of basic internet sleuthing, I traced the username to one person. You.”

June suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The test said clearly and unmistakably that I had a close relative I knew nothing about. Most probably a half sibling. A woman who shared half of my DNA on my father’s side.”

She was going to pass out. She literally felt the blood rush from her face. This time, Beck reached out to put a hand on her arm.

“Here. Drink some water.” He handed her glass to her, and she grasped it with fingers that trembled and lifted it to her mouth, trying to make sense of all of this.

“I don’t understand. Did your mother know my father somehow? That’s impossible, though. He died long before you were born.”

“I think the question you need to ask is not if, but how did your mother know my father? Our father.”

She stared at the stack of notebooks on the table, unable to process the shocking suggestion.

“Carson?”

Alison nodded. “The mystery person also shared a substantial amount of DNA with the account I already knew belonged to my dad. And also to the account of my grandmother Loretta.”

“You’re . . . you’re trying to tell me that Carson Wells is my father? That’s impossible. My father was Jimmy Connelly, a soldier who was killed while fighting for his country. He was a hero!”

She had carried around a picture of him after her mother died, when she moved to Cape Sanctuary to her foster home with Stella.

None of this made any sense. She remembered again how much her mother had loved to read all of Carson’s books and had a signed copy of his first one.

“I’m very sorry to break it to you like this,” Ali said, her voice low. “But I don’t know how else I could have told you. I . . . I wanted to find the right time and nothing ever felt ideal. I applied for an internship with Move Inc in hopes of maybe getting to know you a little before springing the news on you completely out of the blue. That obviously didn’t work out well.”

“Except it did put you in the right place at the right time to save June’s life,” Beckett pointed out.

June stared at both of them, struck by the weird confluence of events that had brought Alison to her office at exactly the right moment.

“This can’t be happening. I . . . If Carson was my father, why wouldn’t my mother tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Ali admitted. “How long had she and your . . . Jimmy Connelly been married when your mother had you?”

“Three years. They married when she was eighteen and she had me when she was twenty-one. Only a few years younger than Carson would have been.”

“Adult relationships are messy,” Beck said. “Maybe it was simply easier to explain to a child that her husband was your father and that he died.”

“Maybe she had planned to tell you at some point, but she died before she had the chance,” Ali suggested.

She couldn’t contemplate Elizabeth Connelly keeping this vast of a secret from her. They had been so close, sharing everything.

“This is . . . This is all too much.”

“I know,” Ali whispered, her chin wobbling again with her distress. “I’m sorry. It was a huge shock to me, too, believe me. I have wanted to tell you for a long time. I was going to tell you the day you terminated my internship but . . .”

“But then I had a cardiac arrest.”

“Yes. And you’ve been recovering from it since then and it never seemed like the right time to spring something so major and earthshaking on you.”

She didn’t know how to process everything. She couldn’t believe it. Not without proof. She couldn’t imagine any reason Ali might lie about something as serious and life-changing as her paternity, but June didn’t accept anything, in business or in life, without some kind of verification.

“I’m sorry. I do believe you received the test results you say you did. But that’s not enough for me. I will need more evidence.”

“I assumed as much. I have a couple of DNA tests ready to submit to an independent lab. I almost took a swab from you while you were still out of it in the hospital, but that didn’t seem right.”

“It wouldn’t have been,” Beck said, his voice stern.

“I didn’t do it,” Alison protested. “I only thought about doing it. But by then I had worked with you long enough to know you would insist on being involved every step of the way in obtaining further proof.”

She looked across the table at this woman who claimed to be her half sister. A half sister! She couldn’t take it in.

For some strange reason, she felt the sting of tears.

Since coming to Wyoming, June had come to consider Ali a dear friend. Yet somehow, she had been keeping this monumental secret from her this entire time.

“Are you saying you think I’m a control freak?”

“Not at all. But I have watched you analyze every decision. You prefer verifiable facts.”

“Anyone would,” Beck said.

“I can bring the tests over tomorrow if you want and you can be the one to send them in, either to the lab I contacted or to any other one you want.”

“You don’t think it’s necessary, though.”

Alison shrugged. “I’ve seen all the DNA results I need to see. I know you’re my half sister. Somehow in the past, our parents connected. We know they did because your mother had a signed copy of Dad’s first book. He must have given it to her.”

“If what you’re saying is true, apparently that wasn’t the only thing he gave her,” June muttered.

Beck made a sound that might have been a surprised laugh. He quickly masked it by sipping at the wine he had carried inside.

“I’m sorry to hit you with this,” Ali said again. “Believe me, it was all a huge shock to me, too, but I’ve had several months to come to terms with it.”

“For what it’s worth,” Beckett offered in a calm voice, “I don’t believe Carson knew you existed.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Not for certain. But I knew the man. At his core, Carson was one of the most honorable people I ever met. If he had known about you, I believe he would have done everything possible to fight for a role in your life. He certainly would never have let you go into the foster care system after your mother died.”

Oh, how she had longed for family after Elizabeth’s death. Stella had been wonderful and kind and loving and she felt extraordinarily fortunate to have found a safe home with her. Still, June had always known her time in Cape Sanctuary was temporary.

“It’s also possible your mother didn’t know you were Carson’s child, either,” he went on, his voice gentle now.

“My mother was not the sort of woman to sleep around,” she said sharply.

“I didn’t say she was. But she was married to another man at the time you were conceived. Wouldn’t it have been natural for her to assume you were her husband’s child?”

Possibly. Did that explain why she hadn’t told Carson she was pregnant?

She felt as if she were caught in a hurricane, being buffeted around and around. Her mother had been the foundation of her life, her rock. If all of this was true, how could Elizabeth have kept something so huge from her?

“That’s the reason you brought me here to recover. So you could find a way to tell me you think we’re . . . we’re half sisters?”

Ali gave a rueful nod. “Partly, I guess. Your doctor said you needed peace and quiet during your recovery. The ranch has acres and acres where you can have all the peace and quiet anyone might need. I was coming home, anyway, and inviting you here seemed like the right thing to do.”

She reached for June’s hand, her fingers warm against June’s colder one. “Plus, I thought Dad would have wanted you to stay here in his writing cabin. He didn’t know about you while he was alive. But if he had known, I know he would have wanted to help you.”

She felt lightheaded from the wild tumult of emotions crowding through her. Carson Wells might be her father. This ranch she had come to love might be part of her heritage. She couldn’t soak it all in.

“Obviously, you will need some time to process everything.” Ali released her hand and stood.

“It’s a lot.”

“I know. I’m sorry. And I’m leaving tomorrow with Xander. The timing is terrible, I know. As soon as we’re back in town, I’ll come over with the new DNA tests, if that’s okay.”

When June didn’t answer, Ali looked uncertain. “Unless you would rather I not go,” she said. “I can reschedule this trip with Xander.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know. I feel weird about dumping this on you and then taking off. I can stay so we can talk more about it, if you want.”

“What else is there to say? You think I’m your sister. I won’t be convinced until I can see the results myself.”

Ali touched her shoulder. “I know this has been a shock to you and probably changes everything you thought you knew about yourself. I’m sorry for that, but you should also know that I already love having you for a sister.”

A sister. She blinked, suddenly feeling the burn of tears again. She had longed for a sister most of her life, had been so envious of all her friends who had siblings.

“Do you want to ride with me, Beck?”

“I’ll walk,” he answered with a careful look at June.

“Okay. Thanks for the tent, then.”

He stood and hugged her. “You’re welcome. Have fun. Be safe.”

Ali smiled at both of them, warm to Beck and more tentative to June, then she slipped out the door.

Chapter 32

Beckett

After Ali left, the cabin was silent. June looked shaken, her features pale and her mouth pinched.

He wanted to pull her into his arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sitting down next to her at the table that was covered with her father’s journals.

She gave a short laugh. “No. In fact, I’m about as far from okay as possible. And that’s coming from someone who recently had a cardiac arrest. How would you feel if you just found out everything you thought you knew about yourself and about your life might be wrong?”

“It doesn’t change who you are. You are still Juniper Connelly, a woman of strength and courage who has worked damn hard to create her own success. You are still a loving daughter who has cherished memories of your mother. You are still a survivor.”

“I loved my father. I never knew him so I didn’t love him, per se. I have no memories of him at all. But I loved the idea of him. My mother always talked about what a good, honorable man he was and how much he had loved being my father.”

She suddenly pressed a fist to her stomach, a single tear dripping out to slide down the side of her nose. He felt helpless, not knowing how to comfort her in the face of this kind of upheaval.

“How could she have done it?”

He frowned. “Alison?”

“My mother! How could she have passed me off as Jimmy Connelly’s child?”

“She might not have known otherwise, June.”

“If Alison is right, my mother had an affair. She was married to my father and she slept with Carson Wells.”

“People do all kinds of things for reasons we can’t know.” He wished he had a better answer for her, but it was all he could come up with.

“You don’t understand. This is Elizabeth Connolly we’re talking about. She was always going on about character and integrity. How your actions defined your character. You are what you do, she always said.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Once, she found a hundred dollar bill in the pocket of a coat she bought at a charity shop and she returned it to the store! I asked her why, when we never had any spare change and could have used a windfall like that ourselves—and when the store probably wouldn’t be able to find the owner, anyway. She said that while it was true we could have found a use for the money, she would rather have it go for a good cause than to keep it and spend it, knowing it didn’t belong to us.”

Ah. That must be where June had inherited her sense of honor, of decency, that seemed an integral part of her. He admired it, even as he understood those traits would also make it even harder to accept that her mother might have made some difficult choices.

“She sounds remarkable.”

“She was. Or at least I always thought so. How could that same woman cheat on her husband?”

He reached for her hand and folded his own around her cold, trembling fingers, trying to give her some of his warmth. “I wish I had answers for you. Your mom is gone so we can’t ask her side of it. We will probably never know the details about what happened between her and Carson.”

June looked down at their joined hands, then her gaze shifted beyond them to the stacks of journals on the table.

“But we do have Carson’s journals from that time. He talked about everything.”

She pulled her hands away and picked one up, flipping it open. “Maybe my mother was his lost love. His ‘E.’ I think she is the woman he wrote The Forgotten Road about! We have to find that manuscript!”

He was relieved that the stricken look in her eyes had given way, if only temporarily, to excitement. At the same time, he didn’t want her to have to process more disappointment with everything else.

“We don’t know that there is a manuscript,” he reminded her gently.

“There is. There has to be. Maybe it has all the answers. About my mother, about their relationship. About me.”

“He couldn’t have known about you, June. We might not know what happened between Carson and your mother, but again, I have not a single shred of doubt about that.”

She released a breath, clutching the journal tightly, this tangible link to the father she hadn’t known in life.

“You knew all this time about the DNA connection between me and Alison, didn’t you? From the time you picked us up at the airport. You knew that’s why she brought me here to Wyoming.”

He said nothing, but he didn’t need to. His silence was answer enough.

“You should have told me.”

“I wanted to. I wrestled with myself about it.”

“If it was such a dilemma for you, why not tell me?”

“It wasn’t my secret. And what would I have said? You wouldn’t have believed me, anyway, would you?”

“Probably not,” she admitted. “I still don’t like that you kept it from me.”

“When you first arrived here, you weren’t in a good place for that kind of shock. You were still healing and trying to adjust mentally to a major health diagnosis.”

“I’m still trying to adjust.”

He again wanted to hug her. So many changes in her life, one on top of the other.

“I know,” he said softly. “I expect you will be for some time. For what it’s worth, I’ve been urging Ali to tell you since you started feeling better. She wanted to, but I think she was afraid to push you away.”

She was silent, sipping at her water. He was happy to see her hands had stopped trembling, though he suspected she would be processing the news for a long time.

“Is that why you’ve been so nice to me?” she finally asked. “Because you believe I’m your friend’s daughter?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know that I have been particularly nice to you.”

“You let me watch you work. You gave me a job to do, looking through the journals. You took me for a hike.”

You kissed me.

She didn’t say the words, but they hovered between them and he felt them, with a curious ache in his chest.

“At first,” he went on, “I might have been polite to you because of your connection to Carson and Ali. But throughout the time you’ve been in Bridger Peak, I’ve also come to like you in your own right.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“Why wouldn’t I like you, June? You are a smart, driven, passionate woman, traits I find incredibly appealing.”

She gazed at him, eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. The urge to kiss her burned through him, but he couldn’t do it. He didn’t need to complicate her life even more, after everything that had happened that day, or do something they would both regret.

She glanced away briefly. When she met his gaze again, he saw she had donned her calm composure.

“I’m still not happy about you lying to me,” she said. “Okay, maybe you didn’t lie overtly, but you certainly withheld important truths from me. You should have told me.”

“I should have. You’re right. I’m sorry. Next time I find out you’re the secret love child of my neighbor and friend, I’ll tell you straightaway.”

She made a face, though he could tell his facile response had eased the subtle tension between them.

“I’m also sorry we didn’t get very far with your manuscript quest. I can come back again tomorrow, if you want.”

“I would appreciate that. I’m more determined than ever to find the manuscript.”

“I’ll be in touch tomorrow about a time that works.”

“Sounds good.”

He studied her as he rose. “Don’t be too hard on Ali for not telling you right away. She adored her father and I think she was conflicted for a long time about even reaching out to you. In the end, she decided it was the right thing to do. I’m glad she did. I hope in time, you will be, as well.”

“I would like to see the verifying DNA results first. Then we’ll see.”

“Understandable. Good night, June. Thanks for dinner.”

“I forgot we even had dinner,” she said with a raw-sounding laugh as she rose, as well. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

Now he couldn’t resist following through on the impulse he had been fighting since Ali left. He pulled her into his arms.

She sagged against him, her arms around him. She didn’t cry; she simply held on as if they were caught in a flash flood and he was the one solid thing keeping her from being swept under.

They stood that way for a long time, until he felt the slight tremors of her body ease, then he stepped away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, then he kissed her forehead and walked out of the cabin.

Chapter 33

Alison

“So now I don’t know if she’ll ever speak to me again. I finally have the sister I’ve always wanted, but now I’m afraid I will lose her before I really have the chance to know her.”

In the passenger seat of the ranch pickup truck, Xander sent her a compassionate look. “I’m sure she’ll come around. It must have been a huge shock to her.”

Ali sighed, making the last turn toward the trailhead. It had taken her the entire drive after she picked up him, his gear and his brother’s horse to tell him everything that had happened at the cabin the day before.

“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell her before! She didn’t need another huge shock right now.”

“All you can do is wait, I guess. Seems like the timing isn’t the greatest for us to take this trip. Do you want to forget about it?”

She had considered it several times during the mostly sleepless night she suffered after telling June everything. Now, as she drove through the dawn mist toward the mountains, she was glad she hadn’t backed out.

“We’ve been planning this for a week. I wasn’t going to cancel on you. A few days’ wait before we take the DNA test to verify our connection won’t make any difference. And maybe some time apart from each other will do us both good.”

She hoped she hadn’t pushed her sister away completely. Maybe when she returned to the ranch, she would find June had fled and wanted nothing more to do with her.

No. June wasn’t someone who ran away from her problems.

“So how was your date the other night?” Xan asked. “Was Clint everything you ever dreamed?”

With all that had happened since then, she had almost forgotten about going out with Clint.

“It was fun. We didn’t have a chance to talk much, since we were so busy dancing.”

“Did Tank and Smitty stick with you all night?”

She made a face. “Not the whole night, thank heavens. They met up with some Danish tourists who were much more interesting.”

“Are you seeing him again?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

“He wants to go to dinner some night this week. I told him I wasn’t sure of my schedule.”

“Ah.”

She sent him a sidelong look before returning her attention to the road. “Grandma gave me a big lecture when I got home about how I have to be careful of cash-poor cowboys like Clint, now that I’m a trust-fund baby.”

“Probably good advice,” he answered.

She didn’t have a chance to respond as she slowed down to turn in to the parking lot at the trailhead as the sun crested the mountains.

“You’re still okay if I shoot our trip?”

She probably looked exhausted, nothing like his usual lovely companions, but she knew he wanted to make a video for his travel channel of the trips available closer to his home.

“I guess,” she said.

She had already agreed and didn’t want to back out now, even if she did have bags as big as horseshoes under her eyes.

Xander set up two different tripods and cameras to record them unloading the horses from the trailer, saddling the two they were riding, Nan and Robbie, loading up their packhorse, Hutch.

Finally, when everything was ready, she locked up the truck and trailer, stowed the key where she couldn’t lose it in her saddlebag and waited while he gathered his cameras again and set them up before she mounted Nan.

“Where are we and where are we going?” he asked her, holding up another camera for her to answer for the video.

“We are at the trailhead which will eventually lead us to, among other places, Hidden Lake, in the Wind River mountain range, which is in the Bridger Wilderness of western Wyoming.”

“How far will we be going?”

“It’s about ten miles of hard riding into the lake, with spectacular scenery along the way.”

“You’re from this area, but you’ve been going to law school in Utah,” he said. “How long since you’ve been on a horse?”

If he was going to film every minute, she really should have put some makeup on, though that probably would have looked stupid for a trip into the wilderness on horseback.

“I’ve been trying to ride every day since I came back earlier this summer, but those have all been pretty short rides, no more than an hour or two. What about you?”

He turned the camera back to himself. “I’ve been a few times this summer, but I’m definitely out of practice. I’m hoping it comes back, like riding a bike.”

She smiled. “For what it’s worth, I am slightly more experienced on a horse than on a bike. And don’t worry. Nan and I will take pity on you and try to set a slow pace.”

“Thanks.”

He grinned and she thought how cute he looked in his trucker cap, jeans, boots and, like her, a zippered hoodie they would both probably be shedding within the hour as the day heated up.

For now, it was brisk and refreshing as they started up the trail. This was her favorite time in the mountains, early morning in the middle of summer, when the wildflowers blanketed the meadows and the birds chattered noisily in the trees.

She was glad they had decided to ride horses instead of hiking in, even though it was logistically more complicated. They had to haul in certified weed-free feed for the horses, all their tack and any other emergency supplies they might need for them.

A ten-mile hike through the rugged terrain probably would have taken them most of the day. On horseback, they could be there in a few hours, set up and still have all afternoon and evening to fish, as well as the next morning before they had to ride back out.

They rode single file up the narrow track to avoid damaging plant life and unintentionally widening the trail, with Hutch on a lead rope behind her, and Xander bringing up the rear.

The first few miles, they climbed steadily deeper into the mountains, though Xander stopped them several times so he could set the cameras up to record video of them as they rode past, and twice so he could put up his drone to follow them from above before they reached the actual wilderness area, where drones were illegal.

His videos always seemed so effortless, she never really thought about how complicated the process of making them must be.

After an hour or so, they stopped to stretch their legs and let the horses have a drink from the creek running near the trail before they led them away to stake them on a picket line away from the running water.

“Why shouldn’t you tie up your horses close to a water source?” Xander asked, his camera trained on her as she hitched the horses to the line.

“How detailed do you want me to get?” she asked.

“The whole truth. That’s what I try to show on my travel videos, good, bad and in between.”

“Okay. Well, animals tend to poop wherever you put them. If they’re too close to a water source, that can end up in the water that other animals drink out of, which can spread illness or disease. So you always want to find a place away from water sources.”

“How long have you been riding in these mountains?” he asked.

“My whole life. My parents used to bring me up here a few times every summer. My dad and I took a ride not too far from here last year. It was our last time camping together before he died.”

Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and Xander turned off his camera and reached for her hand to pull her into a hug.

“I can cut that out if you want,” he said.

He smelled really good, she thought again. Even better than he had the night they danced together. Sunshine and leather and sage.

“I’m not ashamed to express how much I miss my dad. It’s part of me every day. I’ve been away at school for seven years so you might think I would be used to the separation, but I talked to him every day when I was in school. I still pick up my phone and start to dial his number, then have to remember he won’t ever answer again.”

He tightened his arms and held her for a moment longer before he released her slightly. She looked up and met his gaze and was certain she saw something, a little spark she wasn’t sure she had ever seen there before.

He quickly released her and stepped away.

For an instant, she almost thought he wanted to kiss her. Impossible. This was Xander. He didn’t think about her romantically, any more than she thought about him that way.

But he did have a whole photo album containing pictures of her.

“I brought a PB&J sandwich for you if you want,” she said. “Little midmorning energy boost.”

“Thanks.”

They ate quickly, then Xander recorded some content about the wilderness area they were about to enter and some of the best trails for beginners and intermediate hikers. While he was wrapping up, Ali left to walk up the trail to stretch her legs.

When she returned, he was readying the horses, leading them back down to the creek to drink again before taking them back to the trail.

“Did you get enough footage?” she asked when he returned. “I don’t mind waiting longer.”

“Should be good. We’ve only started the trip. I’ll have time for more.”

It was too warm for the hoodies now so they both took them off and tucked them away before they mounted and headed back up the trail.

Xander stopped along the way twice more to video the terrain they passed through and once when they spotted a black bear and a couple of cubs far off the trail.

It took them probably twice as long to reach Hidden Lake as it might have if Xander hadn’t been recording content for his channel, but she didn’t mind. His frequent stops gave her time to enjoy their surroundings and appreciate the beauty and solitude around them.

They only saw one other group, a trio of guys with big backpacks and fishing gear heading in the opposite direction, who moved to the side of the trail to let them pass.

“How’s the fishing?” Xander asked them.

“Great,” one of the guys said. “We’ve been up to Lake Solitude for two days and had a great time.”

Xander asked the guys if he could film them for his channel and they were only too happy to chat with him about their hike. They learned they were high school friends from Idaho who took a different adventure every summer.

Finally, when the horses were growing restless, she and Xander pressed on.

“I hope we find the same good fishing up at Hidden Lake,” he said as they rode.

“Me, too.”

Ali didn’t necessarily love to fish. She mostly enjoyed hanging out in the mountains and savoring the silence and the sheer joy of being disconnected from technology and to-do lists and study assignments.

When they arrived at the lake, so named because it was in a bowl of mountains accessed only through a narrow canyon, she found no sign of anyone else.

The only movement was the breeze that rippled the water and sent the aspen leaves trembling.

Some might find the silence and peace disconcerting, she knew. Not Ali. She loved it here, listening only to the wind in the trees and the occasional birdsong.

“Should we set up there in the trees? It looks like a logical campsite,” Xander said.

The campsite was slightly above the lake on a small plateau surrounded by aspen and pine.

After they had settled the horses with feed and water, they went to work setting up their individual tents. She was grateful Beck’s tent was basically a pop-up, very easy to figure out. Xander helped her stake it down and attach the rain fly.

They also worked together to hang their food supplies in the trees slightly away from their camp, hopefully out of reach of any passing bears. Xander filmed her tying up the bundle and hefting it up with the pulley system, asking her questions along the way about what she was doing and why.

Being on camera left her self-conscious at first, though Xander assured her she was a natural.

“We might be in for a storm later,” he said, pointing his camera to dark, ominous clouds gathering in the sky.

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised. I can’t remember a single time when I’ve been up here during the summer when we didn’t have an afternoon shower. How does Robbie do with thunder? It doesn’t bother Nan or Hutch at all.”

“He should be fine. He’s good-tempered and calm, though I’ve never weathered a storm with him. I guess we’ll find out.”

After their camp was set up, including a couple of hammocks strung in the trees, they enjoyed coffee and a quick lunch of more PB&J sandwiches, then Xander headed away to take pictures from various viewpoints around the lake.

She decided to try out one of the hammocks they had hung between some sturdy pine trees. After rifling through her saddlebag for the mystery novel she had packed along, Ali climbed in and quickly lost herself in the story as dappled light filtered through the pine boughs above her.

So far, this had been a perfect day, being alone in the mountains with a dear friend, no distractions and nothing else to do but savor the moment.

Chapter 34

Juniper

June yawned as she spooned some yogurt out of the container on the porch. Even the silly antics of the resident squirrels who lived in the trees near the cabin couldn’t shake her from this malaise.

She hadn’t slept more than a few hours, her mind chasing thought after thought, trying to come to terms with Ali’s shocking announcement that they were half sisters.

Was it possible? Could she actually be the secret daughter of Carson Wells? How could her mother have withheld something of such significance from her?

She would likely never know the answer to that, unfortunately. She sipped at her coffee, trying to calm her breathing and her thoughts, as she had been doing since Ali had told her everything the night before.

She had managed to focus on the beauty of the morning when she saw movement coming through the trees and spotted Hank loping down the path. She would truly miss this guy when she returned to Seattle.

“Good morning,” she called out as he headed straight for her. “Yes, I’ve got a treat for you. They’re inside.”

When she returned with his promised treat, she found Beck walking through the trees after his dog.

The hitch in her breathing severely annoyed her. Yes, the man had kissed her. So what? It hadn’t meant anything for either of them.

“Morning,” he called as he approached the house.

She lifted a hand in greeting, wishing he didn’t look so ridiculously gorgeous in the slanting morning sunlight.

He stepped up onto the porch and leaned against the railing, studying her with disconcerting scrutiny.

“I gave Hank a treat. Would you like coffee for yours?”

“I’m good. I’ve already had two cups this morning. Any more and I’ll get the shakes. Were you able to sleep at all?”

She sighed, though she felt herself flush. Did she really look that haggard? “Not much.”

“Understandable. You’ve had a lot to digest over the past twelve hours.”

“You have no doubt that I’m Carson’s daughter, do you?”

He shook his head. “I might have questioned the DNA results when Ali first told me about them. When I saw the two of you together and really looked at you both, I could see it. Your coloring is different and you’re obviously taller, but there are definite similarities in your bone structure.”

“I finally logged in to the DNA database for the first time since I did my initial test. I saw the link to Ali and to the user who is apparently Carson and also to Loretta.”

“Are you convinced?”

“Getting there. But I still need further proof. That’s how I am.”

“I completely understand.”

She wished she understood any of this. “It’s so hard for me to wrap my head around the possibility. I feel as if everything I thought I knew about myself is a lie.”

“What’s different, other than your paternity? You’re still you. Juniper Connelly. You still had the same wonderful mother. You’re still a passionate, driven professional trying your best to make your mark.”

She wasn’t even sure of that anymore.

“I came over to go through boxes with you, but I’ve got a better idea. My trailer is loaded up with that console table I was working on. I need to deliver it to a place in Jackson Hole. I planned to take it tomorrow, but how do you feel about a drive today? We could even grab a picnic lunch and head into Grand Teton National Park.”

“I might be pretty lousy company,” she said. “After last night, I’ll probably sleep the whole way.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” he said.

She had to admit she really didn’t want to be stuck here with her thoughts, and she didn’t want to go through more of Carson’s papers. Now that she was viewing them through a different lens, she couldn’t bring herself to read the journals, either, though she knew she might find the answers she was seeking.

“Sure. I’ve never been to Jackson. I’ve heard it’s a great town.”

“I think you will love it,” he said with a delighted smile. “I’ll go grab the truck and hitch the trailer and I’ll be back in twenty minutes to pick you up.”

“Do you need help?”

“No. I’ve got it.”

Before she could respond, he trotted down the steps, whistled to Hank and headed quickly back the way he had come, leaving June shaking her head.

Why had she agreed to go with him?

The idea of an entire day with Beck was both exhilarating and somewhat terrifying. She was already so drawn to him, and that attraction only grew stronger as she spent more time with him.

On the other hand, he had an uncanny ability to calm and center her. What would be the harm in going with him? She had wanted to see Grand Teton National Park while she was in Wyoming. This would provide the perfect opportunity.

She had already wasted five minutes of the limited time he had given her trying to make up her mind, she realized. Whatever happened to the decisive, no-nonsense professional she had always thought she was?

She would go. A distraction from the hamster wheel of her thoughts would be refreshing.

Final decision made, she hurried inside to shower and dress for the day and was pulling her hair into a loose updo when she heard his truck out front. A glance at her watch told her it had been exactly twenty minutes. There was something to be said for a man who kept his word with such precision.

She grabbed her cross-body purse and water bottle and hurried outside, locking the house behind her. An enclosed white trailer was hitched to his pickup truck. He smiled as he walked around the truck to help her inside, looking gorgeous and masculine.

What had she done?

Too late to back out now. She climbed inside and settled into the passenger seat, pulling on her seat belt as he walked back around to the driver’s side and climbed in.

“Glad you brought your water bottle,” he said, nodding as she found a space for it in one of the drink holders. “I have a cooler back there with more water, if you run out.”

“Thanks. I’m on orders to stay hydrated for my heart. I’m doing my best, but there are days I feel like I’m going to float away.”

“I hope you don’t. And on that note, if you need a rest stop, let me know. There are a few nice places along the way where we can stop.”

“Is it a long drive to Jackson Hole?”

He pulled out of The Painted Sky driveway onto the main road. “Depends on the traffic. If we don’t run into any bear jams or road construction, we can be there in about ninety minutes.”

She sent him a sidelong look. “You’re pulling my leg. Bear jams aren’t a real thing.”

“Around here they certainly are. All visitors seem legally obligated to stop and take pictures if they see a bear anywhere near the road.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing a bear, as long as it was from the safety of your truck.”

“We can keep an eye out. They’re pretty rare close to the road this time of year, as they have plenty of available food in the backcountry. It’s possible, though.”

She settled into the comfortable passenger seat, already feeling more relaxed than she had in hours, probably since Ali had given her the news about Carson.

She pushed away the thought. “Where are we taking the table?” she asked instead.

“I’m meeting an interior designer at a renovation she’s doing near the elk refuge. It’s a really beautiful house. I think you’ll like it. I’ve already done the dining table and a few occasional tables, and the homeowner decided she would like a console table in the hallway, as well.”

“She’s lucky to have you. I’m sure it will be a piece that lasts forever.”

His smile flashed, though he kept his attention on the road as he turned onto another road with a sign pointing the way to Jackson. “Thanks for saying that. I hope so.”

They drove in a silence broken only by the low jazz on the truck’s sound system. She could feel herself growing sleepy, but forced herself to take a sip of water instead.

“Thanks again for inviting me. This is nice. I really did need a break from my thoughts. That doesn’t mean I’ve completely forgiven you for not telling me why Ali invited me here.”

He glanced over briefly before turning his attention to the road. “Duly noted. If you do end up accepting that you are Carson’s daughter, will you try to maintain a relationship with her?”

“Yes. Of course. Even if we’re not half sisters, I would have maintained a relationship with her of some sort for the rest of my life. How could I not? She has been a lifesaver. Literally.”

“I’m glad she was there, for both your sakes,” he said, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable.

While she didn’t want to think about Carson, now that the subject had been broached she asked the question she had been wondering all night. “What kind of father was he to Ali, really? I mean, it’s obvious she adored him, but I’ve read about other famous authors whose families really suffered because of their pursuit of their craft.”

“Keep in mind, I’ve only been here five years and she’s been away at school most of that time. But from everything I could see, he was a wonderful father. He adored her and they were very close. More friends than parent and child, from everything I saw.”

June was uncomfortably aware of a tiny spark of envy. “Growing up, I was always jealous of my friends who had fathers in their lives. Even if their parents were divorced, at least they occasionally got to spend time with their dads. The only time I spent with mine were the monthly visits we made to the cemetery.”

She thought of her mother’s devotion to Jimmy, how she had insisted they stop often to pay respects at his grave, decorating with fresh flowers in seasonal colors.

She gazed out the window at the passing trees as a memory suddenly rose up from deep in the recesses of her mind. She made an exclamation that had him shifting to look at her, alarm in his expression.

“What is it? Did you see a bear?”

“No. I remembered something I haven’t thought about in years. I used to ask my mom why she never dated and she always used to say she loved my dad too much to even think about caring for another man. Was she talking about Carson or Jimmy Connelly, the father on my birth certificate?”

“That’s something I think you’ll probably never know.”

She sighed as all those questions that had kept her tossing and turning all night crowded back.

“Why don’t you give your brain a rest?” he suggested when she couldn’t hold back a yawn. “I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

The idea held undeniable appeal. Something about the soft music, the warmth of the truck and the calm of his presence soothed her.

“You brought me along to keep you company. What kind of company will I be if I’m snoring away beside you?”

He smiled. “If you can relax and find a comfortable position, go ahead and sleep. You could at least get an hour’s nap.”

While she tried to resist, the truck was too cozy. Finally, she leaned her cheek against the seat, closed her eyes and surrendered to her exhaustion.

Chapter 35

Alison

Something yanked Alison from the nap she hadn’t realized she had taken.

She blinked awake, trying to gather her bearings. It took her a few beats to realize she was lying in a hammock slung between two big trees with a book across her chest. Beyond the hammock, she could see the lake gleaming in the murky light.

And next to her, a man stood, his hand warm on her arm.

Xander, she realized, an instant before she would have panicked.

“Sorry I had to wake you, but we’re both going to be soaked in about five minutes if we don’t head for the tents.”

She gazed at his mouth and had a flash of memory of the dream she had been reluctant to leave.

Good Lord. Had she actually been dreaming about kissing Xander?

Before she could make sense of anything, lightning arced overhead, followed almost immediately by the rumble of thunder.

She blinked fully awake, grabbed her book and slid her feet back into her shoes. She barely made it to their tents before rain started pelting them.

“Why don’t you come into mine?” Xander suggested. “It’s more roomy. I’ve got a four-person while yours is only a two. We could look through the footage I’ve shot so far and you can tell me if there’s anything you don’t want me to use in the final edit I upload.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, the remnants of that dream floating through her memory like wisps of morning mist curling off the lake. This was silly. It had only been a dream.

She ducked under the flap he held open and entered his tent. He followed right behind her, zipping the rain fly closed.

He was right; his tent was much bigger than hers, with plenty of room for a sleep pad, his sleeping bag and a couple of inflatable seat cushions beside the pad.

“Cozy,” she said.

“Might as well have all the comforts of home when you’re camping, especially when you have horses helping you haul extra gear into the wilderness.”

The next hour was one of the most enjoyable afternoons she could remember in a long time. While rain pattered the roof of the tent and distant thunder rumbled across the lake, they looked at the footage he had shot and laughed together at their blooper roll.

As she watched, he edited together several clips, making it all look effortless.

“You’re so good at that,” she said when he played it for her.

“I’ve had lots of practice,” he said with a rueful smile.

“How many hours of content do you have up on your channel?”

“I don’t know. Around three hundred, maybe.”

“That is amazing! With millions and millions of hits. How many people travel virtually through your vlogs or plan their own trips? You help people escape when they have to stay home.”

The tips of his ears turned slightly red with embarrassment, but she could tell he was pleased. “I’m happy I found something I enjoy.”

“You always talked about how much you wanted to travel. Through hard work and sheer talent, you’ve made all your dreams come true.”

He studied her before his gaze slid back to his laptop. “Not quite all of them,” he said, his tone unreadable.

What did he mean by that? What other dreams hadn’t come true? And why did his words make her ache for something she couldn’t identify?

“What else do you want to accomplish? Is there a destination you’ve been dying to visit?”

The sudden tension lifted and he appeared to consider the question. “I could spend an entire year in India and still not get enough of the country. I also haven’t spent enough time on the ocean. I would love to learn how to sail and head out across the great expanse.”

She didn’t like either of those ideas. If he went to India, how would she survive not seeing him for a year? And anything could happen on the ocean.

“Do you see yourself doing this forever?”

“Who knows what the future brings? For now, I’m okay focusing on today.” He gave a quick smile. “I mean that in the all-encompassing today, not this particular moment. Although this one is pretty great.”

During the hour, she had stretched out on his sleeping bag and he had taken the cushion next to her. As he bent over his laptop, she could see his long eyelashes and the half-inch scar he had earned in high school during his first, and as far as she knew, his only, fistfight. He would never tell her any details, but she had been horrified by his scrapes and bruises. The cut on his mouth had required two stitches, and he had been suspended for a week, which had cost him his valedictorian status.

“Why did you fight with Austin Burrell?”

He looked up from his laptop, his expression startled. “That’s a bit of a non sequitur, isn’t it?”

She sat up. “I was looking at the little scar by your mouth and it reminded me. You would never say what happened.”

He busied himself on his laptop, but she could see color flood back to the tips of his ears. “It was a long time ago. Does it matter?”

“Not really, I guess. So why not tell me?”

He gazed at the top of the tent, where raindrops continued to plop, though not as heavily as before. Finally, he closed his laptop and turned to her. “Fine. I’ll tell you. We fought about you.”

She stared, wholly nonplussed. “Me?”

Looking as if he regretted saying anything, he sighed. “After you two went to the homecoming dance together, Austin was saying some . . . ungentlemanly things about you to the other guys in our weightlifting class. I knew you hadn’t done anything but kiss him, which you had told me about in some detail after the date, if you’ll remember.”

Had she? She didn’t remember, though she supposed it wouldn’t have surprised her. She and Xander often used to talk about anything and everything, including the post-game analysis of their respective dates.

Oh, she missed those heart-to-heart talks.

“I called him on it and told him to shut up and stop spreading lies about you. He was pissed and called me a liar. I said I heard straight from you every detail about the kiss, including how he was all tongue and grabby hands.”

Had she really said that? How could Xander remember their conversation word-for-word like that? She could only guess the fight had crystallized those memories into his brain.

“He then called me some derogatory names for a homosexual, which pissed me off. Not at being called names. I didn’t care about that at all. But my friend Gary was also there in the locker room, and at that time I was one of the few he had come out to. I could tell the pejoratives upset him. So I again told Austin to shut the hell up and that’s when he decked me.”

Why hadn’t he told her any of this? She knew about Gary, as he had been her friend as well, and she knew how sensitive he had been at the time about coming out only to friends he trusted in their small Wyoming town.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Why? None of it was your fault.”

“Except I’m the one who agreed to go out with Austin in the first place and then told you about it, which I shouldn’t have.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he closed his mouth and looked at the tent’s roof again.

“Rain seems to be easing,” he said.

She could tell he was eager to change the subject, but something about the intimacy of the afternoon, enclosed in a small space alone together during a mountain rain shower, gave her courage to ask the question that had been bothering her for days.

“Why did you have all those pictures of me in your room?”

He stared at her, eyes wide with shock. “What?”

“The day I helped you clean out your bedroom, I found an album filled with photographs of me. Some I remember posing for when you had those photography class projects. But there were plenty more I had no idea you had taken.”

Now his entire ears were red, she noticed, and color rose along his neck.

“You were my best friend.”

“You were my best friend, too. But I don’t have an album full of pictures of you.”

“You probably have plenty on your phone.”

“Yes. I absolutely do. That’s a little different to my mind. I didn’t print them out and put them in an album.”

“I’m a photographer. Maybe I just liked the way the photos turned out.”

A memory she had somehow buried suddenly resurfaced. Good Lord. How had she completely forgotten that part of the story?

“When I asked Austin why you two fought, he said you had a thing for me and everybody at school knew.”

Their gazes met and tension stretched between them, shimmery and taut.

“Did you?” she whispered, when he said nothing.

“Would it matter?”

“Yes. To me.”

He sighed and looked away. “Yeah. I had a thing for you. And everybody probably did know.”

Her stomach suddenly hurt and she desperately wished she hadn’t started this by asking about his fight.

“I didn’t know.”

“Then you were the only one. I was in love with you all through junior high and high school. You want to know why I really fought Austin? Because he had put his tongue in your mouth and tried to feel you up and I hated him for it.”

She stared at him, her thoughts scrambling. How was she supposed to respond to that?

Before she could figure it out, he stood.

“Rain’s stopped. I’d better take the horses down for some water.”

He rose, unzipped the tent and headed outside. Ali sat frozen for a long second before she flopped back onto his sleeping bag.

In love with her.

Impossible. Wouldn’t she have known? He had never given any kind of indication that he felt anything but friendship for her, in all their years of hanging out together. No longing glances, no trying to sneak a kiss. Nothing.

And he had dated plenty of other girls, especially after he left for college in Boulder. She had gone to visit him once when they were both undergrads and had been shocked at how many girls seemed to flirt with him everywhere they went in town.

She lay on his sleeping bag for a long moment, staring blankly at the walls, trying to wrap her head around his shocking disclosure.

What was she supposed to do about it? Pretend he hadn’t said anything? Apologize that she hadn’t known?

She felt as if the entire world had tilted, everything she thought she knew about their friendship and their long history together shaken to the core.

Was this how June felt when Ali had told her about Carson?

She pressed a hand to her stomach again, fighting the sudden fear that everything between them would change forever now.

When she left the tent, zipping it behind her carefully to keep out any bugs, she found Xander walking all three horses down to the water’s edge to drink.

She sat on one of the camp chairs they had packed, going through her dad’s tackle box and trying to process what had just happened.

After he finished watering the horses and led them back up the hill toward their highline ropes, Xander returned to their camp and took the other camp chair.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said. “Now things are going to be awkward between us.”

He looked out at the lake, avoiding her gaze, and her stomach seemed to twist again with nerves.

“Why tell me now? Why didn’t you say something back when we were kids?”

Do you still have feelings for me?

He sighed. “You were my best friend. I didn’t want to do anything to ruin that. I knew you didn’t feel the same way about me. If I had told you I had romantic feelings, you would have felt sorry for me and that was the last thing I wanted. What would have been the point in telling you? It only would have driven a wedge between us. I didn’t want that.”

How would she have reacted if he had confessed his feelings? She wanted to think it wouldn’t have changed anything between them, but she knew he was right. She wouldn’t have been mature enough to handle it with sensitivity.

They were years older and she still didn’t know how to handle it with sensitivity.

“Anyway,” he went on in a casual tone that didn’t fool her, “you were all about Clint Maclean back then. I couldn’t compare with a guy like that. He was the Homecoming King and I was the class nerd who played trumpet in the band and headed up the school robotics club.”

Had she really been that shallow? She didn’t want to think so. But she had to admit she had been more than a little obsessed with Clint, much to her embarrassment now.

“Forget I said anything,” he said. “We’re here to have fun fishing together, not to dwell on things that happened a decade ago. We’re both different people than we were then, but somehow we’ve still stayed friends. I think that’s pretty remarkable and I would hate to ruin our time together by focusing on yesterday. Are you ready to go fishing? We still have to find our dinner.”

She didn’t really feel like fishing, but at least that would provide a distraction from the acute awkwardness of this conversation.

“Sure. Let’s go fishing. Ten bucks says I catch the bigger trout.”

“You’re on.”

Chapter 36

Alison

It took them several trips to carry all their gear down to the lakeshore. Finally, they had fishing rods, tackle boxes, his camera and the two camp chairs set up.

It was cooler after the rain so they both donned their hoodies again. Over the next few hours, their conversation slipped back into its normal, casual rhythm.

They each caught two decent-size trout, more than enough for their dinner. When they returned to their camp, he brought out his two-burner camp stove and frying pan and cooked them up on one burner with butter and seasonings while preparing a packaged rice pilaf on the other.

“Oh, man. That is so good,” she said, closing her eyes with appreciation as she took another bite of the flaky, delicious trout. “That’s even better than you used to cook it.”

He grinned. “I’ve had some practice over the years. Giselle and I took the ferry system up to Alaska a few years ago where we camped on the deck. We spent a month backpacking and hiking. It was amazing.”

“I know. I’ve watched the videos. They were beautiful.”

“Have you?” He looked surprised.

“Of course. I’ve probably watched every single one of those three hundred hours of content you have on your channel. Some of them more than once.”

He looked pleased, if a little abashed. “There’s a lot of boring footage in there.”

“Not at all. It was so fun to watch you discover all these cool places around the world. I was jealous, if you want the truth.”

“Jealous of what?”

She couldn’t possibly tell him how much it had bothered her to see him having a great time with other women. She had felt oddly territorial.

“You were meeting so many great people, having all these fun relationships and seeing all these fantastic corners of the world while I was stuck in a law school library researching torts.”

“You can always travel now. What’s stopping you?”

“I’ve been in school since I was eighteen. Now I have to take the bar exam and open my law practice.”

“Why? I mean, I get that you have to take the bar exam. I’m all for that. But why do you have to jump right into your career? Law isn’t going anywhere.”

She stared. “I suppose it’s not.”

“Some people have to start working right away to pay back their student loans,” he went on. “You’re fortunate enough that you don’t. You have a trust fund that could certainly support you for a year or two while you travel around the world.”

“What about the ranch?”

“What about it? Pat Bailey ran The Painted Sky while your dad was alive and he can certainly go on doing the same thing. You have your grandmother and Beck to look after the ranch, too. After you pass the bar, why not take a break? You’ve earned it. Go out and see the world, Al.’’

She was stunned almost speechless at the idea. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

He smiled. “I can point you to three hundred hours of content that might help you come up with a decent plan.”

She had to return his smile. “Not a bad idea. It’s definitely something to think about.”

She liked the idea of traveling far more than starting up her practice right away. She knew it would be kicking the can down the road, but perhaps some time away would help her be more enthusiastic about the career course she had set for herself.

“Maybe I’ll come join you on your travels and we can spend a year in India together.”

He grinned. “I can arrange that.”

She imagined all the possibilities while he took some video and stills of the sun setting over the lake in vibrant colors, and then more footage of her leading the horses down to drink again and then taking them back up, along with buckets of water to hold them overnight.

He carefully started a small fire in the camp ring they created from rocks, and they roasted marshmallows and talked while watching the stars pop out overhead.

A shooting star arced across the sky and she gazed up, enchanted by the sheer unbelievable beauty of a night in the mountains.

“It takes my breath away up here at night,” she said. “How do I always forget the impact of seeing all those millions of stars together, without any light pollution to interfere with the view?”

“It’s truly stellar, isn’t it?”

She made a face at his bad pun. “How does our Wyoming night sky compare to all the others you’ve seen on your travels?”

“It’s definitely up there. I haven’t been to many other places that compare to this. Maybe that time we went on a camel trip into the Sahara Desert in Morocco might be close.”

She was again awestruck at everything he had seen and done.

“Tell me something funny that happened to you on your travels that you never put in one of your videos.”

He grinned. “Did I ever tell you the time I was attacked by a bee and nearly fell down a mountain?”

“No,” she said with a laugh. “I would have remembered that.”

“I was in this gorgeous village on the Amalfi Coast in Italy and thought I would shoot drone footage of me walking through a terraced vineyard at sunset and looking pensively off at the ocean. You know, something super cinematic. All was going great until a bee landed on my face. No big deal, right? Except this was the biggest bumblebee I had ever seen, and it would not leave me alone, no matter what I did.”

“I guess you must have smelled too sweet,” she said.

“Something like that. So there I was waving my arms like I was directing traffic in Naples, trying to look cool for the camera while not being stung. The bee would not give up. He kept dive-bombing me no matter what I tried to do. And in my wild frenzy, I tripped over a fence post and tumbled about ten feet down the terraced slope. And of course the drone kept recording everything—my panic, my flailing arms, my graceless fall. It was all priceless. And my mic was still on, which recorded me pleading with the bee to leave me alone and then a long string of swear words as I fell.”

She laughed hard, imagining the scene vividly. “You have to show me that footage. I hope you didn’t erase it.”

“I still have it. I’ve been thinking about posting a blooper reel.”

“What else would be on it?”

While the fire crackled and the stars continued to gleam above them and the breeze rustled the leaves of the aspens, he told her story after story about his experiences. Some of them were poignant, but most were so funny, she laughed so hard she almost couldn’t breathe.

“We’ve had very different lives the past three years, haven’t we?”

He rose to add another small piece of deadfall wood to the fire. “Mine isn’t necessarily better. Only different. I’ve been deeply lonely at times when I’ve been traveling.”

“You have?”

“Yes. Even with technology connecting you to the world, there are times you simply long for home.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“For the past three years, all of my relationships except a very few have been transitory. I haven’t had the chance to make many deep friendships.”

“Were you in love with Giselle?”

As soon as the words were out, she couldn’t believe she had asked them.

He looked away. “I wanted to be. I tried to be. I cared about Giselle. Still do. She is funny and smart and adventurous. She’s a writer, like your dad. She was working on a novel the entire time we traveled. A fantasy epic in the vein of Game of Thrones. I have no doubt that one day it will be just as well-known.”

“Why didn’t things work out between you?”

He faced her, that unreadable look back in his expression. “I didn’t love her. Not the way she deserved to be loved. And I knew it wasn’t fair for me to keep her on the hook, preventing her from finding someone better who would finally deserve her.”

She could only imagine how devastated Giselle must have been by their breakup. Ali had seen in their videos together how much the woman had cared about Xander.

“What about you?” he asked. “You broke up with that medical resident last year. Any regrets?”

She thought of Jamal Walker, a brilliant resident at the University of Utah Medical Center whom she had dated for two years, until they both decided by mutual consent to break things off after he received a job offer to work in his hometown of Chicago.

“Sometimes I get lonely, too,” she admitted. “I do have good friends and my grandmother, but I miss my dad so much sometimes I can’t breathe.”

They had both moved their camp chairs together, out of the direction of the smoke, and Xander reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

It seemed perfectly natural for her to lean her head against his shoulder, and they stayed that way for a long time while the flames flickered and a spectacular full moon rose above the mountains.

She didn’t know if she moved first or if he did. It didn’t matter. They were looking at each other one moment, the next his mouth was on hers, his hands gripping her face. She felt the warmth of his palms against her skin, fingers threading in her hair, and every sensation was magnified by the stillness of the night around them. The cool air from the lake whispered against her back, a stark contrast to the fire now building between them.

His lips were soft yet insistent and she tasted the faint hint of the pine trees and the wild air. There was no hesitation in him, no uncertainty. It was as if all the years of friendship, the long talks, the shared experiences, had been leading to this—right here, under the star-soaked sky.

She leaned into him, her hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders, the strength of him grounding her in the surrealness of the moment.

After long, delicious moments, something must have jerked him back to awareness of what they were doing. He eased away, muttering a harsh word that would have gotten him in big trouble if his great-aunt had heard him.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?” Her words came out husky and low.

“I don’t want to ruin things between us. You’re too important to me.”

She tried to process that, but couldn’t seem to make her brain work right.

“I wanted you to kiss me. Does that matter?”

He gazed at her, the fire reflecting in his eyes, then he finally shook his head. “I still shouldn’t have kissed you.”

She released a long breath, feeling cold suddenly despite the puffy coat she had brought along and the heat from the fire.

“Fine. It was a mistake. We can both forget it happened. We’re here alone in the mountains with a sky full of stars. It’s undeniably romantic. Wouldn’t it have been more strange if we hadn’t kissed?”

He didn’t answer. He only rose and started putting out the fire, dousing it then using a shovel to bury dirt over any embers. Apparently, their night was over.

“I’m going to hike up to that small lake south of here in the morning to catch the sunrise. It’s pretty rugged terrain, probably too tough to take the horses. You’re welcome to come if you want.”

Maybe some distance between them wouldn’t be a bad thing, she thought. “I think I’ll try to catch a few more fish for breakfast in the morning and then read my book.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll try not to wake you up when I leave.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

Something told her she was not going to be sleeping much that night. She was going to be tossing and turning, remembering that kiss and wondering what Xander would do if she unzipped his tent in the night and climbed into his sleeping bag with him.

Chapter 37

Beckett

Beckett pulled into the driveway of the luxurious home where he was delivering the table then shut off his truck engine.

Juniper didn’t so much as blink awake. She was obviously exhausted, poor thing. She had certainly survived a chaotic month.

Should he wake her or let her sleep while he delivered the table?

He decided to let her wake up on her own. She needed sleep more than she needed to see a log home worth a small fortune.

The designer he had been working with, Heather Mason, pulled up behind him as he was opening the back of the trailer. Over the past year, she had commissioned several pieces from him for her clients.

He was grateful for the work, though he wasn’t as thrilled that she had begun to act a little flirty with him.

“Beck! Thank you so much for doing a rush job on this one. The owners are hoping to be in the house in two weeks and you already know how demanding they can be. They expect every single thing to be perfect.”

She gave an exasperated eye roll before she stepped forward and offered her cheek for him to kiss.

She did smell good, softly seductive, but he wasn’t tempted in the slightest. Frustrating that he couldn’t seem to drum up any interest in someone who was patently interested in him, while he pined over a woman who was unattainable.

“I can’t wait to see what you’ve done with it,” she gushed. “I feel like every project you do for me is somehow better than the one before.”

“I try.”

“And you succeed. Let me have a look.”

“You’ll see better once I get it out of the truck. It’s already on the furniture mover. Can you help me guide it into the house?”

When she looked slightly aghast, gazing down at her strappy sandals and white shorts that showed off long, tanned legs, he had to smile.

“Nothing to it, I promise. All you have to do is help me steer. I’ll do all the work.”

“Okay. As long as you promise I won’t get dirty. I’m on my way to lunch with some girlfriends after this.”

“You won’t,” he assured her.

While he could see she was reluctant, she still climbed into the back of the trailer to help direct him as he pushed the table down the loading ramp to the sidewalk.

He had wrapped it in soft blankets to protect it for the ride and as he removed them, the table gleamed in the sunlight.

“Oh,” Heather exclaimed, gazing with admiration. “It’s perfect! So much better than the pictures you sent me.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it. More importantly, my clients are going to love it.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck in an impulsive hug, holding on longer than strictly necessary. As she released him, he caught movement out of the corner of his gaze and found Juniper walking around the passenger side of the truck to where they stood at the rear of the trailer.

She looked a little disoriented, her eyes clouded with lingering sleep and her hair disheveled on one side where she had slept against the seat.

Still, she looked soft and sweet and delicious.

Heather, he saw, had taken a step away from him and was viewing June with a cool gaze.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep. I planned to help you unload the table.”

“The designer already helped. Juniper Connelly, this is Heather Mason. She’s the one responsible for this gorgeous renovation. Heather, this is June. She’s staying at a cabin near my place and kindly let me drag her along today.”

June seemed to collect herself. She matched Heather’s cool look with one of her own.

“Heather. Lovely to meet you. The house is beautiful.”

“I didn’t have much to do with the exterior, other than working with the architect and the builder to design the new entryway. You must come inside and see what we’ve done. New everything. You won’t know what a huge improvement it is over the old house. It was a disaster. Nothing had been done to it for more than thirty years. Now it’s like an entirely new place inside.”

Beck had personally liked the old place. It had character and a unique style. He couldn’t deny the renovation had been lovely, though.

“If you can help me guide the table, I can set it in place while you give June the grand tour. As long as you don’t think the homeowners will mind.”

“They absolutely won’t. They’re so excited to move in after all this time, they’re showing it off to everyone.”

While he did most of the work to push the wheeled furniture mover through the front doors, both June and Heather helped by steering and stabilizing the table so he didn’t dump the whole thing into the flower gardens on either side of the sidewalk.

By the time they made it inside, June and Heather were talking about a new decorating trend and the importance of creating timeless styles that wouldn’t look dated in a year or two.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” June said when they walked inside the huge vaulted entry.

“The architect and I decided to open up the second floor to create more space in here. Come on, let me give you a tour.”

“Do you need more help?” June asked him.

“I should be fine. Thanks.”

He was finishing the table setup, which mostly involved making sure it was straight and removing the rest of the protective coverings, when they both returned, looking like fast friends now.

“So? What do you think?” he asked.

June looked around in admiration at the big great room with its soaring windows offering a view of the Tetons. “It’s gorgeous. And what a spectacular setting. Makes me wish I had a place like it here.”

“If you buy one, I can help you decorate it,” Heather said with a friendly smile.

Before June could answer, Heather’s phone rang. She looked at it briefly then made a face.

“Sorry. Will you excuse me? It’s a supplier I’ve been trying to track down for a week.”

She walked away to take her call and June wandered over to the two-story wall of windows and the jagged mountains beyond.

“It’s hard to believe they’re real.” The sheer awe on her features left a funny ache in his chest.

“I have seen the Tetons countless times in my life, especially during the past five years, but I have the same reaction every time I catch another glimpse of them. It’s like seeing the Pacific Ocean from a favorite beach after I’ve been away from California for a while.”

“The world is a beautiful place, isn’t it? I tend to forget when I’m in a constant round of development meetings and strategy sessions with my team.”

“It is. And lucky you, to have been given a second chance to see and appreciate all the things you never had the opportunity to experience before.”

“You’re absolutely right. I am lucky.” She seemed surprised at the concept. “The table looks great. And the huge dining table in the other room is stunning. Absolute perfection.”

He had to smile. “It’s not. That’s part of the beauty of working with wood. No two pieces of timber are alike. My favorite pieces to use are those that have gnarls and burrs or other imperfections. They give the piece character and life.”

She seemed to mull that as Heather returned. “I’m sorry about that. Not everyone is as punctual as you are, Beck. And few take as much pride as you do in your work. I gave him an earful, believe me.”

He had no doubt Heather would be tough on anyone whose work wasn’t up to her standards. That was probably one of the reasons she was one of the most exclusive designers in Jackson Hole.

He glanced at his watch. “I promised June a picnic lunch so we should be going. The deli closes early.”

Heather made a disgusted face. “Jackson has dozens of fantastic restaurant choices and you’re going to the deli for lunch?”

“No. We’re going into the park. This is June’s first time visiting the Tetons. I want to take her somewhere she can see them up close and really take in their majesty.”

They returned to the entryway, where his table held pride of place. “I hope that’s where you wanted it. That’s where we talked about, anyway.”

“It’s perfect,” Heather assured him. She moved to the table and ran a hand across the gleaming surface. “You’ve been paid for everything, right? Mary told me she paid the invoice yesterday.”

“Yes. I got it. Thanks.”

“I’ll be in touch about the Samuels’ new build once we work out a few more details.”

“Sounds good,” he said, then he and June walked back to the pickup truck.

“Let’s go grab our lunch. I’m starving suddenly,” he said as he opened the door for her.

“If you would rather find a restaurant in town somewhere, we really don’t need to have a picnic in the Tetons.”

“Which would you prefer?”

She hesitated. “The park,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “I really would like to see it.”

“Good choice. That’s my preference, too.”

The trickiest part of the whole trip was finding a place near his favorite deli in town where he could park the truck and trailer. By some miracle, he was lucky enough to nab a pull-through spot in the grocery store parking lot next door, where he grabbed a bag of baby carrots and a couple of apples to go with their deli sandwiches.

Soon, they were on the road, driving past the town square with its entwined elk antler arches toward the entrance to the national park.

“So many people,” June said as they waited for pedestrians to cross in front of them.

“Jackson is always busy with tourists, but summer weekends are the worst. It just calls for patience. But we’ll be out of town shortly. I know a really lovely place where we can enjoy lunch away from the crowds.”

She seemed enraptured by the passing scenery as they drove.

“Yellowstone isn’t far from here, is it?”

“If we keep going on this road past Jackson Lake and Colter Bay, we will eventually hit the south entrance to Yellowstone. It’s great to see and you definitely should, but everything in Yellowstone is so far apart, you really can’t experience it in a day trip. You have to stay over at one of the lodges there.”

“Maybe I’ll try to do that before I go back to Seattle.”

He drove to a favorite out-of-the-way picnic area above Jackson Lake, at the site of a charming old church, where they were lucky enough to find an empty table.

“It’s not very fancy,” he said. “You might have been better off at one of the nice restaurants in town.”

“This is perfect,” she assured him as she sat across from him.

They chatted about her work and her life in Seattle while they enjoyed their delicious deli sandwiches, hers veggie on wheat and his turkey.

A family with two young boys set up at the table near them, and before long they were kicking a soccer ball around. When a missed kick ended up with the ball coming toward their table, June rose, caught it with her foot and kicked it back to the boys, to their great delight.

One of the boys kicked it toward her again and they passed it back and forth a few times before the boys’ mother called them to eat and June sat back down.

“You’re good with kids,” he observed.

She gave him a startled look. “Not really. I haven’t had a lot of practice as an only child, though I did occasionally babysit for some of my mom’s friends.”

“Were there no other kids when you were in foster care?”

“The woman who fostered me was raising two nieces, but they were around my age. She took in several other kids, but they were all older. I think Stella tried to focus on teenagers, who can often be harder to place.”

“That’s great.” He thought of his own childhood, where he had constantly been surrounded by loving parents, grandparents and his siblings.

“Have you ever wanted any kids of your own?”

For a brief instant, a wistful expression softened her mouth before she seemed to brusquely push it away. “Not seriously, no. I suppose I always thought the pressures and responsibilities of my job made it unlikely I could find room in my life for children. Now it’s probably even more unlikely because of this stupid heart condition.”

She tried to sound casual and unaffected, but he didn’t miss the shadow of sorrow in her gaze, as if something had been taken away that she had never realized she wanted.

Chapter 38

Juniper

Had she really said that out loud?

“I’m sorry,” she said ruefully. “Why is it that every time I decide to throw a pity party for myself, you happen to be on the receiving end?”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he said. “During the hardest time of my life, I had Carson to help me through. It seems only right that I can try to be here for you now. I am glad you trust me enough to tell me some of your struggles.”

Oh, how on earth was she supposed to protect her heart from a man like him?

He was thoughtful, he was compassionate, he was endlessly patient with her as she struggled with all the life changes that had hit her hard in quick succession.

What would she have done without him since she had come to Wyoming?

She gazed at him, fighting hard to keep from leaning across the picnic table and kissing the man, right there in front of all the other tourists enjoying the spectacular views of steep mountains on the other side of the lake with them.

“Stop being so kind to me. You make it really hard to resist you.”

“Are you trying to resist me?” He looked intrigued.

She huffed out a breath. “Yes. Not very successfully, if you must know.”

If anything, he looked even more intrigued.

“Beck, we both know this can’t go anywhere. Your life is here. Mine isn’t. And I really don’t need a metaphorical broken heart to go with my actual broken heart.”

He nodded slowly. “Got it.”

After lunch, he took her to two other magnificent viewpoints, maintaining an easy, if distant, friendliness as he indicated points of interest.

She stayed awake for the drive back to the ranch, enjoying the scenery as well as their wide-ranging conversation.

She was more comfortable with Beck than any man she could remember in a long time, except for Adam and Rudy, who were more like brothers.

He was smart, clever and seemed genuinely interested in everything she said.

Not to mention sexy as hell, with the shadow of afternoon stubble and his hair tumbling over his forehead.

“Thank you for going along with me,” Beck said when they reached the cabin and he had walked onto the porch with her. “I had a great day.”

She unlocked the front door of her temporary home. “Thank you for inviting me along. You were right. I needed the distraction.”

“I’m afraid we didn’t make any progress on your search for a missing manuscript, though. What about tomorrow? I’ll be working on the coffee table again in the morning, but should have some free time in the afternoon to sort through more of the boxes.”

As long as they had a shared purpose and she wasn’t simply sitting and watching him work, she ought to be able to keep control of herself around him.

“Tomorrow afternoon would be great. Thank you. And thank you again for today.”

“My pleasure,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. A shiver slid down her spine at the brush of his lips against her skin and it was all she could do not to lean into him, grab his face between her hands and kiss him again.

Chapter 39

Alison

As she expected, Alison woke up the next morning groggy, her eyes gritty and tired. Her tent had been comfortable enough, with the inflatable pad and the warm sleeping bag, but what little rest she managed to find had been tormented by dreams of Xander, familiar warm eyes serious and focused completely on her as he kissed her senseless.

How could she have been so foolish to kiss him like that? They had tried hard to return to their usual safe footing afterward but still, she knew everything between them had changed.

She couldn’t lose him. Thinking about a world without Xander in it made her feel breathless and out of control, like she was having a panic attack.

After taking the horses for water again, she headed down to the lake with her fishing rod and quickly caught enough trout to fry up for breakfast. She had brought along bread, which she toasted over the camp stove and topped with the small containers of jam she had also packed.

After she ate, listening only to the sigh of the wind and the birds’ morning chatter, she cleaned up then started taking down her tent and packing up her gear.

Xander still hadn’t returned by the time she had finished stowing all she could, so she grabbed her book and returned to one of the hammocks, grateful it was now in partial sunlight that helped to stave away the morning chill.

The book couldn’t hold her attention, even though the plot was gripping, the prose was lovely and she was reaching a critical turning point in the story.

Finally, she closed both the book and her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing.

Two nights of little sleep gradually took a toll, and she must have drifted off. She awoke to find Xander back at camp, packing up his own gear.

She wiped at eyes that felt gritty and tired. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t hear you come back.”

“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. Actually, I wanted to stretch out on the other hammock and take a snooze myself.”

“You should have.”

He pointed at the sky, which looked decidedly more murky than it had when she closed her eyes. “I think we’re in for another thundershower today. I don’t want to be caught in it. If we hurry, we can make it down to the trailhead before it hits.”

She didn’t want to go back to The Painted Sky, where she would have to face all the uncertainties in her life. Too bad they had responsibilities and obligations back in Bridger Peak. With a sigh, she slid from the hammock and worked together with him quickly to break down their camp.

They were both careful to leave no trace they had been there, even scattering the rocks they had used for a fire ring and shoveling up the horses’ manure and burying it.

They worked well together and soon they were ready to go. The ride out of the wilderness didn’t take nearly as long as their trip in, though Xander still stopped occasionally to video their route.

Once they reached the boundary of the wilderness area, he flew his drone again.

They didn’t talk as much as they had the day before and Ali fought down panic, again afraid she had lost something precious and vital to her.

Only three hours after he had returned to their campsite from his morning hike, she dropped him and his gear at his sister’s house.

“Thanks for a great trip,” he said. “I think I got some fantastic footage. Once I finish the edits, I’ll shoot it over to you so you can make sure you like it before it will go live on the channel.”

“I’m sure I will. I love everything you do.”

Including the way you kissed me.

She didn’t say the words, but she couldn’t help thinking them, nor could she tamp down the ache of longing, the impossible wish that he would do it again.

“We should try to do something else while we’re both in town,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the slightly desperate note in her voice. “A couple of my friends have talked about having a barbecue one night. We could do it here at the ranch. How much longer will you be in town?”

“I’m not sure. Sylvia seems to be healing better than anybody expected. She doesn’t really need me. I’ll probably stay another week or two, then I’m thinking about heading up to California’s Lost Coast.”

So soon? His words left her depressed, on multiple levels.

Xander had his whole life figured out and was doing amazing things with it while she still couldn’t decide whether she even wanted to take the bar exam that she had spent the past three years anticipating.

Beyond that, she couldn’t help wondering if he was leaving earlier than he had planned because of her, somehow, though she supposed that was probably narcissistic of her.

“I’ll try to make some definitive barbecue plans and let you know,” she said, trying for a breezy tone. “I hope you don’t leave before I get the chance to pin down a few details.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks again for going with me.”

Normally, she would have hugged him goodbye. Would that make things more or less awkward than they already were?

She didn’t care, she decided. She stepped forward and hugged him, anyway, closing her eyes as she savored his heat and his strength and the mingled smells of leather and campfire.

He hugged her back, then stepped away.

“I’ll see you later, Al,” he said, then turned quickly away to pick up his gear.

On that clear note of dismissal, she returned to the pickup truck and drove the rest of the way back to The Painted Sky, wishing she could go back in time to that instant before they had kissed.

Chapter 40

Juniper

“I don’t think it’s here. We’ve gone through every single box twice. I’m sorry, June.”

She sighed, looking from Beck to the box of documents she had finished going through. They had been at it for three hours and had combed through every single remaining box in the storage room of the cabin.

In none of those boxes had they found anything resembling a lost manuscript.

“Where could it be?” she asked, knowing he couldn’t know the answer to that any more than she did.

“I hate to bring this up again, but I keep thinking maybe he burned it. If he hated the final version so much that it was never published, I can easily see him doing that.”

She was beginning to suspect he might be right.

“What a terrible waste that would be,” she said. “As if Da Vinci decided to torch one of his few masterpieces.”

“Like many creators, I think, Carson could be his own worst critic.”

The man was certainly complicated. Arrogant one moment, filled with self-doubt the next. She knew that from reading his journals.

“Thank you for helping me look.”

“If I think of anywhere else he might have stored it, I’ll let you know.”

She nodded and returned the lid to the box.

“How are you doing with everything?” Beck asked as they carried the boxes back to the closet where they had been stored.

“I’m thinking I might go back to Seattle this week.”

It was a decision she had made in the middle of another sleepless night. This interval at The Painted Sky had been a reprieve from her real life, but it was time she returned to some measure of normalcy.

She also knew if she stayed in Bridger Peak much longer, she was in grave danger of falling for Beckett Hunter.

“What’s the rush?” he asked in surprise. “I thought you were planning to stay for another few weeks.”

“For some reason, I was more comfortable staying in the cabin before I knew there was any possibility I might be Carson’s . . . Carson’s daughter. I know it doesn’t make sense, but now I feel like I don’t belong here.”

“You do,” he assured her. “You completely do. And as a retired attorney, I feel I should advise you to seek legal counsel. You legitimately might have some claim on his estate.”

She stared, horrified. “I don’t want any part of his estate! I don’t need it and I don’t want it.”

She didn’t want to point out that thanks to her substantial stock in Move Inc, she could probably buy and sell Carson’s entire estate several times over.

“I had no relationship with the man. If I am his daughter, it’s by blood only. I am willing to put into writing that I don’t want a penny of his. You can be my witness.”

“Duly noted,” he said, a warm light in his eyes that made her feel slightly lightheaded.

He almost looked as if he wanted to kiss her again. He even leaned forward slightly, but a knock on the front door made both of them freeze.

She was relieved at the interruption, she told herself as she went to answer the door. She couldn’t let him kiss her again, as much as she might long for it.

When she found Alison standing on the porch, all of June’s conflicting emotions rushed back.

Was this woman her sister? She found the idea of a connection between them both overwhelming and tantalizing.

Ali wore a tentative smile. “Hi. I brought those DNA tests.”

“Come in.”

She did and spied Beck standing in the kitchen. “Oh! Hey, Beck. I’ve got your tent back at the house. Thanks so much for the loan. I didn’t realize you were here or I would have brought it over with me.”

“You can drop it off whenever. I walked over here, so if you had brought it, I would have to carry it home through the woods. How was your wilderness adventure?”

Something almost haunted flashed across Ali’s expression, but she seemed to quickly cover it.

“We had a great time. It’s always so pretty up there. I forget every time.”

“That’s funny. Yesterday we went to Grand Teton National Park and I said almost exactly the same thing.”

“You went into the park?” she said with interest. “Was it completely packed with tourists? I love Yellowstone and the Tetons, but I try to only visit in the shoulder seasons.”

“It was pretty busy, but I had a table to deliver in Jackson. June was kind enough to come with me.”

“Was she?” Ali’s gaze shifted between the two of them in a speculative way that left June uncomfortable.

“I’ve always wanted to see it,” she said. “I have to say, it did not disappoint.”

“Oh, good.”

“Did you see any bears on your trip?” June asked. “I kept an eye out while we were in the national park yesterday, but we didn’t see any.”

“They can be scarce and hard to find this time of year. We saw one bear and some cubs, but they were pretty far away from the trail. We did see a bunch of elk and a couple of really big moose. Xander managed to get some good footage of them.”

“Is he making a video of your trip?” Beck asked.

“Yes. But don’t worry. He’ll keep our exact location under wraps. He’s only going to say it’s a mountain lake somewhere in Wyoming. We can’t have the area being overrun with content creators, right?”

She held out a bag. “Here are those DNA tests. I thought you might feel more confident about them if you mail them away yourself.”

“I trust you,” she said.

She felt awkward spitting into a tube, but at least Alison looked just as awkward with her own test.

“As an impartial observer, I can drop them in the mail tomorrow,” Beckett offered, after they had each sealed their respective envelopes.

“Thanks, Beck,” Ali said, handing them over to him.

“The other reason I’m here,” she went on, “is that Grandma invited you to have dinner with us again tonight. She feels like a poor host and worries she’s been neglecting you since you arrived.”

“She hasn’t at all,” June assured her. “She’s been nothing but kind.”

“I haven’t told her anything about the DNA connection yet, in case you were wondering. I thought you should know first. Now I wonder if you want to wait to tell her until we get these results back.”

June glanced at Beck for advice, but he only shrugged.

“What if we find out the initial results were wrong? I would hate to put your grandmother through all that drama for nothing.”

“I know they’re not wrong. But okay. We can wait. If keeping everything a secret from her would make dinner too awkward, I can tell Grandma you had other plans.”

Grandma. Was it possible Loretta was hers? June had never known any of her grandparents.

A sudden fierce yearning seemed to blossom out of nowhere. She already liked Loretta and would love having her for a grandmother.

She cleared sudden emotion out of her throat. “I’m sure it won’t be too awkward. I would be happy to come to dinner. Thank you for the invitation.”

Alison brightened. “Great. And you know you’re always invited to dinner at our place, Beck. She would love to have you, too. The more, the merrier, Grandma always says.”

He looked undecided until June sent him a pleading look. Everything felt easier when Beck was there, offering his quiet strength and support.

“Dinner would be good. Thanks. What time?”

“An hour or so, maybe? It’s ready whenever. She’s making marinated shrimp and vegetable skewers over brown rice. She only has to throw the skewers on the grill whenever we get there.”

“Sounds delicious,” Beck said. “I need to finish helping June clean up our mess first. I don’t want to leave her to put all these back on her own.”

Alison looked at the remaining boxes stacked in the living area. “You’ve been looking for the lost manuscript again. Any luck?”

June refused to give up, despite their disappointing search. “Not yet.”

Alison stayed long enough to join them in carrying the boxes back to the storeroom, then headed for the ranch house to help her grandmother with dinner preparations.

“I’ll take Hank home and clean up a little,” Beck said. “I can pick you up in an hour, if you’d like.”

From her perspective, he didn’t need to clean up at all. He was devastating enough.

Her stupid, stupid heart.

“I think I would like to walk. Thank you, though.”

He nodded and headed for the door. Before leaving, he turned around one last time. “I really am sorry we didn’t find the manuscript, Junie. I know it would have meant a lot to you.”

He left before she could answer—but not before she felt a pang at the nickname only her mother had ever called her.

After taking a quick shower and changing into a nicer outfit than the one she had worn to sort through dusty boxes, she quickly threw together a fruit salad from some of the items she had on hand and then headed through the aspen and pine toward the ranch house.

Alison opened the door only seconds after June rang the doorbell. “You didn’t have to bring anything!” she said when she saw the bowl in June’s hands.

“It’s only a fruit salad. Not much.”

“Well, thank you. That was sweet of you. Come in. Beckett’s not with you?”

“Um, no. He took his dog home and said he would be here soon.”

“He’s such a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

“Yes. He’s been very kind to me.”

Alison studied her. “Do you know what happened to his wife?” she asked after a pause, as if she had been debating whether to say anything.

“Yes. We talked about it.”

Alison looked surprised. “Did he? He must really like you. He doesn’t tell many people. I don’t think there are very many people in town who even know.”

She was both unsettled and flattered that he had discussed his wife with her. She remembered that heated kiss and could feel herself flush.

“Shall I take this into the kitchen?” she asked, eager to change the subject.

“Sure,” Ali said and led the way down the hall.

They found Loretta at the stove, wearing an apron over jeans and a tidy yellow blouse. To June’s astonishment, the older woman dried her hands and wrapped her in a hug.

“Juniper, my dear. You are looking wonderful, may I say? You have more color in your cheeks. I love to see it.”

Loretta’s kindness touched her deeply, especially when the other woman had no idea they might be connected. She was being kind simply because it was her nature.

“Thank you.” She smiled and handed her the fruit salad.

“That’s so nice, but you really didn’t need to bring anything.”

Loretta opened the refrigerator and set the bowl inside.

“I’m actually making some dessert crepes now. I cut up some strawberries for them, but now people can add your fruit to them, too. Delicious!”

“Yum,” June said.

“I’ve been trying to think of heart-friendly things for you. I’ve got a Mediterranean feta cheese salad I found in a heart-healthy recipe book and I’ve got shrimp and summer squash marinating in olive oil with a tiny bit of low-sodium soy sauce and honey.”

June wanted to hug the woman again for being so conscious of her new dietary concerns. “Oh, that’s so kind of you. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“Of course. It’s really nothing. We should all be eating healthier.”

“I always thought my diet was fairly healthy, but in my case, it wouldn’t have made a difference. My heart condition is apparently congenital, not related to lifestyle at all. I just didn’t know about it until my cardiac event.”

“What is it that you have again? I’m not sure Alison ever told me what it’s called.”

“CPVT, which stands for a mouthful of a name, catecholaminergic polymorphic ventricular tachycardia. Basically, it’s an abnormal heart rhythm. It’s a genetic condition. Very rare.”

Loretta looked up from pouring more crepe batter into a small frying pan with an arrested expression. “That is so odd. You’re the second person I know with that condition. I have a great-niece who was diagnosed with it when she was a young girl.”

“Who’s that?” Ali asked as she snagged a green olive out of a bowl on the counter.

“My brother’s granddaughter. Jennie. She lives in Montana. Do you remember when we drove up for her wedding while you were in high school?”

“Oh, yeah. That was a fun barn wedding. Lots of burlap and jute decorations and line dancing.”

“She’s a darling girl. She recently had her second baby.”

“Did she?” June stared. “I wasn’t aware someone with CVPT could bear children.”

“Doctors watched her very closely through the pregnancies, but she did fine.” Loretta shook her head. “How funny that I know two people with the same rare genetic condition. I wonder if we’re related somehow.”

She said the words with a smile as she took out the crepe after less than a minute and poured more batter in the pan.

Alison exchanged a look with June, a question in her expression that June interpreted easily. She wanted to say something about the DNA results to her grandmother, but she wanted June’s permission first.

June didn’t know what was the right decision. In light of Alison’s unshakable conviction, her own doubts about her paternity were beginning to fade.

After a pause, she made a go-ahead gesture and shrugged slightly.

Ali waited until her grandmother had taken the next crepe out of the frying pan before she stepped forward and put a hand on her grandmother’s arm.

“Grandma. I need to tell you something. June and I had talked about waiting until we knew for sure, but I don’t feel right about keeping it from you. If we don’t tell you, you’ll be the only one at dinner who doesn’t know. That hardly seems fair.”

“Tell me what?” Loretta turned off the stove with a wary expression.

Alison looked at June again, then grasped her grandmother’s hands in both of hers.

“Do you remember when I took that DNA test after Dad died?”

Loretta’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Oh! I had forgotten all about that. Did you find out anything interesting?”

“You could say that.” Alison cleared her throat. “I found out I was closely related to another person who had taken a test through the same site. Someone with whom I share a substantial number of DNA markers.”

“Is that right?”

“According to the results, this person is a close relative like a sibling.”

“Half sibling,” June murmured.

Loretta frowned at Alison. “What are you talking about? You’re an only child.”

Alison hesitated while June fought the urge to slip out of the kitchen and rush back to the safety of the cabin.

“Apparently, I’m not. The shared DNA is on Dad’s side. Your side. I did some investigating and found the match was living in Seattle.”

Loretta clearly wasn’t slow to infer the truth from her granddaughter’s words. She gazed at Alison and then at June.

“You?” Her voice wobbled with shock.

“We still don’t know for sure,” June said quickly. “We both took a repeat DNA test today and it’s being sent to a lab for confirmation.”

“Juniper needs confirmation. I don’t,” Ali said. “Her mom obviously knew Dad as she had a copy of Purgatory River that was personally signed to her. We know that much, but there’s a lot more we don’t know. We probably never will, since they’re both gone. But I am a hundred percent convinced June is my half sister.”

She squeezed her grandmother’s hands. “That also makes her your granddaughter.”

Loretta stared at them both, myriad emotions crossing her expression, then she suddenly burst into tears. She reached for June, hugging her tightly.

“We still don’t know for sure,” she said feebly.

Loretta leaned away from her, expression intense as she studied her. “Oh, my dear. It must be true. You have my son’s eyes. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

She hugged her again, a small sob of happiness bursting out of her as the doorbell rang.

While Ali ran to let in Beck, Loretta peppered her with questions that June had no idea how to answer. She was saved by the two others entering the kitchen.

Beck froze in the doorway, obviously picking up on the waves of emotion roiling through the room.

“I’m interrupting.”

“Not at all. I just found out I have another granddaughter!”

Loretta sounded giddy and stunned and emotional at the same time. She hugged June again and then, for good measure, she hugged Beck.

“Did you know about this, young man?” she asked through her tears.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Yes. Ali confided in me after she found out about the test results and started looking for June.”

“I wish you had told me. But isn’t it wonderful news?”

He slanted a sideways look at June. “It’s wonderful if it turns out to be true. I understand why Juniper wants to be certain before she becomes any more embroiled in all of our lives.”

Oh, it was far, far too late for that.

She thought of her deep relief when he had walked in and how she had wanted to fling herself into his arms, to hold on tight as she felt like her world was spiraling around her.

She was entangled in all of their lives, whether she liked it or not.

Chapter 41

Beckett

Throughout the evening, Beck wanted to pull June into his arms and keep her safe from the emotions he could tell were battering her from all sides.

He could only imagine how overwhelmed she must be about the whole thing as she talked about her mother—and about her mother’s husband, the man she had always thought was her father.

She wasn’t quite as pale as when he had first walked into the kitchen, when he had wanted to carry her out of the ranch house and take her home with him.

Loretta wanted to know every detail of June’s life, from her earliest childhood memories to her school experiences to her college life and helping to start the tech company.

“This all feels like a miracle to me,” Loretta said more than once. He wasn’t sure she had taken her gaze away from June’s features through the entire meal, as if memorizing each inch.

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re reading through Dad’s journals,” Alison said, spooning whipped cream onto her dessert crepe. “What better way to find out all his hopes and dreams?”

“He was a fascinating man,” June said. “I wish I’d had the chance to know him.”

Beneath the table, Beck reached for her hand. She sent a startled look in his direction, but to his immense gratification, she turned her hand over and entwined her fingers with his, clinging tightly.

“Do you know anything about your son writing another manuscript between Purgatory River and Beneath the Dusty Sky? Something that might have been titled The Forgotten Road?” she asked.

Loretta appeared to consider. “I don’t know. He was very private about his work. And I think he went through something of a creative crisis after all the buzz about Purgatory River. He all but disappeared, off on his grand adventures. I can’t tell you how much I worried about him during that time.”

“I believe he may have written a manuscript that he never published,” June said. “He leaves breadcrumbs of information about it sprinkled throughout his journals, and it doesn’t sound anything like his other work.”

“That would be remarkable, if you could find it.”

“We’ve gone through every corner of the cabin with no luck,” Beck said.

“I can’t shake the feeling that the book might give us some answers about what happened between Carson and my . . . my mother.”

“Did you check his bedroom here?” Loretta asked.

Alison looked confused. “I thought he kept all his writing-related materials at the cabin. He always said he needed to keep a mental and emotional separation between his work life and his home life.”

“He did try to compartmentalize the two, especially after your mother died. But there was always spillover. It was impossible to completely split the two parts of himself.”

“Would you mind if we looked there at some point?” June asked tentatively.

“Of course not. Search all you like. You could have a look tonight, if you wanted to.”

June exchanged a glance with Beck and he could see the spark of excitement rekindle in her eyes. He had to admit he was caught up in the challenge of the search, too.

“Are you sure?” June asked.

“You should probably ask Alison. Everything in the house is hers now.”

They all turned to Alison, who set down her fork. “You can look through anything you want. You don’t even have to ask. That goes for both of you. But do you mind if I skip out on this one?”

“I thought you wanted to help us look,” Beck said.

“I do. If Dad has a missing manuscript somewhere, I want to find it. But to be honest, it’s still hard for me to go into Dad’s room.”

That had been the room where Carson had his cardiac arrest, Beck realized. Ali had been in her own room down the hall when she heard him cry out, then the crash of his fall. She had rushed in to find him on the floor.

“We’ve got this,” Beck said, giving her a compassionate look.

“I’ll stay and help Grandma clean up while you two go look.”

“We can help clean up first,” June said.

Loretta waved her arm. “Go. We’ve got this. It won’t take us longer than ten minutes.”

Beck led the way toward the room he knew was Carson’s. Considered the owner’s suite, the room was huge, with a sitting area in front of a river-rock fireplace and a massive bathroom. Dominating the space was a large four-poster bed. It looked as it must have the day he died, with stacks of books on his side table and a favorite sweater over the arm of one of the chairs.

June sat down on the sofa, looking lost again.

“Are you okay?”

“No. Not really. It’s all so much.”

She released a heavy breath. “I like Loretta. She’s wonderful. But I don’t understand how she can immediately accept the situation and embrace me like I’m her long-lost granddaughter.”

“Maybe because you are?”

She rubbed her temples in a gesture that reminded him of one of Carson’s mannerisms. “What if I’m not, though? What if it’s all a mistake and the new DNA tests prove otherwise? I don’t want her to be hurt by the whole thing.”

He suddenly realized that while she was concerned about Loretta’s feelings, she was also worried about her own. June was afraid to believe, afraid of the disappointment that might be on the other side.

She looked so lost and afraid, this bright, talented, self-assured woman, that he couldn’t help himself. He sat beside her on the sofa, reached out and pulled her into his arms.

She was stiff for an instant, muscles taut, then she seemed to sag against him, and her arms came around his neck.

She was trembling slightly and he tightened his hold, wanting to give her his heat and his comfort and his strength.

Finally, she eased away with a tremulous smile. “Thank you for everything you’ve done the past few days. You’ve been a rock, Beck.”

Her eyes looked huge and luminous, a sheen of tears she refused to shed. As he looked at her, Beck felt all the walls he had built so carefully around his emotions crumble into dust.

He wanted to be more than a rock to her. He wanted to be this woman’s friend, her lover, her everything.

He knew he shouldn’t want it, that the timing was abysmal. Her life was in complete disarray.

It was too late, though.

He released her so that he didn’t compound his mistakes by kissing her again.

“Let’s find your father’s missing manuscript.”

She gave a small laugh and wiped at her face. “You make it sound so easy.”

With any luck, it would be. She deserved to have one thing be easy, didn’t she?

“I’ll go through the closet,” he said. “You can start out here.”

Chapter 42

Juniper

She had been sorting through Carson Wells’s personal writings since Beck and Ali gave her the first journals. She felt she knew the man. But somehow, being here in his bedroom, touching the neat stacks of socks and jeans and flannel shirts, felt so much more intimate.

She again wished she had been given the chance to meet him during his lifetime. Even if she hadn’t been aware there was a chance he might be her father, she would have loved having a conversation with him, listening to his insights into the world and his wisdom.

They had been looking for about twenty minutes when Beck emerged from the walk-in closet. “Anything look promising?”

She shook her head. “I thought it might be on his bookshelf here, tucked away between some of his favorites, but I haven’t found anything except a bunch of interesting-looking books. What about you?”

“I’ve found a lot of bits and pieces. A few lunch receipts for the diner in town, a boarding pass for a trip to London last year, even a few Euros tucked away in a drawer. But no manuscript.”

June sighed. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. It’s silly to pour so much energy and time into a wild-goose chase. He obviously either never wrote an unpublished book or he hated it so much he threw it away, like you have all been saying.”

“We had to try,” he said. “No stone left unturned, right? I have one more shelf to look through in the closet. If you want to go out with Loretta and Ali, I can join you when I’m done.”

“Okay.”

After he returned to the closet, she gazed around the room, hoping for inspiration to strike.

She hadn’t gone through his bedside drawers yet. That seemed far too intrusive. But as Beck said, she didn’t want to leave any stone unturned. Atop the bedside table, she found a framed picture of a blonde woman in a ranch coat and jeans holding the reins of a horse behind her in one hand and the hand of a small girl who had to be Alison in the other.

She looked kind, someone June thought she would have liked.

Ignoring her qualms, she opened the top drawer of the side table, where she found some reading glasses, a small jar of coins, a few more receipts, a random key on a ring.

She pulled the lower drawer open and found only one thing: a wooden box with a mountain scene etched on the cover of two peaks, pine trees and a small, beautifully etched deer grazing in a wildflower meadow.

The cover wouldn’t budge. Locked. She turned it this way and that, trying to find a mechanism to open it, with no luck.

Remembering the key from the top drawer, she retrieved it and inserted it into the lock then stared when it slid in perfectly.

She twisted it and heard the lock disengage. June caught her breath. This had to be it. The size was exactly right to hold one or two of his notebooks. It had to be here.

With a sense of anticipation curling through her, she opened the lid and stared down at two notebooks nestled inside a satiny lining, exactly like the journals except with blue covers.

Her pulse pounding, June traced the cover of the notebook on top that held only three words.

The Forgotten Road.

They had found it. She could hardly make sense of it all. She had been right. Carson had written another manuscript, one he never published.

With hands that shook, she pulled the notebook out of the box and opened the first page. There in his unmistakable handwriting were the words:

For Elizabeth.

In whose eyes I first saw the world.

In whose heart I learned the weight of love

This story belongs to us alone.

Scarcely aware of her actions, she set it back inside, picked up the entire box and carried it to the sitting area, where she could only stare at it, her mind racing.

For Elizabeth. Her mother. They had known each other. Had loved each other. The woman he wrote about in his journals, the one he referred to only as “E” had been her mother.

She wasn’t sure how long she stared at it. She was still there when Beck came back into the room.

He took one look at her and sank down next to her, taking her hand. “You’re pale as a ghost, Junie. What’s wrong?”

“I found it,” she whispered.

He looked more closely at the box in her hands and the words on the cover of the book inside. “You were right!” he exclaimed.

She handed over the book and he opened it to the first page, as she had done.

“For Elizabeth. Your mother,” he said, tone hushed. “Where did you find it?”

“In the bottom drawer of his bedside table.”

“He kept it close. Kept her close.”

Her eyes burned with emotion and she had to swallow down the lump in her throat. Her emotions were a tangled mess of gratitude, sadness, anticipation and apprehension. She wanted immediately to start reading at the same time she feared what she would find.

Carson Wells was her father. She could no longer deny that. If she had any lingering doubt, this tucked-away manuscript confirmed it. Carson had known and loved her mother.

“We need to tell Alison and Loretta,” she said.

“I can call them in.”

She shook her head. “Not here. Ali doesn’t like this room.”

“Right.”

She rose and picked up the box, closing the lid. She was deeply grateful for Beck’s strength and support as they walked out of the bedroom in search of the others.

They found them in the sitting room off the kitchen. Loretta had her feet up on a leather ottoman and was scrolling with the remote through menus on the TV while Ali swiped at her phone.

When she and Beck walked in, they both looked up. Something in their demeanor must have alerted Alison. She immediately set down her phone and stood up.

“You found it.”

“We did.” She gave a shaky smile, still fighting that lump in her throat. “You were right. He knew my mother. The book is dedicated to her.”

She held it out. Ali took it with a wariness June completely understood. She opened it to the same page and read the dedication written there. When she looked up, her eyes were wet.

“He loved her,” she said, handing the book next to her grandmother to read.

“Oh, my boy,” Loretta murmured. “No wonder he spent that time wandering, trying to mend his broken heart.”

If there was one thing June had learned since her cardiac arrest, it was that broken hearts didn’t mend. A person simply had to learn how to accept the scars.

They must have had an affair and it must have left him shattered. June didn’t know the circumstances, but she could only guess it had something to do with the fact that Elizabeth had been married and wouldn’t leave her husband.

It shifted her entire perspective about her mother, though she couldn’t help thinking her mother must have loved Carson, as well. She remembered the almost reverent way Elizabeth would read his books and how she had always kept her signed copy of Purgatory River close to her bedside.

Her mother had been married to another man, though, even if she and Jimmy had married in a rush, before his deployment.

Elizabeth had prized loyalty and honor above all things. She must have deeply regretted her lapse of judgment in falling in love with Carson and betraying her marriage vows. Perhaps she had never told Carson about June as penance for what she had done.

“So what now?” Ali asked.

“We read it,” Loretta said as if that was the only possible course of action.

“You should read it first,” June said, holding out the box.

Alison shook her head. “You should read it first. This was written before I was born. By the dedication, I would guess it was written either for or about Dad’s relationship with your mom. It’s only right that you read it first.”

June didn’t feel right about that, but she also didn’t want to argue with her sister. Good Lord. She had a sister!

She almost suggested they read it together, but something held her back. She yearned to immerse herself in the words and wasn’t sure she could do that while reading it along with someone else.

“I can’t believe my son wrote another manuscript that he never published,” Loretta said, still looking at the box and the notebooks with amazement. “I wonder if it was simply too close to his heart for him to share with the world.”

“Possibly,” Beck said. “Or maybe he didn’t feel right about releasing it without Elizabeth’s knowledge and consent because the things he wrote about were between them.”

“That’s what he writes there,” Ali said. “This story belongs to us alone. I almost feel weird about reading it now.”

“Don’t be silly,” Loretta said, her tone brisk. “If he didn’t want anyone else to read it, he should have destroyed it before he died. Stories are meant to be shared. Your father knew that. A good story becomes part of you, whispering truths and stirring emotions long after the final page is turned.”

What emotions would June discover in the pages of The Forgotten Road?

She still wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

Chapter 43

Beckett

June still appeared pale, her features washed out like bleached pine. While the women continued to speculate about what the pages might contain in this manuscript one of the world’s great writers had kept tucked away, he saw her features grow increasingly fatigued. Finally, he stepped in.

“It’s late and it’s been a long day for all of us. Why don’t I give you a ride back to the cabin?”

She glanced at her watch. “Oh. I hadn’t realized the time. I can walk. It’s not that far.”

“My truck is out front. I insist. Looks like we might be in for a rain shower, and you wouldn’t want the manuscript to get wet.”

It was a ruthless play, since the rain, if it even fell, likely wouldn’t start for hours, but she acquiesced.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said to Loretta. “I had a truly lovely time.”

The older woman smiled warmly and wrapped June in a tight embrace that seemed to further overwhelm her.

“It was totally my pleasure, my dear. I am so happy to have found you. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world, to have been given the priceless gift of a new granddaughter at my age.”

June closed her eyes and returned the embrace, her mouth wobbling a little before she drew away. Somehow, he had the impression June had not received as many hugs as she deserved, especially in recent years.

“We’ll talk soon. When you’ve finished the book, maybe,” Loretta said.

“Definitely.”

“Let me grab the rest of your fruit salad.”

He carried the bowl for her while June carried the box and manuscript. He helped her into his pickup truck and drove to the cabin quickly. Once there, he helped her out then grabbed the fruit bowl to take inside for her, grateful for any chance to extend their time together.

“Are you going to be okay?”

She gave a rough-sounding laugh. “Eventually. It’s so much to take in, but I’ll be fine. Thank you for everything.”

“I haven’t done anything,” he protested.

“Not true. You’ve done more than you know. You believed in me when I thought Carson might have written another manuscript. You helped me look for it.”

She hesitated then offered up that shaky smile. “I have to tell you, earlier tonight when you walked into Loretta’s kitchen right as Ali was telling her about the DNA results, I wanted to fly into your arms and not let go. I felt an indescribable comfort, knowing you were there in the midst of all the chaos. You have been a true friend to me, Beck, and I’m so grateful.”

What would she say if he told her he wanted to be far more than friends with her?

“You can use my arms any time you want,” he said.

She gave a shaky laugh. “Be careful when you make offers like that or you might have distraught women running to you at all hours of the day and night.”

He wouldn’t mind, as long as she was the distraught woman in question, though he would rather she wanted to run into his arms for other reasons.

He was falling for Juniper Connelly.

It was a realization that should have shocked him but somehow it only seemed inevitable.

“I’m here now,” he said, holding his arms open.

She hesitated only for an instant before she wrapped her arms around him with a deep, heartfelt sigh.

She felt right here, somehow. It shouldn’t make sense, he knew, but she felt as if she belonged in his arms.

He held her for a long time, simply offering his strength and comfort. Later, he wasn’t sure if she moved first or if he did, but somehow his mouth was on hers.

She tasted of strawberries and lemons, sweet and tart at the same time—a complex mix that was exactly her.

She returned the kiss, her arms tightening around him, and tenderness flooded through him. She had so much love inside her, this woman he had once been blind enough to think was cool and remote.

They kissed for a long time there in the living area of her father’s writing cabin. It was slow, almost achingly gentle. He wanted her, more than he had wanted anything in a long time, but right then he would have been content to pull her onto his lap on the long sofa and kiss her all night long.

Oh, yes. He was definitely falling in love with her.

“We have to figure out a way to make this work after you return to Seattle,” he murmured.

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. She froze, her body taut suddenly, then she stepped away.

Her mouth looked soft from his kisses, her eyes huge in her slender face as she gazed at him.

“No. No, we don’t.”

“Does that mean you’re staying here?”

She gave an almost violent shake of her head. “You know this can’t work, Beck. I . . . I care about you, but I have to go back. My life is there. My work.”

He wanted to argue with her, to expound on all the ways couples managed to make the long-distance thing work. He could tell by looking at her sudden panicked expression that there was no point. Not right now.

She wasn’t concerned about their proximity. She was worried about her own vulnerability to him. She didn’t want to care about him, and no amount of arguing on his point could make that right.

“I’ve hidden out here too long, licking my wounds. I need to get back to my real life. It’s time. Past time.”

He thought of a hundred things he could say, but nothing felt right.

“I hope you’ll give us a chance to say goodbye to you before you leave,” he finally said, his voice low.

“I will. I’m not going to steal away in the night, I promise.”

“My arms are always open, June. No strings. Next time I’ll try not to ruin things by kissing you again.”

“Thank you,” she said. He wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for his offer of comfort and support or for his assurances that he wouldn’t kiss her again.

“Can I offer some advice? Don’t stay up all night reading Carson’s book. You’ve already had a long day. You will have a better perspective if you read it tomorrow, when your brain and your heart aren’t so tired.”

She considered his words and nodded. “You’re probably right.”

“Good night.”

Despite his assurance, he couldn’t resist giving her one more soft kiss at the door before he slipped outside and returned to his pickup truck.

As he drove to his place and let Hank out one more time to do his business, Beck wanted to punch something.

Mostly himself.

How could he have made the colossal mistake of falling for Juniper Connelly?

For five years, he had told himself he was perfectly fine on his own. After Soledad’s death, he had vowed he would never fall in love again. Love made a man far too weak.

He should be relieved June had made it abundantly clear she was ready to walk away and not look back.

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to avoid seeing her. Her sister and her grandmother were here on The Painted Sky Ranch. He was a good friend of the family’s and also one of the executors of her father’s literary trust. He would have to interact with her in the future. His best choice now was to do everything he could to get over her.

For his own sake, a little distance wouldn’t be a bad idea, he decided. A few days earlier, he had a phone call from one of his contacts in Montana, letting him know about a new supply of heavily burled western larch in a grove owned by a private landowner who needed to cut it.

He had planned to drive up the following week to check it out, but maybe he would rush his plans and go for a few days.

That just might give him time to rebuild his defenses and figure out how he would make a life without her.

Chapter 44

Juniper

Two days after finding The Forgotten Road, June closed the second notebook and simply gazed out at the mountains, her chest aching with unshed tears.

Carson’s long-hidden manuscript had been raw and real, the story of a man who falls in love with another man’s wife and how he worked to repair the gaping hole that love had torn inside him.

She had been deeply moved by each page, unable to read more than an hour at a time without having to take a break to regain her composure.

It had felt like a love letter to her mother, a precious gift that made June not only come to love her father, but also admire and respect her mother for the difficult choice she had made to walk away.

What would Elizabeth have done if she had read it? Jimmy Connelly had died by the time Carson wrote the tragic ending to The Forgotten Road.

Had Elizabeth tried to reach out to him and let him know about her husband’s death and about their daughter’s birth?

If she hadn’t, why not?

She would probably never know the answer to that. Perhaps, as she had thought before, her mother had considered it her penance to live a solitary life, punishment for breaking her wedding vows with Carson. Or perhaps they had fought so bitterly when their affair ended that she had been unable to see a way forward for them.

We were travelers on the same road for a short time, his protagonist and narrator had said in the final scene. She had a destination I could never reach. In the end, she continued walking and I stood still, left only with the dust of her footprints.

It all made her so sad, though she reminded herself that Carson had gone on to have a wonderful life, after that initial time of mourning. He had fallen in love again with Alison’s mother, had a child, bought this ranch and went on to have a brilliant career.

Her mother had also been happy. She had loved her students, she had adored June, she had dear friends who loved her and she had worked hard to make her community better.

While June wanted to sit and absorb the words she had read for the next few hours—or days—she also knew she had to give the book to Alison to read now. She had promised to take it to her as soon as she finished.

After packing the notebooks back into the protective box and locking it again with the key, she threw on shoes and a sweater and took off along the path toward the ranch.

Ali had texted her already that day to let her know she was at home studying that morning, but had to work that afternoon. She could catch her before she left.

What would her sister think about the deep love their father had once had for Elizabeth Connelly?

Her sister. She shook her head as she walked. It was still so very difficult to process all the changes in her life in such a short time.

Dew still clung to the grass, gleaming like scattered pearls on each leaf and blade.

She would miss Wyoming and this ranch deeply when she left, but she knew she had to go. Her life waited for her and it was time she returned to it.

While she knew she would come back to see Alison and Loretta, she wasn’t ready to see Beck again.

As she read about lost love, he hadn’t been far from her thoughts, which was silly. She didn’t love him. Okay, maybe she was halfway there, but she would get over him as soon as she returned to Seattle.

She had no choice but to go back. Their relationship was doomed to failure before it had even begun. He surely understood that.

Alison opened the door as soon as she rang the doorbell, as if she had been waiting on the other side since June had texted that she was on her way.

“I’ve been dying to talk to you for the past thirty-six hours, but Grandma told me I should give you time to finish the book.”

“Thank you.”

“How was it?”

She couldn’t find any words adequate to convey the impact.

“It is a lovely book. Heartbreaking, bittersweet, sad. But filled with hope, too.”

Alison studied her features, probably taking in her reddened eyes and the tearstains that were likely still on her cheeks.

“Will it be hard for me to read?”

June considered. “Maybe. But it’s uplifting, too.”

“What do you think about publishing it? I keep thinking Dad had reasons for not putting it out there in the world. Maybe we should honor those reasons.”

“That’s a decision for you and Beck to make as Carson’s literary trustees.”

Ali made a face. “Nice try, but you’re not getting out of it that easily. You’re part of this now. I know I speak for Beck, too, when I say your input is absolutely necessary before we make any decisions. We won’t do anything without your okay.”

She wasn’t sure Beck would agree, especially after the way she had pushed him out the door the other night.

“Read it first. Then you can decide whether or not to publish it. I’m interested to know what you think.”

“I will.”

Alison took the box containing the book and the small key and set it on the table in the hallway. It was all June could do not to snatch it back up and hold it tightly in her arms.

“If we decide not to publish it, I will at least have it typed up and formatted so we can print bound copies for the two of us and for Loretta and Beck. A friend of mine worked with a print-on-demand publisher a few years ago and the small-run print edition of her book was stunning. I’ll check into it.”

“That would be lovely.”

“Would you like coffee or tea or something? Grandma also has some banana nut bread in the kitchen or I could find you some toast or something.”

“I’m good. I’ll head back home so you can return to your studying.” She paused, bracing herself. “I need to tell you something. I’m going back to Seattle this week. Day after tomorrow, actually.”

Ali stared. “You can’t go yet. You’re still recovering.”

“I’ve been here long enough, Ali. I’m doing well. I’m stronger every day. It’s time I start easing myself back into my regular life.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Alison’s distress hurt, mostly because she shared the other woman’s feelings. Her sister had become important to her since she had come to Wyoming, possibly the dearest friend she’d ever had.

“We’ll still be in touch,” June assured her. “As you said, I’m part of this now. I want to be in your life and in your grandmother’s life.”

“Our grandmother’s life,” Ali corrected.

“It will take me time to get used to that. But yes. Our grandmother’s life.”

“She’ll be sorry she missed you today. I know she would love to see you again before you go.”

“I’ll stop by before I leave, at a time when she’s home.”

“We should have a goodbye dinner tomorrow. I would invite you tonight, but I actually have a date. I could cancel it, though.”

She said the words with a hopeful tone in her voice that made June wonder. “With your cowboy again?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound all that excited.”

“I should be. I know I should be. I’m just—” Her voice trailed off. “I think I’m in love with my best friend.”

June didn’t know what to say. Was Ali looking toward her for advice? She had never been great at giving other people romantic advice, probably because she was so lousy at relationships herself.

“With Xander?”

Ali nodded miserably. “We kissed when we went on our camping trip. It was . . . amazing.”

“That sounds promising.”

“I don’t know. We’ve been friends since we were kids and I’ve been careful never to blur any lines. Xander is too important to me. My best friend. I can’t screw it up.”

“If he kissed you, maybe he’s looking for more.”

“He told me he had a thing for me in high school and everybody knew except me. And when I was helping him clear out his room, he had a photo album filled with pictures of me.”

That sounded like a clear case of mutual attraction to June.

“So maybe you are the only one who cares about not mixing your friendship with romance.”

Ali rubbed at her temples. “Maybe. I don’t know. What should I do?”

“If you are looking for fabulous advice in this area, you chose the wrong older sister. I have a lousy track record with men. I’ve only had a few relationships that lasted longer than a month or two.”

“Beck likes you, though.”

June tensed. She did not want to talk about Beckett right now. Especially as she hadn’t seen any sign of him or his dog since she had pushed him away.

She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, how much she had missed them both.

“He’s been very kind to me.”

“I get a definite vibe there’s more to it. I think it’s wonderful. You two are perfect for each other. Beck hasn’t dated anyone since he came to Bridger Peak. It’s about time he found someone fantastic and I would be so happy if that someone was you.”

“It’s not,” she said bluntly. “I’m going back to Seattle this week. End of story.”

Ali looked as if she wanted to argue, but something in June’s expression must have caused her to reconsider, much to June’s relief.

“Is Mr. Greene sending a plane for you?”

“That’s the plan.”

When she had told Adam she was going to catch a commercial flight back from Jackson, he had insisted on sending one of the Move Inc planes for her. It felt unnecessary and uncomfortably pretentious to June, not to mention raising her personal carbon footprint far higher than she wanted.

“I can give you a ride to the airport, then. I may have to rearrange my schedule at the bookstore, but I’ll make it work. Grandma will make sure of it.”

“Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

She hadn’t been sure how she would get to the airport. She could never have asked Beck, certainly.

“We have to plan a time when you can come back to The Painted Sky. I insist on it.”

“I will,” she promised. “And you are welcome anytime you want to visit Seattle, too.”

She meant the words completely. Alison had saved her life. For that alone, June would have maintained a connection with her. But she was her half sister, too, a relationship June intended to cherish.

She might not be great at doling out sisterly advice, but she had a huge penthouse in Seattle with plenty of room for visitors.

Chapter 45

Alison

She should have listened to June and canceled the date.

As she waited for Clint to pick her up later that evening, Alison considered texting him to back out at least a dozen times.

What could she have said? Sorry. I don’t want to go out with you because I think I’m in love with my best friend?

The truth sounded ridiculous. Anything else would simply be an excuse, and she had been paralyzed by indecision all the time she had dressed and put on makeup for their dinner.

She did like Clint. He was a little self-absorbed, but she had enjoyed being with him the other night and he was certainly good-looking. They could be friends, if nothing else.

He was fifteen minutes late, but came to the door wearing a nice Western-cut shirt, jeans and the same hand-tooled boots he had worn when they went to see the band at the Bison.

“You look fantastic,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her. At the last minute she turned her head so his mouth landed on her cheek.

He smelled good and looked even better. Ali knew her teenage self would have been freaking out right now.

She wasn’t a teenager, though. And Clint wasn’t Xander.

“Thanks.”

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. What time is our reservation?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I didn’t make reservations. I had an even better idea. I took a couple of choice steaks out of the freezer and thought we could grill at my place.”

Alison knew a brief instant of panic, remembering how he had grabbed her ass the other night after he brought her home. If she went to his place, would she have to spend the whole night fighting him off?

She didn’t want to risk it. “I would rather go out,” she said.

He reached for her hand and twisted his fingers through hers. “I thought it would be more fun to have a quiet night, just the two of us.”

Yeah. That was the last thing she wanted. Why hadn’t she canceled?

“I would rather go out,” she said stubbornly. “That’s what we talked about doing and what I agreed to when you asked me out.”

Annoyance creased his forehead before he smoothed it out again with another charming smile. “I didn’t make a reservation. I doubt we can find anywhere at this last moment.”

“It doesn’t have to be anywhere fancy. We could even go to the Bison, where we don’t need a reservation. I’ve heard their pizza is great.”

Could he hear that slightly desperate note in her voice?

He finally gave a resigned sigh. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you don’t want to be alone with me.”

He seemed completely baffled at the possibility and she almost felt sorry for him. Clint Maclean had always been the catch of Bridger Peak, at least in high school. She hadn’t been the only one who had been jealous of his girlfriend.

“It’s not you,” she said. “I just . . . have recently discovered I have feelings for someone else.”

“Xandork.” He spat out the word like it was a fly in his beer.

When she didn’t answer, he glowered at her. “What the hell, Ali? I always thought you had a thing for me in high school.”

“You . . . you did?” Apparently, she hadn’t been as good at hiding her crush as she thought.

“I always thought you were cute, too. If I hadn’t been with Angel, I would have done something about it.”

How could he not have known? She had probably blushed furiously whenever she talked to him, and she had never complained or argued when he asked her to help with his homework.

She was really glad she wasn’t that ridiculous girl anymore.

“People grow up and change. I’m sorry, Clint. I like you. But I’m in love with Xander.”

Saying the words out loud seemed to set something free inside her, as if she had busted a logjam of emotion. “I should have canceled our date. I’m sorry. But you’re still Clint Maclean. If you walked into any bar in town, you could have any woman you wanted. Maybe those Danish tourists are still in town. I’m sure you could grab Smitty and Tank and the three of you could find them.”

He seemed to brighten at the possibility, even as he tried to make sense of her unexpected rejection. “We could have been good together.”

She suddenly knew with certainty they would have been lousy together. It was a good thing she had wised up before she did something really foolish, like go to his house for steak and probably sex.

She gave him an apologetic look, even as half of her mind tried to figure out what her next steps should be with Xander. “I’m really sorry I didn’t cancel earlier. I should have. I’m sorry you made the trip over here for nothing and sorry I didn’t come to my senses before. At least I didn’t waste any more of your time or energy. Good night, Clint.”

She closed the door before he could argue. Through the side panel window next to the door, she saw him pause on the porch then stomp down the steps.

He gunned his engine on the way back down the driveway. She rolled her eyes and headed back to the TV room, where Loretta was turning on her favorite reality show, one of the cats stretched out on her lap.

Her grandmother hit Pause on the remote. “What’s going on? Wasn’t that Maclean’s truck I heard pull up? Tell him he needs a new exhaust system.”

She sat down on the sofa, feeling slightly dazed. “I don’t think he’ll want to listen to anything I have to tell him from now on. I canceled our date.”

Loretta turned off the TV and frowned. “I hope it wasn’t because of my warnings the other day, after your date. I’ve regretted saying anything ever since.”

“It wasn’t because of that, though I am grateful you were concerned enough about me to urge caution.”

She gazed at the picture on the wall of her parents. Even if he had loved someone else first, her father had loved her mother. She had no doubt whatsoever. She wanted that kind of love, too. Genuine, tender, forged on friendship and mutual respect.

“I didn’t cancel because of anything you said. I just realized I want something different.”

Loretta pressed her lips together, but Alison didn’t miss the knowing look in her eyes. Good grief. Couldn’t she hide anything from anyone?

“Alexander,” her grandmother said with a satisfied smile. “It’s about time.”

Yes. Yes, it was.

“Have you told him?”

“No. Not yet. It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is. What are you waiting for?”

She gave a ragged-sounding laugh. If only she had a tiny portion of the courage her grandmother seemed to think she had in abundance.

What if he rejected her?

The possibility haunted her. He might. Her own feelings toward her high school crush had certainly changed since high school. If he truly had feelings for her back then, maybe his feelings had changed, too.

She would never know unless she tried.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled out her phone and texted him.

Have you had dinner? If not, I’m grabbing a pizza. I could be there in a half hour.

Three blue dots flashed for a painfully long time before he replied.

I thought you had a date with Clint.

My plans changed, she replied.

And so had her priorities. She didn’t want only a pretty face and a nice butt, though Xander definitely had those things. She wanted something real with someone she had loved since they were kids.

Sure, he texted back. Pizza sounds good.

She ordered the pizza on her way into town—his favorite, veggie with extra mushrooms—and stopped at the pizzeria to pick it up. She felt overdressed to be picking up a pizza and Xander’s favorite beer. She had dressed for what she thought would be dinner in a nice restaurant with Clint, wearing one of the dresses she had bought for her short-lived internship, and hadn’t bothered to change into something more casual before she left the ranch.

Too bad. She didn’t care. He could take her as she was.

Or not.

She pulled up in front of his great-aunt’s house, heart pounding as she grabbed the pizza and six-pack and headed for the door.

She had no idea what she would do next, beyond sharing pizza with him. Maybe she could persuade him to take a drive or something so she could talk to him without Sylvia as an audience.

But when he answered the door, he immediately let her know his great-aunt wasn’t home.

“Helen and Bob Turner took her to bingo tonight.”

“I didn’t realize there was bingo tonight. Let’s go,” she said, trying for a joke to hide the sudden nerves building in her. “We could eat our pizza on the way.”

He studied her closely, and she regretted that he knew her so well and could always tell when she was hiding something.

“What’s going on, Al? You had a date with Clint tonight. Did he stand you up? Is that why you’re here?”

She set down the pizza box on the coffee table, though she was tempted to tell him they should eat while it was hot.

“I thought we were heading to a nice restaurant, but he wanted to go back to his place and grill steaks together.”

His jaw clenched. “No doubt grilling wasn’t his only plan for the evening.”

“Probably not. Which is why I told him no.”

“You didn’t want to grill steaks?”

She shook her head. “Or do anything else. Not with him.”

He looked at her, and the moment seemed to stretch out between them, vibrating with tension and energy.

“With someone else?”

She couldn’t meet his gaze as a hundred different emotions chased through her. She felt as if she were on the edge of something terrifying and wonderful at the same time, yet she was so afraid to take a step into the dark unknown.

If she didn’t, though, she might never know the beauty and joy waiting for her on the other side.

“Yes,” she whispered, fiercely grateful that his great-aunt wasn’t there. “If you want the truth, I told Clint I had recently discovered I had . . . feelings for someone else.”

She did meet his gaze now and she saw something leap there, something bright and vivid that made her toes tingle and her knees feel weak.

“Anyone I know?” he asked, his voice raspy.

Suddenly, she was no longer afraid. How could she be, when this was Xander, her dearest friend, and he was looking at her with that fiery expression in his eyes?

She nodded. “Yeah. You know him quite well, actually.”

“Do I?”

With a soft smile, she reached for his hand. “I told you I’ve watched all the content on your channel. What I didn’t tell you was how much I disliked all the beautiful women who traveled with you.”

His mouth pursed. “I’ve told you that Giselle is the only woman I was actually in a relationship with.”

“I didn’t know that at the time. I hated all of those women, especially Giselle. Do you want to know something funny? I had no idea why I disliked them until this summer.”

“Why?”

“I was jealous, plain and simple. I wanted to be the one there with you on all those adventures. The one you laughed with and explored mountain trails with and held hands with on the beach.”

He looked down at their entwined hands. When he reached up, she saw a shadow of nervousness in his expression. “I don’t want to screw up our friendship, Al. That’s one reason I’ve never made any moves. First, I was sure you weren’t interested. And second, you matter to me. More than anyone else ever could.”

“But you wanted to? Make moves, I mean?”

“More than I wanted to breathe, whenever we were together.”

He reached out and grabbed her other hand, but he didn’t pull him to her. Not yet.

“Should I tell you why Giselle and I really broke up? Because she told me in her very French, very dramatic, way that I had no room in my heart for anyone else and I never would because you were taking up all the space.”

“Oh,” she whispered, feeling as if her own heart was about to melt into a mushy pile on the floor.

He smiled. “She was right. It was always you, Ali. From that first day when you were so kind to me in the lunchroom.”

“I wish you had told me. Think of all the time we’ve wasted.”

He pulled her fingers to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I don’t consider it wasted. Maybe we both had to grow up in order to know what we really wanted.”

Finally, at long, long last, he pulled her to him and his mouth found hers.

His kiss was everything. Like coming home, like slipping off her shoes at the end of a long day, like a soft breeze on a sweltering day.

Perfect.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, so happy she wanted to stay right here forever.

“We’re not friends with benefits,” he said on a growl after a long, delicious moment. “Just to be clear. I want more than that. I want it all with you.”

“Good. I wouldn’t accept anything else,” she told him.

She kissed him again, regretting that his great-aunt would eventually be home. She wanted to start on that everything right now.

They used to spend hours in his bedroom innocently hanging out and his great-aunt and -uncle had never said anything. How would Sylvia even know if they spent a few not-so-innocent hours down there?

She felt lightheaded with joy, not quite believing this was real. She had no idea how they would make this work, especially when Xander had made a career out of traveling the world, and she had been about to embark on a new career she had worked hard for as soon as she passed the bar.

But he was right. She didn’t have to start lawyering right away. Why couldn’t she take a little time off?

She could work on continuing to grieve her father’s death, could spend time thinking about what she really wanted to do with her life, and could especially be with the man she loved.

Her best friend.

Chapter 46

Beck

He wasn’t going to make it.

Beck looked at the clock on the dashboard of his truck and accelerated as fast as he dared, especially since he was pulling a trailer full of valuable timber.

His eyes felt gritty and sore with every mile. He had been driving since the early hours of the morning after Ali had texted him the night before to ask if he’d had a chance to say goodbye to June yet.

That was the first he knew she was leaving. Well, he had known she was leaving eventually. He just hadn’t known until late the night before that she was leaving today. This morning.

He should have left as soon as Ali had texted him, but he hadn’t slept much the previous two nights and didn’t trust himself hauling a heavy trailer on winding mountain roads unless he caught at least a few hours of sleep.

He had managed one, somehow, before he had packed his bags and taken off.

Unfortunately, road construction had hung him up near Lander so here he was, cutting it far closer than he liked.

Ali said she was picking June up at the cabin at 8:00 a.m. since the Move Inc jet was supposed to touch down at 8:30. It was now 7:30 and he had fifteen miles to go to reach the ranch.

He didn’t have to say goodbye in person. There was no good reason he needed to rush back to Bridger Peak. He could have texted her or even called her.

If he wanted to talk to her in person, he could always fly to Seattle.

Somehow, it had seemed vitally important that he talk to her face-to-face.

The few days they had spent apart had only solidified how important she had become to him. He couldn’t let her go without trying one more time to convince her to give them a chance.

He drove straight to the cabin as soon as he reached The Painted Sky. Fortunately, he didn’t see any sign of Ali when he pulled up in front.

As soon as he stopped, Hank whined from the back seat and Beck let him out. The dog relieved himself in the grass in record time then raced up the steps to bark outside the door.

Only seconds later, June opened the door, shock on her features as she stared at first Hank and then Beck.

“Oh. You’re here. Ali told me you were out of town and wouldn’t be home until tonight.”

“We decided to make an early start. I understand you’re heading out today for Seattle.”

She continued petting his dog. “Yes. The plane will be touching down at the airport soon.”

Don’t go.

The words hovered on his tongue, but now that he was here, he didn’t know how to say them.

“I’m glad Hank had the chance to say goodbye to you.”

“I’ll miss him.”

She scratched his dog behind the ears and Hank lolled out his tongue, tail wagging wildly.

She would miss his dog. Not him.

“I think he’s going to be heartbroken when you leave.”

She met his gaze and he wanted to tell her his dog wasn’t the only one.

“If I hadn’t left Montana in the early hours of the morning, neither of us would have had the chance to say goodbye.”

Her hands stilled on his dog’s fur. “We said everything we needed to say the other night, didn’t we? We both know this is for the best. It would never work between us.”

“Why not? You didn’t really give me a clear answer before. I have feelings for you. Believe me, nobody is more shocked about that than I am. After Soledad, I was sure I was done with letting anyone else in. Then you showed up and changed everything.”

“Please, Beck. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

He was angry, suddenly. “Why does it have to be hard? Can you honestly tell me you feel nothing for me?”

She swallowed, her eyes suddenly distressed. He felt like the world’s biggest ass to push her on this, with everything else she had been through.

“No. I can’t tell you that,” she said, her voice so low he could barely hear her. “But what does it matter how I feel? We both know this can’t work between us.”

“Why not?”

“We live different lives a thousand miles away from each other.”

“So what? Long-distance relationships aren’t as tough as they used to be. We can have long video calls into the night and text a thousand times a day. You can come to Wyoming whenever you can break free. I have a flexible schedule and can make frequent trips to Seattle. Or hell, if things progress that far, I could always find a new workshop in the Seattle area. The Pacific Northwest has some amazing timber.”

“Distance is not the only reason this can’t work. You know it’s not.”

She pressed her lips together and for the first time, he noticed they were trembling.

“Why?”

She pressed a hand hard over her heart, her features suddenly as angry as his. “Because of this. Because I have a tiny device keeping me alive. At any second, I could go into cardiac arrest and have to be shocked back to life.”

“So what?”

“You don’t want to have to deal with that uncertainty.”

“I’m a grown man, June. I’m really good at making my own decisions about what I do or do not want to deal with.”

Her lips pressed together again and this time they weren’t trembling. Her expression was resolute.

“And I’m a grown woman who has made the decision for myself that I don’t want a relationship with you. Is that clear enough?”

He was so damn tired. He wanted to fight for her, but he couldn’t seem to find any of the right words. They were all slippery as trout in the morning sun.

How could he argue with her, anyway? She had obviously thought this through and had made up her mind.

The hell of it was he loved her more than ever in that moment.

“Yes. Crystal clear,” he said gruffly, feeling as if he had almost held something rare and precious in his hands yet had somehow watched it slip through his fingers.

She had feelings for him. He knew she did. He could see it in her eyes. But she wouldn’t even give them a chance.

“There’s Ali,” she said, shading her eyes with her hand to look down the driveway.

Emotions roiling, he watched the big black ranch SUV pull up. When Ali hopped out of the driver’s side, she looked pleased to see him.

“I didn’t think you were coming home until this evening.”

He should have waited and avoided this whole messy, painful scene.

When he didn’t answer, she looked between the two of them.

“I’m interrupting something. Want me to come back?”

Please, he started to say, but June spoke first before he could get the word out.

“No. I’m ready to go.”

She disappeared back into the cabin and shortly emerged with the two suitcases she had when he picked her up at the airport that first day.

He took them from her—what the hell else could he do?—and loaded them into the back of the SUV.

“Goodbye, Beck,” she said after he closed the door. “Thanks again for your kindness.”

She actually had the gall then to hold out her hand as if he would shake it.

Screw that.

He grabbed her and kissed her hard, with all the emotion raging through his heart.

After a long, breathless moment, she pushed him away.

“I’m ready,” she said to Ali and rushed to climb into the passenger seat, closing the door tightly behind her.

Beck ran a hand through his hair. “Well. That went well.”

“I’m sorry,” Ali said. “I wish I could talk some sense into her and persuade her to stay and work things out.”

He mustered a half smile. “Not your fault. Thanks for letting me know she was leaving this morning.”

He gave her a brief hug, held the driver’s-side door open for her and then he and Hank stood in the driveway watching as they drove away.

Chapter 47

Juniper

By sheer force of will, June managed not to completely break down as Alison drove away from the cabin. She refused to look in the rearview mirror at the man and the dog who had come to mean so much to her.

“That was brutal, sis.”

She glared at Alison, even as some part of her rejoiced at the nickname and a relationship that was already so important to her.

“It’s for the best. We all know that.”

“Beck doesn’t seem to agree.”

“When he has time to think about it, he will know I’m right. And I would rather not talk about it, thanks. How are things with Xander?”

She’d had a goodbye dinner with her and their grandmother the night before, and Ali had been glowing with the news that she hadn’t gone out on her date with her cowboy crush and had instead gathered her courage and told her best friend how she felt about him.

Ali gave a besotted sigh now. “So good. Amazing. He came over after you went home last night and stayed for hours. It’s a wonder I can stay awake to drive this morning. I never knew it was possible to be this happy.”

A hard knot of regret and pain lodged in her throat, knowing that sort of happiness simply wasn’t in the cards for her. Ever.

Still, she mustered a smile. “I’m glad for both of you. What’s next for you?”

“That’s one of the reasons he stayed so long last night. We’ve been trying to figure that out. He has decided to take an extended trip through India and he wants me to go with him.”

June’s gaze sharpened. “What about the bar exam?”

“I’m going to take it first. Don’t worry. I haven’t missed a single one of my online study groups for a week. Xan is going to take shorter trips through the western United States over the next month, until I have taken the test.”

“Good. Even if you don’t end up practicing, you at least need the option to decide for yourself, especially after all your hard work.”

“You sound exactly like Grandma.”

Did she? She could only hope, since she liked and admired Loretta.

They drove in silence for another mile before Ali spoke again.

“Beck is the best guy I know. Next to Xander, of course. You won’t find better.”

“I know that.” She curled her fingers together in her lap. “I care about him. But I don’t want anyone in my life right now. I can’t.”

She braced herself for more arguments. To her relief, Ali only gave her a compassionate look as she turned in to the small airport, where the sleek Move Inc jet looked incongruously elegant next to all the twin-engine prop planes.

Ali pulled onto the tarmac at June’s direction and parked next to the plane.

Glen, the same pilot who had flown them here weeks earlier, stepped forward to grab her bags.

“I think that’s everything,” Ali said, looking in the cargo area to make sure they hadn’t overlooked any items.

June again found herself close to tears. She didn’t want to leave, though she had no choice.

“Thank you for the ride. And for everything else.”

Ali reached out to hug her. “I’m so glad I found you, June.”

As she returned the hug, June thought of all that had happened since the two of them met.

Her life had been saved first and then changed forever.

“I’ll miss you so much,” Ali said. “But it won’t be for long. Grandma will make sure we see each other again soon.”

“Goodbye for now, then,” June said. After a final squeeze, she released her sister and let Glen help her up the steps into the luxurious interior of the plane. In a weird way, she felt as if she were stepping back into the familiar.

Her last sight as they headed into the clouds was of the jagged Tetons in the distance, cutting into the sky.

Chapter 48

Juniper

One month later

She would kill for an actual cup of espresso, not the decaffeinated garbage she had been drinking since her cardiac arrest.

Finishing her third meeting of the morning, June left the executive conference room and headed down the hall, wishing she had time to slip off her heels and curl up on the sofa in her office for a few hours. Unfortunately, she had a full slate of meetings all day. A nap would have to wait.

With a sigh, she turned the corner toward her office and spotted her two assistants chatting with a third person, someone so unexpected it took several seconds for her brain to register what her eyes were seeing.

“Ali!” she exclaimed as joy rushed through her. “What are you doing here? We just talked a few days ago and you never said a word about coming to Seattle.”

Her sister gave her an impish grin, looking worlds different from the nervous, timid intern she had once been in these very halls.

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I wasn’t about to let you celebrate your birthday without bringing you presents. I have some from Grandma and a few from me.”

She gestured to a basket at the edge of the desk, piled high with beautifully wrapped gifts.

“You should have told us it was your birthday.” Margaret sounded hurt, as if June had purposely withheld the information from her.

She had never really kept her birthday a secret from anyone, but it hadn’t been a big deal to her in a long time. Without a family to celebrate with her, most of the time her birthday felt like any other day.

“You didn’t need to come all this way,” she said, touched anyway.

“I wanted to. I have two presents you have to open now.”

“Should we go into my office?”

Ali exchanged looks with the two assistants. “No. Let’s do it out here. Open this one first,” she said.

Her staff had been stunned when she had told them the truth upon her return, that the intern they had once believed was incompetent as an executive trainee was none other than her half sister, who actually had zero interest in the job.

“Yes. Open them,” Jason urged. “You’ll have to wait on a gift from us, since we didn’t know it was your birthday.”

Alison held one out to her and she didn’t see any choice but to take the package from her.

Torn between feeling touched and feeling uncomfortable, she tore away the wrapping to reveal a slim box. When she opened the box, she discovered a folded piece of paper.

“It’s our DNA test results. They actually came a few weeks ago and I already looked at mine so I know what it says.”

She didn’t need to see the results. Seeing that inscription to her mother at the beginning of Carson’s missing manuscript had been all the proof she needed.

Still, she looked through the results and saw the laboratory had offered further confirmation. She shared a substantial number of DNA markers with Alison Wells, too many to be a coincidence. They were close relatives.

“Welcome officially to the family,” Ali said.

June smiled and hugged her again. “Thanks. But I don’t think either one of us had any remaining doubts, did we?”

“I didn’t. But verification is always good, right? I have one more I want you to open now. You can open Grandma’s gifts later. I thought maybe we could do a video call with her when you do.”

June mentally rearranged her afternoon schedule so she could spend the rest of the day with her sister.

“Good idea.”

She opened the second present, while Alison practically vibrated with anticipation.

Inside was a book with a bound leather cover. Her eyes suddenly burned with tears.

“The Forgotten Road,” she exclaimed, reading the cover. “How?”

She had only been gone a month. How had Alison managed to have the book printed in that time?

“Remember I told you I had that friend who hired someone to print copies of her book? I wanted you to have your own copy of Dad’s book so I ordered a rush job.”

“Oh, Ali. Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

It was more priceless to her than a box overflowing with diamonds. A tear dripped out as she hugged her sister again.

“You’re welcome. I had a dozen copies printed. So far only you, me, Grandma and Beck have them.”

Beck.

Simply hearing his name brought back all the yearning she had been fighting for weeks.

She was in love with him. That truth had become inescapable through all the long hours she had been away.

“Have the two of you decided whether you want to release it on a wider scale?”

“Not yet. We’ve talked about it, but, like I told you, we won’t make that call without you being involved. It was dedicated to your mother, after all.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted the entire world to read something that felt so intensely personal to her, even though the book was a completely fictionalized story that likely bore little resemblance to her parents’ actual affair.

Ali shrugged. “Basically, we decided not to decide for now. There’s no rush. We can all kick it around.”

She didn’t want to take part in any discussions. That would involve having to talk to Beck, and she wasn’t sure she had the strength to do that.

“For now, you have your own copy and you can reread it whenever you like,” Ali said.

“Thank you.”

Her sister suddenly looked sly. “There’s something else. It’s in your office.”

“This is enough,” she protested. “Really. More than enough. I can’t believe you came all this way.”

“I was glad for an excuse, since I might not have the chance to see you again for a few months. Xan and I are leaving next week for India.”

“Before you get your bar exam results?”

She knew her sister had taken the test the week before, with much angst and worry.

“I won’t get them for at least another month. Why sit around stressing about it when I could be exploring the world with the man I love?”

As always, Ali glowed when talking about Xander. It warmed June’s heart to see her so happy. She had since watched many of Xander Scott’s travel videos and had been impressed at his passion and creativity, not to mention his courage and undeniable charm.

“I think you’re going to want to see what’s in there,” Ali said now.

Her voice held so much significance that June felt a vague sense of trepidation. Warily, she opened her office door and walked inside, aware of Ali and her two assistants’ odd expressions of anticipation.

A few feet inside the door, she froze, gazing in shock at the narrow wooden table that hadn’t been there when she left her office earlier.

It was a console table. One of Beck’s, she knew without even looking at the tabletop, the dark wood a contrast to the incandescent blue of the resin that threaded through it like water flowing through a slot canyon.

The tears threatening earlier came back in full force as she tried to register how this was even possible. Had Ali hauled this whole thing from Bridger Peak? Did Beck know Ali was giving her one of his tables?

She moved closer, aching to trail her hands over the surface.

An instant later, she realized there was someone else in her office. A silent man stood in the shadows between the wide windows that overlooked the Seattle skyline. He watched her with a fierce expression that seemed to steal all the air from her lungs, replaced by a mad rush of longing.

“Beck!”

How had she not seen him there at once? Or at least sensed his presence?

“Happy birthday, Juniper.”

She felt lightheaded and for one horrible moment, she was afraid she might pass out.

Oh, she had missed him. She had yearned to reach out to him every single day since leaving Bridger Peak. It was only through supreme effort that she had been able to refrain from asking Ali about him in their frequent text exchanges and phone conversations.

“How?” she managed. “How did you get this here?”

He stepped closer to her and she wondered how she could have forgotten what he looked like. The strong angle of his jaw, the sweep of his dark hair, those intense green eyes.

“We drove. The hardest part of the whole journey was finding a damn parking space in downtown Seattle.”

“Why?”

“Because there aren’t enough of them, especially when you’re hauling a trailer.”

“No. Why are you here?”

He took another step toward her and hesitated for a long moment before he spoke. “When I was a prosecutor, I had a hard-earned reputation for my opening and closing arguments. For my fluid prose, my unshakable convictions, my impassioned delivery.”

“I believe it.”

“The whole drive here, I tried to come up with what I would say to you when I saw you again. I played through a hundred different conversations in my head.”

She might have expected him to offer her some hint of what those internal conversations might have involved. Instead, after another long pause, he gestured to the table. “Come and take a look.”

She stepped forward and truly looked at the piece of furniture he had created with his own hands.

It was stunning. The most beautiful of his work she had seen yet. The blue resin glowed with life, the wood dramatic and scarred.

“This was a piece of a majestic western larch that was struck by lightning last summer. You can see the scorch marks there.”

She touched the surface with trembling fingers and traced the spidery black marks, so dramatic and evocative of the rugged mountain landscapes she had come to love.

“Some would consider it damaged beyond repair. It’s not. Look how beautiful it still is.”

Another tear spilled out and then another and she could do nothing to hold them back.

He stepped closer, tracing his thumbs over her cheekbones to brush them away.

“I’m in love with you, June. I know all the reasons you don’t think we can work. I understand them and would never try to discount your feelings or tell you they’re not valid. They are. But I had to try one more time to show you how I feel. To me, you are strong, resilient, beautiful. You have faced tremendous hardship in your life yet are still one of the most caring, giving, courageous people I’ve ever met.”

She wasn’t. She had come to understand that about herself over the past lonely month.

She lived in a constant state of fear. She was afraid of another cardiac arrest. She was afraid of not being able to do her job adequately, or worse, of not enjoying it anymore.

She was afraid of spending the rest of her life in this numb half state.

She had spent the past month trying to convince herself that pushing him away was the only way to protect him, to protect herself from the pain of losing him. But now, standing in front of him, she realized how hollow her life had felt without him. The idea of continuing without Beck by her side suddenly seemed far more terrifying than any uncertainty her heart condition could bring.

She looked up into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, any flicker of hesitation. But all she saw was love—steady, unwavering. He was here, not because he didn’t understand the risks, but because he did.

And still, he wanted to be with her.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be . . . enough.”

Beck’s grip on her tightened just slightly, his forehead resting against hers as he spoke. “You are enough, June. You’ve always been enough. We don’t have to figure it all out right now. We take it one day at a time.”

For the first time in weeks, a glimmer of hope sparked inside her. She had been so focused on the pain of walking away, she hadn’t stopped to consider what she could gain by letting Beck in—by letting herself be loved, flaws and all.

Maybe life would be unpredictable, maybe her heart condition would bring challenges neither of them could foresee, but Beck was right. They could face it together.

Her lips trembled, but a smile broke through the tears. “I’ve missed you,” she confessed, the weight of her self-imposed isolation finally lifting. “I don’t want to push you away anymore.”

A slow smile spread across Beck’s face, the smile she had come to love. “Then don’t,” he murmured before pulling her into his arms, holding her close as if he could protect her from everything, even the uncertainty of her own heart.

They stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other.

As his mouth lowered to hers, June realized this was the first time in a long while that she didn’t feel consumed by fear. Instead, she felt steady.

She felt loved.

Her heart wasn’t whole, but it was hers to give, and she was finally ready to do just that.

* * * * *

Praise for the novels of RaeAnne Thayne

“RaeAnne Thayne’s 15 Summers Later is fast-paced and deep-hearted, as compelling as a mystery, as wise and tender as the best romance. I heartily—and heart is the significant word here—recommend this novel.”

—Nancy Thayer, New York Times bestselling author of All the Days of Summer

“I’m always eager to dive into a good story about sisters—and that’s exactly what this book is! If you like heartfelt stories, you’ll devour 15 Summers Later!”

—Brenda Novak, New York Times bestselling author

“Seamless, graceful, gritty and big-hearted as only RaeAnne Thayne can do. I couldn’t put it down.”

—Kristan Higgins, New York Times bestselling author of Out of the Clear Blue Sky, on 15 Summers Later

“RaeAnne Thayne will capture your heart with her beautiful, touching stories.”

—Robyn Carr, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Virgin River series

“[Thayne’s] books are wonderfully romantic, feel-good reads that end with me sighing over the last pages.”

—Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“As always, Thayne shines a light into the sacred corners of the heart and illuminates the beauty hidden inside.”

—Amazon Book Review on The Cliff House

“Entertaining, heart-wrenching, and totally involving, this multithreaded story overflows with characters readers will adore.”

—Library Journal on Evergreen Springs (starred review)

Also by RaeAnne Thayne

Also by RaeAnne Thayne

15 Summers Later

The Cafe at Beach End

Summer at the Cape

Sleigh Bells Ring

The Path to Sunshine Cove

Christmas at Holiday House

The Sea Glass Cottage

Coming Home for Christmas

The Cliff House

Season of Wonder

Shelter Springs

Christmas at the Shelter Inn

The December Market

Haven Point

Snow Angel Cove

Redemption Bay

Evergreen Springs

Riverbend Road

Snowfall on Haven Point

Serenity Harbor

Sugar Pine Trail

The Cottages on Silver Beach

Summer at Lake Haven

Hope’s Crossing

Blackberry Summer

Woodrose Mountain

Sweet Laurel Falls

Current Creek Valley

Willowleaf Lane

Christmas in Snowflake Canyon

Wild Iris Ridge

All Is Bright

For additional books by RaeAnne Thayne, visit her website, raeannethayne.com.

Copyright

ISBN-13: 978-0-369-75679-4

The Lost Book of First Loves

Copyright © 2025 by RaeAnne Thayne LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at CustomerService@Harlequin.com.

TM is a trademark of Harlequin Enterprises ULC.

Cover Art: Grace Helmer

Art Direction: Alexandra Niit

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HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.

Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street

Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

www.harpercollins.com.au

Canada

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

Harlequin Enterprises ULC

www.harlequin.com

Bay Adelaide Centre, East Tower

22 Adelaide Street West, 41st Floor

Toronto, Ontario, M5H 4E3

www.harpercollins.ca

India

HarperCollins India

A 75, Sector 57

Noida

Uttar Pradesh 201 301

www.harpercollins.co.in

Ireland

HarperCollins Publishers

Macken House,

39/40 Mayor Street Upper,

Dublin 1, D01 C9W8, Ireland

www.harpercollins.co.uk

New Zealand

HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand

Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive

Rosedale 0632

Auckland, New Zealand

www.harpercollins.co.nz

United Kingdom

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF, UK

www.harpercollins.co.uk

United States

HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

195 Broadway

New York, NY 10007

www.harpercollins.com