Книга - His Montana Sweetheart

His Montana Sweetheart
Ruth Logan Herne


Catching His HeartOlivia Franklin suspected coming home to Jasper Gulch would mean eventually running into her first love, Jack McGuire. But she's adamant that she not repeat the mistakes that led to her broken heart. Yet from the moment she lays eyes on her former sweetheart, her resistance begins to crumble. The tall, handsome rancher made his choice all those years ago. He'd gone from the baseball diamond to a high-rise office and finally back home to the Double M–all without her. And no amount of centennial nostalgia can change the past. But the future is another story, and the pretty historian is about to get a lesson in romance from the lonesome cowboy she will never forget!Big Sky Centennial: A small town rich in history…and love.







Catching His Heart

Olivia Franklin suspected coming home to Jasper Gulch would mean eventually running into her first love, Jack McGuire. But she’s adamant that she not repeat the mistakes that led to her broken heart. Yet from the moment she lays eyes on her former sweetheart, her resistance begins to crumble. The tall, handsome rancher made his choice all those years ago. He’d gone from the baseball diamond to a high-rise office and finally back home to the Double M—all without her. And no amount of centennial nostalgia can change the past. But the future is another story, and the pretty historian is about to get a lesson in romance from the lonesome cowboy she will never forget!

Big Sky Centennial: A small town rich in history…and love.


Batter up!

The Jasper Gulch Centennial Committee

Invites You to Join In

Some Old-Fashioned Fun

as We Welcome Back Our Hometown Heroes for

an Old Timers’ Baseball Game…

Montana Style!

There’s nothing like baseball in Montana.

Is it the fresh mountain air? The cowboy mentality?

No one knows for certain. But it’s no wonder the

Jasper Gulch Old Timers have captured our hearts!

And no two hearts could be more entwined than

Livvie Franklin’s and Jack McGuire’s. Though it’s been eight years since these former high school sweethearts have laid eyes on each other, something tells us Livvie

has never gotten over her Jasper Gulch all-star.

Can the centennial celebration help them turn back time? Join us in the bleachers as we root them on!

* * *

Big Sky Centennial:

A small town rich in history…and love.


RUTH LOGAN HERNE

Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, freshly baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders, and for the dirt…

Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her website, www.ruthloganherne.com (http://www.ruthloganherne.com).


His Montana Sweetheart

Ruth Logan Herne
















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall

I know even as also I am known.

—1 Corinthians 13:12


To my beloved father-in-law, Floyd “Sonny” Blodgett, a gentle man of few words and a loving heart. Dad suffered through the years of Alzheimer’s slow decline with his family surrounding him. Dad, your example of handling whatever came your way has passed on through multiple generations. God truly blessed us with your kind, quiet presence. May you rest in the peace and light of God’s eternal love.


Contents

Cover (#u907d022c-9bb7-512e-bceb-b5bd12826253)

Back Cover Text (#u694893cd-44b2-5e19-943b-b9340f89904a)

Introduction (#u85ad1541-54b1-54db-ba6f-468383485873)

About the Author (#u88fc20cc-5270-5efd-8877-0a9dbe41bd38)

Title Page (#u08291294-f9dc-5a6c-b032-4528ce592047)

Bible Verse (#uc5626386-18de-5f3d-b0a8-390cd6da446e)

Dedication (#uffccc11b-bdad-5c6e-88da-9c3ab3e1de63)

Chapter One (#ulink_ef85e426-96dc-5727-a45f-a3cf74656c5c)

Chapter Two (#ulink_69e5ed4f-2a30-5771-9250-78b2abf4ea50)

Chapter Three (#ulink_fbbe6a6a-02db-5399-b7b5-739c73810c0e)

Chapter Four (#ulink_8d226258-ef7b-56d3-b0da-0ba696422a48)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_aef6daf1-bf3c-56d5-8796-71fa56d90e04)

Of all the town meetings, in all the world...

The altered line from Casablanca knotted Livvie Franklin’s heart.

Jack. Here. Now.

She drew a breath that stuck square in her throat.

Tall. Still lanky, but with a shoulder breadth that made folks take notice, and from the appreciative glances of the single women in the room—and a couple of older mothers, too—she wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

Green eyes. Brown hair, shaggy, in need of a cut, but she understood the rigors of ranching, and Jack had lost his mother a few years before. Now he and his dad had house chores on top of everything else in their short Big Sky growing season.

She knew she’d run into him sooner or later. In a town the size of Jasper Gulch no one stayed hidden forever.

But she’d dismissed the possibility at a council meeting about the Old-timers’ Baseball Game. Jack had shied away from all things baseball since he blew his arm out over eight years before. He decided then to shrug off ball-playing and his girl—her—as anathema.

So be it.

She’d slip out the back, she decided, but Olivia had forgotten the force of the locals. As soon as the small gathered crowd saw Jack—

The same folks who’d been greeting her since she came into town a few days before—

Heads swerved from Jack to her, their looks expectant.

Jack turned, following the track of their collective attention. He stopped. Stared. His gaze, always so open and trusting for the years they dated, was more somber. Surprise widened his eyes, and the saltwater green brightened.

He moved her way, preventing her escape, forcing a confrontation she didn’t want. As he drew closer, with pretty much the entire group focused on this unplanned reunion of high school sweethearts gone amok, she forced herself to engage in a moment of self-honesty.

She did want to see him. She’d been hoping to see him. And she’d made sure she looked good before she left the house each day this week, just in case.

“Livvie.”

“Jack.”

For the life of her, the one word was all she could manage, looking up—way up—into the eyes she’d known and trusted for so long. Her Jack...

Then. Not now. She hauled in a breath and stuck out her hand. “Good to see you, although I’m surprised. I was pretty sure you’d stayed away from anything to do with baseball since college.”

His expression confirmed her assumption, but his words surprised her. “Adam’s little sister shamed me into it. I’m still wondering how to get even with her, but she’s gone and gotten herself a cowboy fiancé and it would be too bad to burst their little bubble of happiness. Although the ride into town gave me time to ponder some creative options. He’s in pretty good shape, though, so why tempt fate?”

Half hermit, Livvie’s mother had said. Keeps to himself. No one sees too much of him or his father these days.

Change and grief. Livvie knew the reality of that firsthand but quelled her urge to sympathize with a dose of reality.

She’d loved Jack once. He’d broken her heart. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded toward the front. “I think they’re getting things under way.”

Resignation marked his gaze. For her? For the situation? The meeting?

She had no idea, but Livvie Franklin had vowed one thing on her long drive back to Jasper Gulch to help organize a town history for the ongoing Jasper Gulch centennial festivities. The trip back home had been rife with self-appraisal. And the timing? Imperfectly perfect as she nursed the wounds of an unexpected divorce.

Jack McGuire was off-limits. She’d placed him in the high-risk category eight years before and there he’d stay, no matter how handsome he was, or how his eyes gazed straight into hers as though drinking in the vision.

She’d save her romantic notions for Jane Austen and history, a perfect coupling. Modern romance?

She’d finally figured out it was nothing to write home about.

* * *

Broadsided by the petite, blue-eyed blonde that had won his heart over a decade before. He stood before the board, offering what he hoped was a coherent report on the old-timers’ game, but he couldn’t wrap his head around baseball right now. Not with Livvie twenty feet to his left.

Why was she here? Were her parents okay? Was she?

Questions bombarded him from within and without, and he wasn’t sorry when his elderly friend Rusty Zidek chimed in a time or two to clear matters up.

Were they gathering players?

Yes.

Were player shirts ordered for both teams?

They would be this week.

Had they invited Hutch Garrison, the current Jasper Gulch baseball success story, a newly signed outfielder for the Colorado Rockies?

Yes, but he hadn’t been able to confirm his presence yet.

By the end of the back-and-forth, the board seemed satisfied with how things stood. Jack needed to hear from more players, but they had weeks to straighten things out, and a pledge from some guys in Bozeman to fill in if necessary. That bit of news made the council give a collective sigh of relief.

The mayor tipped the central microphone toward himself. “Jack, I’m speaking for the entire board when I say we’re grateful you took this on when Wes got sick.”

Wes Middleton, the previous chair of the Old-timers’ Committee, had unexpectedly needed bypass surgery. Jack met the mayor’s gaze frankly and replied, “I believe ‘railroaded’ by your youngest daughter would be a more apt term, sir. Seems the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree in this case.”

Mayor Shaw’s gaze glinted with humor and something else. Regret? Maybe. But the look disappeared before Jack was sure he read it correctly. “Her mother’s powers of persuasion, actually. You know how it is, Jack.”

He didn’t, not really, because he’d run cold and hard from anything to do with long-term relationships for years. Maybe he wasn’t meant to settle down, settle in. Maybe—

A glimpse of wavy, layered blond hair to his left put his heart in pause mode. He’d blown it once, the only relationship that mattered. He’d tossed her overboard in a groundswell of self-pity and anger. Like Scrooge in the famous Dickens story, he might have ruined his one and only chance at love eight years before, but he had his ranch. And his father. And—

The appreciation list cut short right there because he’d already summed things up and felt the lack to his core. He drew a breath and nodded to the mayor, raised the few sheets of loose-leaf paper he’d brought and swept the board a glance that included Rusty. “We’ll have it running smooth by game day.”

He ignored the bemused look Rusty aimed his way, because Rusty was the only person who knew how little he had really done. The board nodded and moved on to the next item as Jack turned to say goodbye to Olivia.

Gone.

He scanned the room quickly.

No Olivia.

He headed toward the backdoor quicker than necessary, and when he stepped through and saw her perched on the brick wall alongside the steps, his heart did a rapid thump of gratitude, a reaction he didn’t deserve and couldn’t pursue. But for that one instant, a decades-old feeling power-rushed him, the way it used to every time he saw her. When she shifted her attention his way at the sound of the door, however, her gaze bordered on polite and distant, and that realization settled his pulse in quick order. “I thought you left.”

“I am leaving, but I wanted to jot down a few names, and if I waited to do it at home I’d forget half.”

“With your brains?” He scoffed and moved closer. “Not gonna happen. Are you here to visit? And why are you writing down random names? Did you drive in?”

She closed the electronic tablet and stood as she addressed his questions in order. “I’m in town to help put together a biographical history as part of the centennial. If my research goes well, my information will be ready by the time they open the new Jasper Gulch historical museum in December. I came into town tonight because I thought some of the old-timers coming in for the game could help fill in some time-line gaps I’m seeing.” She didn’t add that she assumed Wes Middleton was in charge of the game, and that if she’d known Jack was involved, she’d have shied away, but her expression made that clear.

“The car question?” She turned her gaze toward a red compact angled into a parking slot up the road. “I figured it would be dark by the time the meeting was done, or at least by the time I made it home, and walking the two-lane at dusk is stupid.”

It was. Sun glare blurred the horizon and the road at dawn and dusk. She’d made a smart choice, but that was no big surprise. Her brilliance had earned her a prestigious scholarship to Stanford, while he’d been playing ball five hours south at UCLA. A long-distance relationship that worked until...

He cut that thought short by hooking a thumb south. “You got time to walk, Liv? Catch up? Somewhere that every citizen of Jasper Gulch isn’t watching?”

* * *

Oh, she had time, all right. Nothing but time. And he was right about the citizenry because she’d been fielding questions about her marital status and Jack’s single-guy life for the past seven days, as if one plus one should naturally equal two.

They didn’t, of course. Not all equations worked out in mathematical precision, especially with human quotients.

But did she have the moxie to maintain polite distance from Jack McGuire, her first love? She hesitated, knowing she was vulnerable, lost in the kicked-up dust of a three-year marriage gone bad the year before.

She’d wanted a family.

Her husband had wanted a divorce. Since the two were at distinct odds, he had hightailed it out of their marriage and into the arms of a woman he’d met eighteen months before, a woman he’d married and had a baby with not long after the ink dried on the divorce decree. Which meant for well over a year Billy Margulies had been living a lie. She wasn’t sure which hurt more—his lie or the fact that she fell for his act the entire time.

Jack tipped his gaze down, and that sweet expression, hinting question and tinged with humor, made her decision hard and easy. “Yes. I’ve got time for a walk. A quick one.”

He rocked back on his heels and dipped his chin, total cowboy. He didn’t reach for her hand as she slipped her iPad into the tooled-leather Western bag at her side, but he looked as if he wanted to hold her hand, and that evoked a wave of sweet memories best kept at bay.

Here in Jasper Gulch, where every storefront and street held a memory?

Keeping those thoughts in their place would be tough to do.

* * *

Tongue-tied.

Jack headed toward the old bridge, trudging the worn path with Olivia as he’d done so often in the past. But things were different now. Knowing that, understanding the ensuing years had gone downstream swift as minnows from the Big Timber fish hatchery, he knew nothing would negate the past, but he’d hurt this girl—woman, he corrected himself—and fate or God had put her in his path tonight. Maybe he could make amends.

“I hated you for a long time.”

Jack quickly downscaled amends to initial-apology status. Amends would take longer. Like maybe forever. Or never. He winced inside because talking wasn’t his strong point, and waded into the waters of repentance with “guilty as charged” stamped on his forehead. “You had reason to.”

She acknowledged that with a questioning look. “Yes and no.”

“My vote is yes because I threw a hissy fit about my injury, dumped you, chased off after a career I ended up not liking, then came back home with my tail tucked between my legs like a naughty pup.”

“Your mother’s illness brought you back,” she corrected him. “And you did the right thing. But was it the job you hated, or the city?” She asked the question without looking at him, skimming right over the whole part where he admitted to dumping her. Breaking her heart.

Unless he hadn’t broken her heart.

That thought rankled enough to have him clap a hand to the nape of his neck.

And then a surge of instant guilt sprouted because the idea she might not have been all that heartbroken irked him. What kind of man was he?

Shallow, self-absorbed, inwardly focused, take your pick, advised his conscience.

He preferred God-fearing, upright and responsible, but the past year had nudged his conscience into a more accurate appraisal. Ignoring the internal stab, he pondered her question as they approached the creek bank above the rapids. “Eventually I grew to hate both,” he admitted. “I actually didn’t mind the city at first. It was vibrant. Different. Full of life.”

“Chicago’s crazy fun,” Olivia offered, and the way she said it, as if she’d been there, stopped him in his tracks.

“How do you know that?”

“I completed my studies on East Fifty-ninth Street in the university’s Social Sciences Division.”

Irked spiraled to flat-out irritated in a heartbeat. “You did your grad work at the University of Chicago? And never contacted me?”

This time she faced him, and the look she gave him, a mix of resignation and old hurt, put him flat in his place, just where he belonged. “You didn’t want me, Jack. You made that clear. I wouldn’t have even known you were there except that my parents mentioned it. But that didn’t mean I shouldn’t pursue my master’s degree at one of the best schools in the country. So I did.”

The thought of Livvie in Chicago all that time, while he was slogging away in investment banking, made his head spin. She’d known where he was, had proximity to him and didn’t make contact.

You told her not to, scolded the internal voice again. Didn’t your mother tell you not to say things you didn’t mean?

She had, Jack knew. Back in kindergarten. He should have listened better.

“Because while the city was okay for a while, a means to an end,” Livvie continued in an easy voice, “I was glad to get out of there. Come back to Big Sky country.” She spread her hands out, leaned back and watched the encroaching night. “We used to count the stars at night, Jack. When they came out. Remember that?”

Oh, he remembered, all right. They’d look skyward and watch each star appear, summer, winter, spring and fall, each season offering its own array, a blend of favorites. Until they’d become distracted by other things. Sweet things.

A sigh welled from somewhere deep within him, a quiet blooming of what could have been. “I remember.”

They stared upward, side by side, watching the sunset fade to streaks of lilac and gray. Town lights began to appear north of the bridge, winking on earlier now that it was August. “How long are you here?”

She faltered. “I’m not sure.”

He turned to face her, puzzled.

“I’m between lives right now.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. She did, after drawn-out seconds, but didn’t look at him. She kept her gaze up and out, watching the tree shadows darken and dim.

“I was married.”

He’d heard she’d gotten married several years ago, but the “was” surprised him. He dropped his gaze to her left hand. No ring. No tan line that said a ring had been there this summer. A flicker that might be hope stirred in his chest, but entertaining those notions would get him nothing but trouble, so he blamed the strange feeling on the half-finished sandwich he’d wolfed down on the drive in.

You’ve eaten fast plenty of times before this, and been fine. Just fine.

The reminder made him take a half step forward, just close enough to inhale the scent of sweet vanilla on her hair, her skin.

He shouldn’t. He knew that. He knew it even as his hand reached for her hand, the left one bearing no man’s ring, and that touch, the press of his fingers on hers, made the tiny flicker inside brighten just a little. “What happened?”

“A really cute office assistant who doesn’t spend all her time with her head in books. Or so I was told.”

A curl of anger poised alongside the other feelings Jack worked to contain. The look on her face said wrath was unneeded, but old-fashioned sympathy? He squeezed the hand that felt so familiar—and so good. “The guy’s a jerk.”

She didn’t agree. Did that mean she still had feelings for her ex-husband? That she still loved him?

Well, why not? It had been over eight years since Jack cut Olivia loose.

Seeing her raised a wealth of memories. High school dances. Trips to the river. Hiking. Fishing.

Kissing.

She’d been his first date. His first kiss. His first love.

Then he’d blown it in a fit of infantile “why me?” temper.

And here she was, in Jasper Gulch, standing by his side on the worn, neglected bridge over Beaver Creek, and she was in love with someone else. He deserved no more, but for just a second he wished for more.

“Do you have kids?”

She shook her head, and he thought her eyes went moist, but the old-style lanterns at either end of the bridge cast her gaze in silhouette. “No kids.” She turned his way. “How about you? Married? Kids?”

He dropped her hand and shook his head. “Nope.”

“And you worked in the city for years,” she continued, looking up at him, straight at him, as if trying to decipher who he was from who he’d been way back then. “But didn’t go back after—”

“Losing my mother.” He stared into the night, wondering why talking with Livvie Franklin loosened his tongue. “You know, it’s strange, when someone’s so sick, Liv. You help, you care for them, you do all the little things you know are right, you try to be the good person, and no matter how sick they are, no matter how long it takes, when they’re gone, you still have this feeling like you didn’t do enough. Never enough.”

“And that would be the last thing your mother would want you to feel,” countered Livvie. “She loved you, Jack. She’d never want you to beat yourself up over her death, especially when you already tend to beat yourself up over things. Your mother knew that.”

She leaned against the bridge, but Jack pulled her forward. “I don’t trust these supports. The bridge has been let go for too long, and I’m not about to let you be the second Jasper Gulch tragedy.”

“Not fixing the bridge is a foolish lack of tribute to an old accident,” she replied. “I’m sure Lucy Shaw would be appalled to think it, if she’d lived.” She pulled her arm free with a speed that warned him off, and rightfully so, he supposed.

But being there? On the bridge they’d walked across so often as a young couple? The bridge that marked so much of their town’s history?

The surroundings, the trees, the thin-lit night and the sound of rushing water below made him feel as if anything was possible, and he hadn’t felt that way in a very long time. But here, with her?

He did. And it felt good.


Chapter Two (#ulink_3486f522-f8df-5eea-b151-5c03d1892ccb)

It took every ounce of strength for Olivia to keep her cool when Jack took her hand, but she did it.

And when he talked about his mother’s death, about losing Mary Beth McGuire to cancer three years before, she longed to reach out. Hug him. And maybe never let go.

Residual nonsense from long ago, don’t you dare. You prepared for this possibility the whole drive down. Stay tough. Stay strong. Maintain a distance at all costs and, whatever you do, Do Not Stare Into Those Amazing Green Eyes.

Olivia’s gut recognized the sensibility of the mental tirade, but there was a spot around her heart, a fairly big spot, that longed to make everything right for Jack McGuire. Which meant she was a pushover for that cleft chin and crooked smile, even after all this time. She erected an internal Danger Zone sign and kept her voice calm, her face serene, but inside?

She wanted answers. She wanted love. She wanted something functional out of the past eight years of study, work, marriage and building a home.

And here she was, jobless, homeless, divorced and sleeping in her old room in her parents’ house, as dysfunctional as you could get. She’d become the statistic she abhorred, the failure-to-launch young adult who crept back to the nest. How had this happened?

The sweet rhythmic toll of a bell interrupted her funk.

She turned, surprised, and Jack pointed northwest. “First Monday prayer service at the church.” When she frowned, he continued, “Our new pastor started this. It’s an evening prayer service to mark the first Monday of each month. A call to worship. Ethan says he wants folks to pause and think about things now and again, and there’s nothing like an evening prayer service to do that.” He directed his gaze back to town in a silent invitation to retrace their steps, then added, “It’s kind of nice, though I’ve only been to one so far.”

The thought of Monday-night church seemed odd enough, but the idea of Jack leaving the ranch, getting cleaned up and rolling into town for a prayer service surprised her even more. Work had always come first on the Double M. School. Baseball. The ranch. Chores. Church had fallen well down the list of Jack McGuire priorities, but the look on his face said that might have changed.

She fell into step beside him, thoughtful, letting the recorded bells’ chime call them back to Main Street. They drew near to the corner as the bell went silent. An awkward quiet rose around them until Jack motioned west toward the quaint stone-and-wood church. “Would you like to go? We wouldn’t be all that late.”

She wouldn’t, no, but she didn’t know how to say that and not sound like a jerk. She hemmed and hawed, and let Jack draw his own conclusions.

He did. Quickly. He gave her a glimpse of that endearing smile, then doffed his hat, cowboy to the core. “Nice seeing you, Liv.”

“Nice, yes. You, too, Jack.”

He watched as she climbed into her car, ever the gentleman, except when he tossed her aside like yesterday’s news.

And then he watched as she drove away, his gaze following her until she turned left on River Road and headed home.

Did he turn and go to the church service? She had no idea and wasn’t sure she cared to know, because she used to pray all the time. About life, about love, about Jack, her family, her sister, her dog. Her latest prayers had centered on her marriage and the family she’d longed to have, a couple of cute kids running around, wreaking havoc, making her smile.

She’d lost Jack, her sister had moved away years before, the dog had passed on while she was married to Billy and she’d watched her marriage and dreams of a family go up in a puff of divorce-petition smoke.

So if there was a God...? If He existed somewhere other than the pages of an often-interpreted book? She hadn’t seen much evidence of it, and right now didn’t care to search anymore.

She’d count her blessings, the human ones, and move on, heart guarded, because fewer people got hurt that way. Mainly her.

Bright windows welcomed her back to her parents’ home on Old Trail Road. The house, set into the edge of a wooded grove, looked happy and natural, at peace with its surroundings. The front screen door slapped shut as she exited the car, and the scent of fresh-baked cookies hit the evening air like a gift. “You baked? In this heat?”

Her mother’s smile said yes as she nodded toward the second porch rocker. “I figured evening time would be fine. We’ve got fans in the bedrooms and the cool night air will chase off the oven’s heat by morning.”

“True enough. I know it’s the beginning of August, but the thick morning dew says fall isn’t far off.”

“I won’t wish the summer away,” her mother replied. “They’re too scant here, and after last winter’s wrath, I’ve no desire to see snow for a while. And while fall was always my favorite season in Michigan, here in Montana it comes and goes too fast. And the colors aren’t the same.”

“I noticed that when I went to visit Grandma and Grandpa in Detroit a few years back.” Liv settled into the rocker, and let the easy motion ease the tiredness from her back, her shoulders. “Have you heard from them this week?”

“I call Mom every night, actually.”

Liv turned, sensing trouble, because fear or concern would be the only reason her mother and grandmother would be in constant contact. “Is Grandpa okay?” Her mother’s expression said he wasn’t. “Tell me, Mom. What’s going on?”

“We think it’s Alzheimer’s.”

The possibility of her grandfather succumbing to the mind-numbing illness chilled Livvie. She leaned forward. “You think it is? Or you know it?”

Jane Franklin pursed her mouth and shrugged. “It’s hard to tell in the beginning stages because everyone forgets things from time to time, but for Grandpa it’s been over a year of little things building up.”

“Over a year?” Liv sat straight up in the chair. “And you haven’t said anything?”

“Your grandmother was adamant about not making a big deal if it was nothing more than a phase. But it looks like it’s the real deal, and we can’t leave Grandma to care for him alone. She hates the idea of coming to Montana, but their neighborhood isn’t like it used to be, and a forgetful old man makes an easy target on the streets.”

Mixed emotions swept Olivia.

Her grandparents loved Detroit. They’d been a big part of their local church; they’d known every family, every elder, every kid in their congregation for decades. The butcher on the corner was her grandfather’s best friend, the local bakery was run by a neighbor’s daughter, and the small diner up the road was owned by her aunt’s godparents. Tucked between the city and the suburbs, their neighborhood had survived when others failed, but Olivia had seen the beginnings of decay when she’d visited five years ago.

Guilt swept her. Why was there five years between visits? She hadn’t been that busy, not busy enough to ignore her grandparents. But that’s exactly what she’d done, believing things would go on forever.

Right, her brain chided. How’s that whole forever thing working out for you? She shushed the internal stab and faced her mother. “What’s the plan?”

“Dad and I are spending next week there. We’re taking the car instead of the SUV because Grandma has a harder time climbing into a taller vehicle. And I think...” She paused, then firmed her gaze and her stance in the chair, “I hope we’ll be bringing them back here. That way we can all help each other.”

“Change scares folks.”

Her mother acknowledged that with a dip of her chin.

“But I’d rather have them cranky for a while than hurt. Or alone. Or fearful in their own house.”

“Exactly the case, but now I have to convince my mother of that. Dad’s kind of oblivious to the whole thing. But Mom?” The look she sent Olivia said she was preparing for battle. “She’ll be tough to convince.”

“Which is where I come in.” Dave Franklin approached the porch from his workshop in the garage. “I was able to sweet-talk the daughter into moving west. I think I’ll do just fine with the mother.”

Her parents exchanged smiles, a tangible warmth of time, love and faith, the kind of married-forever look Livvie had longed for.

“I’m okay with you taking the helm,” Jane declared. “My mother hates to think her kids are bossing her around—”

Liv sent a mock-guilty look her mother’s way, because hadn’t she scolded her mother that very morning for leaving fruit on the counter, a breeding ground for dozens of fruit flies?

Her mother’s smile said the fruit was still on the counter because refrigeration broke down the sugar content or some such nonsense. Three bossy women in one house?

That scenario meant Liv better figure out where she was going and what she was doing sooner rather than later. But for now— “Dad’s got a touch, that’s for sure. I’ll make certain the downstairs bedroom is clean.”

“A few prayers would be a nice addition,” her father mused. “I think Grandma’s had a lot on her plate, and the thought of closing up the house, selling things, or sorting through and giving them away, weighs on her.”

“A daunting task,” Jane agreed. “But we can help while we’re there. And if we bring them here, I think your aunt Kathy would step in and oversee the real estate sale. She’s closest.” Jane turned back to Liv. “I’m sorry we’re ducking out on you your second week back, but you’ll be busy with your historical research and the centennial stuff, so it should be fine. Right?”

Talk about embarrassing. To have a mother coddling a thirty-year-old daughter in the very nest she was born in?

Liv bit back a growl of self-contempt and nodded. “I’m knee-deep in research now, and actually loving it. The Lewis and Clark influence on this part of the country, the early settlers east of here, the problems that brought the Shaw and Massey families across the state to settle in the gulch? There’s some truth-is-stranger-than-fiction stuff in those old stories. So I’m fine, I’ll take care of everything here—”

“Including Tabby.”

The overweight cat shifted on the porch glider. He yawned, stretched and settled back into slumber on the woven floral cushion, a purr of contentment lulling the old boy back to sleep.

“I’m putting him on an exercise regimen the minute you’re gone,” Liv confirmed, but she softened the order by reaching out and stroking the gray-striped cat’s head. “He’s gotten lazy with Tank gone.”

Dave’s expression said he agreed. “Cats are disinclined to exercise when they get older. Or maybe he just misses his old friend.”

“We talked about getting a new dog, but a puppy might be too much for Grandma and Grandpa. The way things are going, we didn’t want to jump into anything.”

Kind. Considerate. Thoughtful.

Her parents were that and more, cornerstones of their community. And they did it together, bound by love.

“I almost wrapped up that picnic bench in time to get to the prayer service tonight,” Dave noted as he leaned a hip against a strong, solid porch rail. “Hearing those bells ring, knowing what it meant, to pause and remember what we’ve been given, I think I did an even better job of sanding those seat boards.”

“I love hearing the bells from Mountainview Church, even though it’s a recording,” Livvie admitted. “The area churches near my old condo had to silence their bell towers because neighbors complained.”

“I can’t imagine such a thing.” Jane sat straighter, surprised. “Complaining about church bells? Who does that?”

“Some folks figure sleeping in is more important than going to services,” Dave offered. “But I think there’s something nice about getting up early and using that time to do some good.”

Liv nodded, but realized she’d fallen more into the first category than the last, and that made her a little sad. Had she gotten lazy these past years? Uninvolved?

Yes.

The truth of that lay before her: her grandparents’ circumstances, her lack of contact with family, keeping her distance on purpose. A sense of selfishness rose within her, but her mother put a hand on her arm, a touch that said she understood more than she let on. “It’s hard to keep up with everything when we’re first on our own, in a new area and newly married. Having said that, I’m mighty glad to have you here but sorry for the reasons that brought you back.”

“Me, too.” Her father’s look said he’d be there if she wanted to talk but wouldn’t pressure her. While she was grateful for that space, she knew Grandma Mason would have no such qualms.

“Grandma will not share your reserve,” Livvie reminded them. “She’ll delve until she gets answers.” She stood and stretched, ready for the sweet oblivion of sleep, away from failed marriages and old boyfriends. “In a way, that might be healing to both of us. Good night, guys. Love you.”

They called good-night to her as she entered the house, a feeling of same-old, same-old washing over her.

She’d taken big steps backward these past few weeks. It pained her to admit it. But as she climbed the steps, the image in her head wasn’t the pretty mountain painting at the ninety-degree turn, or the tiny floral wallpaper from her childhood.

It was Jack’s expression as he spotted her that evening, his look, his gaze, the way his eyes sharpened in awareness.

Her gut clenched, remembering. Her heart skipped a beat.

She smacked a firm “Don’t Go There” on the physical reactions. She hadn’t come back here to see Jack McGuire. She’d come to regather her bearings while at a crossroads of life. To think. Plan.

Pray?

Her mother would have added that. Not Livvie. She’d prayed as a child and as a young adult, but she could see no tangible answer to prayer in her life. Sure, she had blessings in her parents, her education, and a few good friends.

But that seemed like a meager pile at age thirty. Had prayer helped her situation with Jack eight years back?

No.

And if she was to list each instance of prayer in the past decade, she came up with a big fat zero on the response page. So be it.

But as she climbed into the old familiar bed, the memory of those bells, chiming an eventide call to worship, almost made her wish she could answer the invitation. Almost...but not quite.

* * *

“Jack, you got a minute?”

Jack turned at the top of the church steps and nodded to the new pastor of Mountainview Church of the Savior. “Ethan, yeah. What’s up?”

“I heard through the grapevine—”

“Gossip mill, you mean.”

Ethan Johnson’s laugh said he couldn’t disagree. “We’ll work on that over a long, cold winter. Anyway, if you need players for the game, I’m not old-time Jasper Gulch, but I played some ball in my time. I’d be glad to fill a spot.”

“Do you have a favorite position?”

“Shortstop.”

Jack met the thirtysomething pastor’s gaze and lowered his voice. “Folks that play now and again don’t play shortstop. You good?”

“Played in a couple of district championships back in the day. Did all right.” The humility in his tone didn’t negate the high level of play the words district championship brought to Jack’s mind.

“I think the Good Lord just dropped a gold mine in my lap.” Jack grinned and pounded Ethan on the back. “You just filled a very important hole in our infield.”

“Good.”

“No college ball? You didn’t go on?” Jack’s baseball experience told him that most guys fielding district championship teams on the West Coast went on to play college ball or got flagged by the majors with minor-league contracts. Either way it seemed odd for Ethan to stop cold, unless his baseball career fell to an injury, like Jack’s.

“Had other things to do.”

Jack understood privacy. Liked it, even. In a small town known for its warp-speed information sharing, keeping things to one’s self ranked high on his list. “You won’t worry about offending folks from other congregations, will you? Second-guess who you’re throwing out at first?”

“Not on the ball field. Which may say something’s lacking about my ministerial skills, but when there’s a player’s mitt involved...?” Ethan hiked an eyebrow of competitive understanding. “I’m all in.”

“Excellent. Thanks, Ethan. And this—” Jack glanced toward the church as Ethan locked the entry door “—was real nice tonight. Kind of peaceful and calm.”

“Some days we need that, Jack. A chance to just breathe. And not think. Although your expressions tonight said you had plenty to think about.”

Jack gave him a look that said yes and requested discretion, all in one.

Ethan took the hint and didn’t delve. “When are we practicing?”

Jack raised his shoulders. “I have no idea. You’d think a guy who can run a cattle-and-horse ranch would have better organizational skills than this, but I never hung on the fringe of the field. I was always in the middle, working the ball, shifting angles, line of sight, so this planning stuff happened around me. How’s Friday night?”

“Probably good for most, so yes. Six o’clock all right?”

Jack hadn’t even thought of the practice, much less planned it, so he nodded. “Six is good.”

“Want me to get the word out?”

Jack longed to jump on the idea of passing off that task to Ethan, but Rusty would have his head. Worse? He’d be right. “I’ll do it. And thanks, Ethan. For both things.”

“It’s all right. See you Friday.”

Jack logged a message into his phone to set up a Friday practice with the confirmed local players, climbed into his truck and headed home. As he passed River Road, he fought the urge to hang a left and drive to Old Trail. First, it was plain crazy to think he’d be welcome.

Second, it would be worse to start something he couldn’t finish, and a woman like Olivia Franklin needed someone solid and good to stand by her.

He’d failed at baseball, then shuffled off his first career, despite the lure of big-city money. And here he was back at the ranch, which was comfortable, but nothing huge and crazy like the Shaw spread up the road.

He was the King of Mediocrity and Livvie Franklin deserved more than mediocrity in her life.

* * *

Jack heard the appreciative male whistle as he loaded barn supplies into the bed of his pickup the following morning. He turned, spotted Livvie walking down the opposite side of Main Street, realized she was the object of the whistler’s attention and had to fight the urge to stalk across the road and stake his claim.

But when one of the Shaw ranch hands swung down from the back of a full-bed pickup truck and sauntered across the boardwalk to meet her, Jack crossed the road at a sharp angle, ready to interfere. He’d sort out the whys and wherefores later, but for the moment, no whistling cowboy was about to sweep Liv off her feet, so he did her a favor and intervened.

“McGuire.” The cowboy didn’t look all that pleased to see him. For that matter, neither did Liv. Oh, well.

“Reynolds.” Jack indicated the other Shaw Ranch cowboy with a direct gaze to the left. The second man was trying to load the truck on his own, with limited success. “Your buddy could use some help.”

“I figure if he needs help, he’ll let me know.”

“Brent? We ain’t got all day. Let’s get a move on!”

Jack hid the smirk, but inside he smiled at the perfect timing. He turned back toward Liv as Brent Reynolds strode away, but Liv’s cool expression said he better come up with a reason for breaking up the roadside meeting, and right quick. “I need your help.”

The minute he said it, he realized it was true. He’d been lollygagging around this baseball thing, pushing himself to tackle it step by step. He realized last night his steps were too slow.

“With?” She drew the word out, her gaze on his, but her eyes stayed cool, calm and disinterested. Totally understandable, yet a kick in the teeth.

“The baseball game.”

Still silent, she raised an eyebrow, one beautifully sculpted slightly-darker-than-blond brow.

“I kind of fell into this gig, and while I understand baseball one hundred and ten percent, I’m not a great organizer.”

“You run a half-million-dollar beef-and-horse ranch with your father and you can’t put together a local ball game?” Doubt deepened her voice. “Really, Jack?”

“Mostly really, but maybe I made that up because I didn’t want that cowboy hitting on you and I’d have grabbed any excuse in the book to walk over here and put a stop to it.”

Her eyes widened. Her gaze faltered. To his dismay, a quick sheen of tears made him want to either snatch the words back or reach out and draw her into a hug he thought they both could use. “You’re working on the town-history thing, right?”

She nodded, still quiet.

“Well, baseball and Jasper Gulch go hand in hand. While so many of the big towns latched on to a football mind-set, small-town baseball leagues helped settle these parts. There’s almost no other place in the country that produces as many strong contenders without a public school baseball program as Jasper Gulch, Montana. And that goes straight back to the first settlers. Two of the original Shaw cousins played major-league ball, then came back and helped set up the Legion ball programs. There’s a lot of bat-and-ball history here in Jasper Gulch.”

The sheen of tears had disappeared. Her mixed expression said she longed to say yes but wanted to say no. He stopped talking and hoped she could move beyond the wrongs of the past....

His wrongs.

And give him a hand. Because working side by side with Livvie again would feel good and right, and not much in Jack’s world felt like that of late.

“You’re sure of your facts? That two of the boys played ball in the majors?”

“Twins. Chester and Lester, yes. The family called them Chet and Let. Chet played for Chicago and Let played left field for the Dodgers when they were still in New York. He actually coached Jackie Robinson for a couple of years before retiring to Florida where he worked spring training for the Dodger organization until they moved to L.A.”

“There’s a part of me that hates baseball, Jack.”

Her words sucker punched him because of course she’d hate the game. He’d dumped her because of baseball. Correction, he’d dumped her because of his stupid, self-absorbed reaction to not being able to play. “Liv, I—”

“But—” she held up a hand to stop him, so he quieted down and listened “—I do see a direct link between the game and how things settled out here with the Shaw side of the equation. If those guys had raised families here, the makeup of the town would be entirely different. How do you know all this when you declared baseball off-limits eight years ago?”

“Coach Randolph.”

The mention of the esteemed coach’s name softened her expression. “I haven’t seen him since I’ve been back. How is he, Jack?”

“He’s all right. The senior league had a bunch of away games this past week, so he’s been gone most nights. He lost his wife to cancer about the same time my mom died. The kind of thing that pulls folks together around here.”

“Bound in grief.” She thought for a few seconds before accepting. “I will help you, but on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“Strictly business. No flirting, hand-holding or long, sweet looks allowed. Got it?”

“I understand. Let’s shake on it.”

Doubt clouded her expression as she reached out her hand, and he could tell the minute their fingers touched...clasped...that she was in over her head and knew it. He leaned down, easing the height difference between them and kept his voice soft. “Mind, Liv, I didn’t say I agreed to your terms. I said I understood them. That’s a whole other ball game.”

“I—”

He left her sputtering as he turned to cross the street. “I’ll come by tonight and we’ll go over the plans, okay? Probably close to seven-thirty by the time I’m done working.”

He didn’t give her the opportunity to protest unless she chased him down, and he’d known Liv Franklin a long time. She wasn’t the guy-chasing, make-a-scene type. But she’d be prepared to give him an earful tonight, and knowing that made him look forward to hurrying the day along.

* * *

He grabbed a bouquet of wildflowers from one of the upland meadows just before six o’clock. He could have stopped at the florist nook tucked inside the Middletons’ grocery store. But if Rosemary Middleton saw him buying flowers after talking to Liv on Main Street, the entire town would be making wedding plans by sundown.

He didn’t need that. Neither did Liv. But the thought of sitting side by side with her tonight, setting this baseball plan in motion...?

That notion had lightened his steps all day. When a bossy cow pushed her bovine friend into the electric-fence wire and knocked the system out, he fixed it.

When the radio offered a country tune laden with angst and dismay, he reached right over and turned it off. The ensuing silence was better than the twanging lament on life and love.

And when his father reminded him that the horse auction was coming up, his first thought went to Liv, wondering if she’d like to ride along with him to Three Forks and see what was available. The Double M was in the market for a couple of new mounts. They could grab food in town, then trailer the horses back home, together.

Shouldn’t you see how tonight goes first?

He should, Jack admitted once he’d cleaned up and headed for Old Trail Road. This evening’s session might be a bust. But even if it was, he had tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that, because Liv said she was going to be in town for a while.

Which meant he’d have more time than he probably deserved, but as he steered the truck up and off the ranch property with a bouquet of yellow and purple wildflowers by his side, he figured a guy had to start making amends somewhere. This seemed as good a chance as any.


Chapter Three (#ulink_f6e0ceeb-680d-57ea-baa5-328f63e14955)

Jack rethought the whole flower thing when he spotted Dave Franklin coming out of his wood shop holding a high-torque nail gun. Not that he thought Liv’s father would actually shoot him full of metal brads—

He’d had plenty of opportunities these past years if that was Dave’s intent.

On the other hand, Liv had been living hours away in Helena, and married.

Now things had changed and even the nicest father could be stretched too far when his daughter’s husband leaves her for another woman. In any case, he left the flowers sitting on the front seat of the pickup.

“Mr. Franklin?”

“Jack.”

No welcome, but no animosity, either. Jack counted that as a plus and nodded toward the house. “Liv and I are going to work together on the Old-timers’ Baseball Game scheduled for the end of the month. I hope that’s all right?”

“You asking permission?”

For a split second Jack thought he glimpsed a sheen of humor in the older man’s eye, but when Dave faced him square, he saw nothing but calm, steady interest. “Do I need to?”

Dave sighed, glanced skyward, then drew his attention back to Jack. His face said Jack should ask permission and beg forgiveness, but his voice said something else. “No. But think hard, Jack. Real hard. You get my drift?”

He did, and couldn’t disagree. “I do, sir.”

“Dad? Jack?” Livvie stepped onto the porch, and when she did, the melon-rinsed tones of the westward arching sun faded, she was that pretty. “You giving him the third degree, Dad?”

“The temptation’s mighty strong, Liv.”

“But?” She met her father’s gaze with a look that coached his next reply.

“You’re old enough to take care of yourself and are inclined to do just that.”

Liv smiled as she came down the stairs, slipped an arm around her father’s waist and hugged him. “Well said.”

“Since you told me what to say, that’s no surprise. I’ve lived with your mother for nearly forty years. If nothing else, I’ve learned how to follow directions.” Humor marked Dave’s face for real this time. It was clear he enjoyed having Livvie back home, but equally clear he didn’t want her hurt again.

Neither did Jack, and the thought of flirting with a woman who might still love her ex-husband—a conniving cheat who didn’t deserve an amazing woman like Olivia Franklin in the first place—helped keep things in perspective. “I brought some notes you might be able to use for the history thing.”

Liv took the sheaf of paper from Jack’s hand. For just a moment their fingers grazed, barely a touch, but enough to make Jack long to take her hand in his. Hold it snug and chat about things that would keep her smile firmly in place.

That’s what had been missing last night, he realized. Liv’s smile, broad and sweet. Inviting. Her contagious laugh, the kind that made heads turn and folks join in for no particular reason.

Her smile today said she was doing all right, but a woman like Liv should never be doing just all right. She should be happy, joyous and cheerful. The way she used to be, he remembered.

As he followed her up to the porch, he wondered if that girl still existed, or if the men in her life had ruined something as precious and sweet as a young woman’s joy.

Shame knifed him, but as Liv settled into the corner of the porch glider, another realization hit. God had given him this chance to make things right. But maybe he could do more than simply mend old wrongs. Maybe he could restore Liv’s joyful spirit, the smiling peace that used to reign within her.

He sank into the rocker and watched as she perused the papers. “Jack...” She paused and sat forward with a start, and for a brief moment he read the excitement of old in her eyes. She pointed to an item on the paper he’d printed off the internet. “This says that Lester helped bury the time capsule.”

“That’s important?”

Liv inched closer to show him the printed lines referring to Lester Shaw and nodded. “It could be. With the capsule missing, and no one knowing what was in it, what went on, or why anyone would steal an old memory box from a hundred years ago, maybe someone in Lester’s branch of the family knows something. Maybe he told his family what was in the box. Knowing what was in there might help deputy Cal Calloway and the sheriff’s office figure out why it was taken. There could be some tidbit of information that will clear up this whole mess.” She ticked off two fingers as she continued, “The missing capsule. The fire at the rodeo. Things like this might seem minor in big cities, but in Jasper Gulch...? A tucked-in-a-nook town with generations of the same families living here decade by decade?” Her look of remorse underscored her meaning. “Criminal stuff like that could pull a small town like ours apart.”

It made sense, but... “Lester never married. Chet did, it’s in his baseball records, but Lester died a bachelor. Does it say anything about Chet being involved with the capsule burial?”

She shook her head. The scent of spiced vanilla grabbed him by the throat and wouldn’t let go. The smell drew him closer, ostensibly to look at the history papers she held out, but what he really wanted was one more breath of that sweet country smell, gently spiced.

Liv’s scent.

“Well.”

She seemed totally uninspired by his new proximity, so he leaned back in his chair, reclaiming a proper distance in case Dave came around with that nail gun again.

“I’m going to keep these, if that’s okay?” She looked up and he nodded, pretending he didn’t want to draw closer because they both knew better. Well, she knew better, and he’d just promised her father to think hard and long before starting something he couldn’t finish. Not as if he was even considering starting something with a woman on the rebound, because that rarely boded well. “It’s fine.”

“And can I look at what you’ve got lined up for the game so far?”

Sheepish, he handed over the half-filled single sheet of paper. She stared at the single sheet as if appalled, then made a show of unfolding it—

Examining the empty back side while a mix of dismay and bemusement darkened her features—

Refolding it and looking at him, expectant. “That’s it? To field two teams? The Bombers and the Bobcats?”

“Well, the new pastor’s going to play shortstop for us, and he’s good, so we’ve got one more player. And a few I haven’t heard back from. So we’ve almost got one team manned.”

“Did you give them a follow-up call?”

He hadn’t, no. He swallowed hard and admitted, “I texted them.”

The look on her face said he was clueless, and he couldn’t argue the fact. He hated phones, barely liked people and only took this on because guilt over Wes’s condition pushed him to say yes.

“First, this game is a big deal for the town, right?”

“Yes.”

“Second, not everyone is comfortable texting, and some of these guys are in their sixties and seventies, Jack. They might not even have texting capabilities in their phones.”

She was right, of course.

“And third, for something special like this, do you think the New York Yankees send out a text to their former players about their annual Old-timers’ Day? No, they call and invite them to play. It’s an honor to be asked and an honor to be called.”

A hint of light began shining at the end of his self-imposed tunnel vision. “So, would you—”

“I would not.” She didn’t even let him get the words out of his mouth before refusing, and that said the woman before him was tougher than the girl she’d been a decade before. “But I will help organize the concessions, the flyers and the contact lists for endorsements and sponsors to raise money for the new museum. This way we’re both benefiting from our combined efforts.”

“You’re benefiting because it’s raising money for something you love,” Jack objected. He clapped a hand to the base of his neck and scowled. “I fail to see the benefit to me in all this.”

“It gets you out of the saddle, off the ranch and into the mainstream of life again, which is where we all should be. You can thank me later.” She went inside and came back with a landline phone and a small laptop computer. She handed the phone to him and he had no option but to take it. “Use this. The cell coverage is spotty out here, but you can get hold of most of the guys while I’m working on a sketch and a list for concessions.”

He had no choice.

She knew it, he could tell from the way she tipped her chin and offered the phone as if passing a baseball to a new pitcher on the mound.

He hated making phone calls and didn’t like seeking favors, but the way Liv phrased it, as if asking folks to take part in the centennial was a privilege, made it easier to dial that first number. And when the old right fielder who now lived in northern Idaho gave him an enthusiastic yes and thanked him for the invite, Jack sat back. “He’s coming. Excited, even. And he thanked me for calling.”

She glanced up from her note-making and her gaze didn’t say “I told you so.” It said his words made her happy, that taking charge and doing what he needed to do made her proud.

A little thing, making a few phone calls. By the time he was done, he had eight more firm yesses, two I’m-sorry-can’t-make-its and had left three messages to voice mail. So far so good. And it felt good, too, which made his dread of doing it fairly ridiculous.

“Did you call Pete Daniels?” Liv looked up from her email account as she invited area nonprofits and business owners to take part in the game-day festivities. “I heard he was good.”

Jack set the phone down, frowned and shook his head. “No.”

“You’ve got a solid player right here in town and you’re dissing him? Why?”

“Several reasons.”

Liv’s quiet posture invited him to continue.

“Pete’s a hothead. He sets players off. He annoys the umpires. He’s got a chip on his shoulder and he’s rude. He’s got great playing skills but is that the kind of attitude we want representing the town at the big game?”

“No,” Liv agreed. “I knew he’d played for a bunch of years. Dad sent me the town paper from time to time, and I saw Pete’s stats now and again. But you’re right, there’s no reason to intentionally bring in someone whose attitude can mess up a fun game like this. You’ve got the rest of the guys contacted, though?”

“I do.”

He’d done it in less than an hour and from the wealth of notes Liv had on her laptop, it looked as if they had wrapped up a good deal of the planning in one short evening.

Which meant they could pretty much be all done, but that was the last thing he wanted to be, so he plunged in, wanting at least one more day of working side by side with Livvie Franklin. “Liv, we’ve done well tonight, but shouldn’t we get together again to firm things up? I’ve got a rancher from Wyoming coming in to look at calves tomorrow night, but I’m free the night after.”

She scanned her notes, then him, with no discernible change of expression. “Aren’t we just about done? I’ll get hold of the ladies’ auxiliary and the Jasper Gulch Hose Company about doing the food. The firefighters do the best chicken barbecue, and that way they can make money for their organizations, while the take at the gate goes to the museum. I’m sure the Sports Boosters will man their hot dog and hamburger stand like they do for the Legion games. If the high school band can do the national anthem and we get someone to sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” at the seventh-inning stretch, we’re set, right?”

Jack thought hard and quick. “But what about the flyers? Posting them and getting them done? And by the way, I’m heading to Three Forks on Saturday for the horse auction, and I was wondering if you’d like to tag along.”

She sat back. Stared at him. In fact, she stared at him so long that he half wondered if she’d gone into some kind of shock, but before he could dial 911, her mother’s voice chimed in from the garden around the corner. “Liv, that would be fun, don’t you think? Dad and I are leaving on Saturday and you were just saying how you wanted a chance to reacquaint yourself with riding while you were here.”

“You said that?” Jack leaned forward. Her mother’s reminder had chased the deer-in-the-headlights look from Liv’s eyes, but her current expression said her mother would most likely get an earful when Jack was gone. “So, come, then. We’ll grab food up there. We’d have to take off around eight in the morning. That all right with you?”

* * *

She longed to refuse his offer.

She wanted to hurl his stupid invite back at him and remind him of how many nights she’d spent crying in her pillow. Did he have any clue the amount of money she’d wasted on lotion-treated tissues?

But the other part of her, the part that had gotten downright excited when she passed the Jasper Gulch, Montana, Welcomes You! sign, knowing she’d see Jack again—the more traitorous side—said, “Yes. I’ll be ready at eight. Should I bring anything along?”

Jack stood and shook his head. “Naw, if you email me a copy of your notes and plans, we’ll be good. I’ll print them up at home. And Livvie?” He turned as he got to the stairs, looking for all the world as if he wanted to stay, but the cool expression she aimed his way said there was no reason to linger. “Thanks so much for this.” He held up the paper that now held eighteen players. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could have but were choosing not to,” she corrected him smoothly. “And that’s not the Jack I knew. That Jack took everything in stride, the good, the bad and the ugly, and went with it. Until you hurt your arm.”

She refused to sugarcoat his actions. He’d let an injury change him, alter his ways, upset his life. He faced her, looking uncertain, but then dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “It was a stupid thing to do, Liv, and I’m sorry.”

She studied him for long seconds, squinted slightly, then nodded. “It’s a start.”

* * *

A start. That’s what he’d wanted, right? A new beginning, a chance to mend old wrongs, set things right. She got up and walked him to the truck, and when he opened the door, the scent of wildflowers escaped in a rush of late-summer sweetness. Liv sniffed the air and spotted the bouquet. Realization brightened her face as she tipped her head back to look up at him. “You brought me flowers.”

“Yes. And then chickened out when your father approached with his nail gun.”

A tiny grin lit her face like a morning sunrise. “So. What now?”

He frowned, not understanding.

She directed her look to the flowers. “Do I get them now?”

“I— Um...they’re kind of sad looking now, aren’t they?”

She shook her head as he reached across the seat to grasp the slightly wilted bouquet. “A good drink of water and they’ll spruce up fine.”

“You think?”

“Yup.” She reached out and he set the somewhat woebegone flowers in her hand. “Water’s an amazing thing.”

“‘With joy you shall draw water,’” Jack began, and when Liv finished the sweet words of Isaiah, his heart opened just a little bit more.

“‘From the streams of salvation.’”

“You remembered.”

“Your mother has that painted on the little sign above your barn doors. Is it still there?”

It was, kind of like most everything else his mother had done or placed. He and Dad hadn’t moved much of anything. At first that was fine. Now it seemed like neither one knew how to start the process of change. “It is. I think of her every time I walk into that section of the barn.”

“She was a wonderful person, Jack. And she wanted you to be happy.”

He frowned, glanced down and shrugged. “I kind of blew that, didn’t I?”

“Then? Yes. Now?” She gazed up at him once more, and the look she offered him said he wasn’t doing all that badly and that made him feel good inside. Really good. “I think you are happy now. Happy to be here, to be part of the ranch, the town. As long as you break the hermit habit, I expect you’ll do just fine, Jack McGuire.”

Funny how words could make things seem real. Hearing her assessment, he felt better. As if he was taking big leaps instead of small steps. Was that because he was moving with more force or because Livvie showed faith in him?

Maybe both. He smiled down at her and raised his hand, gently grazing her left cheek with one work-roughened finger. “Thanks, Liv. For everything.”

“And thank you.” She stepped back, creating a distance, but raised the bouquet slightly. “I love the flowers.”

He climbed into the truck feeling better than he had in a long while, and as he backed down the driveway, the sight of her standing there, holding a bouquet of native-grown flowers in her hand, made him wonder what she’d look like as a bride.

Would she consider getting married again? Ever?

Would she consider you trustworthy enough to take a chance on, you mean? Probably not. You broke her heart once. Why would she trust you to treasure it again?

Because he was older. More mature. Stronger. More faithful.

Actions speak louder than words, his conscience reminded him, and it sounded slightly doubtful. Give it your best shot, but you heard her father. Think hard. Real hard.

He would, Jack decided. But he wouldn’t just think hard this time. He’d pray. Something as important as Liv’s happiness deserved God on their side.

He’d been a churchgoer for a long time. But the past few years he’d felt as if he was just going through the motions. As if maybe he didn’t really belong.

He’d wondered if others felt like that, but it wasn’t something he talked about. But the other night, when Ethan talked about redeeming love and God’s sacrificial nature, the young pastor’s words hit home.

Jack wanted redeeming love. He didn’t know if he could fix things with Livvie, but he knew that just making things better would benefit both of them. Heal them. And Jesus was a healer, so the mathematics of the situation should work.

Redeeming love, simple yet powerful. He longed for that. Needed it. And he wanted to be the kind of gentle, loving person that deserved it. Starting now.

* * *

“Nice flowers, honey.”

Liv heard the amusement in her mother’s voice and faced her as she gave the arrangement a much-needed drink. “Thanks. They’ve been through a troubling experience tonight, but I think they’ll perk up by morning.”

“There’s an analogy for you.”

“Me and the flowers?” Liv made a face but couldn’t refute her mother’s logic. “True enough. What time are you guys pulling out on Saturday?”

“Around five. I’ll try not to wake you.”

“Well, I told Jack I’d ride to Three Forks for the horse auction, so I’ll be up early anyway. Thanks for the obvious nudge, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.” Her mother shrugged and grinned. “You’re helping him with the game—”

“And he’s giving me info about the old-time baseball history of Jasper Gulch,” Liv inserted. “All business, Mom.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Jane flicked the flowers a glance. “A private evening planning session, flowers and a date. Is that the way business is done these days, dear?”

“Small-town business, yes. If we met in town, every tongue would be wagging. Half the town has us married already, because how on earth can two single people not end up together when fate and time thrust them into the same hometown?”

“Memories go back a ways. And folks liked seeing you as a couple. But you’re right, that was a long time ago and a lot has changed. And you tried a long-distance relationship with Jack once and it didn’t work. If you get a job in one of the cities, that would be rough on both of you. Of course, you could stay here,” her mother added as she hugged Liv good-night. “I won’t deny that I love having you home. But I also know that jobs are scarce and you need to make a living, so I won’t pester you about it.”

“Any more than you already have.” Liv lifted the vase and turned to carry it up the stairs. “Me and my flowers are going to bed. I’m going to practice getting up early the next couple of days so I don’t mess up Saturday morning. It would be just like me to hit the snooze alarm and wake up to Jack pounding on the door, ready to hit the trail.”

Jane’s expression said she approved of the practice mornings. While she’d said nothing the past week, Liv had noted the concern on her mother’s face the longer Liv stayed in bed each day. Seeing that worry made her want more jump in her step, but coming back to Jasper Gulch held up a dulled mirror image. No job, no marriage, no family.

In baseball talk, three strikes was an out. But seeing Jack after all this time? Working with him?

That made her feel as if she was back at home plate, bat in hand, a new opportunity waiting. Silly, yes. But it didn’t feel silly, it felt real and good and wholesome.

One bouquet of wildflowers and you’re jumping into the batter’s box again? Have you learned nothing from your past experiences?

Liv cringed as she set the flowers onto a small plate, protecting the oil finish on the antique dresser. Maybe she should exercise more caution.

Maybe?

She hauled in a deep breath. She would use more caution and maintain a distance from Jack. Too much too soon, and she had no desire to make herself the talk of the town or mess up her life again. Therefore, she resolved to keep things to “friends only” status with Jack McGuire. She’d been taught a tough lesson by her baseball-loving ex-boyfriend years back. It was time for her to smarten up. Read the pitches. An easy walk to first base was way better than adding to her current strike list. She’d put Jack into the “Danger Zone” as she drove into town... Now she needed to keep him there.

Sitting an hour in the front seat of his pickup, back and forth to Three Forks?

She made a face into the mirror, because she was having trouble keeping her distance with wide-open space around them. How much trickier would it be in close proximity?

A part of her toyed with the idea of texting Jack to back out.

The other part?

She studied the face in the mirror and faced facts. The other part was wishing time away, anxious to see Jack again. The rueful expression looking back at her said she was in trouble...big trouble... Knowing that trouble concerned Jack McGuire made her heart beat faster, and that was a feeling she’d been missing for a long time.


Chapter Four (#ulink_4d8dde44-3e5a-5b24-82c0-bc003c511e2d)

The cheerful whistling trill caught Jack off guard on Friday morning. He straightened as the sound approached the barn, then realized he’d been hearing it in the background for a while, an old sound, normal and nice.

Except it hadn’t been normal since his mother passed away, which made the sound of his father’s easy tune an even better surprise. He turned as Mick strode through the wide doors at the far end. The older McGuire spotted Jack and moved his way. “That part came in.” He held out an oblong box, open along one side.

“Good.” Jack set the box aside and nodded west. “I should have enough time to get those hydraulics working again before the rain comes. Then we can bring that hay alongside.”

“Need help?”

“I don’t, but I appreciate the offer. And you don’t look like you’re dressed for dirt diving beneath a John Deere in any case.”

“I said I’d help tear off some bad porch planking for a friend,” his father explained, but the way he said it, as if helping a friend was slightly uncomfortable, surprised Jack. Mick McGuire might be a quiet guy, but he was always willing to help whoever needed an extra hand. Although he looked mighty nice to be leveraging old wood and rusty nails. “Figured with rain coming, today was as good as any.”

“Ripping up boards?” Jack cast his father’s clean shirt and jeans a doubtful look. “You got cleaned up to get dirty?”

His father shrugged, but the look on his face, as if he’d just been caught with a hand in the cookie jar, made Jack think hard and quick. His father wasn’t just going to help a friend.

He was going to help a woman friend.

That explained the cologne and the clean-shaven face.

“Call if you need me.” Mick gave a short wave and aimed for the truck.

“Right.” Reality made Jack straighten and watch his father leave. “See ya’.”

Mick strolled out of the barn, his gait easy, the roll of his shoulders a dead giveaway. He settled a couple of toolboxes into the bed of his signature red Double M pickup truck. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat with the window open, the radio cranking Easton Corbin sounding like a young George Strait. As the truck rounded the curved driveway, Jack saw his father’s head bob in time with the music...and heard him start to whistle along as the truck headed for the road.

His father. Cleaned up, whistling and headed out for the day.

The irony of how he planned to do the same thing the following morning wasn’t lost on Jack. He’d huffed about all the centennial nonsense. He’d done his best to ignore it until the rodeo rumbled into town last month and Julie Shaw cornered him.

But maybe Jasper Gulch needed something new to shake things up. A town mired in the past, arguing over moving forward, tussling about fixing a long-broken bridge. A place with little crime, beset with strange stuff lately. The time capsule disappearance. Problems at the rodeo. The shed there being set on fire. Troubling things in a town that boasted no crime other than errant dogs and cows now and again traipsing over flower beds they didn’t own.

On the plus side, Liv had come back, at least for a little while. Shop owners had spruced up their storefronts on Main Street and the access roads. Bright banners welcomed folks to town and the whole thing looked more inviting than normal.

The changing light reminded him of the storm front headed their way, but the nice thing about hauling fresh-rolled hay up to the barnyard was that he had plenty of time to think. And since seeing Livvie earlier in the week, he didn’t mind thinking nearly as much as he used to.

* * *

Blue jeans and a shirt. What could be difficult about that?

Everything.

And her hair. Ponytail? Down?

Ponytail, Liv decided as she bent over, smoothed the front with the brush and gathered her hair into a band.

She frowned in the mirror, added a lace cami, then refastened the jeweled snaps on the short-sleeved fitted shirt and nodded at the new image.

Cowgirl, with emphasis on “girl.” She grabbed her Stetson and had her boots on before Jack pulled up to the curb with the four-horse trailer attached. Jack strolled to the porch as she stepped outside, and the look on his face said he’d been looking forward to this morning, just like her. Which meant she’d be the one to put the brakes on. “Hey, cowboy.”

“Hey, yourself.” He gave the brim of his hat the slightest of tweaks and watched her smile. “You still remember how it’s done.”

“You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl.”

“And who’d want to?” Jack’s expression said that was about the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. The look on his face made Liv revisit her years away. Her expression must have changed, because Jack leaned forward and ducked a little to see her face. “Didn’t mean to insult. And in the city, they wear what they want, but if the look suits, and in your case, I think you were born to ride and wear Western—”

His compliment made her smile because she did feel at home in these clothes. Natural. And maybe younger than she’d felt the last few years.

“Why not embrace it at least as long as you’re here?” He held the truck door open and Liv couldn’t remember the last time Billy had held the door open for her. If ever. She pushed the comparison aside as Jack climbed into the driver’s seat. He shoved the truck into gear and headed for Route 287. He made the turn onto the two-lane and pushed his hat back. “So here’s my plan.” He indicated her notebook and iPad. “We can talk baseball and history all you want. I invited Coach over tomorrow, so I was hoping you could come by the ranch for supper and we can pick Coach’s brain, too.”

“Except he didn’t live around here until twenty years ago and has no family here,” Liv pointed out. “I’d love to see him, but can’t we get together in town?”

“On a Sunday evening?” Jack’s look said she needed to remember where she was, and he was right. Jasper Gulch embraced limited business hours on Sunday, something she hadn’t seen much in the city. Out of respect for family time and the Lord’s Day, nothing was open in Jasper Gulch on Sunday evenings. “Besides, I owe Coach a dinner, and we might as well grill a few steaks and throw some potatoes in the fire, don’t you think? No biggie.”

It was a biggie, and he knew it. She read him like an open book on a sunlit afternoon, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to have supper at the ranch, and she’d made a promise to herself on the way back to Jasper Gulch nearly two weeks before. No more pretense. Face life, get a grip and be honest with herself. So she squared her shoulders and nodded as she began making notes. “It does sound good, and with Mom and Dad away I’m not prone to cooking for one, so you’ve saved me from starvation.”

“Good.”

She ignored the quick grin he cast her way as she waited for her screen to refresh. “And that way I can check on how our new friends are doing. If we find any today, that is. How’s Dillinger?” Dillinger had been her horse of choice at the Double M through the years they dated. Jack would mount Roy-O, the large bay, and she’d saddle Dillinger, the strong-willed buckskin that reminded her of Denny in The Man from Snowy River. A good horse, brave and true.

Jack sucked in a breath. His hesitation said more than words.

“He’s gone?”

“Back in February. Winters are hard on old animals.”

“Like Tank.” She breathed deep and stared out the window, the rise of mountains curving this way and that, rugged land stretching in every direction. “I forgot that being away for so many years really changes things. People gone. Animals gone. Except for the beginnings of the new museum, the town has stayed the same on the surface.” She bit back a sigh from somewhere deep inside as reality bit deep. “But the real things? The important ones, like losing people and things you love? I’m realizing how much I’ve missed by being gone.”

“Time goes on.” Jack paused at a fork in the road, bore right and then added, “And just the idea of that museum caused a ruckus with folks.”

“Why?” She turned to face him and had to steel herself not to get lost in his profile. Seeing him...hearing him...simple proximity to him brought back all kinds of memories. She’d held hard to the last memories, her broken heart, weeks of tears, years of living in the same Midwestern city while avoiding him at all costs, but now? Here in Jasper Gulch? The good memories were starting to edge out the bad ones, and she couldn’t let that happen.

“Jackson Shaw likes things the way they are. Always has, always will. His son Adam and the other kids are more easygoing, and Cord’s actually been fighting his father on the whole bridge issue—”

“Cord wants the bridge fixed?” Livvie sat back, surprised. “Good for him. Just because Jackson is the mayor doesn’t make him the law.”

Jack shot her a look that said “get real” and Liv sighed. “Okay, I get it. But just because it is that way doesn’t mean it should be. Three cheers for Cord standing up on his own. And I heard Julie’s raising sheep on a farm section, so clearly Jackson’s kids are trying to find their own paths.”

“Nadine’s influence on top of Jackson’s stubbornness.”

“Mothers can be a formidable force, even the gentle ones.” Liv laughed, thinking of her mother’s strength and wisdom. “Good for Nadine.”

A sign for Three Forks came into view as Jack rounded a curve. He eased up on the gas. “I was thinking we could get ribs at Willow Creek for dinner.”

The place with melt-in-your-mouth ribs that she and Jack had loved when they spent college breaks in Jasper Gulch? A place they enjoyed thoroughly until the breakup that rivaled the big bang with hometown repercussions? Um, no. Not about to happen. “A sandwich is fine. We don’t need to go to any trouble or try to be fancy.”

“I’ve never heard ribs called fancy.” Jack’s voice stayed easy, but Liv knew he was calling her out.

“Let’s keep it simple, Jack. You. Me. The horses. And a sandwich.”

“You’re warning me off.”

Yes and no. “I’m protecting both of us from repeating the mistakes of the past,” she explained. She kept her voice even, but it was crazy difficult to manage with Jack sitting inches away. But she did it because self-protection was a hard lesson learned. “You’ve got your life. I’ve got mine. For the moment our paths have intersected while we both work on a mutually beneficial project. Let’s keep it at that.”

He sent her a look that stammered her heart, and delivered a cockeyed smile, to boot. “A sandwich it is, then. Although if we happen to be downwind of Willow Creek’s smoker and you change your mind, I got us midafternoon reservations, and they weren’t easy to come by, either.”

“But the horses...?”

“Bo Gravinger’s on hand. He said he’ll mind things for us to get a bite. But a sandwich is fine, too, Liv. It’s not the food near as much as the nice company. That’s a pleasure right there.”

Her off-rhythm heart swelled at his words. The tone of voice, the tilt of his chin, the easy smile that worked his jaw just so.

Her resolve went south in a hurry because she’d like nothing better than to spend long hours relaxing with Jack, eyeing horses, sharing food on a bright summer’s day. He pointed to the left as he eased the truck and trailer into a parking area off to the right. “Nice crowd and good potential. Let’s go find us some horses, little lady.”

Adorable, handsome and available.

She’d vowed to steel her heart and emotions against all three. The reality of trying to do that while checking out beautiful mounts for the Double M rancher and his dad?

Virtually impossible.

* * *

“The two-year-old dark bay stallion.” Liv kept her voice low as they surveyed the groups of horses surrounding the near paddock. Jack eyed the solid young potential stud and agreed.

“I was thinking exactly the same.” The fact that they both selected the same young horse with breeding potential wasn’t lost on Jack. They’d always been on the same page, back in the day. But that was years ago, and a pile of mistakes since to work through. “Good temperament, great look, and stands solid.”

“Stunning look, actually,” Liv corrected him. “Not too proud, ready for direction, anxious to please. If those qualities pass down to offspring, you’ve got a gold-mine stallion right there. And the contrast of the black mane and tail sweeten the effect.”

“Anyone else strike you today?”

She slanted her gaze up to him with an expression that said yes, something else did strike her, but it was off-limits and out of reach. Then she settled her shoulders, climbed the rail and waved to the outer edge. “You’ve got matching bay fillies over there, a pretty pair and not a bit flighty. Wanna walk around and check them out?”

“It’s a four-horse trailer, so sure. Let’s go.” He reached out and grasped her waist to swing her down, but when her feet touched the dusty ground, the last thing he wanted to do was let go. In fact—

“This way, cowboy. And keep your mind on the horses.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned behind her, properly chastised but knowing she only half meant it. As they rounded the far end of the west-facing corral, the pair of fillies danced left, then settled as Liv moved closer, crooning. Another interested buyer shot them a look and gave up his spot near the fence, and when Jack asked the owner to bring the ladies by, he watched as Liv examined each one. “What’s the verdict?”

She faced him. “Sound. Fine. Pretty. Calm for their age.”

“Their lineage has breed-stock potential written all over it.”

“Is that a problem?”

Jack ran a hand across the nape of his neck, thoughtful. “Time is shorter without Mom. And the ranch hands are good guys, but it takes a special touch to work with broodmares.”

Liv had that touch, the crucial elemental mix of gentle but firm direction, the soft voice horses preferred. She’d helped his mother with the mares often as a teen. But she wasn’t staying, and how awkward would it be to offer her a job on the ranch? She’d laugh him out of the paddock.

“I can help while I’m here.”

Jack paused. Turned. When his eyes locked with hers, the solid ball that had been his heart for too many years began to soften, making it easy and hard to breathe all at once. “You wouldn’t mind?”

She looked off over his right shoulder, then drew her attention back his way. The filly nickered and nosed Liv, as if pushing her to say yes. The horse’s action made Liv smile and she looped an arm around the filly’s neck. “Do I get naming rights if I sign on?”

Naming rights and more, but Jack had worked with skittish animals all his life, and while Liv wasn’t an anxious foal, she had plenty of reason to doubt his good intentions, so he’d go slow and easy. “Yup.”

“Deal.”

“Sweet.” He bumped knuckles with her as the bullhorn called folks to the sale arena. “Let’s go in. Want coffee?”

“No. I’ll wait until we eat later. But thank you.”

“My pleasure.” And it was, he realized. As he followed her into the crowded ringside seats, he developed a hearty appreciation for her well-fitted jeans and sassy boots. Her tan Stetson, the same hat she’d worn years ago, still bore a tiny grease stain from a barbecue they’d attended together as college sophomores, a great night of planning for the future. A future he’d thrown away in a fit of anger. How stupid and childish that seemed now.

Yes, he loved baseball. The game, the sport, the teamwork. But he should have been more mature and accepting. Wasn’t that what Ethan had talked about last Monday? Accepting what is and making the best of your situation to help others?

He’d done nothing like that eight years ago. In truth, he’d done nothing like that since, either, other than helping his mother through her illness, but a thin surge of energy seemed to be building inside him, making him think he could do anything again.

“These seats okay?” Liv turned about halfway up the steps, and her look of amusement said she’d caught him out. “Business, Jack. Not monkey business.”

He laughed, settled into the seat next to her, leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. “Just thinking how fun it will be to have you back on the ranch, helping with things. It’s been too long, Livvie. Way too long.”

* * *

Too long?

His words spiked her pulse and his gaze said he’d take things slow, but sitting there with him, sorting horseflesh for the future of the Double M, the familiar sounds and scents of the stockyard drew her in. She couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. And yet she would be somewhere else soon. Her position in Helena had folded and they’d given her a decent severance package, but she’d need a job and a place to live before too long.





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