Winter Beginnings (Seasons in Montana: Winter)

Chapter Seven

Rory

I awoke to find myself alone beneath the covers, my body still humming with echoes of the night I’d shared with Cass. My clothes lay strewn across the bedroom floor, a tangible reminder of how we’d yielded to passion after so many near-misses and hesitant touches. But the flush of memory quickly gave way to a hollow twist in my stomach when I remembered why I was alone. Cass left—because I told him to, I reminded myself, the ache in my chest intensifying.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I pushed aside the blankets and forced myself to dress. My jeans felt scratchy on skin still sensitive from his caresses. At the first hint of a teardrop, I bit down hard on my lip, determined not to cry. I’d told him to go, but that didn’t mean my heart wasn’t breaking. He’s Cyrus Barrington’s rightful heir, I repeated inwardly. He hid the truth—shared himself with me physically before I even knew who he was. Anger and longing clashed in my chest.

Stepping out into the hall, I caught a whiff of last night’s Italian spices still lingering in the air—the faint aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs. The mere smell made my heart squeeze. That dinner felt so warm and natural…until everything unraveled in the cold light of dawn. I cleared my throat, swallowing the lump that threatened. No tears, Rory. Not now.

In the kitchen, Bramble greeted me with a wagging tail and a tiny bark, trotting over to nudge my legs. Even the dog sensed my turmoil. Sinking down to pet him, I murmured, “We’ll be okay, buddy. We always are.” His soft fur brought a hint of comfort. I flicked on the coffee maker, the dull hum blending with the fading generator drone.

The leftover bag of kibble sat on the counter, so I poured a scoop into Bramble’s dish, smiling weakly when he devoured it with tail-thumping gratitude. Next, I rummaged for a quick breakfast in the pantry, but nothing looked appealing. My stomach cramped in protest. No appetite, I realized, sighing. No surprise, after last night.

I filled a mug from the coffee pot, letting the steam brush my cheeks. Just keep busy. That was always my strategy, especially after Julian’s betrayal. If I worked on the house—scraping wallpaper, sorting boxes—I’d avoid thinking too hard about Cass and whether I’d been foolish to trust him. But was I even wrong to trust him? The question rattled. He’d been so honest in everything else, so warm, so caring. Yet he’d kept something enormous hidden: that he was Cyrus’s biological son. That changed everything…or maybe it changed nothing, except my sense of security. I sighed, my thoughts tangling tighter than a ball of yarn.

After forcing down a few gulps of coffee, I set the mug aside. Let’s do some house-related tasks, I decided. The second-floor corridor needed more clearing, and a portion of the attic rummage awaited me. Work would distract me from the knot twisting in my gut.

Bramble padded after me as I climbed the stairwell. The day’s early sunlight slanted through a dusty window at the end of the hall, revealing motes that danced in the beams. The hush felt heavier than usual, every step a reminder that Cass wasn’t here to share the load like usual. You did this, Rory. You told him to leave. Regret warred with righteous indignation.

Resolutely, I nudged open an old storeroom door. More clutter—trunks stacked along the walls, boxes teetering precariously. Sighing, I edged inside, rummaging for anything salvageable or historically valuable that might help with the eventual B&B theme. Focus. My gaze caught on a large, ornate book half-buried under tattered table linens. Something about it drew me closer, the gold-leaf edges glinting under the dusty gloom.

Gently, I pried away the linens. There it was: The Barrington Family Bible. The title was etched in fading script on the cover, corners reinforced with tarnished brass fittings. My pulse surged, recalling how the documents I’d found earlier hinted at this very tome. If it contained a genealogical tree, it might explain Edna Twinkleberry’s rumored lineage—and more about Cyrus.

Carefully, I opened the front pages. The text was in elegant cursive, listing births, marriages, and notable family events stretching back generations. Scanning down, I found references to Cyrus’s father, Thomas, who’d divorced his first wife (an event more than likely hushed up in that era) and then married again, fathering Cyrus with the second wife. Another entry mentioned the first wife’s child—Matilda Hall, who had been adopted and raised with the last name of the man who became her stepfather. That meant that Matilda was Cyrus’s older half-sister.

Then my breath caught: Matilda Hall married Franklin Twinkleberry…and their child was Edna. The lines were clear. Edna Twinkleberry was Cyrus Barrington’s niece. That means Cass is Edna’s cousin. Realization dawned over me as I connected the dots.

So Edna’s claim was real after all. Gently, I turned another page, but there was no direct mention of Cass or any child fathered out of wedlock. This copy evidently stopped updating after Cyrus’s birth. Still, it confirmed Edna’s link. So many secrets in this family, I thought, snapping the Bible shut. My mind whirled. Edna had no idea Cass existed, at least not as a relative. I wouldn’t betray Cass’s confidence. That was his story to share. Still, I had to tell Edna about her proven lineage.

Dashing downstairs, I fished my phone from the kitchen counter, scanning contacts. I’d gleaned Edna’s number from Bailey once I purchased the property. My fingers felt clumsy as I tapped in the call. Edna picked up on the second ring, voice bright and peppered with a few meows in the background. “Edna Twinkleberry here, who’s calling?”

“Edna, hi, it’s Rory Lancaster. The new owner of the old Barrington mansion.”

“Rory! I’ve been meaning to meet you properly,” she exclaimed, delight in her tone. “What can I do for you?”

“I, um…found something important as I was sorting through the previous owner’s things,” I said carefully. “Would you be free for lunch? We can talk in person.”

She let out a bemused laugh. “Something important? Then of course. Let’s meet at Mistletoe & Mochas café around noon?”

I agreed, my heart still pounding. Hanging up, I squared my shoulders. I’ll show her the Bible, or at least explain the details. She deserves to know. Meanwhile, I’d keep Cass’s identity private. He’d have to choose if or when to reveal himself to his cousin.

An hour later, I entered the cafe, the same cozy spot Bailey had told me about. Bright midday light streamed through large windows, and the aroma of fresh bread made my empty stomach clench. I spotted a woman who I was certain was Edna near the back, sporting a neon-green sweater patterned with cartoon cats playing in a bank of snow. We made eye contact, and I smiled. She stood and waved me over enthusiastically, her bob of silver hair bouncing.

“Rory, dear!” she greeted, eyes sparkling behind oversized glasses. “So happy to meet you! I’m so pleased you called!”

I settled across from her in the booth. A waitress approached, and we ordered soup and sandwiches. Edna insisted on a bowl of clam chowder and a grilled cheese with extra pickles. “I adore pickles,” she confided. “Can’t get enough of them.”

Despite the swirl of nerves, I felt myself begin to relax. Something about Edna’s bright mismatch of colors—cat-print scarf, polka-dot purse—and cheery demeanor calmed me. She exuded warmth, making me think she would’ve been a wonderful caretaker for the estate if she’d gotten her cat sanctuary wish.

Once our drinks arrived, I cleared my throat. “Edna, I remember hearing from Bailey that you believed you might be related to Cyrus Barrington. That you overheard family rumors. Is that right?”

She leaned forward eagerly. “Yes, but I never had proof. My grandmother was said to be connected somehow. I tried to research, but it led nowhere. Then Theodore wanted to demolish the property for commercial development. I was stuck in that silly feud. But luckily, my honey and I worked things out.”

Nodding, I drew a slow breath. “Well, I found the Barrington family Bible. It shows your mother was actually Cyrus Barrington’s older half-sister. She’d been the result of the union between Cyrus’s father and his first wife, who later remarried as well, to a man with the last name of Hall. He adopted your mother and gave her his surname. The long and the short of it is—you’re Cyrus’s niece.”

Edna’s eyes widened. She clutched the table. “Niece? Oh my, so I wasn’t delusional after all.”

I shook my head. “No, you weren’t.”

Tears gleamed in the woman’s eyes as she processed what I’d revealed. A moment of silence passed as she sniffed, rummaging in her purse for a tissue. “All this time, I thought maybe I was chasing a dream.”

“That’s why I wanted to meet. I know how it feels to want clarity.” My voice wavered, but I pressed on. “Edna, if you want the mansion now…if you feel it’s rightfully yours…I’d be willing to sell it to you at a fair price.”

She blinked in astonishment, dabbing her cheeks. “Sell me the property? But dear, I no longer need it.” She held up her left hand, a gigantic solitaire ring catching the light. “Theodore and I got engaged last week. We’ve decided to invest in this very café, turning it into a cat café. We’ll build an annex to house homeless felines, rehabilitate them for adoption. It’s my dream come true!”

My heart brimmed with relief…and a pang of gratitude. “That’s wonderful, Edna. So you’re sure you don’t want the old house?”

She smiled, a gentle warmth filling her face. “No, dear, I do not. I’ve moved in with Theodore, and we’re happy as can be. I no longer desire that mansion. You are doing a splendid job planning a bed-and-breakfast. Let it be your dream now.”

In that moment, relief coursed through me. “I’m so glad.” We clasped hands across the table, and for the next few minutes, she shared stories of how she and Theodore had overcome the misunderstanding that kept them apart for many years. The waitress brought our soup and sandwiches, and we ate, exchanging easy conversation.

Returning home mid-afternoon, I felt lighter. Even so, Cass’s revelation still haunted me, swirling in my thoughts alongside last night’s intimacy. I decided to chase away stress with a hot bath. Bramble followed me to the bathroom, curling on a rug near the tub. I filled it with steaming water, sprinkling in lavender salts I’d found in a closet. Slipping off my clothes, I sank into the water, a sigh escaping my lips.

Memories flooded me: Cass’s hands on my body, the glimmer in his eyes, his soft groan when we finally let go. A sting of betrayal throbbed in my chest. How can the same man who gave me that night also keep such a huge secret? Beneath my frustration, I still…cared for him. Wrapping an arm around my knees, I admitted, I might actually have started to fall in love him. The thought made tears threaten, but I forced them back.

Tugging on fresh leggings and a t-shirt, I ambled to the second floor again, deciding to rummage further. The soapy relaxation from my bath had steadied me enough to tackle more dusty trunks. If I’m going to be the caretaker of this place, let’s learn all the hidden stories .

In a time-worn trunk near an old dresser, I found a stack of letters scrawled in a delicate hand. Unfolding the one that lay on top, I recognized the same handwriting as on the scrap of paper I’d discovered in the desk drawer. The first lines made my breath catch: “ My dearest Cyrus…I know I am much younger than you, and only your housekeeper, but my heart swells with love. Even carrying your child, I wish only for your happiness, but I can’t let you face shame .” The writer’s name: Gabriela.

My pulse pounded as I read on. She spoke of their secret romance, how he reassured her their love was strong enough to weather public scorn. But she insisted it was best she slip away so as not to tarnish his reputation. Each letter brimmed with longing, heartbreak, and a repeated plea: “ Don’t follow me, Cyrus. Our baby is better off hidden from scandal .” She was Cass’s mother, I realized, tears pricking my eyes at the heartbreak spelled across each page.

Digging deeper, I found a newspaper clipping of a short obituary: Gabriela Sanchez, died tragically in a car accident. No mention of a surviving child. The date matched Cass’s adoption timeline. My chest constricted. So Cyrus never knew his child survived. He believed mother and baby both died. That explained so much—his bitterness, his downward spiral letting the mansion decay.

Then I unearthed a leather-bound journal with Cyrus’s name embossed. Opening the pages, I discovered entries that grew increasingly frantic over time. One wrote: “ Gabriela is gone—the love of my life, and our love child. I have nothing left .” Another: “ I curse fate for taking them from me .” My throat tightened. He’d truly believed his baby died. Subsequent entries showed him descending into a grim despair, eventually madness: “ What is life without Gabriela and our baby? ”

My heart ached. So Cass’s father never rejected him. He just never knew he’d survived. I have to tell Cass. Anxiety fluttered in my stomach, overshadowed by urgency. Cass needed to know the truth—that his father loved him and grieved a mistaken tragedy.

Shoving the journal and letters into a satchel, I dashed downstairs, adrenaline spiking. I threw on my coat and gloves, calling Bramble to his bed with a quick pat. “I have to see Cass. Stay here, buddy. This is important.”

I hopped into my SUV, the late-afternoon sun already dipping behind Wintervale’s evergreen ridges. He might be at his workshop, I reasoned. That was often where he spent time when not at the mansion. My tires crunched through fresh snow as I navigated the short drive into town. Please let him be there, I prayed silently, tapping the steering wheel.

Parking near his workshop, I got out, hugging the satchel. The crisp air stung my cheeks, but I barely noticed in my hurry. As I crossed the street, head down against a sudden gust, a shadow fell across my path. I glanced up—and my heart froze.

Julian stood there, coat buttoned up, a smug tilt to his lips. “Rory,” he drawled. “Long time no see.”

My breath caught in my throat, shock flooding me. What is he doing here?