Chapter 1
MAYA
Montana Women’s Prison, Billings – present day
“Maya Belrose, I’m gonna miss you,” Katy murmured behind me, her fingers working my hair into a French twist with the kind of skill that made plastic clips and strips of cloth look like salon tools. She’d been styling my hair every morning, somehow making me the best-coiffed inmate in the place.
I tilted my head back to catch her eye. “I’m gonna miss you too.”
“You know,” she said, tucking in the last section and smoothing it down, “when I get outta here someday, I’m opening a salon. And you better be my first appointment.”
I laughed, even as my chest tightened at the imminent goodbye. “Only if you swear not to chop it all off the second I sit in your chair.”
Katy scoffed, her mama-drawl thick with sass. “Hell no! That hair of yours is a national treasure. I’d sooner take a chainsaw to the Mona Lisa.”
I grinned.
Then she added, “The girls are gonna miss your cakes, Maya Bel.”
She wasn’t wrong. I’d always loved to bake, but I never expected to flourish as a baker behind bars. I had no real tools, and I was just guessing half the time, but somehow, the recipes still held. And for a while, that small bit of sweetness kept us all going.
The cell door unlocked with a clang.
“Belrose!” the guard’s voice rang out. “Time to go.”
I turned to Katy, wrapping my arms around her in a fierce hug. In four years, I’d shared this cramped space with a rotating cast of women. Some ignored me, some despised me, and others made it their mission to break me. The bruises faded, but the lessons never did.
Katy was different. She didn’t see just another inmate to compete with or bully to feel bigger. She saw the person underneath. She reminded me that I was still human.
“Stay out of trouble, girl,” she murmured.
I smirked. “No guarantees.”
She pulled back, searching my face, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not thinking—”
“If I do, it’ll be for little Cleo.”
Her expression darkened. “Maya, I told you that story because—no. I don’t want you throwing yourself into something reckless because of me.”
“It’s not because of you. It’s because if anyone deserves help, it’s Cleo. If anyone deserves justice, it’s her.” I was past sure. “I swear to you, Katy. She’ll see her seventh birthday. And many more after that.”
“Maya—”
I hugged her again, silencing whatever argument she was about to make.
Some promises were worth breaking rules for.
I stepped out of the cell.
At processing, they stripped me of my number.
Four years, reduced from seven—a mercy, they said.
The judge had shown pity, citing my age and my clean record before everything went to hell.
The burglary and assault charges against Annamaria stuck.
But the assault on a police officer was dropped to a misdemeanor after he considered my dad’s heart attack.
The correction officer shoved a plastic bag into my hands—my so-called belongings.
Inside was a worn-out set of clothes that no longer fit, a pair of shoes I barely remembered owning, and a wallet with thirty bucks and an expired ATM card.
Everything in that bag was outdated and forgotten. Just like me.
Behind the counter, the guard rifled through a clipboard. “Sign here.”
The pen felt foreign in my hand. It was a stupid thought, but I lingered on it. Four years of following orders, of knowing exactly what came next, and now…nothing. No schedule. No structure. No certainty.
The last door groaned open.
Cold air smacked into me, stark and foreign. My feet stalled at the threshold. Just walk. That’s what they expected. That’s what I had to do.
I shifted the bag in my arms. I had no phone, no money, and no home. I could try a taxi, but I had nowhere to go. Hitchhike? Stupid. Walk? To where? The streets stretched beyond the chain-link fence. I’d been waiting for this moment, and now I didn’t know what to do with it.
Then came a voice.
“Maya!”
I froze. No, it couldn’t be.
I turned just as a blur of color crashed into me, their arms wrapping tightly. The scent of vanilla and something achingly familiar filled my senses.
Sheryn.
My best friend. My sister in everything but blood.
Tears burned my eyes as she held me tight, as though she could glue together the broken pieces of me just by being here.
“I thought…” My throat closed up. I couldn’t finish.
She pulled back, cupping my face, her own eyes glassy. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be here?”
She was supposed to be preparing for a wedding and living her dream. And yet, here she was, standing outside a prison with her arms open, ready to catch me.
I broke.
A sob ripped free as I clung to her, shaking and crying, alive.
“You’re unbelievable!” I wiped my eyes, half-laughing, half-sniffling. “You shouldn’t have! You really shouldn’t have!”
“Shut up, Maya.” Sheryn pulled me in. “I’m here. I’m always here. Now get your ass in the car before you start ugly crying all over my dress.”
I let out a watery chuckle, sliding into the passenger seat. The leather felt too nice. Too… normal.
I glanced at her, taking her in. “You look gorgeous. Being a bride-to-be suits you.”
“Oh, you have no idea.” She flipped her hair with a dramatic flourish. “Everyone keeps telling me I’m glowing. Like, no, Zara, that’s just highlighter and a whole lot of stress.”
I laughed. It’s rusty, but real.
Sheryn eyed my hair. “Katy did that?”
“She couldn’t help herself.”
“You might be the most glamorous ex-prisoner I’ve ever met. Outshining me, even.” She gave her hair a shake. Her curls were a little wild, but I knew better. Once Sheryn got done up, she transformed.
She pulled out of the lot. “So, you haven’t changed your mind about being my bridesmaid, right?”
I kept my eyes on the prison growing smaller in the distance, until that word bridesmaid landed. I turned to her, full-body and baffled. “Wait, what? When did we—?”
She groaned. “Are you kidding me? Maya! The calls? The I-will-hunt-you-down-and-drag-you-to-a-dress-fitting messages?”
Oh. Right. The prison phone calls I dodged when I wasn’t sure I could handle hearing about a life I wasn’t part of anymore.
Sheryn rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re in. No backsies.”
I propped my elbow on the door, my fingers at my temple. “Alright, fine. But if you put me in something ugly, I will riot.”
Sheryn burst out laughing. “Oh, don’t worry. You’re gonna look hot as hell.”
We drove west, heading for a town called Buffaloberry Hill. The miles unspooled ahead, the road carving through open country, the fields giving way to rolling pastures.
“This is almost the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness,” I said, taking it all in.
“Yup. And you’re gonna love this town,” Sheryn declared, practically glowing as we passed the sign.
Welcome to Buffaloberry Hill. Where every heart has a home.
“I’ve got a feeling it’s already better than Billings,” I quipped.
“Wow, the enthusiasm is overwhelming,” she snarked, throwing an elbow my way.
My eyes swept the land beyond. It’s rancher country.
I could tell right away. A place where life moved with the seasons, where fences ran longer than city blocks, and the smell of turned earth lived in the bones of the town.
Weathered barns dotted the pastures. Tractors rolled down dirt roads.
No rush, just the rhythm of land and labor.
There was something about this place—an easy kind of warmth that made room for everyone. But I kept that to myself. No point getting attached. I wasn’t staying.
“There!” Sheryn pointed ahead. “That’s where the wedding is!”
She didn’t just say it. She sang it.
I followed her gaze as we approached a rustic wooden arch with a sign swaying idly in the breeze.
The Lazy Moose.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured as she slowed, my eyes sweeping over the entrance and the almost never-ending stretch of land beyond.
“The ceremony and dinner will be way back inside,” Sheryn explained. “The backdrop is the Rockies. I could never hope for a more perfect venue.”
“I can’t wait,” I said, though nervous energy thrummed beneath my words. I hadn’t seen civilization, let alone a wedding, in four years.
Sheryn shot me a look, sensing it maybe. “It’ll be amazing.”
I let myself believe her.
We kept driving.
“So, men in this town…the good kind?” I asked, casually scanning the scenery for some rugged cowboy types. My search turned up…cows. Lots of cows.
Sheryn snorted. “Some are. Others? Certified dickweeds.”
“Always a few to ruin the reputation, huh?”
“Elia Lucas, the owner of The Lazy Moose? He’s a good kind.”
“Huh…” I caught the gleam in her eye. Matchmaking mode.
“But sorry, he’s married.”
I masked my embarrassment. Since when was I wrong about Sheryn?
“Got a brother?” I asked, feigning nonchalance. Maybe I was handing her a matchmaking opportunity on a silver platter.
“Far as I know, no.” Her answer was too quick.
She’s not taking the bait. Something was off with her. Or maybe she just figured no one in town would be interested in an ex-con.
“But your Nick is the good kind, yeah?” I teased.
She smirked. “My Nick? Well, there’s only one letter separating Nick and dick—”
We burst out laughing.
“But seriously,” she continued, “Nick’s a sweetheart. He runs a feed store not far from the town center. Remember when I didn’t visit you for months?”
My laughter faded. “Rynnie, that was the worst stretch of my life in there.” The past crept in, but I shoved it back. “But I bet it was worse for you.”
She sighed, glancing at me before focusing back on the road. “He never left my side. He was there. Holding my hand, feeding me, and carrying me to the damn bathroom when I was too weak to move.”
“He did?” I said in admiration.
“And when I cried over my non-existent, stitchy boob? He made sure I knew it didn’t matter. He still touched me the same way. Still does.”
My throat tightened. “You deserve every bit of his love, you know that? And I must say, without even meeting him, I approve.”