Chapter 1 Claire
West Yellowstone, Montana
Claire was in the back aisle of Eagle’s Store reading the label on a box of Gerber cereal when she heard about the drowning.
“His father had to identify him after they pulled him from the river.” Tom Eagle’s voice carried through the shelves crammed with souvenir knickknacks, western jewelry, and fishing tackle.
Despite the stuffy August heat, a shiver of cold crept up Claire’s spine and her hold tightened on the squirming four-month-old in her arms.
“Imagine having to see your son like that,” Helen Eagle said sadly.
Claire had lived on the outskirts of Yellowstone National Park for over a year, but it was still shocking how many ways tourists got injured—and died—in the Great American Wonderland.
She felt a stab of sympathy for whoever had lost their son in the river as she put the Gerber’s back on the shelf and picked up the Pablum, which was ten cents cheaper.
“His poor mother,” Helen Eagle went on. “She’s lost so much already.”
Claire’s sympathy turned to a jolt of realization. Whoever Tom and Helen Eagle were talking about wasn’t a tourist. The poor family was local.
Jenny let out an unhappy howl. Claire moved her baby to her shoulder, tucked the box of baby cereal under her arm, and made her way around displays of glassware and moccasins to the front of the store.
“Mrs. Wilder,” Helen Eagle said as Claire put her purchase next to the old-fashioned cash register.
“Will this be all?” Helen Eagle wore a white apron over a striped housedress, her gray-streaked hair gathered in a tight bun on the top of her head.
Her dark eyes were as sharp as a magpie’s as she looked down from her perch behind the high counter.
“I couldn’t help but overhear,” Claire said. “Who was it that drowned?”
Helen Eagle and her husband exchanged a look Claire couldn’t fathom and Helen hesitated as if she didn’t want to share the news. “Dell Henshaw,” she finally said in a curt voice.
“Oh, no.” Claire had only met Dell the one time, back when he and Red had been friends.
He was so young . . . and his sweet wife.
Her heart squeezed hard in her chest. “Poor Beth.” Jenny began a stuttering cry, and Claire bounced gently to soothe her.
“I’ll stop in and give her my condolences.
” Even if she didn’t know Beth, it was the kind thing to do.
Helen jabbed at the cash register. “That will be forty-eight cents.”
Claire juggled Jenny and opened her purse, fished out two quarters, and glanced up. “Where did it happen?”
Helen’s mouth pursed into a knot and she looked away as if she hadn’t heard the question.
Claire slid the coins across the counter with a pang of annoyance.
How long must she live in West Yellowstone before she graduated from outsider to local?
Everyone from the Eagles to the gas station attendant treated her like an interloper no matter how hard she tried.
Tom Eagle’s weathered face creased in a frown. “In the Yellowstone.”
Claire couldn’t hide her surprise. “What was Dell doing up there?” The Yellowstone River was at the northern edge of the park, at least fifty miles from where they were now.
“Perhaps you should ask that husband of yours,” came Helen Eagle’s terse reply.
Claire’s eyes widened and heat flooded up her neck. What was Helen Eagle implying? Jenny started to fuss with a stuttering cry that meant she would soon be wailing.
Tom Eagle handed her two cents and ignored his wife’s jab. “I wouldn’t go over to Pete Henshaw’s place if I were you, Mrs. Wilder. Not with how things are.”
Claire’s grip tightened on the pennies. Red and Dell had once been friends, but they weren’t now. Could that be what Helen and Tom were getting at? She raised her brows and gave Tom Eagle a politely enquiring look. “What do you mean?”
Tom Eagle glanced at his wife. Helen’s mouth pinched and she glared at him. He shrugged. “Best not poke the bear, is all I’m saying.”
Claire left Eagle’s Store with a crying baby and a sickening turn in her stomach.
Jenny’s sobs rose to a fever pitch as she crossed West Yellowstone’s Main Street to where she’d parked the truck.
The street was lined with cars, campers, and yellow tour buses making their way to the park entrance for a day of sightseeing.
Tourists dressed in madras shorts with cameras slung around their necks crowded the western-style boardwalk, children begged for ice cream, and a horse snorted at the hitching post in front of the Slippery Otter saloon.
She climbed into the Chevy truck—mottled with rust spots and faded blue paint—and settled Jenny on the seat beside her.
“We’ll be home soon, sweet pea,” Claire promised as she turned the key in the ignition.
Her daughter was hungry, tired, and possibly needing a diaper change.
When Red got home from work tonight, she’d ask him about Dell Henshaw .
. . and whatever it was that Helen Eagle was implying.
The engine caught, sputtered, and died.
She tried again. This time, the engine revved for a hopeful moment . . . then clunked to silence.
“You need a hand, Mrs. Wilder?” The gravelly voice came through her open window. “I’m sure Helen will let you call Red from the store phone.”
Claire looked out the window to see Grace Miller standing on the sidewalk. The woman wore men’s jeans and a long-sleeved shirt even in the August heat. A well-worn cowboy hat shaded her lined face and two silver braids glinted in the sunlight.
She did indeed need a hand, much as she hated to admit it.
“Mrs. Miller”—Claire raised her voice over Jenny’s cries—“would you mind holding Jenny for a moment?” Claire scooped Jenny out of the hot-as-a-furnace cab and deposited her in Grace Miller’s arms. Miraculously, Jenny’s cries ceased and Claire let out a breath of relief.
Her daughter was always fascinated by a new face, even a scowling one like Grace Miller’s.
“Well.” Grace Miller looked down at Jenny’s tear-wet cheeks and wide blue eyes. “I think she likes me.”
Claire reached into the truck bed for the crescent wrench, her thoughts returning to Dell and Beth Henshaw. And Red. Grace Miller had lived in West Yellowstone all her life . . . but it didn’t seem right to pry about the Henshaws. Or about her own husband.
As if Grace Miller had read her mind, she shot Claire a sideways glance. “Shame about Dell Henshaw.”
Claire nodded.
“Pete and Iris lost their older boy in Korea,” Grace Miller said. “Now with Dell gone, it’s just the two of them.”
Claire stopped her task with a rush of sympathy. “Oh, how horrible.” To lose not only one but both of their children.
Grace sighed. “And Beth, a widow so young.”
Claire pushed up the heavy hood of the truck, propping it with the metal rod like Red had shown her, her thoughts on the couple she’d met almost two years ago—the summer she’d come out to Yellowstone and met Red. She’d seen in an instant that Beth and Dell were crazy about each other.
“You know Beth’s parents disowned her when she married Dell?
” Grace Miller went on as if Claire had asked her to elaborate.
“So did her uncle.” Grace rescued her leather stampede strings from Jenny’s grasp before she was able to get them to her mouth.
“’Course, Wormsbecker isn’t known for his soft heart. ”
Claire climbed up on the truck’s front bumper and leaned over the engine to reach the carburetor.
She was well acquainted with Walt Wormsbecker’s hard nature, but she hadn’t known about Beth’s parents.
Claire hit the carburetor none too gently with the wrench.
And she didn’t know what had happened between Dell and her husband to end their friendship.
When she had arrived in Riverside—newly married to Red and blissfully happy—she’d set up housekeeping and suggested to Red they invite Dell and his young wife over for dinner and a game of bridge.
“We had a falling-out,” was all Red said.
The way he’d avoided her eyes and went silent kept her from asking more.
She knew some things were hard to talk about.
Grace Miller came around the truck to watch her. “Dell and Red used to be as thick as thieves before all that business, you know.”
Claire froze, the wrench raised for another blow to the carburetor.
Thick as thieves. Best not poke the bear.
All that business. Why did it seem like the residents of West Yellowstone spoke in code and she didn’t have the secret decoder ring?
She bit down on the urge to ask about all that business.
Red should be the one to tell her what Grace Miller—and Helen Eagle—were hinting at.
Claire climbed back in the cab. Her denim pedal pushers were smeared with oil, and her sleeveless cotton blouse was damp with sweat. She turned the key and tapped the gas pedal. The engine sputtered, caught, and roared to life.
Thank the Lord. She revved it a few times to be sure. She just wanted to get home and get Jenny down for her nap, then get dinner ready for Red. Even if they hadn’t spoken in years, Red would grieve for his one-time friend. She slid out of the truck and held out her hands for Jenny.
Grace Miller wasn’t ready to give Jenny up.
Grace smiled down at Jenny’s wide-eyed stare and talked to her in a slightly higher-pitched voice. “Heard your daddy and Dell got into it at the Slippery Otter a couple nights ago.”
Claire frowned and glanced at the West Yellowstone watering hole across the street. That couldn’t be. Red didn’t go to the Slippery Otter, and he would have told her if he’d had an argument with Dell Henshaw. Wouldn’t he?
She took Jenny from Grace Miller’s hold and held her close, her heart tripping up a notch. The question left her mouth before she could stop it, ending her attempt to not pry. “What night was that, Mrs. Miller?”
Grace’s brows went up in surprise. “Sunday evening, from what I heard.”
The sick drop of her stomach made her falter. She turned abruptly and settled Jenny on the bench seat of the truck. “I need to get her home. Thank you for your help, Mrs. Miller.”
“Nice talkin’ to you, Mrs. Wilder,” Grace Miller drawled.
Claire put the truck in gear and jerked into the flow of tourist traffic. Her mind spun with questions. Shouldn’t she know her husband better than Grace Miller and Helen Eagle? Her father’s words—uttered just before he refused to walk her down the aisle to marry Red Wilder—echoed in response.
You don’t even know him, Claire. Don’t make the biggest mistake of your life.