Chapter 2 #2
I set the peel on the counter. I’m opening cabinet doors when there’s a knock. My food lurches into my throat, but I swallow and rush to the front door. Sunny’s SUV is parked by the driveway.
“Hey,” I say when I open the door to a pregnant sister in a violet flower-covered dress, tenting over her belly, and her feet stuffed in flip-flops.
She’s put her brown hair in the standard ponytail she’s been wearing since her first trimester, when she had morning sickness.
“I’ve gotta grab my purse. Be right back. ”
I find my boots in the mudroom and return to Jamison.
She frowns. “Where’s your purse?”
Shit. “I’m a little scatterbrained today.” I run and retrieve my bag, toss the strap over my head so I don’t forget it again, and leave with her.
Once I’m buckled in, I steal a pair of her sunglasses to ward off the bright spring sun.
I thunk my head on the back of the headrest. “Why did it have to be Durban?”
“You’re lucky it was Durban.”
She’s right. “Did you text Mom and Dad?”
“I told them you went to Billings with a friend and were doing some shopping this morning.”
By the time I get my car and return to the ranch, it’ll be just after lunch. Almost plausible if someone bought that I was a morning person and was at the store as soon as the doors opened. “Thank you.”
Her excuse sounds a whole lot less pathetic. I owe her.
“They were worried, though.” She gives me a sidelong look, the light streaking across her sunglasses. “You can back out. No one will blame you.”
“And give Stanford and January a reason to blame me for any snafus during their happiest day? No, thanks.”
Sunny grunts, disgust twisting her mouth. “January’s gotten her way too often.”
“She’s the apple of Uncle Rayburn’s eye, and Sydney’s the worm.”
We exchange a smile. My mom said that once about our cousins, and my sisters and I have taken it and run.
Sydney’s a sweetheart, but her efforts always fall short in her parents’ eyes, where those of her sister are celebrated, no matter how many people they hurt.
It’s weird that I wasn’t best friends with her instead of January, but January and I are the same age.
She casts a worried look in my direction. “You can tell them to fuck off. I will back you. Iverson too.”
If I had a job and a place to live, I could leave. But I don’t. Daddy hired me as Hawthorne’s Guest Ranch event coordinator. I have to actually prove I can take care of myself. “Can I buy you lunch?”
“No, but I’ll eat with you.”
I close my eyes. She won’t let me buy because she thinks I don’t have money. I got a nice severance package at my last job. I had a lot to negotiate with when I got “laid off.”
She pulls into the big lot in front of Springs Cafe. Hunger rumbles through my belly. Solid, greasy food is about to hit home, and I can’t wait. We sit in the cracked leather booths. Thankfully, my dress has long sleeves, so my skin doesn’t stick to the tabletop.
Greta stops by, hands tucked in the pockets of her waitress apron. The owner has worked as a server for as long as I can remember. “Couple of Hawthornes. How ya doin’?”
Jamison smiles at her. “Good. How’s the family?”
She beams and gives us a ten-minute spiel about her three kids and five grandkids.
My mind buzzes in and out of the conversation as new faces come and go.
I love when it’s tourist season in town, and I’m granted some level of anonymity.
I don’t see the guys from last night. That’s how it works.
You either cross paths a million times or once.
“. . . they’re my dears.” The finality of Greta’s tone draws me back in. Dang, I missed all the updates. “What can I get you girls?” She winks. “The same?”
“With an extra pancake?” I ask, admiring how Greta can twist her black hair into a bun without a million flyaways.
“That kind of morning, eh?” Another wink.
“Same for me,” Jamison adds. Neither of us looked at a menu. It hasn’t changed for as long as I can remember.
When she leaves, I study the street on the other side of the window.
The bar is around the corner on the edge of town.
It’s why it can have such a big dirt lot.
The tree-covered Beartooth Mountains line the horizon.
I can’t see the rolling foothills from here, but Huckleberry Springs lies at the base.
Daddy keeps the guest portion of his ranch facing the mountains, but the working ranch is along the sprawling valley, where there’s space for cattle to graze and lush grasses.
Main Street is lined with tourist shops, small retail stores, offices, and a grocery store. Outdoor recreation businesses surround the edge of town, closer to either the mountains or the river. Whether it’s hiking, skiing, fishing, or kayaking, there’s a place that offers it.
I have the urge to talk to Jamison about whether I should contact Sy’s Water Adventures before or after the wedding. Do I need to capitalize on my sudden free time, or should I prove myself first? But I don’t want to witness her hesitancy again. Her trepidation that I’m going to mess this up too.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Good. I can’t do much. I’m a breath away from being under activity restriction, and that’ll drive me nuts. I’m already in a desk-heavy job.”
“Accountants aren’t known to go wild at work?”
“They get thrown in jail when they do.”
“And that’ll raise your blood pressure.”
She laughs. “Exactly. But since I’m so close to my due date, and I can work from home, she just wants me to take it easy—at home. No chores, keep my stress down and my feet up.” She takes a drink of water. “Did Avery get ahold of you?”
“Yes. I told her to go back to bed and give Thea a sloppy kiss from me.”
Her expression turns droll. “You know they both probably ran a marathon before dawn.”
“And then personally stocked a local food bank.” I cup my hands around my glass of ice water. “Sometimes, I wonder if Mom and Daddy pretend Thea’s the third daughter they wished they had.”
“Only because Thea can actually catch a fish.”
“Fishing’s boring.”
Her smile fades. “Life isn’t always exciting, and we have to deal with it anyway.”
Acid churns in my gut. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Oh God. I sounded just like her, didn’t I?” She rests a hand on her belly. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not just chasing a thrill. I told Iverson to say no at the meeting.”
I don’t want to think about this afternoon when there’s still a dull thud at my temples. “Durban might tell Stanford he made a good decision,” I say wryly, masking the burn behind my sternum.
“I don’t know what man January is a good decision for.” Jamison rolls her eyes. “I mean, seriously. That girl couldn’t form an independent thought if she was being dangled off a cliff.”
“It’s why she took what wasn’t hers.” I hate to think of the overlap. The comparisons when they have sex. Does he make more of an effort for her?
January might be vapid, but she exudes intelligence.
I’d rather ask a statue for advice, but somehow she garners respect and I don’t.
She’s also an unrestrained people pleaser and too conflict-avoidant for her own good.
Until now. Because she and Stanford have decided to have their wedding at Hawthorne Guest Ranch and make me plan it.