Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Emerson
I used to run through these pastures. I sit in my car in Lane’s driveway and look over what’s now his land.
The sun is still up, but the house is dark.
It’s only seven. I’ve been gone all day, and going into the house and waiting, having it to myself, messes with my mind.
What will I do? Sniff his belongings? Bury myself in his closet and pretend I’ll throw my arms around his neck when he comes home?
Make him a supper like he made me a breakfast I didn’t eat?
With a growl, I get out of the car. The sounds of crickets and frogs fill the air, like they’re welcoming me back. The temptation to get back into the car is strong. I was in Billings all day with Brooks and Hillary, buying clothing and finding ways to make our dad’s house a home for her.
Brooks has to return to Denver to meet with his real estate agent, move out of his place, and clean it before it goes on the market. I should go back too, but I told Brooks I would take care of the animals. Lane or Cruz probably would, but we won’t depend on them more than we have to.
We just have to keep playing the game until that damn trust is satisfied. Lane might not fight me, but Zack’s the trustee. I don’t have the funds to fight a lawyer. I’m taking enough of a risk staying at Lane’s instead of in the house I grew up in.
Lady trots up to me, tail wagging.
“Hey, girl.” I stuff my hands in her fur. Delight rises in me when she licks my hand, then she goes on alert, staring into the distance. One of the horses moseys across the pasture.
Gah, this is so peaceful. I used to sit on the porch of the house that is now mine and envision my future, before I knew what visualization was.
Big house. Abundant land. Animals that I got to spend my days with.
There were no plans to design campaigns to sell beer or liquor.
Nor to live in a city that was clogged with people and mountain passes so busy it’d be faster to walk.
Whatever I saw in my mind’s eye back then was mine.
Not some rich asshole’s who’s really considerate and kisses like I might sell my soul for another one.
One of the horses leans over the fence by the shop, hope on his face.
“Sorry, bud. I have no treats.”
Horses that expect goodies. A dog that loves kids. Cattle with abundant grass and a line of bales ready and waiting. Barn cats perched at the base of those bales, waiting for the mice to be active.
Lane takes care of what’s his—and what’s not.
My chest walls squeeze together, but I square my shoulders. I’m not his, and he’s not mine.
His house looms in front of me, taunting me. My home for the next two or three months.
I give Lady one more scratch behind her ears and then get in my car. I’m at the end of the driveway before I stop.
Where am I going?
There is one place I haven’t driven by yet. One spot that I never went to as much when I was a child. It was dangerous. Off-limits. Forbidden.
My hands are tight on the wheel. The drive isn’t far.
I pass some new houses, set far enough off the road they have ample privacy.
Cattle fill the pastures around the properties once more.
Then there’s the Hennessy house. It sat empty when I was growing up.
Three boys who were taken from their home and squirreled away, leaving their house as desolate as the defunct mine.
Is one of them back in it? Is all this theirs?
I should’ve done more research on Foster House Gold.
I’m doing that now. I turn into the parking lot of the remodeled gold, platinum, and palladium mine.
“Damn.” I lean closer to see out the windshield, my jaw dropping.
I saw a picture of it once. Read a quick update. Mostly, I skimmed, in no place to be transported to my hometown to see how everything was thriving while I wasn’t there.
With three stories, there are enough windows to reflect the trees and foothills it’s nestled in. The backdrop of the mountains frames it perfectly, like it’s been here since the beginning of time, carved from glaciers and the elements.
Lane’s pickup is on the far side of the lot by a long building that’s not quite as ornate. Must be the rickhouse. Three other cars are lined up closer to the entry of what must be the tasting room. I park by them.
My stomach pitches and rolls. I press a hand to my gut. He’s in there. Has he seen me?
I’m not afraid of him.
No. I am. There are a lot of burgeoning feelings when it comes to Lane, and fear is definitely one. Which is why I need to learn more about him.
Maybe he’s a horrible bartender. Maybe he spills drinks and drives off paying customers. He can negotiate national deals with giant distributors, but maybe he tells lame dad jokes. Something. There’s gotta be something wrong with the man.
I get out. The car I just washed in Billings is once again covered with a fine layer of dust, and there are more bugs on the windshield.
Kind of like me.
I’m in athletic shoes because I wasn’t walking through stores all over Billings just to make my calves sore again. I paired them with jeans and a plain pink top. Decent enough, but nothing like what I wore the last time I went to a distillery.
I enter the tasting room, and disappointment sinks my gut like a stone. Where is he?
A couple in the corner smiles at me. I tense, but out of habit, I smile back. I don’t recognize them. There’s a woman at the bar. She’s older, with thick framed black-and-white sunglasses shoved into her hair. The stool is tall and she’s kicking her feet.
Lane emerges from a back room, looking down at a bottle of clear liquor in his hands. He’s dressed the same, but his hair’s combed back, unlike this morning when it fell over his forehead. “I think I found the one you’re talking about, Edna.”
He glances up and surprise filters across his face. “Emerson.”
The woman on the stool turns so fast she almost falls off. She catches herself on the counter and gingerly steps down. “The Emerson? Oh my gosh, look at you.”
“Edna?” The formal greeting I usually reach for vanishes. There’s something familiar about her. Twenty years younger, same grin, and same spontaneous energy. “From school?”
Her grin is wide, like she’s thrilled I remember her. “Oh, honey. You are a welcome sight. When I lay eyes on that brother of yours, I’ll know all is right with the world.”
I give my head a shake. She’s happy to see me?
She stands back to scan me up and down. “Look at you. Almost as tall as your daddy.”
The reminder is as much of a cold splash in the face as it is heartwarming. No one’s compared me to my dad in a good way. “Brooks is taller.”
“You don’t say.” She beams. “I heard you’re some big marketing exec in the city.” She waggles a finger between me and Lane. “This is a real Hallmark movie.”
Did Lane talk about me today? Wait— “Hallmark movie?” Aren’t those romances?
“The big city girl returns to her hometown and falls in love with the Christmas tree farmer.”
“Oh. I see.” Love would be an unwelcome complication to all this.
She yanks me into an unexpected hug filled with strong vanilla perfume. “Sorry about Hutch. I know the situation is complicated and your feelings must be a mess. But I bet you’re still a strong girl.”
An unwanted memory surfaces. Me, crying in the bathroom after I snooped on my estranged mom and found her living an openly happy life, pregnant again.
Edna had crouched down with me and told me she needed help hanging flyers for the school carnival, and she’d give me a juice pouch for helping. “Strong. Sure.”
Lane’s quietly watching us from the other side of the bar. I cast him a look, pleading for something to get me out of this tangle bringing up memories best left buried.
“Hey, Edna,” he says. “Did you want me to whip up a mint julep for you real quick?”
“No, I’ll let you two talk.” She gives me another half hug. “You’re coming to Hookers and Booze, right?”
“Excuse me?” I’m not interested in either. But . . . I’m intrigued. What’s happened to Huckleberry Springs?
Her face crinkles in a smile. “One Monday a month, we have a crochet afternoon. Elodie brings treats.”
“Elodie Palmer?” She was quiet in school, and one of the people I missed when I moved.
“Elodie Foster now.” Edna’s smile is as proud as if she walked Elodie down the aisle herself. “She left for many years, but she’s back and running the bakery in town. Dee’s Sweets.”
Lane’s sister-in-law. A business owner. The Fosters are digging roots deep in the area. And like Elodie, I moved, and now I’m back and married to a Foster. Only Elodie likely did it all willingly. I’ve got one foot out the door and on the other side of city limits.
“She brings goodies,” Edna continues, “and one of the guys waits on us. You’re coming on Monday, Lane?”
He’s bent over a tablet on the counter. Lifting his gaze, it collides with mine. My heart rate climbs up. “I’ll be there.”
There’s a challenge in his voice, like he knows that I don’t want to go, and that I’ll come up with an excuse.
Don’t take the bait. Be the bigger person.
But the stubborn side of my DNA comes out. I’ve been known to run—from home, from relationships. But not this time. “You’ve got one more hooker to add to your roster.”