Losing the Moon (Teton Mountain #5)

Chapter 1

1

D istracted, Charlie Grace shut off her computer, thinking there was nothing quieter than late winter snow melting softly outside the cabin’s window, weaving rivulets down the panes of glass. She stood and made her way to the opening, peering out at the blurred view of the snow-topped mountains beyond.

In mere minutes, the blanket of gray clouds gave way, and a soft brush of sunshine lit up the frozen white patches scattered among the tufts of vibrant spring grass. The sugar-frosted forest in the distance seemed to lean into the warmth, the deep green pine boughs still glistening with lingering snow as they began to shrug off winter’s icy hold. It was as if spring and winter were locked in yet another quarrel, neither willing to yield.

If she had time, she’d grab her camera and try to capture the beauty of it all. Sadly, time was a rare commodity she didn’t have a lot of these days. Not with loan renewals, cash flow statements, and tax preparation crowding her task list.

Charlie Grace tore her gaze away from the window and turned back to her desk, where her daunting pile of work awaited her. She barely had a chance to refocus before a movement caught her eye. Startled, she looked up to see Aunt Mo standing in the doorway, casually wiping her hands on a towel.

“Oh, you scared me!” she exclaimed.

Aunt Mo moved into the room. “Didn’t mean to, sweetheart.” She surveyed the piles of paper next to the computer. “You’ve been busy.”

Charlie Grace slid into her desk chair and nodded as she quickly folded the open bank statement and slid it back into its envelope.

Aunt Mo stepped closer, her gaze roaming over the desk cluttered with papers and landing on the lines of worry that were no doubt etched across Charlie Grace’s face. She set the towel on the edge of the desk and leaned one hip against it, crossing her arms.

“You know,” she began, her voice soft but steady. “This ranch can be needy. Always wanting more from you than you’ve got to give.”

Charlie Grace let out a faint, distracted laugh, tucking the envelope away into a drawer. “That sounds about right.”

Aunt Mo tilted her head, studying her niece. “It’s okay to let someone else help carry the load when it gets too heavy. Ranches don’t run on sheer willpower alone, honey.”

Charlie Grace clenched her jaw, refusing to admit—even to herself—just how hard it had been to keep the ranch afloat over the winter when bills rolled in and income teetered.

Despite a thriving ski season, most tourists lodged in Jackson. She’d lured a few out to the ranch with holiday sleigh rides, but even that was dwindling now that the snowpack was melting and kids were all back in school.

Her bank account showed it.

She looked down, her hands resting on the desk. “I can handle it,” she told Aunt Mo, though her voice lacked conviction.

Aunt Mo smiled gently, reaching out to rest a hand on Charlie Grace’s shoulder. “Of course, you can,” she said, her tone laced with both pride and quiet understanding. “But handling it doesn’t mean you have to do it all alone.”

With that, Aunt Mo pushed off the desk and grabbed the towel, flipped it over her shoulder. “Now, I’ve a pie in the oven, but if you need another set of hands—whether for papers or pies—you know where to find me.”

She headed for the door but paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “Just don’t wait too long to ask, okay?” Then, with a knowing smile, she disappeared down the hall.

Charlie Grace grabbed her favorite baseball cap off the corner of her desk and placed it on her head, remembering the whirlwind of last summer after her dad had nearly run the place into financial ruin. She’d done everything to transform the struggling cattle operation into a guest ranch. The glossy brochures and promises of adventure had lured visitors in droves, filling the cabins and keeping the dining hall buzzing with laughter.

She’d stepped into the role her father couldn’t, quietly negotiating deals, taking on the dirty work, and ensuring every guest left wanting to come back. Saving the ranch wasn’t a victory parade; it was a grueling march of determination, and even now, the echoes of those desperate months lingered in the back of her mind.

For a moment, it felt like they’d turned a corner. But as the frozen winter air rolled in, so had the bills—feed, repairs, marketing—and the glaring realization that one stellar season wasn’t enough to steady the ship.

A wave of déjà vu washed over her as she stood and peered out the window a second time. She’d been in this exact spot so many months ago, wondering if they’d make it through another year.

The seasons had cycled, but the landscape hadn’t changed—the towering pines, the worn barn, the guest cabins nestled against the foothills—all hauntingly familiar. The stakes were different now, but the weight on her shoulders was the same, as if the past and present had blurred into one relentless cycle of saving what she loved most.

This wasn’t just a ranch—it was her legacy, her triumph.

As she turned and headed for the kitchen, she carried with her a mix of pride and pressure. She’d saved the ranch once, and she could do it again.

It was late spring, the mountain tops still snowy white and glistening. Yet, summer was coming, and, with it, the tourist season. Until then, she was ready to roll up her sleeves and find a way to stretch the balance in that bank account somehow.

She really didn’t have a choice.

Reva unboxed the pies she’d picked up in Jackson earlier and carefully eased them into the oven to heat. She glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen window that overlooked the driveway, listening for any signs of her girlfriends arriving early. Satisfied the coast was clear, she folded the empty boxes and shoved them into the back of the pantry behind a row of mismatched jars.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” she muttered, brushing her hands together as if that would erase any evidence of her deception.

She retrieved her apron from the hook by the stove and tied it around her waist for good measure. Next, she grabbed a small bowl and poured a bit of flour into it, dusting her hands lightly before swiping them on the apron’s front. It wasn’t exactly convincing—there weren’t any mixing bowls or rolling pins in sight—but it would lend her an air of culinary authenticity if anyone asked.

It wasn’t long before the pies began to emit a heavenly scent, the buttery crust mingling with the sweetness of cherries, apples, and pecans. Reva took a deep breath and let herself enjoy the aroma. “If I’d baked these myself, I’d be downright smug,” she said with a sly grin.

She set the table with her best dishes and made sure the dessert forks sparkled under the light. When she heard laughter and approaching footsteps, she quickly positioned herself by the counter, wiping an imaginary streak of sweat from her forehead.

There was a quick knock, and the door swung open. Capri was the first to saunter in, followed by Charlie Grace and Lila. “Smells amazing in here!” Capri exclaimed, tossing her jacket over the back of a chair.

“Homemade pie,” Reva said nonchalantly, waving a hand toward the oven. “Been at it all afternoon.”

Lila raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “You’ve been baking? Between chasing after little Lucan and managing the town’s affairs, when do you even have the time?”

Reva laughed nervously and shooed them toward the table. “A woman has to have her secrets.”

Charlie Grace leaned against the counter, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she watched Reva take the pies from the oven. “Hmm, let me guess—Tillman’s Bakery in Jackson? Their pies have that unmistakable crust pattern.”

Reva froze but quickly recovered, waving a dish towel in Charlie Grace’s direction. “Oh, stop. Don’t you have a hunky new boyfriend to focus on? I heard he took a trip back to California.”

Charlie Grace shrugged. “Yeah, he’s in L.A. this week. Some post-Oscar event. I’m learning schmoozing is about half of his job when he’s not filming.”

Reva picked up a knife and began cutting into the cherry pie. “Networking is important.” She paused, considering whether to come clean. Finally, her guilt got the best of her. “Okay, okay. I didn’t make the pies. I just…baked them. But I did make the chocolate martinis.” She tilted her head in the direction of her own glass. “And my mocha milk.”

Capri chuckled, taking a seat. “Ha, the truth comes out. If they taste half as good as they smell, I don’t care where they came from.”

“I agree,” Lila said, picking up a fork. “I like two kinds of pies…hot and cold.”

Charlie Grace raised an eyebrow while pointing. “So, the flour on your apron was just for show?”

“Exactly. I’m a visionary, not a baker.” Reva waved her fork like a wand. “Besides, those bakery pies are better than anything I could whip up, and they don’t come with the risk of a fire alarm.”

Lila shook her head, laughing as she reached for another slice. “You’re shameless.”

“Absolutely,” Reva said, popping a bite into her mouth. “And you love me for it.”

Charlie Grace caught her eye with a knowing smirk. “Sure, Reva. Whatever you say.” She turned to Lila. “What do you hear from your daughter? How’s school?”

Immediately, a wide grin broke out on Lila’s face.

“What?” asked Charlie Grace.

“It’s hard not to smile. Camille is loving it at the university. She’s made friends and is taking a full load of classes she seems to be acing.” Her voice drifted slightly. “She’s living what I’ve always wanted for her.”

Reva picked up her glass of mocha milk. “You’ve done a fine job, Lila. I’m learning parenting is hard on so many levels. I can’t imagine doing it as a single mother.”

She eyed Capri. “What’s up with you? You look like you just won the lottery or something.”

Capri leaned back in her chair, her fork idly pushing crumbs around her dessert plate. “Nothing much,” she began, a mischievous glint in her eye, “Only that I signed up for the snowmobile race next weekend.”

The room went silent, forks paused mid-air. Charlie Grace was the first to break the silence. “Wait. The one up on Devil’s Staircase?”

“That’s the one,” Capri said, a satisfied grin spreading across her face. “Racers from multiple states will be competing. I’ll be one of them.”

Reva’s jaw dropped. “Capri! You know that area’s a deathtrap this time of year! The avalanche warnings have been off the charts.”

“Warnings, schwarnings,” Capri said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s fine. I know the terrain like the back of my hand.”

Lila narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. “Knowing the terrain doesn’t make you immune to a thirty-ton wall of snow coming down the mountain.”

Capri rolled her eyes. “They always set off blasts prior to the race to trigger possible slides. I’m not worried.”

“But, what if—” Lila argued.

“Lila, if I listened to every ‘what if,’ I’d never leave the house.” Capri leaned forward, her voice growing animated. “This is going to be epic! Snow flying everywhere, engines roaring, the wind in your face—freedom!”

Charlie Grace gave her a pointed look. “Freedom? You mean freezing.”

Capri laughed, brushing off the concern. “Oh, come on! What’s the point of living if you don’t push yourself every now and then? Besides, I’ve got the best sled in the race. Bodhi tuned it up, and I’ll be fine.”

“Capri.” Reva crossed her arms, the tone in her voice firm. “This isn’t about how good your snowmobile is. Unexpected avalanches don’t check your equipment before they barrel down the mountain. They’re dangerous, unpredictable, and they don’t give second chances.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “And what does Jake think about all this?”

Capri let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. “Jake is wonderful, but he’s not my keeper. He doesn’t get a vote on how I spend my weekends. Besides, you’re all acting like this is my first brush with adrenaline. Need I remind you of the class five rapids I tackled last spring? Solo, might I add.”

Charlie Grace shook her head with a groan. “And we’re still recovering from the emotional trauma of that one.”

Capri smirked, unrepentant. “It was incredible. You should try it sometime—gets the heart racing in all the right ways.”

“Yeah, like straight into cardiac arrest,” Reva shot back. “You keep tempting fate, Capri. One of these days, it might actually answer.”

“I agree. That rafting stunt was reckless,” Charlie Grace muttered.

“And awesome,” Capri shot back. “Look, I get it. You’re all worried. But I’m not scared of a little snow. The sponsors will take every safety precaution. If I win—and I will—you can all sit back and say you know the champion of Devil’s Staircase.”

Reva groaned, putting her head in her hands. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Capri said, grabbing the last bite of pie. “But I’m also fun, and that counts for something.”

Lila shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “If fun gets you buried under six feet of snow, don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Capri raised her fork like a toast. “Noted. Now, pass the whipped cream. I’ll need the fuel.”