Chapter 9
NINE
Selah had never slept so well, so hard, so peacefully as she did in the upstairs bedroom of the Marshall family ranch home.
She woke in a double bed, in a room that bore a masculine feel, with a single framed picture of a dark-haired man in skates and a blue hockey jersey and helmet, looking into the camera. It was signed at the bottom.
Huh. She was sleeping in the childhood room of Wyatt Marshall, superstar goalie for the Minnesota Blue Ox.
She got up and stared out the window at the glorious sunrise that crested over the mountains to the east.
They’d pulled up last night under a golden moon, and even in the semidarkness, the place had taken her breath away.
The two-story ranch house sat in a pocket between two hills, log-sided, with a stone front porch. Lantern light had cast upon ocher flowerpots filled with geraniums flanking a couple rocking chairs.
Like she’d stepped inside the Yellowstone set. Without all the drama, swearing, and violence.
Please, God.
If she couldn’t find peace here, then maybe it wasn’t to be found. The place was breathtaking. Rolling green pastures cordoned off by fencing as far as she could see, and in the distance, grand gray-brown mountains jutting into the horizon.
A freshly painted white barn sat at the end of a gravel driveway—an RV parked in front—and beyond that, a corral with a couple of grand steeds grazing in the green field.
The air was scented with lilies and lilacs and wildflowers, and she heard a Scripture in her head as she stood there: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.
Please let this be a place of green pastures and still waters. Because despite North’s words yesterday about peace not being about never fighting, but when…she desperately needed a break from the fighting right now.
His low voice thrummed through her as she made her bed. I need you to be strong, and wise and brave. The rest—that’s what I’m here for.
She could have lost herself inside his arms. Parked there and never come up for air.
She would never run again.
Her backpack had somehow made it all the way from the train crash to Josephine’s B&B to the straight-backed chair in Montana. She pulled out clean clothes and headed to the bathroom. The smell of something baking in the kitchen below put some hurry-up in her shower.
She emerged a new woman, the grime out of her hair, clean and whole and hungry, and discovered that someone had left clothing on her bed. Leggings, a T-shirt, and a clean snap-button denim shirt. She was in Montana, after all.
She dressed, then followed the smell out of her room and into the hallway.
It overlooked the great room, and apparently they did all things big in Montana, because a gorgeous stacked-stone fireplace stretched two stories and took up a great portion of the gleaming peeled-log walls.
Three worn leather sofas suggested long conversations by the hearth, and adjacent to that, a granite island held eight high-top chairs.
And between the great room and the kitchen stood a round table with leather chairs.
She came downstairs, past family pictures hanging on the wall, and caught a glimpse of the backyard through a window.
The land yawned wide there too, anchored at the end by more mountains falling into a green valley. At the bottom, a river curved through a canyon, winding into a small town in the distance.
Yep. Peace.
A woman—Gerri, was it?—looked up from the kitchen area.
“Selah. Good morning. How did you sleep?”
“Amazing.” She glanced at the empty kitchen. “Did I miss breakfast?”
“Oh, darling. You’ll never miss breakfast around here.
I have cinnamon rolls in the basket on the table, and I’ll be happy to whip you up some eggs and bacon.
” The woman opened the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of orange juice.
“Sit down. Tell me how you ended up at my house with my daughter and grandchildren and that good-looking man who is sleeping in the RV.”
She set the half-full glass on the island in front of a spot that Selah took.
The woman must be in her late sixties, but she seemed fit and spry and exuded a joy that just swooped Selah up. She wore a pair of jeans, a plaid snap-button shirt over a tank, and a handkerchief pulling back her curly brown hair.
“This is an absolutely gorgeous place, Mrs. Marshall.”
“Gerri. Last name Colt, actually. I remarried a few years ago. Hardwin is out in the barn with my oldest son, Reuben. He and his wife and their kids live just down the road. He runs the ranch now.”
She’d fired up the flame under a cast-iron pan. “Bacon?”
“In my wildest dreams.”
Gerri laughed. “We’re all about making dreams happen here.” She pulled some bacon from the fridge, along with a couple eggs.
“How many kids do you have?”
“Orrin and I had five boys and a girl, and then Coco came to us as a foster child, in a way, and we adopted her. Lot of room for love on this place.” She set the bacon into the pan. “Orrin died in an accident far too early. My sons had to take over. It took a while, but we found our way through.”
She turned and glanced up and smiled. Selah followed her view.
RJ carried Joshua down the stairs, his hair wet. “Got all the manure off him,” she said. “This kid.” She shook her head good-naturedly, as if she hadn’t run for her life yesterday, hadn’t seen her home burn.
She set him down. “Stay away from the goats.”
“Aw, it’s hard to stay away from baby goats, Ruby.” Gerri crouched and held her arms open, and Joshua ran into her embrace. She swooped him up and kissed his cheek. “Grandma Gigi has cats in the barn. Maybe we should go find the kitties?”
Joshua clapped his hands.
“Mom, seriously. How many baths will this kid have to take?”
“Just one a day.” She stood up. “A little dirt isn’t going to hurt him.” She winked, cast a look at Selah, then turned back to the sizzling bacon.
Joshua scampered over to a pile of trucks lined up on the hearth.
RJ slid onto a high-topped chair. Reached for the basket of rolls. “I talked to the insurance guy. He’s going out to the house today. Apparently, Jethro called the fire department, but it’s a total loss.”
Gerri sighed, turned. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s just…stuff. I have all of our pictures on the cloud, so…”
Her mother reached across the island, touched her hand. “Have you heard from York?”
RJ shook her head. “I left him three messages.”
“I called Tate. He didn’t pick up either.”
“Tate is your son?” asked Selah.
“Yes. He works for the same organization that York—and sometimes RJ—does.”
“You work with the Caleb Group too?” She directed her question to RJ.
RJ had retrieved a cinnamon roll, began to butter it. “I did. I do—but mostly as an analyst, same thing I did in the CIA.”
“You were with the CIA?”
“A very long time ago. It’s how I met York, actually. It’s a long story. But when we left public service, we both started to work for the Caleb Group. We actually helped stop the assassination attempt on President White.”
“You mentioned that. At an inaugural ball. My brother, Jake, also told me about it.”
Recognition seemed to dawn on her. “I know Jake. And Aria. How are they?”
“Good. They live in Houston now. She works as department head of pediatric cardiothoracic care at Texas Children’s Hospital. He stays at home with their daughter. Although I think he still occasionally deploys for Ham’s international SAR branch.”
“It’s hard to juggle family and career. But frankly, I love being a mom. It might be all the adventure I need right now.” She glanced at Joshua. “He’s so amazing. And Hana…she still needs my full attention.”
Gerri plated the bacon. “Hana is from Russia. RJ and York adopted her a couple years ago. Sweet girl.” She cracked a couple eggs into a pan. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Cooked,” said Selah.
Gerri laughed.
“She’s adjusting,” said RJ of Hana. “But she lived a lot of trauma, so…”
And Selah couldn’t help but hear North’s voice…This world is a dangerous place filled with dangerous people, and, well, to quote Frank, the world needs dangerous gentlemen.
Gerri put a cup of black coffee in front of RJ.
“Thanks, Mom.” She picked it up, sipped, then looked over at Selah. “So, it seemed you two settled whatever it was last night.”
It. Their fight in Mariposa. Which felt stupid now, in light of everything that had happened. She nodded.
“I’m sorry I overheard—I didn’t want to—”
“We got that part.”
She took a bite of her roll. Then set it down. “My husband, York, was…is…built the same as North. He’s a—what did he call it?—‘dangerous gentleman’?”
“Yes,” Selah said.
“But guess what—I was the one always running into trouble.” She smiled. “So I get it more than you think.”
Oh?
Gerri plated the over-hard eggs next to the bacon. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
She slid the plate over, and Selah reached for the salt and pepper.
“Don’t let his words fool you. A man can’t be dangerous without it piling up inside him. My husband…he did a lot of, well, things he didn’t think he could be forgiven for. And God, in His mercy, showed him that he could be. That he could live in peace.”
Selah paused. She didn’t care if her eggs grew cold.
“York is a believer. He loves God. And he isn’t the man he was…
isn’t called on to do the things he once did.
But he still struggles with…gray areas. And my job is to remind him that God’s mercy is still for him.
That God is still in control. And to pray for him and support him. And occasionally, shoot alongside him.”
“These are things a mother doesn’t need to hear,” Gerri said, but she grinned at RJ. “Although York should be glad someone’s mother taught her how to shoot.”
RJ rolled her eyes. She glanced at Joshua as he drove his car along the hearth, making a motor sound.
But RJ’s words about peace nudged Selah. “That’s the thing. How do you ever have peace in a world where…well, in a world where evil seems to win?”