Chapter Three
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“FLIGHT ATTENDANTS, please prepare for arrival,” the captain said over the plane’s intercom.
Gwynn’s stomach somersaulted, and her pencil stalled on her notepad where she sketched the lilies from the woman’s purse beside her. As passengers in the cabin stowed away their tray tables and turned off their electronics, she glanced out the tiny oval window to her left. Thousands of feet below, the snow-laden Rocky Mountains stretched like a rippling white blanket under a rich blue sky. A dark ribbon of water wound its way through deep valleys dotted with evergreens and occasional towns. Truly a work of art by the Master Himself.
Her fingers tightened on her pencil, a desire to capture the beauty on paper warring with her inner tension.
“I’m coming out for you and Uncle Russ,” she had told Aunt Maude once she’d purchased her tickets. “Nobody else. That’s the plan. Promise me no one will remember a Gwynn Sadler after I’m gone.”
But it didn’t matter that Aunt Maude had welcomed Gwynn’s impulsive trip, or that she’d convinced Irene to give her a few days off. The peace that had guided Gwynn ever since she’d decided to visit had deserted her during her layover at the Denver airport.
Did I misunderstand You, Lord? she prayed now.
No, child. It’s time, came the quiet response.
Gwynn shook out her newsboy cap and settled it on her head. Time for what, exactly?
Her movements froze. Oh, please let it not be time for you-know-what , she thought. I did not agree to that .
“Did you say something?” the woman beside her asked.
Gwynn gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry—talking to myself. Bad habit.”
Once the plane pulled into the gate at the Bozeman International Airport and the seat belt sign switched off, passengers sitting beside the aisle stood to collect their things from the bins overhead. Gwynn retrieved her backpack purse from underneath the seat in front of her, slipped her sketchpad into the main pocket, then withdrew her phone from the side pocket. She took it off airplane mode. It chimed with a text from Holly and a voicemail from Aunt Maude.
Txt me when u arrive in Bozeman , Holly wrote, so I know you made it safely.
As the line in the aisle began to move, Gwynn stood, her heart beating an erratic tempo. She put a hand to her chest.
The woman with the lily purse eyed her. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yeah.” Gwynn took a deep breath. “Just never thought I’d willingly return to Montana, that’s all.”
“Willingly?” the woman pressed.
Gwynn lifted her shoulders in a wordless shrug and dropped her gaze to her phone. A stranger didn’t need her sob story.
Made it , she texted Holly. You haven’t killed my goldfish, have you? Gwynn would have preferred a dog, but their apartment didn’t allow four-legged pets.
While waiting for a response, she buttoned her peacoat—a splurge from Quincy Market because of its rich plum hue—and tapped into her voicemail. Her gaze drifted out the window again to the workers unloading suitcases from the plane’s belly.
“Hello, Gwynn dear,” Aunt Maude said. “I can’t wait to see you.” Her voice sounded joyful. Did that mean Uncle Russ was home from the hospital? She still didn’t know what had happened, since Aunt Maude evaded her questions with meaningless doggy commentary. “I’m afraid, however, that our car won’t start, so I won’t be able to pick you up at the airport.”
Gwynn frowned. If not Aunt Maude, then who—
“But I made a few calls,” her aunt continued, “and learned that Cash Cooper is in Bozeman today for business. He’s agreed to give you a ride and will meet you at Baggage Claim.”
Gwynn’s stomach pitched like a suitcase tossed onto the conveyor belt. This was not part of the plan!
“I know it’s not ideal,” Aunt Maude hastened on, as if she’d anticipated Gwynn’s reaction, “but I don’t have a better option. I’m so sorry. I’ll be praying for you, sweetheart. You pray too. See you soon.”
You pray too.
Seriously? Pray for what? Of all the people in Prospect Aunt Maude could have reached out to, she chose Cash Cooper ? Would he recognize her? Years had passed. She’d dyed her hair, wore colored contacts, she was no longer an awkward teenager … and he thought she was dead.
Would that be enough to conceal her identity?
It had to be.
Lord, what are You doing? Gwynn shoved the phone into her backpack and eased into the aisle. I agreed to visit the Davisons , she argued, yanking her carry-on from the overhead bin and extending its handle with a jerk . Nothing more. She huffed and tugged her peacoat back into place. I call foul, Lord.
Probably not what Aunt Maude had in mind when she’d suggested Gwynn pray.
Holly called as Gwynn exited the plane and followed signs for Baggage Claim.
“Heya!” Holly sang. “Not to boast, but I make a fantastic pet-sitter. Your fish are having quite the party right now, belly dancing at the top of the tank.”
Gwynn let out a weak laugh. “Funny.”
“Well, I thought so. You okay?”
“Aunt Maude can’t pick me up, so she sent someone else to do it.”
“You make it sound like Armageddon is upon us.”
“It’s a fifty-minute drive from the airport to Prospect,” Gwynn groused, maneuvering her carry-on to descend the escalator. A type-A businessman jockeyed past in his rush to who-knew-where.
“So, you have to spend fifty minutes with a stranger. Small talk never stumped you before.”
“Precisely. Before now .”
Holly fell silent, and Gwynn imagined her twirling a lock of her russet hair. “I don’t get it,” Holly finally said. “Is she not a stranger?”
“ He .”
Holly let out a chirp of excitement. “All the better—and potentially cozier. Is he young? Single?”
“Holly!” Gwynn laughed. At the base of the escalator, she moved with the crowd to Baggage Claim where a sculpted bronze grizzly bear sat on a podium and welcomed the tourists. “I barely glance at the guys back east. What makes you think a Stetson-toting ranch hand will catch my—”
Someone bumped into her from behind, knocking her phone to the floor and sending her stumbling into a broad torso. Strong hands cupped her elbows and steadied her. “Hey!” she said, glaring after the offender.
A white-haired fellow wearing a red plaid jacket hurried away between passengers. The Santa look-alike from Gilded Editions! He lifted a hand in … what, a wave of apology? An acknowledgment of his bad manners? Gwynn frowned. Had he been on her flight? What were the odds—
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
The smooth baritone slipped over her collar on a delicious shiver, and her attention snapped to the man who had steadied her. Who now stooped to pick up her phone. A black Stetson shielded his face.
Her heart pounded. Was it him?
Holly’s tinny, hysterical voice emitted through the phone’s speaker, and the man straightened with a chuckle. “Good news—it’s not broken.” He raised his head as he handed the phone to Gwynn. Pale blue eyes pierced her from beneath his hat brim.
Eyes that could rival Paul Newman’s.
Sweet jumpin’ Jehoshaphat. She sucked in much-needed air. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m sure I’m fine. I mean, it’s fine. We’re both fine. I mean—” Gwynn coughed, heat racing into her face. Hang those blue eyes. She brought the phone to her ear. “Holly? I’m gonna call you back.” Stashing the phone in her backpack, she gave the man— him —Cash freakin’ Cooper—a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry for bumping into you.” Lord, please, don’t let him recognize me.
His mouth crooked at the corner, his jawline blurred by dark scruff. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen an old man charge like a bull through a crowd, but I’m happy to be your impromptu guardrail.” He gave her a quick once-over, and an electric current shimmied down her spine. Then his eyebrows pulled together.
Uh oh, here it comes. Gwynn tightened her grip on her backpack straps and zipped another prayer toward Heaven.
“Are you Gwynn Sadler?”
She blinked. “Huh?” Not the name she expected.
With another chuckle, he reached behind him and pulled out a piece of paper folded like an accordion. He snapped it open. Large black letters spelled out, Gwynn Sadler . “I’m here to pick up a woman I haven’t met and hoped I wouldn’t need this. You match the description I was given, so I thought maybe—”
“Oh. Right. No. I mean, yes. I—” She relaxed her grip and forced a laugh. Thank you, Lord, for shielding his vision! “That’s me. I’m Gwynn Sadler.”
His grin widened. “Okay, then.” He refolded the sign and shoved it in his back pocket before touching his hat brim in greeting. “Cash Cooper. Did Miss Maude tell you I’m your ride to Prospect?”
“She did. Nice to … meet you.” Again. As an adult . After years avoiding thoughts of this man, Gwynn allowed herself a brief, surreptitious appraisal, her gaze traveling from his Stetson and the dark hair curling under its brim, to the brown Carhartt jacket he wore over a burnt orange, plaid flannel shirt, to his faded jeans and dusty cowboy boots. His shoulders had broadened from the lanky teenager of her youth, and the lay of his clothes hinted at more muscles than she remembered.
And from what she glimpsed of his hands, he bore no wedding ring.
Her gaze returned to his face, colliding with the interest mirrored in his eyes. Perhaps she’d been a touch premature in what she’d told Holly on the phone. Goodbye, city boys. Hello, Cash Cooper—
He’s not part of the plan! her mind screeched.
Gwynn broke eye contact. Right. The plan. She adjusted her newsboy cap then clutched her backpack straps again as if they could anchor her to reality. “So, um …”
“Yeah.” Cash rubbed his ear and gestured toward the baggage carousel. “Do you need to grab any bags, or are you good to go?”
She patted the handle to her carry-on. “All set.”
“Excellent.” He moved toward an exit, inclining his head for her to follow. “I’m parked out this way.”
They emerged from the airport into a feisty, biting wind that batted at her cap and tangled her hair and scarf. She huddled into her peacoat, head down as she followed Cash across the parking lot. When he stopped beside a black Ford truck, she looked up. A sigh escaped.
Beneath a big blue dome streaked with feathery clouds stood layers of mountains marbled with evergreens and snow. They loomed behind the airport and spread out on each side, jabbing the sky with their ragged edges and tapering to a distant range in the west.
“I could sit here for hours with canvas and paint and not get bored,” Gwynn said as Cash took her carry-on and slid it along the backseat.
“One would think you’d never seen mountains before,” he teased.
Oh, but it had been so long. “You’re familiar with them, so their splendor is lost on you. For me, in Boston, the only mountains on my horizon are made of brick and steel.” Gwynn slipped her backpack purse from her shoulders and turned to find him studying her, a small line between his brows. Her smile faltered. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Hmm?” Cash straightened. “No, ma’am.” Stepping aside, he opened the passenger door for her.
Gwynn’s eyebrows rose. “A gentleman.” Still. Grabbing the inside handle, she hopped onto the seat. “I feared they’d gone extinct.”
“Not all of us. You just gotta know where to look.” Cash winked with a lopsided grin before shutting her door. A grin that made her insides go squirrelly.
Lord, have mercy on me. Gwynn wedged her bag by her feet as he rounded the truck to the driver’s side. I’m returning to Boston in a few days, and okay, sure, You did fiiiine work when fashioning Cash, but You know he’s not my type.
Not anymore.
Cash eased behind the wheel and started the engine. “Let’s get you home to Miss Maude, shall we?”