Chapter One
If Thomas's muscles could speak, they'd likely groan as loud as the door of his '83 Bronco. They pulled and stretched as he climbed out of the truck, making him feel much older than his twenty-nine years. He wanted sleep, but his stomach wouldn't allow that. Not after the long night he'd had. At least he'd been able to shower at the firehouse. Although sometimes, the stench of burnt homes and scorched memories seemed to live inside him beyond the reach of soap and shampoo.
A chill traveled along the Madison River that September morning, which made the warmth emanating from the windows of the River's Edge Resort cafŽ more welcoming than ever. He stepped inside. With the roar of the crowd overwhelming the clanging bells attached to the door, no one noticed his entrance. Thomas breathed easier. He bypassed the Please wait to be seated sign and took the corner stool at the counter that no one ever claimed.
Familiar red curls appeared in his peripheral vision. "There's our hero," Ryann Ashcroft said loudly.
A few folks clapped behind him. Before Thomas could escape, arms surrounded him.
"We heard what you did. 'Brave firefighter saves family in overnight blaze,'" Ryann said in her best news anchor voice. "They've been replaying your story on the news all morning. I bet you'll see it-"
Thomas broke her embrace, reached up to press the off button on the television, then stared at the menu as if he hadn't eaten here his whole life. The silence between him and Ryann was awkward, but awkward was his forte.
No chance Ryann would let that slide, though. Her hands landed atop his shoulders, and she began kneading the tight muscles stretching up his neck. Heavenly.
"Hey, Shane," Thomas called in his smoke-scratched voice. "Your fiancŽe is giving me a massage."
Shane Olson appeared in the pass-thru window, and his brow lowered in Thomas's direction. When he came through the kitchen doors into the dining room, his tattooed arms crossed over his aproned chest. Soon, Shane stood behind Thomas, and another, stronger set of hands rubbed his back.
Thomas shrugged both Ryann and Shane off. Always the butt of the joke with his friends. Not that he minded . . . much. He swiveled on his stool to find Ryann reclaim her near-constant position under Shane's arm.
"What'll it be? It's on the house," Ryann said.
"Give me whatever you need to use up."
"As you wish. Shane and I will go see what's in the walk-in." Ryann smiled over her shoulder at Shane, who didn't hesitate to lift his fiancŽe off her feet and carry her back through the kitchen doors.
Something panged in his chest. Jealousy? Possibly. He'd dated Ryann once. To be fair, he'd dated half the women in this town once. But in only five weeks, Ryann and Shane would be married. Thomas would never be able to say that.
After Ryann delivered plate after plate to the counter, Thomas scarfed down the huckleberry hotcakes, omelet, and thick-sliced bacon. His phone pinged in his back pocket. When he peered at the screen, he saw the preview of the text from his captain at the firehouse.
Spencer: We need to talk about your stunt last night.
Thomas gritted his teeth until the screen went black. When Ryann appeared, he handed her his emptied hotcake plate, and she dropped the entertainment section of the morning's Washington Observer in its place. Although Thomas wasn't particularly interested in life beyond the Gallatin mountains, his eyes narrowed on the picture of Thomas's least favorite actor, Hunter Dean Lawrence, holding hands with some model-type. The headline stated "Lawrence Steps Out."
"Did you see this yet? You'd think he'd wait for the ink to dry on the divorce papers before parading around someone else," Ryann said.
You'd think.
"When was the last time you spoke to her?" she asked.
"To who?" Thomas took the last strip of bacon off the smaller plate Ryann hadn't already removed, and he took a bite. Maybe if he had a mouthful, she'd lay off.
Ryann stuck her hand on her hip, clearly preparing to dig into this topic. "Blue."
"Not since-" The bite turned sour in his mouth. He took a chug of orange juice to wash it down, hoping it didn't come back up.
"Yeah, me, neither. But my folks talked to her parents. They said she was thinking about coming home."
Thomas closed his eyes as his muscles tensed, reminding him how exhausted his body was. "Why would she come back here? All this place can offer is bad memories."
"Like LA is much better? At least if she comes back here, she'll have us." Ryann chewed her lip. "She'll have you."
On that note, Thomas stood and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.
"Your money is no good here. If my dad even sees you try, he'll take you out to the river and give you some long lecture about the real definition of family. And my mom will smother you with a hug."
Thomas shook his head. Ryann's family was the only reason he knew what the word family meant. Well, the Walkers-Blue's family-had once welcomed him in, too. But distance devastates. So does guilt.
He withdrew a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet. He folded it in thirds and stuck it through the slot of the glass donation box by the cash register. The label read Tyler Ashcroft Mental Health Awareness Fund and featured a picture of Ryann's first husband-the one who'd made her a widow ten years ago.
When Thomas nodded goodbye to Ryann, she placed a hand over her heart. Beyond her, near the windows overlooking the Madison River, Teddy Woodward eagle-eyed Thomas. Easily the town's most famous resident, he was also the richest-apparently, owning a media company and a television channel can do that to a person. Why he was watching Thomas was a mystery. Thomas Beck wasn't anyone special.
He waited until Ryann turned her focus to another customer, then returned to his seat and stole the paper.
A few minutes later, he steered the Bronco onto his dirt driveway, keeping the wheels on the twin paths worn into the grass.
Straight ahead and slightly to the left, the Walkers' home rose with the mountain it was built into. Paul and Linda Walker were in Europe for the next nine months. A fact that didn't mesh with the open garage door.
Thomas's body rocked to the side as his Bronco veered off the dirt and into the grass, nearly hitting the split-rail fence. He righted his course, which became even more difficult when he noticed the Mercedes parked in the garage.
It was a bit too far to see the license plate, but sports cars weren't exactly commonplace here.
The mountain of food whirled in his stomach. Thomas parked near his side porch, again urging his muscles to pull him out of the truck.
Thomas grabbed the newspaper from the dashboard, shut the driver's door, then approached the break in the fence separating the two properties. Mr. Walker had finally removed the rails after Thomas and Blue broke it for the fourth time by climbing over it the summer after second grade. He stared up at the house. Curtains remained closed across the windows overlooking the Madison River. He understood. He would never look at the river the same way again; he was sure of it. His focus fell to the words of the headlining article.
A-list actor Hunter Dean Lawrence was caught dining with his costar Ilsa Vonn, less than a week after his divorce was finalized with screenwriter Cecelia Walker. Lawrence and Walker had met during the filming of Mississinewa Glory for which Walker made history as the youngest-ever winner of the prestigious Clyde Irving award. But theirs was a marriage marred by tragedy-
Thomas lowered the paper to his side. He knew far too much about their tragedy already. All this article did was prove that Hunter Dean Lawrence never deserved Blue. Not that Thomas did, either. If he were smart, he'd turn around and disappear into his house and lock the door. His heart had other ideas, though. If Thomas didn't keep it on a leash, it might jump through his skin and take off through that space in the fence.
Thomas's feet cemented to the earth. Just because they were best friends once didn't mean they could be friends again. Things change over time.
Movement caught his eye from the farthest window on the right. The curtain swung ever so slightly, leaving a black slit that hadn't been there moments before.
Excitement needled him, and Thomas cursed it. Maybe not all things change over time.
Blue stepped behind the curtain a little more. Thomas seemed to be looking right at her somehow. She had half a mind to run down to the garage, out to the driveway, through the fence, and tackle-hug her friend like old times. But this return to Montana was different.
They weren't children anymore. She was a woman, and he . . . he was quite the man. Thomas had always been tall, but he'd also been lean. Yet even from here, she could see the muscles rounding the sleeves of his T-shirt. The hair she'd long imagined touching had been chopped at some point. Had that been before or after the funeral? She'd seen him there, but all she could remember was pleading for Hunter not to cause a scene. Not easy once Hunter had learned Thomas worked for the dam that might have caused their twenty-eight-month-old daughter's death. That was before the investigation cleared the River Canyon Dam of wrongdoing. It was all a tragic accident, the authorities said. But Blue knew better. It was providential-written in God's Book of Life before Ella was even born. She should've known Ella would be taken away from her. Penalties were meant to be paid, after all.
He held a newspaper in his hand. Hunter and his new girlfriend had made news. Her phone had been blowing up because of it. Oh, Hunter. It was always something with him. She'd tried her hardest to save her marriage. Hunter, however, must have misunderstood that whole "death do us part" line in their vows.
Now, she was a divorcŽe. What would Thomas say about that? She'd taken it upon herself to prove to Thomas that love can endure. She'd even written an award-winning screenplay on that very notion. And yet, she'd failed.
But Thomas wouldn't blame her. He'd just put his arms around her and hold her until her heart stopped quaking. How many times had she wanted only to be hugged by him? After the accident? After Hunter walked out? After the divorce was finalized last week on the two-year anniversary of their daughter Ella's death? If Hunter could date Ilsa what's-her-face, then Blue could undoubtedly get a touch of comfort from her old best friend.
Blue pushed back the curtain a bit more, making herself more visible. She gave a small wave to him. He remained frozen a moment, then took a step toward her house.
But a step was all it was. Thomas glanced back to Highway 287. A Subaru wagon turned onto his drive, then pulled up to the bumper of that familiar Bronco. When the car door swung open, a petite woman with a dark ponytail jumped out. She shoved the door closed and ran to Thomas. They hugged the kind of hug Blue had just seconds ago been imagining. A friend? She looked a little like Cassie, although Blue hadn't seen Thomas's little sister since college. Whoever it was, they looked kind of silly in their nearly matching black slacks and black T-shirts.
Thomas held the woman for another long minute, him resting his cheek on her crown. He appeared to be looking up at Blue, though.
Whether he was or wasn't didn't matter, because the woman pulled back and grabbed his hand. She led him into the side door of his home.
The curtain swooshed back into its place. Maybe it was a good thing Blue couldn't unleash all her sadness and grief onto him. This was her cross to bear alone.
Her parents' home was dark without the natural sunlight. But she refused to open the curtains, because beyond them was the river. That cursed river had barged its way in enough for a lifetime. And whenever she dared close her eyes, waterlogged memories played like a movie on the back of her eyelids. She shouldn't have come back here. She should've fought to keep the Aspen home in the settlement. But memories of Ella would haunt her there, too.
She flicked on another lamp, and the light illuminated the moving box at her feet. Blue peeled the tape off the top of the box and opened the flaps. Nestled between Ella's baby blanket and stuffed puppy dog, a gold statue stared up at her. Carefully, she withdrew it from the box. Strange. It felt heavier in her hand now than ever before, its precious metal having soaked in all her dreams of a long-lasting career. And yet, that career had been cut just as short as Ella's life. Blue thumbed the engraved plaque on the base of the Clyde Irving award for Best Original Screenplay, then she placed her most-prized possession on the mantel, opposite her father's matching award from thirty years ago. It would be safe here. And so would she. At least until it was time to return to Cali and reclaim her career-her only remaining purpose for living. Now if only the blueprint for how to make that happen was written on the walls of her parents' home . . .
Blue looked around. The house was a time capsule of the 2000s. Except for the pictures that seemed to cover every surface. Due to her father's role as head writer for the popular television series The Dragon's Lair, her parents lived in Germany for most of the year. They were more than happy to offer their Montana cabin for her respite. She ran her hand along the liquor cabinet in the corner until her fingers skimmed a picture frame. Ella's eyes, big and blue like her own, were the focus. Blue carefully set the frame on its face. Sweet Ella. Gone too soon from Blue's life, but forever in her heart. She walked the perimeter of each room, tipping every picture of her daughter down on the shelf or removing it from the wall. As she did, the once-happy memories reached inside her and clawed her soul.
At least her parents had the forethought to remove all the pictures that included Hunter. They'd never liked the idea of her dating, then marrying, an actor, but Blue had been stubborn. Theirs was a forever kind of love, she'd fooled herself into thinking. She found her phone and opened her voice mail, showing one message from Hunter she hadn't yet listened to. He'd called while she was in the car earlier when tears would have jeopardized her driving ability. Gulping down a deep breath, she pressed play on the voice mail and held the phone to her ear.
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