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If my driver, a quiet, beefy man with a pink-scrubbed face, knew who I was, it was not evident.
“May I open the window for a moment?” I asked from the back seat. “I want to smell the air.”
“Fine with me.”
I thanked him and rolled down the window for a moment to breathe in the fresh air. Even from the car, I could smell the scent of pines and firs.
The scent of home.
During the years away, I hadn’t forgotten what it smelledlike here—woodsmoke and pine needles in the winter, wildflowers and cut grass in the spring and summer. The expansive sky and dramatic mountains in the distance had forever been etched into my soul.
I hadn't let myself get too far ahead in my thoughts of what lay before me. Seeing the Moon family again made me feel both excited and nervous. Would they welcome me? The boys might not even remember me. Other than Atticus, of course. We'd been old enough when it all happened that I felt certain he had as many clear memories as I.
Out here, there wasn't much man-made to look at. We passed a gas station and diner about fifteen minutes after turning off the freeway. After that, I didn't see a sign of humanity until we reached Bluefern.
Driving through town, my stomach clenched. It hadn't changed that much. The same brick buildings lined the main street. However, they didn't necessarily host the same shops as they had when I was a kid. The diner was the same, although it had more modern decor from what I could see from the outside. Our one grocery store remained in the same location. Blue Bonnet Tavern was still there, with the same sign hanging over the door. The bank building where my mother had worked with Jasper Moon had a new sign, having merged with another big bank at some point. Did he still work there?
Not likely. From what I could see on the website, the dude ranch had thrived since I last set foot on Crescent Moon Ranch. The restaurant, called the Bunkhouse, had rave reviews, as did the “cowboy” experience provided for the guests. If I remembered correctly, it had been Atticus's idea to change from traditional cattle ranch to tourist dude ranch.
My parents’ ranch had been sold before we left. Unlike Stella’s, the land had not been used for ranching in at least a decade by the time my mother and father took possession of the familyproperty. My dad had decided right away ranching life wasn't for him and became a plumber.
Before my mother’s death, I’d been a happy kid. Between my house and Stella's, I always had a place to go after school or for a hot meal. Thus, I never saw it coming. My mother had always seemed content with my dad and me. They'd married directly after high school and had me right away. Were they too young? Had my mother felt as if she missed out on her youth by having me right out of school? Was she ever in love with my dad? Was the affair with Rex Sharp a fling, or had she really loved him?
I would never know the answer to these questions, no matter how many times I asked them. However, evidence clearly pointed in one direction. My mother had been putting aside money to run away with Rex for months beforehand. She'd also packed her favorite pair of jeans. As much as I'd like to explain away the facts, it was impossible. She’d had no intention of coming back. She’d left us.
Whatever had transpired between Mom and Rex that night had ended in violence. Had he decided to go back to his wife and sons? Did she have some kind of mental breakdown? Had she snapped? Whatever the details, she’d decided she could not let him go back to his wife and little boys. If she couldn’t have him, no one else could either.
Regardless of the details, she didn't love me enough to stick around. The one person who was supposed to love me unconditionally had loved someone else more. I’d had to live with that my entire life.
My attention veered toward the storefront that used to be the dance studio. It was now a yoga studio. Times change. Even in Bluefern, Montana.
We drove out of town, coming upon the motel where that bloody night had transpired. There were wreaths on all the doors, and the front seemed to have been recently painted.
My gaze traveled to room number 3. There it was, lookinginnocent. Not at all as though a young woman had bled to death from a self-inflicted gunshot wound just inside the doorway. How long had it taken to clean up all that blood? Not to mention Rex's. He'd managed to get himself all the way out to the ranch with a gunshot wound to his chest.
Rex Sharp’s last words had been to his wife. An apology. For which part?
Where had I’d heard that he’d said he was sorry? Not from Stella or Atticus. I must have overheard it at the burial. People gossiped a lot back in those days. Word got around, especially if it was a scandal of any kind.
That had been another reason my dad wanted me out of Bluefern. Having grown up there himself, he knew I would be labeled as the girl whose mother had killed herself and her lover. In Texas, we had a fresh start.
No one knew our story.
Until now. Now it seemed as if everyone knew.
I'd gotten a lot of supportive texts and voice mails from my community in Los Angeles. My costars inHawthornehad been wonderful and had lifted my spirits considerably. Casts often grew close, and we'd been no exception.
The motel was now behind us. Soon, we came upon our old driveway. I peered to my left as we passed to get a glimpse of our house, but couldn't see anything through the growth of trees.
Next, we went by what I'm pretty sure had been Jasper Moon's driveway. The farmhouse wasn’t visible from the road, but a sign that said Moon hung over the archway at the entrance. Did he and Stella live there now? What about the big house?
If I recalled correctly, I’d been in Jasper’s house once, but those memories were fuzzy at best.
Not even a quarter of a mile later, I saw the gate for Crescent Moon Ranch.
My heartbeat sped up as we drove through the gate and down the long driveway to arrive at what had once been a somewhat run-down farmhouse. No longer. It had had a facelift, to say the least.
Its classic two-story structure with a gabled roof had been painted white. Metal shingles on the roof added to its rustic charm. Black shutters framed the windows. What had once been a rickety porch, and the setting for Rex Sharp’s death, had been replaced by a spacious patio with wooden rocking chairs and a porch swing, practically begging a guest to settle in with a good book and a hot cup of tea. White wooden railings and steps leading up to a red front door added a pop of modernity to the otherwise traditional facade.
