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I don't need to be downing tumblers of whiskey like they’re bottles of water in the middle of the desert, especially since I still have a twenty-minute drive out to the ranch after this. But if I don't have something to do with my hands—like holding a drink—then this urge to leave may finally win. Because standing here alone, besieged by happy people, with nothing to do but watch them flirt and dance isn't my idea of fun.
Screw it.
I'll head outside for some fresh air and text Samantha to see if she needs me to stay to give her a ride home or if one of her friends will do it. Maybe a lungful of brisk Montana air will settle some of the tension I've been carrying.
Not that it's worked in the past month since I stepped onto the tarmac after officially retiring from the Marine Corps. But perhaps, for once, life will be kind to me.
No career.
No ranch.
No father.
Each gone in quick succession.
Yeah, I doubt life gives a shit about me at all.
CHAPTER TWO
ADELINE CROUP
“...a lone lawman taming this rugged land with only his bare hands and wit.”
WELCOMING LIGHT SPILLS from the windows of Guardian Valley’s community center. The street is packed with cars, a fact I learned the hard way when I had to circle the block three times before accepting my misfortune and parking a couple buildings over.
At least it’s not freezing cold.
The autumn breeze is chilly but not unbearable, and with the state of my nerves right now, I could use the invigorating wash of wind to evaporate the sweat coating my skin.
Another local shop’s cute decor piques my interest as I stop to appreciate the floating red and orange leaves hung with nearly-invisible fishing wire. Guardian Valley is charming, quaint. A small town nestled between two mountains and my new home.
For a year.
Unless I decide to stay longer.
But a year was what Mr. Dell Foster’s will required, so that’s what I’m going to do.
I never met Mr. Foster. Had a vague memory of seeing him once after the disastrous plane crash that killed my mom, along with nine other passengers. Truthfully, I avoid thinking about that part of my childhood at all, but one phone call from Mr. Foster’s attorney changed things.
Because the old man left his vast fortune to me and the four other kids orphaned by the plane crash.
Of course, despite the generosity, he hadn’t made it a simple exchange of checks. No, he’d outlined one particular requirement.
None of us could access our inheritance until we followed one condition: You must reside in Guardian Valley for a term of twelve months before receiving your share of the inheritance in full.
The only portion not withheld is Serenity Ranch. It’ll provide us with a place to stay while waiting for the year to expire. Waiting for what exactly, I have no clue. It doesn’t make much sense to me, but who am I to argue with a dead billionaire’s guilty conscience?
Stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jacket, my steps slow the closer I get to the community center. I don’t know why I thought it’d be a good idea to attend something like this. A Fall Harvest Dance. It’s meant for friends and family—a close-knit community.
Not a stranger forced to move here to receive a surprise inheritance.
But when I’d driven by the huge banner hanging across Main Street earlier, the thought of checking out a local community dance sounded fun. Sounded like the kind of thing the woman I wanted to be would do.
Because the current me? Didn’t love her life. Cringed at how much time she’s wasted hiding away in her comfortable bubble.
After my mom died when I was nine, Gran took me into her tiny two-bedroom apartment in a complex predominantly made up of retirees. She raised me as best she could between episodes of Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune, but the outcome was a little girl who’d transformed into a miniature seventy-year old by the time Gran’s health started to decline.
At sixteen and seventy-one, our roles reversed.
