I nod, clutching the tea with both hands. “Broken Heart Creek.”
Tish smiles. “You ready?”
“No,” I whisper. “But I’m going, anyway.”
We hop on a flight from Denver to Sheridan, and the second the wheels touch down, I feel a weight lift. When I step outside into the crisp Wyoming air, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for months. It feels like coming home.
We couldn’t find a place to stay in Broken Heart Creek. Apparently, even a whisper of Sam’s name fills up every available room, so we booked a hotel in Sheridan instead.
I snort as we pull up. “Bet the five people staying at the bed-and-breakfast are going to have stories to tell for years.”
Tish laughs, shouldering her bag. “I live for the day someone makes a podcast about it.”
The hotel is charming in a rustic, Wyoming way. Big windows, lots of wood, and a view of the Big Horn Mountains that makes me ache. Once we’re inside, Tish spins in a slow circle, soaking it all in.
“It’s beautiful,” she says. “I can see why you fell in love with it.”
“Just wait until you see Broken Heart Creek,” I murmur, my voice soft. “It’s a whole different world.”
And in that world, just a little farther down the road, is Sam.
Tish and I grab something to eat at the restaurant in the hotel, sliding into a booth by the window as the Wyoming sunset casts long shadows across the wooden floor. The scent of grilled steak and fresh bread fills the air, but myappetite is lukewarm at best. Tish doesn’t seem to mind. She’s too focused on plotting.
“I still think you should go straight to the ranch and demand to see him,” she says, stabbing a vegetable with dramatic flair.
“Part of me wants to do that,” I admit, stirring my lemonade with the straw. “But there’s a part of me that’s scared I’ll get run off by Phern, who will probably be holding a shotgun.”
Tish makes a face. “I really don’t like this chick.”
“She’s lovely,” I say, meaning it. “She really is. She’s just protective over Sam. And suspicious of me. Honestly, I don’t blame her. I didn’t exactly arrive with the purest of intentions.”
Tish hums under her breath like she’s unconvinced. “Protective is one thing. Threatening to call the cops and tossing you out like a villain in a soap opera? That’s something else entirely.”
I don’t argue. I just look out the window toward the mountains. The outline of them makes my chest ache.
“She probably thought she was doing the right thing.”
“Well, I’m here now,” Tish says, taking a sip of her soda like she’s preparing for battle. “And if that woman tries to kick you off Sam’s land again, she’s going to have to go through me.”
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
She reaches across the table, taking my hand. “We’ll figure it out. This time, you’re not doing it alone.”
The next morning, getting to the ranch turns out to be a bust.
We don’t even get to turn from the main road to the long, winding road that leads to Stonewater Ranch before we spot the flashing lights of two sheriff's department SUVsstationed at the gated entrance. It’s like something out of a movie. Serious faces, crossed arms, and a barricade of "nope."
Tish slows the car, rolling down her window as we approach.
“Can you please let someone up there know that Charlotte is here?” she asks, her voice firm but polite.
One deputy steps forward. “No can-do, ma’am. We’re under strict orders not to let anyone in while Mr. Stone is preparing for the show.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. I rub my temples, pulse pounding behind my eyes. Of course they’re locking things down. Why wouldn’t they?
“It’s okay, Tish,” I murmur. “Let’s go.”
She doesn’t argue, just nods and throws the car into reverse. As we pull away, I glance over my shoulder as the road that leads to the ranch disappears in the rearview mirror. It hurts. More than I’ll admit out loud.
