And now she was back in Laurel Valley. And so was he.
The vision hit her without warning—quick and sharp, like lightning splitting a summer sky. She saw them together, older than they were now. Gray threaded through his sandy hair. Lines bracketed his mouth. But his eyes were the same—that clear, steady gray she’d never forgotten. And the way he looked at her in the vision, with so much love and tenderness, made her heart ache.
The image was fractured, incomplete—just impressions really. The warmth of his hands. The sound of his voice saying her name. The feeling of being safe, truly safe, for the first time in her life. A porch swing. Mountains in the distance. Home.
And then it was gone, leaving her breathless and shaken, her coat half buttoned and her heart racing.
“Marnie? You okay, honey?”
Simone’s voice pulled her back to the present. She blinked and found the older woman watching her with concern, the way she used to when Marnie was a girl showing up at their door with shadows under her eyes and bruises hidden beneath her sleeves.
“I’m fine,” Marnie said, forcing a smile. “Just tired from the drive and all the unpacking. It’s been a long week.”
Simone didn’t look entirely convinced, but she let it go. “You get some rest. And don’t be a stranger. This is your home too, Marnie. It always has been.”
Marnie hugged her quickly—hugged everyone quickly—and made her exit before anyone could see how much those words had affected her. She made it to her van before the tears came, hot and unexpected, streaming down her cheeks as she sat in the dark with her hands gripping the steering wheel.
This is your home too.
She’d spent fifteen years running from Laurel Valley. From the memories. From the ghosts. From the girl she’d been and the things that had been done to her.
But maybe Simone was right. Maybe this had always been home, even when she was too broken to claim it.
Maybe it was time to stop running.
She wiped her eyes, started the van, and drove back toward town. The mountains rose dark against a star-scattered sky, and somewhere out there, on a ranch she could picture as clearly as if she’d never left, Beckett Hamilton was probably still working. Still taking care of the land and the cattle and the legacy his family had built.
Still thinking of her, maybe. The way she’d never stopped thinking of him.
Or maybe not. Maybe he’d moved on years ago, the way sensible people did. Maybe she was nothing but a distant memory to him—the strange girl from the wrong side of the valley who’d disappeared one day and never looked back.
She wouldn’t blame him if that were true.
But the vision she’d had suggested otherwise. And her visions, for better or worse, had never lied to her.
Something was coming. She could feel it building on the horizon like a storm.
She just didn’t know yet whether it would destroy her or save her.
Chapter Seven
Construction workers hammered away in the back room, and her head pounded along with every stroke. For days she’d listened to the same tune—the whine of the saw and the constant whirr of drills. But there was progress. At least she assumed it was progress. She supposed it was one of those instances where things had to look worse before they could look better.
The wood floor was covered with drop cloths, and ladders and tools and sawhorses were spread throughout like an obstacle course. They’d built a wall between the reception area and the studio space, and they were putting up two more walls in the far back corner where her small office would be. The original hardwood floors would be refinished at the very end, once everything was painted and the dust had settled.
She’d need to hire a receptionist part-time—that was already on her long list of things to do before opening day. But the most pressing task was putting together the big desk that would be a permanent fixture in the reception area. If she ever managed to get it assembled. She was starting to regret telling the delivery man that she could do it herself. She’d wanted to have a hand in the building of her studio, and this was her way of contributing. The only problem was it didn’t look like all the instructions had been included in the box, and some of the hardware seemed to be missing.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” she mumbled under her breath, staring at the diagram that made no sense whatsoever. She looked up guiltily when someone knocked on her front door.
Hank O’Hara stood on the other side of the glass, a friendly grin on his face. She left the pieces of desk and scattered tools on the floor, wiped her dusty palms on her jeans, and went to answer the door. She stepped back to let him inside and the cool breeze from outside felt good against her gritty skin, the fresh air a relief from the dust she’d been breathing all morning.
“Hey, Marnie, just came to check on the progress and make sure everything’s on schedule.” He looked around with a carpenter’s eye and nodded his head in satisfaction. “It’s really starting to shape up.”
Hank had always been patient and kind, but there was no question that he was the boss when it came to his crews. He had the height of the O’Haras, with sandy-blond hair and green eyes the color of antique glass.
“I think it’s going well,” she answered. “I’ll probably be done putting this desk together by the time we’re ready to open.” She winced and then added, “Maybe. If I’m lucky.”
He grimaced and surveyed the mess she’d made of things on the floor. “I’ve put that particular desk together before. Couple of times, actually. Half the instructions are always missing and some of the hardware never makes it into the box. I’m supposed to meet Sophie for lunch, but she’s stuck at the bookstore with customers for the moment, so I’m at loose ends.”
