Her calendar stayed full. Lila’s gossip had done its job, and word of mouth had done the rest. She had bookings through spring already, with more coming in every week. For the first time since she’d arrived, she felt like she truly belonged here. Like Laurel Valley had accepted her as one of its own.
She’d been out working at the O’Hara Ranch one afternoon in late January, photographing Jax with his physical therapist for a piece Simone wanted to include in the family book. Jax had grumbled about it, but Lacey had talked him into cooperating, and Marnie had captured some beautiful candid shots of them working together. There was something between those two—a spark that neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge. But Marnie could see it plain as day through her lens.
On a whim, she’d veered toward Hamilton land on her way home. She found Beckett out by the fence line, nailing a loose board back into place, his horse tethered nearby. Snow still covered the ground, but he didn’t seem bothered by the cold.
She pulled the van up beside him and took a few pictures through the window before he noticed her—loving the intensity on his face, the way his hands worked so skillfully with the hammer. When he looked up and saw her, his whole face transformed into a smile that made her heart flip in her chest.
“I was just thinking about you,” he said as she hopped out of the van.
“Good thoughts, I hope.”
“Always.” He set down the hammer and pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly. “What brings you out this way?”
“I was at your aunt and uncle’s place. Couldn’t resist taking a detour.”
“I’m glad you did.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Dinner at the house tonight? Izzy’s making pot roast.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
These were the moments she treasured. The easy affection, the sense that she belonged somewhere—with someone. They’d fallen into a rhythm that felt natural and right. No demands, no pressure. Just two people building something together, one day at a time.
But she should’ve known things were too good to last.
The snow was still falling when she finished her last client for the day and headed toward Hamilton House that evening. The oak tree at the center of the fork in the road no longer brought her the pain it first had when she’d returned to Laurel Valley. She drove past it without a thought when her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but that wasn’t uncommon with all the client inquiries she received.
“Whitlock Photography,” she said. “This is Marnie.”
“I’d thought for sure you’d have gotten over your little tantrum by now and come crawling back.”
Her foot lifted off the accelerator and the van crawled to a stop in the middle of the road. She grasped the phone tightly in one hand and the wheel with the other. Nausea rolled in her stomach.
Beckett had been right. Clive wouldn’t leave her alone.
“Hello? Marnie? Are you there?”
“I’m here. What do you want?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s time for you to end this farce and come home. I’m sure you’ve taken some lovely photographs while you’ve been staying in the middle of nowhere, but it’s time to get back to the real world. I’ve got a show scheduled for you in New York at the end of May.”
“I guess you’ll have to cancel it,” she said, anger building inside her. “I’m not doing any more shows. And last I checked, I’m not having anything more to do with you either.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not what our contract says.”
“Not any contract that I signed.”
“That doesn’t matter. Who’s going to believe you? Certainly not a court of law or the judges I play golf with every week.”
“We’re done, Clive. You can’t have me.”
“Stupid girl. I never wanted you.” His voice turned cruel. “Your photographs and that psychic ability, on the other hand, have made me a fortune. You don’t think I just randomly walked into your studio that day? It was fortunate circumstance that you happened to be a decent photographer with a talent I could exploit.”
She pressed down on the accelerator and the van started forward again. “I’m sure that’s fascinating,” she said, her voice dead of all emotion.
She’d already known that, of course, but the confirmation was still painful. The O’Haras were the only ones who had genuinely loved her—and now Beckett. She had to believe that. Had to trust that what they had was real.
“Stop pouting. I’ll be there in a couple of days to collect you and any photographs you’ve taken over the last months. And don’t try to tell me you haven’t been taking them. You can’t go a day without lifting that camera to your face.”
“You’re not welcome here, and I’m not going anywhere with you.”
