Several of the women exchange knowing looks at the mention of Beau's name, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks like I'm sixteen again instead of about to turn twenty-one.
"That's mighty generous of Mr. Blackwell," Mrs. Henderson says with barely contained amusement. "I'm sure his willingness to help has nothing whatsoever to do with his personal interest in seeing our event succeed."
"Or his personal interest in our newest committee member," adds Mrs. Cross with a wink that makes my face burn even hotter.
Emma laughs, the sound rich and warm as honey. "Now, ladies, let's not embarrass poor Lucy. She's doing excellent work, regardless other’s motivations."
I can feel the smile stretching across my face, the kind of helpless happiness that bubbles up from somewhere deepin my chest whenever I think about my men and how unexpectedly perfect this whole situation has become.
"The vendor contracts are all signed," I continue, trying to steer the conversation back to business before they start asking for details I'm definitely not prepared to share. "The barbecue team from Billings will arrive Friday morning, and the local bands are confirmed for both Friday and Saturday night."
"What about security?" asks Mrs. Henderson. "With that many people coming to town, we'll need crowd control."
"Sheriff Maddox is coordinating with the county to bring in additional deputies for the weekend," I say, consulting my notes again. "They'll have the main event area covered, plus patrols through the camping areas."
More knowing looks around the room. It's impossible to mention any of the men without someone making a connection to my personal life, but I'm getting used to it. Small towns don't offer much in the way of privacy, but they make up for it with acceptance, at least when they decide you're worth keeping.
"Excellent." Mrs. Henderson makes a note on her own clipboard. "I think we're in better shape than we've been in years, thanks to Lucy's organizational skills."
"You know what they say," Emma says, raising her coffee cup in a mock toast. "Briarhaven women don't ask for permission, honey. They plant their boots, raise hell, and then feed the whole damn town after."
The other women laugh and raise their own cups, and I find myself swept up in the moment, in this feeling of being part of something bigger than myself. Part of a community that's chosen to embrace me, part of a tradition that stretches back generations, part of a future that feels bright and solid and real.
The meeting winds down shortly after that, with final assignments distributed and everyone clear on their responsibilities. As the other women gather their purses and papers, chatting about everything from weather forecasts to whose grandchildren will be competing in the youth rodeo, I feel a deep sense of satisfaction settle in my chest.
I did this. I helped make this happen. For the first time in my adult life, I'm not just surviving or hiding or running. I'm contributing, building something, being part of something meaningful.
"You know," Emma says as we're the last two left in Mrs. Henderson's living room, "when I first invited you to join this committee, I thought it would be good for you to get involved in town activities."
"It has been good," I tell her, meaning it completely. "Thank you for including me."
"But I didn't expect you to turn into the most efficient event coordinator we've ever had," she continues with a grin. "Mrs. Henderson's already talking about putting you in charge of the Christmas festival."
The thought of still being here at Christmas, of having a place in this community's traditions and celebrations, makes my heart swell with happiness. Six months ago, I couldn't have imagined staying anywhere for six weeks, let alone six months. Now I can picture myself here for years, growing roots, building relationships, maybe even having a family of my own someday.
"I'd like that," I say softly.
Emma studies my face for a moment, taking in what must be a ridiculously dreamy expression. "You know what? Never mind asking for your thoughts. I can see on your face that whatever you're thinking about definitely isn't suitable for mixed company."
I laugh, heat flooding my cheeks as I realize how transparent I must be. "Emma!"
"Hey, I'm not judging. If I had three men competing to make me that happy, I'd be walking around with the same expression." She grins and bumps my shoulder with hers. "Just maybe save the X-rated daydreaming for when you're not in Mrs. Henderson's parlor. The poor woman's heart might not be able to handle it."
For the first time in my life, I'm not afraid of what comes next. How could I be, when I have everything I've ever wanted and more than I ever dared to dream?
Everything is perfect. Everything is exactly as it should be.
But as I walk out into the crisp Montana evening, something cold whispers across the back of my neck. Areminder that perfect things have a way of shattering when you least expect it.
That secrets, no matter how well-buried, have a way of clawing their way to the surface.
I shake off the feeling and climb into Gabriel's truck, where he's waiting to drive me home.
Home. The word still feels foreign and wonderful on my tongue.
In two days I turn twenty-one, and everything changes. I can finally fight back, finally take control of my own life.
I just hope I'm ready for whatever that fight might cost.
