But here, high enough to glimpse three ridges deep, watching the light drain in long, molten ribbons, slipping off treetops and riverbeds—each ridge carrying its own hue, its own chord.The deep greens of the pines settled into D minor, somber and endlessly patient.The gold at the hilltops burned low, a held E dimming at the edge.And the blue shadows pooling in the hollows were the silence after a performance—the soft, reverent pause between the last echoing note and the first beat of applause.
Pulling out her earbuds, she closed her eyes to a different kind of symphony.No audience or applause.Just the slow fall of light across the mountains, the chatter of birds settling through the trees, the faint percussion of an axe somewhere down the hollow—
Margie’s house phone rang, the sound cutting clean through the stillness.Chair and bones creaking, Margie shuffled inside.
“Cassie-girl!”Her voice carried through the kitchen’s open window.“Got Luey on the line for ya!”
And just like that, the stillness changed key, crescendoing right back into chaos.
Two hours later, Cassie was pushing through the warped, wooden door of Shooter’s Bar & Grille.
Heads turned, conversations stalling as she stepped inside.A dozen pairs of eyes followed her while she made her way to the bar and took a seat beside an older man in oil-stained coveralls.Cassie hadn’t thought twice about her outfit—high-waisted white jeans and a black lace camisole edging on cropped was casual by her standards—but this wasn’t her crowd anymore.This was Shooter’s: the unchanged, sticky-floored bar from her youth that never carded, rarely closed, and before nightfall mostly catered to mechanics and construction hands—locals still chasing what was left of the work.
“Help you, honey?”The bartender—a familiar, striking woman with deep brown skin and sharp, dark eyes—gave Cassie a hard squint.“You lost—or just slummin’ it?”
Cassie huffed a laugh.“Darlene Mae McKinney,” she chastised.“You’ve been sneakin’ me beers and breakin’ up my fights since I was, what—twelve?And now you don’t even recognize me?”
The woman froze—then threw her head back with a full-bellied howl.“Cassie—goddamn—Berry,” she hollered, already rounding the bar.“I heard you were back, but hell, I didn’t recognize you in that getup—and without all that wild hair.Get over here and gimme a hug.”
“Baby…” Darlene’s voice dropped as she pulled Cassie into a bone-crushing hug.“I heard about Connor.”She exhaled slow against her shoulder.“You know I loved that boy.For real.”
Darlene and Connor had dated in high school, on again off again for a few years after.When Cassie was growing up, Darlene had been something close to a big sister, always encouraging Cassie’s music, always acting like it mattered.
She gave Cassie one more firm squeeze before heading back behind the bar.“Sit tight,” she said, already turning.“I’ll make you somethin’ decent.”
Cassie had barely settled back onto her stool when Darlene set down a glass.“Top shelf,” she said with a wink.“Fancy stuff for my fancy girl.”
She took a slow sip, letting the bar’s noise tune around her—the glass clinks in sync, the bass-line of men’s voices, a sharp burst of feminine laughter hitting high and flat from somewhere near the back.Eventually the after-work crowd began to thin, its rhythm shifting toward the rougher, rowdier night ahead.Across the room, the karaoke stage—a plywood platform strung with Christmas lights—was already coming to life, someone tapping the mic, the speaker popping in reply.
“Cas!”
Cassie turned to see Luanne bounding toward her—huge hoops flashing at her ears, dressed in a form-fitting top with patched, paint-smeared jeans.
Behind her, Rebecca “Becca” St.James followed at an easier, quieter pace, looking like Luanne’s mirror in reverse.Her once-long dark hair was cropped into a soft pixie, her big, blue eyes bare of the heavy liner she’d once favored.She wore a floral sundress and scuffed military-style boots.
Cassie almost laughed—it felt like they’d switched places.Back in school, where Luanne had been the wallflower, Becca had worked hard to stand out, her daily outfits a collage of ripped tights, plaid skirts, and stacks of studded bracelets.
“Lord, look at you!”Becca exclaimed, pulling Cassie into a hug.“All these years and you’re still the prettiest thing!”
Becca pulled back just enough to meet Cassie’s eyes.“About Connor—”
“Becca!”Cassie exclaimed, cutting her off.“You swore we’d never see you without eyeliner.Seventeen-year-old you would be horrified.”
Becca rolled her eyes.“Seventeen-year-old me doesn’t have to chase three kids around all damn day.”
“Three!”Cassie repeated, eyes widening.
“Three,” Luanne confirmed.“All boys.And every one of ’em looks just like Brady.”
Cassie’s mouth fell open.“Oh my god—you’re still with Brady?”
“She sure is!”Luanne cut in before Becca could answer.“Married him a few years back, and they’re still fuckin’ like bunnies.”
Becca made a face.“Now that the whole town’s caught up on my sex life, can we please find a table ’fore we get stuck with the wobbly one by the bathrooms?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Luanne said, mock-saluting.“Hey, Dar!”she hollered as they crossed the room.“Three Ridge Runners—and don’t skimp on the Evan!”
A few minutes later, Darlene dropped off a tray of mismatched mason jars brimming with Shooter’s signature mix of sweet tea and peach schnapps, topped with a heavy pour of Evan Williams.
