Mason was impossible to miss at the small Montana baggage claim. Not because of his height, though he had that, or his flannel, which was uniform for Montana, but because there were only fifteen people waiting for arrivals at the airport.
“What took you so long?” he asked, crushing me in a hug that smelled like sawdust. “Mill—” He caught himself, corrected. “The ranch missed you.”
“Right,” I said. “The ranch.”
He grinned. “Come on. Truck’s this way.” We walked to the truck.
“How is she?” I asked as we pulled onto the highway.
“Keeping herself busy,” he said. “Clinic prep. Opened last week.”
“And… the rest?” I asked.
He glanced at me, then back at the road.
I nodded. The truck’s heater wheezed, working hard.
We drove in companionable silence for a while. The city gave way to open road. The road wrapped around the mountains. Everwood’s valley waited on the other side, white and familiar in my mind even before we crested the last hill. Then there it was.
The valley spread out like a postcard. Patches of snow, broken fences, and bare trees drawing lines against the sky. Everwood off to the left, with its handful of lights and small-town charm.
And among the trees, the ranch.
When we neared the house, driving straight through town, smoke from the chimney wafted through the trees in a lazy fog.
Mason turned down the familiar road. The gate was locked, but thanks to Milly, I had the keys.
“I’ll take it from here.” I got out, grabbed my bag from the back, and took the plant I’d brought on the plane.
Mason nodded. “Call me when you’re ready to go back to the inn. Janet has you under a pseudonym. Just to be sure.”
“Thanks, man.” I opened the gate, closed it behind me, and started my walk.
As I drew closer, little details came into focus: a couple of feed buckets stacked near the barn, a shovel propped by the porch. Almost exactly as I’d left it.
I stepped onto the porch. For a moment, the only sound was the horses huffing in the pasture. Somewhere, a goat bleated, and a dog barked twice.
I held my breath and knocked. With my bag on my shoulder and the plant in my hand, I prayed she still loved me.
Chapter 25
True Inheritance
Milly
The day started like every other day without him. Quiet and lonely.
The rooster crowed even though dawn had already come. The pipes clinked and hissed when the shower warmed up. Inspector body-slammed the bedroom door right at six-fifteen because, you know, “starvation.”
But the house itself felt… hollow.
When Austin was here, the ranch hummed. Little things: the low murmur of him on a call with Reaper, the squeak of the third stair when he took them two at a time, the faint clink of a wrench as he “just checked something” on a door hinge that had survived thirty years without him.
Since he left, those sounds had gone quiet.
I padded downstairs in wool socks and one of my oversized sweaters, the same one I’d worn the morning he left. I was still clinging to the chance his scent was still on it. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and coffee. I bit back the tears as memories of us drinking coffee together flooded my thoughts.
I crossed to the window and lifted the curtain.
