Sweet Home Montana Page 8

  I’ve spent the last ten years of my life living far away in a big city, with all intentions of becoming just another face in the crowd. A city where I could fade into the background. A city where I wouldn’t be that girl. But in those ten years, I didn’t just become another face in the crowd; I lost the person I was. The old Quinn was left here, in the middle of nowhere, Montana. Forgotten about. And I miss her. Because despite her faults, she was the best part of me.

  Chapter 8

  I take a seat at my dresser, still wrapped in a towel, my wet hair dripping down over my bare shoulder, causing me to shiver against the cool chill hanging in the air.

  Looking at myself in the mirror, I sigh. My gray eyes are tired, weary, the whites slightly bloodshot from a combination of lack of sleep and stress. My honey hair is dull and flat. Pale skin. Washed-out lips and cheeks. I’m a shadow of the woman I was only a few days ago. Well, the woman I thought I was a few days ago. Being home in the Canyon has taken its toll on me while also causing me to question myself and everything I’ve lost over the last ten years of my life.

  I think back to Rylie from Duke’s Saloon, to what she told me. That I can redeem myself because I’m not an asshole. When she told me that, I wasn’t so sure. I mean, I’ve done some pretty asshole-ish things in my time. Leaving the love of my life at the altar really tops the list, I’d say. But there was more. Many things I’m not proud of. But one thing I know for certain is that, deep down, I have a good heart. And how do I know that? Because I was raised by a man who made sure of it.

  I glance at the photos lining the mirror of my dressing table. Happy snaps from what feels like a lifetime ago. And I guess it was a lifetime ago. A whole other life. In every one of the photos I find an enviable smile beaming back at me. That girl was happy. Sure, she used to dream of getting the hell out of here, away from the Canyon, but here she was happy. Her happiest. I need to find that smile again.

  I zero in on a photo of me and Colt, pulling it down from its stickum to inspect it closely. We were only sixteen. It was taken at his first ever real-life rodeo. He was so nervous. He’d been practicing for so long in the corral here at the ranch before and after his shifts as a junior hand. The ranch hands would coach him, spur him on from the fences, telling him where to hold on, how to tuck his chin in tight to his chest. But it was my father who saw a raw talent in Colt. He backed him financially, sponsoring him by paying his entry fee, and getting him kitted out for a professional competition.

  That night, Colt won his very first belt buckle after staying on a terrifying mustang for almost nine seconds. In the picture he’s smiling so wide, his eyes shining and dimples popping as he holds up his shiny buckle, and I’m beaming proudly by his side, wearing his hat. His arm is wrapped tight around my shoulders. I remember that night so vividly. It was one of our best nights. Colt was on top of the world, and I was his girl. In that moment, it honestly felt like everything was exactly how it was supposed to be. From that night on, Colt Henry was the Rodeo King of the Canyon, and I was his Quinn. King and Quinn. The two of us together were an unstoppable force to be reckoned with. We thought our reign would last forever. God, I can’t help but laugh. Look at us now.

  I carefully stick the photo back up against the glass, smiling at all the memories I’ve stuck up over the years. My dad. My brothers. Colt. My old dog, Lucky. A lifetime of happiness that suddenly makes me question why I was ever so desperate to get away from it all in the first place.

  Why wasn’t it enough?

  Life in the Canyon wasn’t so bad.

  Why couldn’t that girl in the photos just stay?

  I envy her, but I resent her even more. She ruined everything, and a really messed-up part deep down inside of me can’t help but blame my mother.

  ***

  Dressed in a pair of my old Uggs I found deep in the closet, thermal leggings and a flannel shirt, I walk downstairs, carefully scoping out my surroundings for any trace of Tripp. I’m not sure I can risk seeing him tonight, not after what he said to me today. I’m not sure I can keep my cool. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself from flipping him the middle finger if he so much as glances in my direction.

  I poke my head into the kitchen, finding it empty and dark, the only light coming from the rays of the setting sun poking through the clouds as it melts into the west mountains. My shoulders sag in relief, and I continue inside, pulling open the big refrigerator and assessing its contents. It’s packed full with anything we could ever need. After I left for college, I made sure Dad hired a cook. Someone to come in and do all the meals for him and my brothers. Shop for groceries. Do all the things the housekeeper didn’t do. All the things I did when I was living here. I couldn’t leave with the thought of the three of them surviving off steaks off the grill every night. A cook looking after them offered me some semblance of comfort, knowing they were eating well while I was gone.

  But as I scan the shelves inside the fridge finding beef, beef, and more beef, lasagna, fresh vegetables and fruits, I’m literally spoiled for choice, and yet I find nothing that interests me. Actually, I’m not even hungry, despite the fact that I’ve barely eaten anything all day.

  When I hear the faint yet distinct sound of Bob Dylan floating like a murmured hum caught in the breeze, I close the fridge, turning to see the glow of fire coming from the pit out back. I cross the kitchen, stopping at the glass doors, looking out to see my brothers and Colt sitting around a fire, each of them with a glass of liquor in their hands. I feel like I should be out there with them. That’s where I belong. With my brothers and my … Colt. But I find myself hesitating, knowing I could start something with Tripp unintentionally just by simply going down there. But I stifle that doubt and grab a coat from the hook by the door, shrugging it on. Its warmth envelops me, and it smells of my father. I bask in the familiarity it provides. It’s almost like he has his arms wrapped around me, protecting me, keeping me safe. And I pull it tight around me as I step outside.

  The night air slices through me, but I follow the verandah, walking down the three steps, crossing the patio and stopping at the wooden Adirondack chairs. Colt avoids even so much as a casual glance in my direction, and that stings. But I ignore his obvious avoidance, and my eyes tentatively meet Tripp’s from across the fire, the dancing flames illuminating his face. And in this light, he looks just like me. Me and our mother. I half-expect him to tell me to piss off. But, he doesn’t. He definitely considers it; I can see it in his contemplative stare. But instead, he reaches down and grabs a glass from the tray on the ground beside him, filling it with liquor from the fancy crystal bottle. He stands and slowly walks around the fire, holding the glass out to me.

  I cast Cash an uncertain glance, but he simply nods once, taking a sip from his own drink, so I accept the glass from Tripp, knowing it isn’t tainted, and I take a seat on one of the empty chairs.

  Tripp sits back down in his seat, stretching his long legs out on the lawn in front of him, resting his head back and closing his eyes a moment. I take a sip from my glass. Whiskey. I’m shocked at just how smooth it feels on my tongue, how it warms my body on the way down instead of burning my throat.

  “This was Dad’s.” Cash holds his glass up. “He bought this bottle back when he first took over this place from Grandpa.”

  I glance down at the glass in my hand, at the amber liquid as it reflects the flames of the fire, and a sudden sadness rakes through me, a sadness I’m not prepared for.

  “He said he was going to wait and drink it with his kids when he passed the reins over.” Cash pauses, and I watch as he bows his head a moment before looking up to the inky night sky, holding his glass in the air. “This one’s for you, Dad.”

  I cast Colt a sideways glance, and he does the same to me. Then I meet Tripp’s eyes once more across the fire, and something passes between us, something void of anger and hate. He juts his chin at me, lifting his glass, and I meet his gaze with a small smile. “To Dad.”

  We each down th
e contents of our glasses, and a moment of silence settles between us as one Bob Dylan song stops and another begins. Tripp tops up his glass, handing the bottle to Colt. Colt fills his before passing around to Cash, and Cash does the same, and I hold mine out for a top-up. I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping an arm around them as I sip my drink, watching the flames lick up into the dark sky as the fire crackles and hisses violently.

  ***

  After an hour or so, we’re all sufficiently buzzed, remembering the good times with our father, and I cannot stop smiling at the memories as they play through my mind like an old home movie reel.

  “Remember when Dad was away and you threw that party?” Tripp says, a smile on his face as he looks at our big brother.

  Cash chuckles, bowing his head, his shoulders trembling with his laughter.

  I smile as I remember back to that night. “Everyone drank all the beers.” I laugh. “And then you tried replacing it the next day but Duke was out of town and the bartender at the saloon wouldn’t serve you!”

  Tripp and Cash both laugh. Colt chuckles quietly.

  “Dad came home and was all like, Where’s me dang beer?” Tripp exclaims, his hands in the air, imitating our father’s drawl down to every minute inflection.

  “Hey! It was mostly you two little pricks who drank it all!” Cash points an accusatory finger at Tripp and then Colt. “Y’all were fourteen years old, for Christ’s sake!”

  Tripp just shrugs, grinning to himself, but Colt’s smiling gaze lands upon me. I’m suddenly lost in the memory of that night, my cheeks heating from more than just the flames of the fire.

  I stayed away from the party that night, knowing that Dad would be none too happy about it if he found out. Instead, I sat up in my room with ice cream and my favorite book, losing myself in the pages of my latest fictional obsession, which is when I was startled by a gentle rapping upon my door before it opened just enough for Colt to stick his head through the gap, smiling at me. He’d asked me what I was doing, and invited himself in. He was drunk. I could tell. I could smell the stale scent of beer on his breath. But he was sweet. Funny and goofy, and nervous.

  He sat on the other side of my bed, laughing at the fluffy green socks I was wearing, which had eyes on the toes, made to look like frogs covering my feet. He kept finding ways to touch me. My foot, my knee. When I flinched away from him, he realized I was ticklish, and took the chance to tickle my sides, which is how we ended up lying together on my bed, me on top of him, breathless as we stared into each other’s eyes.

  Everything changed between us with that one moment. That was the very first time I ever realized my feelings for him, and nothing was ever the same after that.

  Colt and I share a meaningful glance at one another. And I know he feels that memory right now, just as much as I’m feeling it. And I can’t help but smile when the corners of his lips curl up ever so slightly, a dancing sparkle in his green eyes.

  “Remember when he was teaching us how to drive, down in the back field?” I look at Tripp, smiling knowingly. “He got so frustrated with me and my gear shifting. He was like, Get out, darlin’, let me show you how it’s done!” I try to imitate Dad’s deep voice, my own laughter getting the better of me. “Then he reversed the truck into the damn river!”

  Cash throws his head back, laughing out loud. He wasn’t there. He was at college. But Tripp and I called him and told him all about it as soon as we made it back to the house. We stayed on the phone for an hour, just laughing.

  “And then he got out and tried to push it outta the water, and fell face first in the mud!” Tripp cackles loudly, downing the last of his whiskey.

  I continue sipping from my glass, smiling at the funny times we’ve shared.

  Cash laughs again. “Remember how he used to watch the Packers games with the sound turned down. Because he couldn’t stand that no-good announcer—”

  “Rex yella-belly Rubben!” Cash, Tripp, and Colt all chime together in unison with Dad’s country accent, thick and twangy, breaking down into fits of laughter.

  “Rex Rubben?” I smile between my two brothers, to Colt, but they don’t respond, too busy laughing with one another to notice my confusion.

  I don’t know what they’re referring to. I’m assuming this was something that happened after I left. A memory I’m not privy to. I bet a whole heap happened after I left. So many memories I’m not a part of. Memories I can’t laugh along with. Memories I missed out on.

  “Hey? You okay, Quinny?”

  When I snap myself out of my thoughts, I find Cash looking at me, his eyes full of concern. And I know immediately that I’m crying, the night air cool as it whips gently against my tear-stained cheeks. I sniffle, quick to wipe my eyes with the sleeve of Dad’s coat that I’m wearing.

  “You all right?” Cash asks again, his brows drawing together as he studies me.

  “Yeah.” I nod, forcing myself to smile before tipping my head back and finishing my whiskey. “I’m just thinking of all the memories I missed with him over the last ten years.” As I admit it out loud, another tear falls, and then another, and then suddenly the emotion is all too overwhelming. It feels as if it’s strangling me. I can’t breathe through the sob that bubbles at the back of my throat.

  “All the memories I missed out, because I was too damn selfish and proud, and terrified to come back here!” I bury my face in my hands, hunching forward, crying for everything I’ve lost, everything I’ve missed out on. Everything that’s gone, that I’ll never get back.

  I feel an arm wrap around me, and I jump ever so slightly, looking up through bleary eyes to see Cash right there by my side, his own eyes glassy. And, for a moment, I’m disappointed. I wanted it to be Tripp. I wanted him to be here for me, like I was there for him this morning. I wanted him to lend a shoulder, like the one I gave him to cry upon. But Tripp isn’t here. He’s still sitting across from me, staring at me through the flames of the fire, his face eerily blank.

  “Remember the time …” Tripp begins, his voice quiet, raspy as he continues, “When you left this place, and Dad couldn’t even manage to drag his sorry ass outta bed for three fuckin’ days straight?” His steely gaze fixes on me, resentment flashing within his hard stare.

  I blink back my tears, watching him as he glances from me to Cash and back again, his brows pulling together in anger.

  “Tripp, don’t—” Cash warns.

  “Remember the Christmases he used to hang your stocking above the fireplace, in the hope that you’d surprise him and miraculously just show up on the doorstep, even though deep down he knew you wouldn’t?” Tripp glares at me.

  “Hey, c’mon, man.” Colt reaches across, clapping his best friend’s back. “Don’t do this. Not now.”

  I sniffle, my shoulders trembling as an overwrought emotion consumes me from the inside out.

  “You. It was you who left, Quinny.” Tripp stands abruptly to his feet, staggering ever so slightly as he lifts the crystal bottle to his lips, finishing what’s left of Dad’s beloved aged whiskey. “You’re the one who didn’t come back,” he splutters, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “You’ve got no one else to blame but your fuckin’ self.” And, with that, he throws the empty bottle into the fire, the flames causing the glass to crackle before exploding into a million shards. And then he turns, stumbling over his own feet as he walks away, his silhouette disappearing into the darkness.

  I turn to Cash, my bottom lip trembling as tears stream down my face. But he just shakes his head, squeezing my shoulder. He leans in a little closer, placing a kiss to the top of my head. “I should go after him …”

  I want to tell him no. That he shouldn’t go after him. That he should just let him go. That he should stay with me. But, I don’t. Instead, I nod, and watch through bleary eyes as Cash jogs off, disappearing in the same direction Tripp took off to.

  I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping Dad’s coat around me as tight as I can, and I bury my face into the warmth of the fl
uffy wool collar, crying.

  I don’t bother looking up when I feel the warm hand on my shoulder. I know his touch all too well, even after ten years. It’s firm yet gentle. Strong and protective. And it’s actually exactly what I need right now.

  Another sob racks through me, and before I even know what’s happening, Colt’s hand moves from my shoulder, and his arms come around me, pulling me to him.

  Glancing up through my tears, I stammer a breath, finding his gaze set on me as he holds me so close.

  “Thank you,” I manage through my emotion, sniffling back my tears.

  He manages a small smile, shaking his head to dismiss my gratitude. He presses a soft yet lingering kiss to the top of my head as I bury my face into his chest, gripping his jacket so tight like at any moment he might pull away before I’m ready to let him go. I need him right now. More than anything. Even if only for this one, fleeting moment.

  Chapter 9

  I sat through the meeting with the lawyers. Signed what I had to sign. Listened as Cash took control of Tripp every now and again, reined him in and kept him in line, while saying what needed to be said. He’s always so in control and collected. An enviable quality. Where Tripp and I are hotheaded like our father, but are both fair like our mother; Cash is just like Mom was, yet the spitting image of our father. He’ll make a good landowner. Dad would be so proud of the way he’s handling everything.

  Dad had set aside trusts for each of us, and ownership of Wagner Ranch is divided. Cash gets forty percent. Tripp and I get twenty-five each. But what shocks me most of all is that remaining ten percent. When the lawyer read out that entitlement, I couldn’t help but shed a tear.

  “To Colt Edward Henry, for his years of loyalty and sacrifice. For his dedication and commitment. And for being a damn good kid. I couldn’t be more proud to call you my third son.”