sun had just crested the horizon, golden and warm, its rays fanning out over the prairie to dazzle the dewdrops on the tall green grass.
Taking deep breaths, he soaked in the tranquil scene. After a few minutes, he could no longer feel Nicci in the room. No hint of her scent hung on the air. Nor was he ever going to wake up to find her next to him, he reminded himself. Or worse, standing behind him again with a murderous look in her eyes.
Because Nicci was dead.
He should know. He was the one who’d killed her.
GEORGIA MICHAELS moved around the In Stitches yarn shop admiring each of her students’ work. The majority were close to Georgia’s age, in their late twenties. More than half were pregnant. Several were grandmothers or mothers of expectant daughters and granddaughters. That’s why Georgia had been offering so many knitted baby clothing classes.
Today her class was knitting a baby afghan. It was an easy pattern using large needles. Some women simply took to knitting as if it were second nature. Others looked as if they were in a boxing match, fighting the needles every inch of the way.
Georgia stopped to help her friend Rory still her arms, before moving on to help McKenna pick up a dropped stitch. Both friends were great with ranching and horses, but knitting had them bamboozled. Both were pregnant, Rory almost due while McKenna had only just found out the good news a few weeks before.
“You’ll get it,” Georgia encouraged her beginning knitters. “It takes a little while to feel comfortable with the needles. Knitting is a great stress reliever.”
“Sure it is,” McKenna said with a laugh and the others joined in.
Only Agnes Palmer sat quietly in the corner knitting as if born to it. Agnes took every knitting class offered. Georgia suspected the petite, slightly built elderly woman knew more about knitting than Georgia did, but took the classes for the companionship.
Georgia loved the chatter—and the wonderful sound of nothing but the soft clack of knitting needles once class started. These women took their knitting seriously and she could appreciate that.
Knitting was a safe place for Georgia where she loved to return every chance she got. She’d been taught by the woman who’d adopted her, an elderly woman she’d called Nana. Georgia loved the feel of the needles in her hands as the yarn magically turned into some creation of her imagination.
The smooth repetition of movement lulled and comforted her, and just the sight of new yarn filled her with the excitement of all the wonderful possibilities.
Glancing at the clock, she announced, “Okay, ladies, that’s it for today, but you’re welcome to stay and knit if you’d like.”
Usually after an hour, most of her class couldn’t wait to quit, fingers cramped, eyes aching, patience spent. But they would all be back, some with several inches done, others with mistakes to be fixed.
Georgia heard Jim Benson, the local delivery man, come in the back door of the shop and call to her. This morning she’d left both the front and back doors open to get a breeze moving through the shop. It was going to be a warm one.
“See you tomorrow!” Georgia called to her departing class. As she started to turn toward the back of the shop, she saw a woman she hadn’t seen before standing in the front window peering at the Apartment for Rent sign she’d put up just that morning.
“Looks like you’ll be unpacking boxes all day,” Jim said, drawing her attention as he came in through the back door carrying his clipboard. “You want me to stack them up in the storage room or bring them up here for you?”
She gave him a grateful smile as she signed for her shipment. “Up here if you don’t mind. Over near my shelves?”
“No problem.” He smiled. Jim was a nice-looking man only a few years older than Georgia herself. “Just heard on the radio. Some weather’s coming in this afternoon. Talking storm warning. Thunder, lightning and maybe even some hail. Pea-sized or larger.” He shook his head. “The farmers aren’t going to like this one bit.” He turned then and headed for his truck to unload.
When Georgia looked toward the front window again, the woman was gone. Too bad. Georgia had hoped to get the apartment rented. When she’d bought the building for her shop, she’d been excited to find there was a two-bedroom apartment upstairs for her and a one-bedroom rental apartment just across the hall.
Even though yarn sales and the knitting classes were going well, she really could use the additional income from the rental. She’d only recently finished painting, decorating and furnishing it.
Jim brought in all the boxes of knitting material, stacking them in easy reach for her to unpack near her shelves. “That work for you?” he asked.
“Thanks, Jim. I really appreciate it.”
He nodded and seemed to hesitate. She could tell the past few times he came in that he wanted to ask her out, but he was having trouble getting up the nerve. She could have helped him out, but she was too busy trying to get her business going to date right now.
“Well, then, you have a nice day. Watch out for that storm later,” he said, but then something caught his eye.
Georgia turned to follow his gaze. The woman she’d seen earlier was back standing in front of the Apartment for Rent sign. Slim, pretty with chin-length blond hair, she glanced up and smiled. Georgia smiled back and crossed her fingers that the woman was interested in the apartment.
AS DALTON DROVE into Whitehorse, he swore. He hadn’t wanted to go into town and wasn’t the least bit happy about it. As he drove, he rehashed the conversation he’d had that morning at breakfast with his family.
“I need you to go in for feed,” Russell Corbett had said the moment Dalton entered the main house dining room.
The oldest of the five Corbett brothers, Russell had moved up from Texas with the family to help their father run the ranch. The rest of the brothers had come when their father had asked and ended up staying for a while.
Not everyone had been happy about their father’s move to Montana. Mostly because it had come as such a shock. None of them had expected their father to remarry. For years after losing the boys’ mother, Grayson had been too busy raising his sons. By the time the boys had reached their twenties, they just figured he would never marry again.
Then Kate had shown up one day at the ranch in Texas with a box of photographs. Kate had grown up with their mother Rebecca on a ranch in Montana, the Trails West Ranch, and thought Grayson might want the photographs. Kate had lost touch with Rebecca after their lives took different paths.
Grayson had fallen for Kate like a boulder over a bluff. Within months they’d married and he’d sold the ranches in Texas to move to Montana to buy a belated wedding present for Kate—Trails West Ranch, the ranch where she’d grown up. Her father had lost the ranch when she was twenty-two, shortly before his death.
At first, Dalton and his brothers had thought the marriage and move too impulsive. But seeing how happy their father was had changed their minds.
“Give him a chance to eat his breakfast,” his father had said, smiling down the table at Dalton this morning. Grayson loved having his sons in Montana and
