one of the hardest decisions we ever face in life is choosing whether to walk away or try harder.
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WYOMING WAS A far stretch from Nashville, but Shannon McTavish hadn’t forgotten the way home. Ten years had passed since she last drove down this long, lonesome stretch of road, but she remembered every curve, every hill and every gully. She knew the names of the mountains she was driving toward—Whiskey and Wolverine, Wolf Butte and Wind River. She knew the names of the creeks she crossed and how sweet the wind would taste when she rolled her window down to fill her lungs. She remembered the sound of the soul-deep thunder that the wind made when it blew across the wild wide open.
This was a big, empty land that looked as if nothing had changed, yet everything had. When Shannon left, her future had seemed so bright and she’d been so in love. Ten years ago she’d vowed never to return to the lonesome place on the edge of nowhere, yet now she couldn’t wait to get there.
Each mile brought her closer, but there were two more obstacles to overcome—and they had nothing to do with the miles or the mountains in between. Her father didn’t know she was coming home, and he was unlikely to welcome her.
Shannon glanced in the rearview mirror. “How’re you doing back there, Rose?”
“Good, Momma. I’m counting cows, like you told me to.”
“How many so far?”
“So many I can’t go that high,” Rose said, all blue eyes, fair skin and sweetness.
“We must be in Wyoming, then,” Shannon said.
“Are we almost there?”
“Almost, sweetheart. I’m going to stop for gas at this little store up ahead, and then it’ll be just a few more miles and we’ll be home.”
“Will there be horses there?”
“I don’t know, Rose. There used to be lots of them, and I hope there still are.”
Hope. The word mocked her. She’d done nothing but hope this whole long drive. Hope her father would be glad to see them. Hope he’d sell her that little piece of land she coveted, so she could build a house and haven for herself and Rose on that little pine-clad knoll above the creek near the ranch gate. Hope she could make a new life for herself and her daughter, and mend fences with her father.
Hope and pray Travis wouldn’t follow them here.
Shannon pulled alongside the gas pumps out in front of Willard’s General Store. The sign was a little more faded after ten years, but the store’s facade looked the same. The weathered bench in front of the store was empty, but it would be at four o’clock on a summer afternoon during haying time. She unbuckled her seat belt and got out, stretching cramped muscles. The air was warm and clean and smelled of sweetgrass and sage. She drew it into her lungs, remembering past summers, other times. The screen door opened with the familiar tinkling of the brass shop bell and Willard Jackson emerged, pulling on a pair of leather work gloves. Same old Willard. Gray hair and beard, wiry and spry, eyes bright behind gold-rimmed glasses. He started down the steps as the screen door banged shut behind him and then came to an abrupt stop when he spotted her.
“Shannon?” he said. “Shannon McTavish! Well I’ll be hanged. How are you, girl? It’s been a dog’s age since
