since his heart had already been decimated over his brother’s death—and his father’s accusations. Now all that grief and regret had settled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t throw off. Five years had done little to lessen the pain. But he had grown up in that time. He was his own man now, something he could have never been with his older brother constantly reminding him that he was the little brother, the one his father didn’t put his faith or his love into.
By early afternoon he looked up to see Whitehorse, the tall grain bins next to the railroad silhouetted against the winter sky. He slowed his pickup, wanting to take it all in. Memories, both good and bad, assailed him. Home.
He took a deep breath, telling himself he was going to settle things once and for all, starting with the people he’d hurt.
* * *
THE MILK RIVER COURIER, the town’s only newspaper, was lodged in a small brick building along the main road. Chloe felt a rush of excitement as she pushed open the door. Being an investigative reporter was in her blood. She loved digging for information and couldn’t wait to get into the newspaper’s archives.
The smell of ink and paper filled her nostrils, the sound of clicking keyboards like music to her ears. It was early in the week so the small staff was busy trying to put together the weekly edition. She was led to the archives where she settled in, determined to find out what she could.
Chloe reread the first story about Andrew “Drew” Calhoun’s death. It was short and clearly had little more information in it than what she’d found on the sheriff’s blog that had also run in the paper.
Drew was found dead at 11:22 p.m. on that Saturday night. He’d been shot. It was unclear by whom. He was pronounced dead by the coroner at the scene. The investigation was continuing.
She read through what few stories followed, realizing that no one from the paper had gotten anywhere if they’d even tried to investigate the death. This was a small town and Bert Calhoun was a wealthy rancher. The paper had let the story die. It didn’t take long to realize little information had become public. The small weekly printed what was called the cop reports, but didn’t dig any deeper so skimmed only the surface of the news.
Chloe didn’t blame the staff. She understood, because even with larger newspapers there were some situations that were touchy. She’d always had trouble treading lightly. Like now. She wanted answers and she realized there was only one place to go. She couldn’t bear the idea that Justin had been blamed for his brother’s death—even if he’d never been arrested for it. She had to know the truth. It was inherent in her DNA. And this was Justin. The cowboy she’d shared that one amazing winter kiss with all those years ago. A girl didn’t forget things like that.
* * *
JUSTIN FOUND THE Kent house without any trouble. It was a large old three-story wooden structure that needed paint and the porch fixed. It looked exactly as he remembered it.
He had no idea if Nicole even still lived in Whitehorse. He’d made a point of not keeping in touch with anyone from home. As he walked up the unshoveled, snow-packed walk to the door, he saw a faded curtain twitch. The door was opened before he even reached it.
“I guess it’s a day for surprises,” Nici said as she leaned against the doorjamb. “What are you doing back here?”
“It’s good to see you too, Nici.” She hadn’t changed from her dyed black hair to her belligerent attitude. He had to smile. “Buy you a coffee?”
“Make it a beer and you’re on.”
The last place he wanted to go was a bar where he might be recognized. He pulled into the local convenience store, ran in and came back out with a six-pack.
“Maybe you haven’t heard, but Montana has an open container law,” she said as he handed her the beer.
“Then you’d better not open one until we reach the lake,” he said and started the truck.
She immediately opened a beer, just as he knew she would. They said little on the drive out to Nelson Reservoir. He and Nici used to come out here all the time at night in the summer. He would be tired from working the ranch all day under his father’s unrelenting supervision. He’d need to unwind and Nici was always up for it.
“Remember swimming naked out here late at night?” Nici asked as he parked at the edge of the boat ramp and turned off the engine. She was holding the beer can, looking out at the frozen expanse of cold white.
“Doesn’t look too appealing at the moment,” he commented and she handed him a beer. He settled back in the seat, opened the can and took a drink. It almost felt like old times.
“What are you doing here?” Nici asked, sounding worried about him.
He turned to look at her and smiled. “I’ve come home to face the music.”
“You didn’t kill Drew.”
Justin said nothing as he took another drink and turned his attention again to a more pleasant memory from the past. “Remember that one night we got caught out here by that camper?”
Nici chuckled. “Apparently the man had never been young. Either that or he didn’t like his teenage sons ogling me as I came out of the water bare-assed naked.”
He laughed. “You always liked shocking people.”
“Still do.” She glanced over at him. “Did you think I might have changed?”
Justin turned a little in his seat. His gaze softened as he looked at her. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
Nici huffed. “You join AA or something? If this is about making amends—”
“I’m serious. I know you hoped that things were more serious between us...”
She took a long drink of her beer without looking at him.
“You were my best friend. Hell, my only female friend.”
“But not good enough to marry.” When she turned to look at him there were tears in her dark eyes. She made an angry swipe at them, finished her beer and pulled another can free of the plastic holder.
“I loved you. I still do.”
Nici stopped and looked over at him.
“I still think of you as my best girl friend.” He smiled. “I’ve often wondered what kind of trouble you’ve been into back here in Montana. I’ve missed you.”
She stared at him. “You make it hard to hate you.”
“Good.” He touched her shoulder. “I feel like I left you high and dry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You married Margie.” She made it sound like an accusation.
“I know. A mistake. I ended up hurting her too.” He shook his head. “I did a lot of things I’m not proud of. That’s why I’m back.”
“To make amends.”
“To straighten out a few things,” he said. “I can’t undo anything I’ve done. All I
