Heart of Rockies 03 - More Than a Feeling

In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Every time I finish writing a book, I experience this overwhelming sense of gratitude because I know I could never do it alone. I am so grateful for the whole team of people who help me share my stories—Megha Parekh, the loveliest editor; my publicist, Marissa Sangiacomo; and the incredible sales and marketing team at Forever. Suzie Townsend and the team at New Leaf Literary are some of the best in the business. Thank you for being so good at taking care of the “other stuff” so I can just write.

I love my readers. Seriously. You have no idea how much your words of encouragement mean to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to post reviews, to tell your friends about my books, and to send me messages that let me know you connected with one of my stories. Your words are a gift and I would not be able to continue this journey without them.

At times writing this book felt like an emotional roller coaster, but I didn’t have to ride it alone. Thank you to the
Downton
girls—Melissa, Kimberly, Gretchen, and Jenna—for giving me something to look forward to on those Sunday nights. And for being real. Elaine Clampitt, thank you for the regular coffee dates that keep me on track. I am blessed with so many friends and family members who keep me grounded and remind me that there is life on the other side of the computer. Thank you all for filling my life with love, laughter, and depth. And thank you to my sweeties—Will, AJ, and Kaleb—for taking me someplace tropical after I finished a draft of this book. Even when we’re not exploring an island, you inspire me every single day.

M
orning was hands-down the most beautiful time of day in the mountains.

Ruby James stepped out of her Honda Civic and raised her face to the sky, closing her eyes, breathing in the fresh, sweet scent of the dew-kissed grass. At five o’clock the sky was still dark and studded with stars, but the frayed edges of the mountainous horizon glowed with the promise of light.

A new day. Fresh, clean air, a blank slate of possibilities. Each morning for the past year, she had been the first one to greet it at the Walker Mountain Ranch. And for the first time in her life, she had started to understand freedom. It manifested itself in the expanse of mountainous space, in the stillness of a world still asleep, in the opportunity she’d been given to take care of herself, to pursue a life she wanted, instead of one that had been thrust on her by a broken system.

The air’s chill infused her with energy as Ruby tromped from her parking spot behind the Walker Mountain Ranch, lugging along a cloth market bag that held her very own personal set of stainless-steel measuring cups and a marble rolling pin. Elsie Walker, her boss and the head chef at the ranch, kept a set in the kitchen, but she preferred to use her own for baking. Then she’d take them home each night to polish them and bring them back the next morning. She imagined it was something akin to having a briefcase except instead of a laptop and a cell phone and whatever other devices were popular at the moment, her briefcase was filled with kitchen utensils. They were the best she could find at that gourmet kitchen store in town, solid and unbendable, the highest-quality materials for baking. And this morning she had to do her best baking because their best clients would be coming off the trail later this afternoon, and everything had to be perfect.

Each year in the spring, before things got busy, the Walker Mountain Ranch welcomed a group of foster kids from other towns in the area. They stayed at the ranch free of charge and went backpacking and horseback riding. They got to do the ropes course and zipline—why anyone would want to do that was beyond her. She preferred her feet firmly on the ground, thank you very much. But the best thing about the whole week was that the kids had the chance to just be kids without a care, for once in their lives.

She would’ve given anything for that chance back when she was being carted to foster home after foster home. So when Elsie had told her about the group—when they’d started planning—Ruby had decided she would do everything she could to make this week at the ranch the best of these kids’ lives, cooking for them, volunteering to help out whenever they needed her—anything to make them feel wanted and accepted and free.

She approached the lodge’s back door, the familiar scent of wood stain greeting her. The massive logs stacked one on top of each other always reminded her of the Lincoln Logs she and her brother, Grady, used to play with before Mama went to prison. They’d build structures almost exactly like the one that stood in front of her, grand mountain palaces where magical things happened—where families gathered around fireplaces and drank hot chocolate. Where there were no drugs and no cops and no fears. They’d set up the fences and add in small plastic farm animals they’d shoplifted from the drugstore, pigs and cows and chickens, and even a crotchety rooster they’d called Slim.

Back then she’d believed things could turn around for them. She’d believed Mama would go to rehab like she always said, and then things would be normal. Once she’d even shoplifted an apron for Mama—a frilly thing that looked handmade. As if when Mama put it on she’d be magically transformed into the woman Ruby had always dreamed she would become. The mom who made chocolate chip cookies and drove the car pool and cut her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into funny shapes that’d make her giggle at school.

But Ruby didn’t believe in magic anymore.

Shaking her head at herself, she paused to study the Walker Mountain Ranch’s lovely façade. Maybe that’s why she’d ended up here last year. When she’d gotten in the car, she hadn’t known where to go. She’d never had a place, and god knew Aspen, Colorado, was worlds away from Cherryville, North Carolina. But it was either stay there with Derek and live with the bruises that always splotched her skin, or go. Disappear. Build a new life, a new name, a new future for herself.

So she’d chased freedom. As she’d worked her way west, the mountains had called her name. She’d seen mountains before, of course, but nothing like the Rocky Mountains. Instead of mounded, green hills, they were massive and sharp, lovely but impenetrable. Exactly the refuge she was seeking. While there was a certain fragility to her new life—her new identity—this was the first time she’d felt rooted since before Mama’d been put away.

As always that thought burrowed deep in the tomb where she normally kept all those memories vaulted. That was where they belonged. Stashed away. Course with Mama’s birthday being today, those crushed hopes and dreams were getting restless, feeling almost uncontainable. Was she still in jail? Had Derek contacted her mother after Ruby had run away? Cold dread washed over her and she plowed through the ranch’s kitchen door before the tide of fear dragged her back into the currents of the past.

The kitchen was dim with only the under-cabinet lighting turned on, but it was warm, too, scented with cinnamon and yeast. Inhaling the familiarity soothed the tremble out of her hands. No one here knew a lick of anything about her past, and she had to keep it that way. She couldn’t risk Derek tracking her down, not after the threats he’d made the last time he’d beat her up.

Holding her breath, she willed her heart to stop pounding so hard. She had to calm herself down. Derek couldn’t find her here; she’d made sure of that. She’d been sad to hear of her old neighbor’s passing, but Ruby James’s death had given her the perfect opportunity to escape.

The woman hadn’t had any children of her own, and she’d always had a soft spot for Ruby. Still, she’d been surprised to hear that Miss James had left her everything. Her house and her car. She’d never told Derek. She’d simply sold off the furniture, packed the sentimentals in storage, and loaded all of her things into Miss James’s Civic. She used the proceeds from the estate to fund her trip out west, paying cash for absolutely everything.

As a cop Derek had the means to look for her, to watch for a ping on her credit card, to scan reports from all over the country. That’s why she’d been so careful. That’s why she’d used Ruby James’s name. That’s why she’d cut up all her credit cards.

No. He wouldn’t find her, she told herself again as she marched to the other side of the room and set down her bag. It was time to stop thinking about him. About Mama. A new day. A new life. And she had cinnamon rolls to bake.

The Walker Mountain Ranch kitchen didn’t open until eight o’clock during the slow season, but Ruby and Elsie made all the baked good from scratch, which meant Ruby had to get an early start every morning. She preferred it, anyway. Being alone. It was easier because she didn’t have to pretend. She didn’t have to watch herself so closely, to guard every word and thought so she wouldn’t risk confusing her new identity with her old life. When she was alone she could let down her guard, turn on some tunes, and put her hands to work, rolling out scones and cinnamon-roll dough and whatever else was on the menu for the morning.

Just the thought of that therapeutic process of kneading and rolling and mixing was enough to set her emotions right. Even though she’d left it behind, her old life was always there in the dreams, in the memories. Sometimes they leaked out, spilling over into the present, but she could usually outrun ’em as long as she stayed busy.

And speaking of busy…she shimmied out of her fleece coat and hung it on the hook behind the pantry. She had a whole mess of baked goods planned for those kids—gooey chocolate-chip cookies as big as their heads, fat, fluffy cinnamon rolls that would melt in their mouths. Smiling at the thought, she started to unpack her supplies. First, the heavy marble rolling pin that had cost her a small fortune. Admiring the swirled gray-and-white stone, she pulled it out of the bag and—

Crash!

The jarring sound stilled her. A breath lodged in her throat. She strained her ears, listening.

A series of thuds and rumbles sounded again from the pantry.

Oh, god.
A swallow tangled her windpipe. Something was
in
there. Her grip tightened on the rolling pin’s handle. Was it a bear fresh out of hibernation? Scenes from that damn grizzly bear documentary she’d watched two days before flashed like a horror flick, the bear towering over her on his hind legs, teeth gnashing, claws slashing through the air. Aspen had a major bear problem. They broke into restaurants and homes, raiding kitchens, pilfering through trash. They were only black bears but still…

God. Oh, dear god.
Her heart catapulted into an arrhythmia. Perspiration beaded on her skin. She stared longingly at the kitchen door, all the way on the other side of the room. It might as well have been Antarctica! There was no way she’d get over there without the
thing
hearing her! The pantry’s half-open door stood between her and a clean escape…

More clatters cinched tension into her neck.

“Damn it!”

Ruby inhaled a gasp. Not a bear! Definitely not a bear. A muffled string of curses edged her back against the wall. A man. There was a man in the pantry! Except there were no other cars outside. Bryce and Shooter, the ranch’s other guides, were camping with the kids out on the trail…

Wait a minute.
She jerked her head and squinted in a futile effort to examine the kitchen door she’d walked through not five minutes before. It hadn’t been locked. Holy Moses, it was
always
locked! If she wouldn’t have been so preoccupied with the past, she would’ve noticed. Someone had broken in!

An icy sensation spread over her shoulders and locked them tight, the remnants of past trauma seeping into her.

Derek?

No, no.
He couldn’t have found her.

Another crash seemed to shake the floor.

Panic came in wrenching gasps, clouding her vision, prickling her skin.
Dial 911.
She had to call 911 before the man came out and saw her.

Still gripping the rolling pin, she reached her other clammy hand into the market bag and fished for her cell phone.

The pantry door creaked, then cranked all the way open.

It was dark inside, but a man’s silhouette stood under the lintel. A large man. Tall, broad shoulders. The hood of a black sweatshirt obscured his face.

“Freeze, dirtbag!” Arm stiff with fear Ruby held out the rolling pin, brandishing it as if it were a gun.

“What the hell?” The man took a step toward her.

“I said freeze,” she squeaked, because technically, there wasn’t much she could do if he decided not to obey.

“Easy,” the guy murmured in a patronizing voice, like he was trying to lure a scared puppy or something.

“You hold it right there, asshole!” She waved the rolling pin again. “I’m calling nine-one-one.”

“Take it easy.” Slowly the man held up one hand while the other took down his hood. “It’s me, Ruby,” he said, but
me
who? All she could see were the bright lights of panic shooting holes through her vision. Because she’d never been able to fight back.

She’d tried, once. Not long after she’d moved in with Derek. He was drunk and angry that she’d left the dishes in the sink after dinner. She could still smell the alcohol on his breath, still feel the ways his fingers had dug into the flesh of her shoulders. He’d shoved her hard against the sink, bruising her lower back. “Clean this shit up,” he’d screamed at her. “Or I’ll fucking break your arm.” Terror had rattled through her, blurring her vision into a surreal haze like it was now. Out of sheer desperation, she’d grabbed the handle of a frying pan and swung it as hard as she could. Next thing she knew, Derek had her pinned on the ground, his fingers laced around her neck, cutting off her air…

Gasping for a breath, she realized her fingertips were tingling with numbness.
Oh, god!
How would she fight back with a
rolling pin
?

“Ruby!” The man shuffled a step closer. “Lower the weapon.”

How? Her arms seemed locked in place. Her lungs heaved and gasped.
No!
Not here. Not now. She hadn’t had a panic attack since she’d come to the Walker Mountain Ranch. But sure enough, her heart pounded so hard her head got light. It felt like her lungs were filling with water. She had to fight for a breath.

“Hey.” A hand enclosed hers.

Fire roared through her. She would not let him hurt her. She would never let anyone hurt her again. “Don’t touch me!” She ripped free and swung the rolling pin as hard as she could, feeling a thud as it collided with the man’s body.

A winded groan punched out of his mouth and he sank slowly to the floor, clutching his groin.

“Holy Moses,” she whimpered. She’d taken the guy down. What now? What the hell should she do now? Frozen, she stood over him, still clutching the rolling pin.

“You hit me with that again, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to walk for a week,” the man said. “Kids’ll probably be out of the question, too.”

Ruby’s vision cleared. She gazed down at him and stared into eyes so blue they put the Colorado sky to shame. “Sawyer,” she panted. Realizing who he was didn’t do much to curb the panic. Sawyer was Bryce’s cousin! A cop! She’d nailed a cop in the balls with a marble rolling pin!

“I’m so sorry!” She dropped to her knees next to him. “Are you okay? I thought you were an intruder!”

“Obviously,” he mumbled as he gingerly sat up and hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees. He shifted slightly with a wince.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Yes, it was perhaps a bit unsympathetic for her to ask that question when the man’s voice was still cracking like a preteen’s, but what the hell? With all of those bulging muscles of his, he could’ve immobilized her with one maneuver. He could’ve taken away the rolling pin and they wouldn’t be in this situation now, would they?