Page 148 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
“You can cry when she leaves and then get drunk. I brought more wine.”
“And that,” she clinked our glasses together, “is why we’re best friends.”
“Roe looks so pretty.” I had snuck a peek into the bathroom where Felicity had been doing Rowen’s makeup. Roe had chosen a deep-blue strapless gown, the color perfectly matching her eyes, and Gigi had curled her long hair into beautiful waves that hung down to her waist. Since Felicity was the master makeup artist in the group, she and Roe had quarantined themselves in Jess and Gigi’s upstairs bathroom so that all of the other kids wouldn’t bother them. The only other person allowed in the bathroom was Adeline, who adored her big sister just about as much as she adored her aunt Felicity.
Everyone else had been banished to the main floor.
“This farmhouse barely holds us all these days,” I told Gigi. All of our friends had come over tonight except for Michael and Alana, who were on vacation for their anniversary, and Milo and Sara, who were at home with their two-week-old newborn.
We both looked over our shoulders to peek inside. Kids were playing everywhere. Dads were drinking beer and laughing. Moms were sipping wine and smiling.
“Yeah, but I like it full,” she said. “Besides, if we run out of space, I’ll just have Jess build another addition onto the garage.”
“Good plan. Maybe a construction project will keep his mind too occupied to plot Mason Drummond’s murder.”
We both laughed and kept spying on everyone inside.
“Grayson looks more and more like Hunter every day,” Gigi said.
My son was sitting next to his daddy at the dining room table, playing cards with Silas and Silas’s son, Liam. “He sure does, but all the boys look like their dads.”
It was the one thing I always got a kick out of in our group. All of the boys were spitting images of their big, strapping fathers, and for the most part, the girls took after their mothers.
Gigi giggled. “Strong genes.”
“That’s the truth.”
We turned and relaxed into the swing, watching the dark sky as we waited for Rowen’s date to arrive.
“How is Nell working out?” Gigi asked.
I sighed. “So far so good. I check on her every day but she seems to be doing fine. She’s actually really good at cleaning.”
“I still cannot believe the woman who kidnapped your son is now working for you at the motel.”
“You and me both.”
Eleanor Carlson had spent six years, not three, at the mental institution, repairing what had been broken in her mind. And when she’d emerged, she’d come out a different person. She had been humbled. She had been given the chance to grieve. She had been given a second chance.
In Prescott.
Because she hadn’t had anywhere else to go, Hunter had invited her here. Nell was living in my old loft, cleaning for me at the inn so I didn’t have to work as much. Her relationship with Hunter was stronger than it had ever been, and most importantly for her, she was building a connection with Coby.
She was becoming Grandma Nell.
Some days were better than others, but she was trying hard to forgive herself for the way she had treated her son and mine.
And thanks to help from the therapist I’d seen for three years after Coby’s kidnapping, I’d been able to put it all in the past. Everything. I had moved past the kidnapping. I’d moved past the flashbacks. And I hadn’t pinched my leg in years.
Everett was nothing more than a distant, unpleasant memory.
Headlights bouncing down the gravel lane to the farmhouse interrupted our conversation.
I took a deep breath as Gigi chugged the rest of her wine. “Here goes.” I stood at the same time as Gigi, whipping off the blanket and leaving it on the swing.
Just in time, Gigi intercepted Jess as he came barreling out the farmhouse door. “Sheriff,” Gigi warned, “take a breath.”
His broad chest puffed up and he opened his mouth, but she stopped him with one finger pressed to his lips.
