Page 7 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

The lodge was a rustic log building and the focal point for guests—or it had been when I’d worked here. Behind it was an enormous barn beside a doubly enormous stable.

All three were the same, rich brown color. The windows of the lodge gleamed in the morning Montana sunshine. Maroon and golden mums spilled from a toppled whiskey barrel beside the front steps. Three wooden rocking chairs were positioned to the left of the hand-carved front door.

I’d once cleaned those windows. I’d planted flowers in that barrel. I’d rocked in one of those chairs and walked through that front door.

Katherine had been the one to pick Montana. She’d found us jobs at this guest ranch when Londyn and I had agreed to come along. The three of us had packed our meager belongings, bought bus tickets and waited for her to turn eighteen. Then we’d said goodbye to Karson, Clara, Aria and our beloved junkyard, setting out from California to Montana on a Greyhound bus because we’d craved adventure. Not for money or power or fame, but for an experience worth retelling.

We’d been so excited. So eager. We’d been so free.

No, not we. Me. I’d been excited and eager and free.

Somewhere along the way, that eighteen-year-old girl had gotten lost.

I parked the Cadillac in one of the guest spaces, not designated by a curb, but by an old-fashioned hitching post. My hands were suddenly like Jell-O and it took all my strength to shove the car in park.

Was it too late to turn around?

Yes.

I was here and damn it, I was doing this. With my eyes closed, I sucked in a calming breath and blew it out with an audible whoosh. When was the last time I’d been this nervous?

Leaning heavily into the door, I shoved it open. My purse stayed in the passenger seat because there was no such thing as petty theft at the Greer Ranch. The guests here didn’t need to steal and I doubted any employee would dare cross the Greers—they were too well respected and that likely hadn’t changed.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat and began the trek to the porch. My fingers gripped the wooden railing as my unsteady legs climbed the five stairs. Then with another shaky breath, I turned the knob on the door and walked inside.

The smell of cedar and cinnamon filled my nostrils. Someone had started a wood fire in the hearth. The couches surrounding the fireplace and rock chimney were the same chocolate leather. The plaid toss pillows looked new.

I tipped my chin to take in the vaulted ceiling’s wooden beams. A wide, sweeping staircase ran to my right and another to my left, both the same wood color as the floor. Directly in front of me was the reception desk, currently unoccupied. And behind me, above the door, was a mounted, eight-point bull elk bust.

Clive.

Londyn, Katherine and I had affectionately named the elk Clive the month after we’d arrived. None of us had ever seen a taxidermic animal before Clive, and we’d thought he’d deserved a name.

I smiled, happy he was still here. Happy that, besides minor changes, this place hadn’t changed.

It was like stepping back in time, to the days when my younger self had two best friends and ambitions bigger than the sky.

This room hadn’t changed.

But the woman standing in it sure had.

I walked to the counter, spying a silver service bell that hadn’t been there before. I touched my finger to the plunger and the ding chorused through the room.

“One minute!” a voice called from the hallway that ran behind the staircase on my left. One minute was actually ten seconds. A flash of white hair caught my eye first as a woman emerged, drying her hands on a white towel.

“Morning.” She smiled and my heart melted.

I’d missed that smile.

“Good morning,” I said, praying she’d recognize me. Though I wouldn’t fault her if she didn’t. I’d only worked here for eight months, eleven years ago. The Greers had likely met a hundred seasonal workers since.

“What can I do for”—her head cocked to the side and her eyes widened—“Gemma?”

Thank God. She hadn’t forgotten me. “Hi, Carol.”

“Oh my word, Gemma!” She threw the towel on the reception desk and came right into my space, pulling me into a tight embrace. “My God, girl. How long has it been?”

“About eleven years.” I laughed. “It’s good to see you, Carol.”