JUDGING BY THE SNOW ON TREVOR’S TRUCK, A GOOD eight to ten inches of the white stuff had fallen overnight. But this morning the sky was a cloudless blue, and the reflection off the snow almost blinded him before he put on his sunglasses. A California boy, born and raised, Trevor appreciated the beauty of the frosty wonderland all around him, but he wasn’t fond of the cold that came with it, or the slick roads. And from the look of things, he could be in for a very long winter with plenty of all three.
If I’m here that long.
He shook off the thought. He wouldn’t be of much use to himself or anyone else if he started wondering when he’d get out of here. He’d made a hasty promise to Brad Cartwright. He wasn’t sure he’d meant to keep it. In fact, after his disastrous first trip to Kings Meadow for the funeral, he’d tried to forget ever making the promise to come to Idaho, to spend time with Brad’s family. Brad hadn’t actually said he needed Trevor to help his family, but with all the things the guy had shared, he figured that was the reason. And since he didn’t know how to help, why keep the promise? But again and again over the past weeks, he’d imagined himself on the side of the road, holding Brad, telling him he’d be okay. And every time he’d imagined it, he’d remembered the promise. He couldn’t shake free of it.
So here he was at last, a stranger in a hole-in-the-wall town, hoping to do something for two people he didn’t know who would probably hate the sight of him.
A broom leaned against the wall inside the carport. Later he planned to ask his landlord if he could park in the empty space. For now, he grabbed the broom and went to work, sweeping the snow off the front windshield and hood of his truck. Next he got the scraper and made quick work of the frost that had formed on the glass.
The drive to the Merc on Main Street—the town’s one and only grocery store—took no time at all. Judging by the empty parking lot, he was the only customer at this time on a weekday morning. Or maybe it was the fresh blanket of snow that had kept shoppers at home. He parked close to the entrance and went inside.
A woman behind a checkout stand greeted him with a friendly, “Good morning.”
“Morning,” he returned with a nod.
“You need any help finding something, you let me know.”
It was obvious he’d been immediately pegged as a newcomer. He gave a second nod, grabbed a shopping cart, and started down the far right aisle.
The studio apartment he’d rented came with some basic household items—a few pots and pans; some plastic storage containers; table service, plates, bowls, and drinking glasses. Mr. Adams even provided one set of sheets, a couple of blankets, and a down comforter for the double bed, plus some cleaning supplies. Trevor was sure to discover more things he would need as time passed, but for now he would focus on food items. Mostly meals that were quick and easy to fix, since he wasn’t of much use in the kitchen. Pasta and seasoning from a box, add hamburger and water, and simmer for fifteen to twenty minutes. That was good enough for him most days. Plus it was cheap, and since he had no idea when or if he would find work in this remote burg, or how long he would be here, he would need to be careful with the money he had in savings. Right now it was a tidy sum, but he’d learned that could change in a hurry.
Life as a musician had had its ups and downs. Trevor had known times of abundance and other times of near famine. Nashville had never come pounding on his door, although there were times he’d thought it was about to happen. But as the years had gone by, he’d been less hopeful that he would ever have the success he’d craved. Stardom had eluded him. Instead of fame, he and the guys in his band had played bars and county fairs and music festivals, one after another, week in and week out. So many that they all blended together in his memory.
“You could have made something of your life. You could’ve had a real career. What a waste.” His father’s words were like a blow to the side of his head. They hurt, even now. The passage of time hadn’t helped at all.
Trevor gave his head a shake and tried to focus on what his next steps should be. Kings Meadow had at least one bar besides the one inside the Tamarack Grill. But Trevor doubted either place was looking for a singer and guitarist. Just as well. He needed to look for a different kind of employment while he was here. Although what that might be, he didn’t have a clue. Like most musicians, he’d put in hours as a waiter, a janitor, even a carpenter. What was it they said? Jack of all trades and master of none. Only that wasn’t quite true of him. He was a master with the guitar, and he had exactly the right kind of voice to make it as a country singer. He’d even written a few good songs, if only somebody in the business had been willing to give them a chance.
For the third time in less than an hour, he abruptly changed the direction his thoughts were headed. Going down that road, asking why, trying to figure out what he could have done differently, never got him anywhere. Never had. Never would.
His cart filled with a little of this and a little of that, Trevor pushed it to the checkout counter. The woman who had greeted him earlier began to run the items over the scanner and then bag them, the prices showing on a display to her right.
“You’re new to Kings Meadow,” she said after a few moments.
“Yes.”
“You got family in town?” She glanced up, curiosity in her eyes.
“No. No family.”
She passed five pounds of hamburger over the scanner. “Looks like you mean to stay awhile.”
This time he nodded, then shrugged. He might not have lived in Kings Meadow longer than a day, but he knew from Brad that it was tough to keep secrets in a small town. Trevor would just as soon keep his business to himself.
When the groceries were tallied up, he ran his credit card through the machine and signed the small screen. His receipt spit out of a slot on the register, and as the woman handed it to him, he asked, “Where would a guy go around here if he wanted to find work?”
Her eyes widened. “December’s a hard time of year to find a job.”
“I know.”
“Lots of folks drive down to Boise every day.”
Trevor didn’t like the sound of that.
“Kings Meadow doesn’t have an employment agency, but the mayor’s office usually knows if somebody’s looking to hire. You could try there.” She pointed out the glass front of the store. “Take Main back thataway a few blocks. It’ll be on your right. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” He put the last of the grocery bags into the cart. “You’ve been helpful.” He headed for the exit doors.
A place to stay. Food in the fridge. Hopefully some leads on employment. And then it would be time to see the Cartwrights.
With any luck, Penny Cartwright wouldn’t slap him a second time.
Penny dropped hay into the manger, then paused long enough to watch the mare inside the stall begin to eat. Harmony was an eight-year-old buckskin quarter horse, pregnant with her first foal. Penny’s dad had bought the mare as a graduation present the spring Penny received her bachelor’s degree. Then, early this year, he had worked some sort of trade with Chet Leonard in exchange for breeding Harmony with one of the Leonard champion studs. Dad wouldn’t tell her exactly what he’d traded since the stud service had been his birthday present to her. It was quite possible the foal would be worth more than anything else on her dad’s ranch, if all went well. Not that she would want to sell it.
With a sigh, she turned away from the stall. She had a few more horses to feed and scratch to throw around for the hens before her chores would be done.
Meow.
She looked up. Tux—Penny called Brad’s black-and-white cat “fourteen-pounds-of-don’t-touch-me”—paced the length of the loft, continuing to meow in that unfriendly way of hers.
“Your food’s inside, you no-good cat.” Then she muttered, “Not that you appreciate it.”
Her brother had been the only human Tux ever liked. When Brad was around, the feline had loved to curl up in his lap or on his chest and purr so loudly the sound seemed to make the room vibrate. But if anybody else tried to pick her up, Tux would hiss and sometimes lash out with her claws.
Suddenly Penny would have liked nothing more than to hold that nasty-tempered cat and pretend Brad was still able to do the same.
Fred and Ginger, the border collies, began to bark outside the barn, and Tux went into hiding. If the dogs were in the barnyard, that meant her dad had already returned from feeding the cattle. She’d better hurry with the rest of her chores.
But when the dogs didn’t stop barking, Penny moved to the barn door to look outside. A newer-model dual-cab pickup truck had pulled up near the front of the house. Penny didn’t recognize it, and the driver had yet to open his door. As she watched, her dad stepped onto the front porch and spoke a command that silenced the dogs. At last the driver got out and approached the house.
Since her dad didn’t call for her to join him and the visitor, she turned back to the last of her chores. The cold was penetrating her coat, hat, gloves, and boots. One more reason to move a little faster. Still, it was another twenty minutes or more before she entered the house through the mudroom. She removed her outerwear, hanging her coat on a hook and placing her boots beneath it. In stocking feet she stepped into the kitchen. The aroma of coffee whirled around her, and she knew her dad had made a fresh pot for his guest. She grabbed her favorite mug and poured herself some of the hot, fragrant brew. At this time of day, she would have preferred hot chocolate with marshmallows, but the coffee was ready.
Male voices drifted to her from the living room. She followed the sound, curious to see who was with her father. She stopped in the entrance to the living room and looked toward the sofa. The first thing she saw was Tux, on the couch, curled up against the visitor’s thigh.
Brad! Her heart raced at the thought. Her gaze darted up from the cat to the man’s face.
It wasn’t her brother, of course, but for a moment she couldn’t reconcile the truth. It took several more heartbeats for recognition to set in. When it did, she felt a new kind of chill travel through her. Her mind went numb. Her limbs refused to move. Her throat closed tight.
Him.
Trevor Reynolds put a hand on the cat to steady the feline before he stood.
It can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be.
He cleared his throat, perhaps waiting for her to speak first.
Get out. You don’t belong here.
“Miss Cartwright,” he said softly.
Two months ago, she’d slapped him. Shouldn’t that have been enough to make him go away and stay away? To stay away forever?
Her dad said, “Come in and join us, Penny.”
She broke free of the emotional chains that had held her still and kept her silent. “No . . . I . . . I’m going up to my room.” She turned quickly and hot coffee splashed out of the mug onto her wrist, scalding the tender flesh. With a small cry, she dropped the mug. It clattered to the floor and broke into several pieces.
“Penny!” Her dad’s voice seemed to come from far away.
Trevor Reynolds stepped to the opposite side of the entrance. “Let me help you,” he said. He squatted on his heels and picked up the pieces of broken mug.
For the second time, Penny was gripped by inertia. She couldn’t move or speak. All she could do was stare at him as he cleaned up after her.
He stood again. “I’ll take this to the kitchen.” He motioned to her hand. “You should run some cold water on that.” Then he walked away.
She tried to summon the fury that had sustained her the day of her brother’s funeral. It wouldn’t come. Not a bit of it. Only sorrow remained.
“Pen—”
“Not now, Dad.” The words came out as a whisper. “I . . . I need a few minutes.”
Feeling stiff enough to break into pieces, just like the mug, she went up the stairs to her room. Once there, she sat on the edge of her bed. The burn on her wrist stung. She tried to focus on the pain rather than on the man downstairs. What was he doing here, so far from Nashville? Was he cruel as well as careless? There was no good reason for him to have returned to Kings Meadow.
Her brother had thought the world of Trevor Reynolds from the very beginning. Brad had met the country singer at a music festival in Utah. Trevor had been kind to Brad, answering his questions, encouraging him in his love of music and the drums. But she hadn’t known until later that Brad and Trevor kept in contact after that first meeting. If she’d known, maybe she could have put an end to the deep friendship that had grown up between them in the years that followed. Maybe she could have steered her brother away from seeking a career as a drummer.
She closed her eyes, remembering the excitement in Brad’s voice when he’d called her last January. “He hired me, Pen. I’m going on the road with Trevor and the rest of his band.” She hadn’t congratulated him. She’d met his announcement with stony silence. Then he’d added, “This is the best day of my life.”
The best day of his life.
And it led to the last day of his life too.
Penny fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, her mind suddenly as empty as her heart. Time passed, although she didn’t know how long it was before a rap sounded on her door.
“Pen? Can I come in?”
“Sure, Dad.” She sat up as the door opened. “Is he gone?”
“He’s gone.”
“What did he say?”
Her dad entered the room and sat on the chair in the corner near the window. “We talked about Brad, about their friendship.” His voice dropped. “About the accident.”
“Oh, Dad. He shouldn’t have—”
“I asked him to tell me about it, Penny. It wasn’t easy, on either of us, but he honored my request and he answered my questions.”
“But why is he here?” she whispered.
“Did you forget Brad was bringing Trevor to Kings Meadow for Thanksgiving? He wanted us to know his friend. He wanted to show off his hometown and his family.”
She smiled sadly. That was just like her brother.
Her dad cleared his throat. “One of the last things Brad did was ask Trevor to promise he would come to Kings Meadow. That he would spend some time here. Trevor says he’s here to help us.”
“Help us? Why would Brad ask that? Trevor Reynolds can’t be any help to us except by staying far, far away. If it weren’t for him . . .” She let the words trail into silence.
Her dad raked both hands through his gray hair as he sighed. “He doesn’t know exactly why. Neither do I. But I’m sure your brother had good reasons.” Unshed tears made his eyes glimmer.
“Oh, Dad.” She rose from the bed and went to him, kneeling on the floor and pressing her cheek against his chest.
He stroked her hair for a long while, silence filling the room. But eventually his hand stilled and he said, “We owe it to Brad to discover why he sent Trevor to us. Your brother had a purpose. I know that much.”
Another objection rose in her throat. She swallowed it back.
“God must have a reason as well for sending him here.”
She sat back on her heels, her gaze meeting her dad’s.
He leaned toward her. “Don’t allow anger to take you hostage, my girl.” He kissed her forehead. Then he stood and offered a hand to draw her to her feet. “Whatever the reasons are, I think you’d better get used to seeing Trevor around. I have a feeling he will be here for a while.”
Get used to seeing him? She couldn’t believe her ears. Get used to Trevor Reynolds being in Kings Meadow? Never. Not if she lived to be a hundred.
The visit to the Cartwright ranch had gone both better and worse than Trevor had imagined. Rodney had been kind and polite. No, he’d been more than that. He’d seemed concerned for Trevor as they’d spoken of difficult things. There had been no blame on his face or in his eyes. Sadness, yes. Grief, to be certain. But no blame. Trevor had expected judgment, anger, possibly harsh words, and instead had been welcomed by Brad’s father with the warmth of a long-lost friend.
However, Brad’s sister was another story. Trevor had hoped her feelings toward him had mellowed over the last two months. It was obvious they hadn’t. Perhaps they’d even worsened.
Back at his rental, Trevor went to work, getting the place in order. He unpacked the remainder of his clothes. The closet was barely adequate. However, the built-in dresser had ample space in its wide drawers. He left his guitar case in the corner near the faded green-and-red plaid sofa. Although he’d never been the sentimental type, he did have a framed photo of his parents at their fortieth anniversary party and another of him and his band that had been taken a couple of months before the accident.
Look at those grins.
Life on the road hadn’t been easy all the time, but they’d loved playing together, the four of them. And their youngest member had fit right in from the start.
His chest ached as his gaze fastened on Brad. He’d really liked the kid. Loved him like a little brother. Maybe because Trevor had been a lot like him at the same age. Except for two things: Brad’s faith and Brad’s patience. Trevor didn’t have much of either. And when it came to the career he had always wanted, he hadn’t been willing to wait for his chance at stardom. He’d abandoned college and headed for Nashville at the age of nineteen, certain that it wouldn’t take him any time at all to make it in the music business. Like about ten thousand other kids with a little talent and a lot of hope.
Trevor gave his head a slow shake and turned from the shelf where he’d set the photographs. No point running those memories through his mind again. Not even the good ones. Because if he kept it up, eventually he would find himself remembering painful moments too. His thoughts would churn as he considered ways he might have changed his present by doing or saying things differently in the past.
With determination, he completed his unpacking. Then, stomach growling, he took a package of hamburger out of the refrigerator and made his dinner.