Prologue

Three days ago, Julia Bailey had ceased to exist.

She was no longer a mother, a wife, or anything that mattered.

Biting winds ripped the remaining copper and orange leaves from the looming Quaking Aspens, the rain trampling them, matting them to the soggy grass, plastering them to the tops of umbrellas. Her only shelter from the wind and rain was the large, black umbrella that had appeared over her the moment the service began.

Her mother-in-law touched her arm and Julia turned to look at her for the briefest of moments, before looking down the row at the rest of her in-laws. Michael’s family. They were all here, as they would be. Michael’s twin brother, Jack, head bent staring into the graves. He hadn’t looked at anyone today. The youngest Bailey sibling, Gwen, stood next to their father, softly crying into a white handkerchief. Her parents were on her left, silently offering comfort by their presence.

Julia turned from them, choosing to stare at the two dark boxes in the earth. Dignity and civility forced her to remain motionless. If she relaxed her muscles in the slightest, she’d dive right in beside her husband and son, and join them in their resting place.

The priest made the sign of the cross and his voice strained against the loud wind, his umbrella struggling to take flight. It was over. The mourners, comprised of family and friends, began a slow, careful walk across the muddy grounds of the cemetery to their cars. They would drive the short distance to the Bailey family home. Words like ‘tragedy’ and ‘horrible’ were plucked by the wind, floating and dancing their way back to her until the endless recital of adjectives made her want to cover her ears. They were the words that had followed her around the last three days. They were all weak words. Useless words. Hopeless words.

Her father took her arm. “Julia, let’s go to the car. It’s too cold to stay out here, sweetheart.”

She stared straight ahead. “Thank you, but no. You can leave. I’m not ready.”

There was a pause. Then a deluge of whispers.

“It’s all right, I’ll stay with her.” The deep voice, raspy and hoarse with pain belonged to Chase Donovan, Michael’s best friend. He was still holding the umbrella over her, and she knew no one would argue with him. Chase was as rugged and tough as Big Sky country.

She turned slightly, silent as she watched the family walk away. Only when they began opening car doors, far in the distance, did she walk forward.

Chase’s presence faded, even though the umbrella above her was a constant. Julia squeezed her eyes shut as she stood next to the open graves. She tried to suck in air. Instead, all the self-control she’d exuded during the funeral hissed out of her mouth and she collapsed like a deflating balloon, lifeless on the cold earth. The pain in her chest that had permanently entrenched itself inside her soul three days ago amplified until it erupted from her mouth in a heaving sob.

“Good-bye, my sweethearts,” she whispered, succumbing to the bitter knowledge that all her tomorrows would be without Michael or Matthew.

Rain battered the earth but not her body as the umbrella remained, hovering over her head like a dark halo. She rocked back and forth, her arms clutching her stomach, and prayer poured from her mouth. Prayer to be taken with them.

Her body leaned forward and she heaved, moaning like an old ship before it surrendered to the storm, before it broke under the pressure. But strong arms encircled her, saving her, lifting her up and away from the open earth and she wept with the knowledge that she would see tomorrow.