Chapter Four

IN A QUARTER MILE, turn right onto Running Elk Road. Your destination is on the left.”

Willow let out a relieved sigh. What should have been a thirty-five-minute trip had taken almost an hour due to an accident on the road near Raindrop Lodge and a stubborn herd of mountain goats who created another roadblock a mile back.

Seated beside Willow in the front passenger seat, Aunt Helen observed, “Something I’ve wondered about—is there a way to make your GPS speak in a masculine voice instead of a feminine one?”

From the backseat, where she sat next to Emma, Genevieve replied, “Surely there is.”

“Remind me to google that later,” Aunt Helen said, glancing down at her phone. “I don’t have any bars here.”

They were out in the middle of nowhere, Willow thought. Her grip tightened around the steering wheel. How could she have brought her children to a place where cell phone service didn’t exist? What kind of mother was she?

Not as good a mother as her own—that’s for sure. Willow could always count on Genevieve Prentice. She always did what was best for her children. Even when she’d had her own little personal crisis, flipped out, and moved to Colorado, that had been the best thing for the family because it led to the truce in World War Prentice.

No matter how hard she tried, Willow would never be as good a mom as Genevieve.

She didn’t have her mother’s strength.

Genevieve hadn’t retreated from the world when her husband died leaving her with not two, but four—FOUR—children to raise. Nope, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and charged ahead. Fearlessly. Unlike Willow, who was afraid. All. The. Damned. Time.

Willow had been so relieved and grateful when her mother had arrived at the Raindrop Lodge cabin with Aunt Helen just as Willow started her car to retrieve Drew from the address on Running Elk Road. Genevieve had a knack of being there when Willow needed her. At least, she was there when Willow wasn’t pushing her away.

While Emma played with Willow’s tablet—screen rules be damned under these circumstances—her mother and Aunt Helen chatted almost nonstop. The conversation centered on the women’s ongoing feud with the county employee in charge of permitting and provided Willow a welcome distraction. Despite the primarily positive intel from Zach about Noah Tannehill and the fact that Drew had sounded just fine when she spoke to him, Willow’s worry and concern ratcheted up with every minute that passed. By the time she reached the entrance gate at 4743 Running Elk Road where a sign read the hideaway, she was strung tight as a guitar string.

Her son had been alone with a stranger for more than an hour. What if…

Stop it.

She followed tire tracks through the snow toward a large, attractive log mountain home. A second building on the property appeared to be what was popularly called a barndominium these days. Her gaze darted between the two structures. She was desperate to see her son.

Willow recognized that her anxiety level was overblown. Her mouth shouldn’t be this dry. Her heart shouldn’t pound this way. However, this is what she’d been dealing with for the past few years. Mrs. Eldridge, there’s been an accident. Mrs. Eldridge, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. He wasn’t buckled into the car seat, Mrs. Eldridge. Your son is lucky to be alive.

“There he is,” Genevieve said from the passenger seat. “Near the barn. What is that thing he’s holding?”

Willow heard the click of a seatbelt release, then Aunt Helen scooted the center of the backseat and leaned forward. “It looks like a fire extinguisher to me.”

A fire extinguisher! “What is he doing with a fire extinguisher?”

“Better than a fire starter, I’d imagine,” her aunt observed.

The tire tracks continued toward the house, but Willow veered off in the direction of the second building. She was thankful she drove an SUV equipped with snow tires, especially when she stomped on the brakes and the tires slid a bit before the vehicle came to a complete stop.

She cut the engine and bailed out of the SUV. “Drew, baby. Are you okay?”

“Don’t call me a baby, Mom,” he protested as she threw her arms around him and clutched him tight. “I’m fine.”

Thank you, God. Relief made her knees weak, but rather than collapse like she wanted to do, she rode the motherhood roller coaster and did her job. “Actually, you’re not fine. Andrew John Eldridge, you are in so much trouble! You had permission to walk up to the gift shop. What made you think it was all right to take off into the wilderness all by yourself ?”

“I didn’t mean to go into the wilderness, Mom. I thought I was taking a shortcut, but I got lost. I didn’t know which way to go. Then I found the creek, and I thought it would lead me to Mirror Lake, only instead, I saw this house. I was going to knock on the door and ask for help, but I got distracted by the North Pole.”

Santa Claus. The North Pole. “What are you talking about, Drew?”

“Look! I’ll show you!” He dropped the fire extinguisher and dashed around the corner of the building. Willow trailed after him, a follow-up question about the fire extinguisher on the tip of her tongue.

“See?” Drew pointed toward a wooden sign that read SANTA’S WORKSHOP. “I knew it wasn’t real, but I couldn’t help myself, Mom. I went inside.”

“Oh, Drew.”

“I know it was wrong to snoop, and I’m very sorry. I apologized really good to Mr. Tannehill.” Drew paused a moment before adding, “He doesn’t like Christmas at all. He’s like the Grinch when it comes to Santa Claus.”

Willow sighed. She could relate. Though she pasted on a happy face each year for the children’s sake, Willow would be content to skip the Christmas season entirely. The worst time of her life was tied to the holidays. She’d discovered her husband’s affair during a Christmas party. She’d made her decision to leave him while watching Drew’s rehearsal for the Christmas pageant at church. Andy had wrecked his car with their son aboard and died on December 14.

Distracted by thoughts of grinchery, Willow was slow to pick up on the tale her son had begun to relay about setting a dollhouse on fire.

“What? Wait!” Willow held up her hand, palm out. “Wait a minute. You set a toy on fire?”

“Not me. Mr. Tannehill. And it wasn’t a toy or an accident. He did it on purpose. And guess what, Mom? He let me put it out!”

So, the Grinch of Lake in the Clouds played with fire? And he’d encouraged her son to join him?

Anger flashed through her and, on its heels, concern. What sort of man set toys on fire to entertain a child?

Serial killers set fires. They tortured animals.

Drew continued in an excited rush. “He taught me how air is fuel for a fire and P.A.S.S to put it out. And if you’re ever in a burning building, touch the door to see if it’s hot before you open it!”

Willow walked up to Drew and took him by the shoulders. “Stop. Drew, hush. I need some context here. I want you to start at the beginning and tell me what happened. Slowly.”

He did his best. When he was finished, all Willow knew for sure was that her son had trespassed because a sign had been too tempting for an eight-year-old Santa believer to resist. Why he and his host had spent the better part of the hour occupied with fire, she still didn’t understand.

She knew she didn’t like it. Drew got into enough trouble on his own without encouragement from an adult. So why in the world would Noah Tannehill play with fire with Drew? Her gaze shifted from the workshop to the house and then back to her son. “Where is Mr. Tannehill now?”

“He’s in his house. Guess what? He has a cuckoo clock! I saw it when I went inside to take a poop. It was almost three o’clock, and I wanted to stay and watch it and see if it sounded like any of Auntie’s clocks do, but he told me I had to wait for you outside because he could hear your car, and you were almost here.”

“I see. Okay, then.” Willow made a scooting motion with her hand. “Go get in the car with Nana and Auntie and your sister, Drew. I need to thank Mr. Tannehill for helping you.”

And maybe give him a piece of her mind about mingling children and fire.

Not that she had much of a mind left to be doling out pieces of it.

As her son scampered away toward the SUV, Willow turned to the house. She was facing the back of it and could easily follow the footsteps through the snow to the back porch steps, but this didn’t feel like a back-door sort of call. She decided to walk around to the front.

The house was dark. She heard no music nor the sound of a television drifting from indoors. Certainly didn’t hear the barking of a dog or the mewl of a cat. She’d have believed the house to be empty had Drew not insisted that the man was inside.

Willow climbed the front porch steps, and when she didn’t spy a doorbell, she rapped three times on the door.

Nobody responded.

She knocked again, harder this time. Rap. Rap. Rap.

Silence.

Well, what now?

Good manners demanded she not leave without thanking him, but honestly, that was just an excuse. She wanted to meet this man in person. She wanted to look into Noah Tannehill’s eyes and take the measure of the man.

As best she could, anyway. She hadn’t always been the best judge of character, had she? Hello, Andy Eldridge’s ghost. I’m talking about you.

Willow remained haunted by the mistakes she’d made where her husband was concerned.

Stop. Don’t go there right now. This isn’t about what happened in your marriage in Nashville. It’s about today in Lake in the Clouds, where it’s time to play Mama Bear and make sure everything is on the up and up here on Running Elk Road.

She wanted to assess this stranger whose space her son had invaded. She needed to reassure herself that he’d had reasons for playing firebug with her son that went beyond psychopathic tendencies.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Nothing.

“Okay, then,” she murmured. She’d approach this from another angle.

Willow pulled out her phone and scrolled to Recents. Finding Noah Tannehill’s number, she typed out a text. This is Drew’s mom. I’m standing on your front porch and want to speak with you.

At least half a minute ticked by before her phone pinged with a response. Why?

I want to thank you. Among other things.

No need.

Well, yes, there is, too, a need. I can’t leave without speaking to you.

I’m busy.

Busy doing what? Torturing an animal? Setting another fire? Please. It’ll only take a minute of your time.

Another half a minute passed before he texted back. Did your kid get his stubbornness from you?

I’m afraid so.

Willow stared down at her screen, holding her breath. Finally, she heard footsteps approaching. She pasted on a smile as the door swung open. Her smile abruptly faded.

A fallen angel stood glaring down at her.

It was a fanciful notion. Ridiculous, really. Likely it popped into Willow’s head as a result of that paranormal romance she’d read last week. He did look a lot like how the main male character was described.

Noah Tannehill was absurdly handsome. His thick mahogany hair brushed the collar of a gray flannel shirt. His eyes were mesmerizing, a glowing cat’s eyes amber, though that didn’t come close to describing them. Willow figured she would need at least a dozen more adjectives to adequately do that job. He had strong, sharp bones and a complexion that appeared tan even in the middle of winter. His mouth was… well, Willow couldn’t tell how it was shaped because, at the moment, it stretched in a grim line to match his furrowed brow.

She was tall, but he towered above her—six foot three or four, Willow guessed. As he folded his arms across a broad chest, his shoulders appeared to be as wide as the front range of the Rockies.

Even with all that angry on, he was a beautiful man.

Okay, maybe he was a Ted Bundy type, after all.

“Well?” he asked.

Off-balance, Willow stuttered out the first thing that popped into her mind. “I’m a grinch, too. In fact, my sister calls me Grinchette upon occasion.”

“Excuse me?”

“Drew said you’re a bah-humbug type when it comes to Christmas, and so am I, so we have that in common.”

He folded his arms. “This is why you badgered me to answer the door?”

“I didn’t badger,” Willow defended. “I texted.”

“Multiple times,” he shot back. “That’s harassment. All because I played Good Samaritan to your kid.”

“I know. I’m a pest. It’s part of the job description when you’re a mother in today’s world.” Since she’d already dipped her toe in that particular pool, she might as well jump all the way in. “May I use your bathroom, please?”

Noah’s mouth gaped. “What is it with you people?”

“I have my grandmother’s small bladder. It’s a trial.”

He hesitated for a long moment, and Willow wondered if he’d deny her request. What are you hiding, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Cranky?

Finally, he exhaled a little sigh, stepped back, and opened the door wider. “Fine. Be my guest.”

Willow darted indoors before he could change his mind. The inside of the house was neat and clean but sparsely decorated. It reminded Willow of how her brother Lucas decorated his home. Everything was functional, with leather and earth-tone fabrics. He kept no pillows on the sofa or throws draped artfully over the back of a chair. She noted the paperback book lying facedown and open on a table beside a chair and came to a complete stop. It was the same paranormal romance she’d read last week, the new release in a popular series.

Noah Tannehill reads romance novels?

Maybe he had a wife, after all. Or at least a girlfriend. He surely has a girlfriend. All Roman gods do.

Ted Bundy had girlfriends.

“The bathroom is the first door on the left,” he said, gesturing toward a hallway.

Willow offered up a smile and made her way to the indicated door. The bathroom reflected more of what she’d seen—practical and plain. Feeling a tad bit guilty despite her Mama Bear intentions, she snooped in the cabinet. Basic cleaning supplies and toilet paper. No tampons or makeup. No bloody knives or whips or chains.

She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes did look a little wild, her mouth pinched. Willow Eldridge, get a grip.

She exited the bathroom to find Noah Tannehill with one hip propped on a bar stool, drumming his fingers against the granite countertop. His expression, already dark, had turned thunderous. “Just what is it you suspect me of doing to your kid, lady?”

Willow opened her mouth to automatically deny the accusation but then hesitated. Had she been that obvious, or did he have a guilty conscience? Psychopaths didn’t have a conscience.

But she’d probably been pretty obvious, too.

She decided to play it down the middle. “Willow. My name is Willow Eldridge, and I sincerely want to thank you for calling to tell me where my son was. I also wanted to meet you in person. Drew wandering off the way he did this afternoon scared me to death, and when I’m scared, my mind can go to some very dark places. He’s only eight and—”

“I didn’t touch your kid,” he snapped.

“Oh, no no no. Not that sort of dark. I never went there.” Although come to think of it, she probably should have gone there instead of where she went. “But when Drew told me you’d been setting toys on fire, my brain went to torturing animals and Ted Bundy.”

He gaped at her. “You decided I’m a serial killer?”

She shrugged. “You are terribly handsome. Is your name Theodore, by chance?”

“Noah.” He chuffed a laugh. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m a mother.” Willow gave a dismissive wave. “Crazy comes with the territory.”

“And I wasn’t setting a toy on fire, either.” Now his voice held a note of defensiveness. “I demonstrated a firefighting training tool!”

“He said it was a dollhouse.”

“That’s what they’re called.”

“Why?”

“Because they look like a dollhouse. I make them in my workshop.”

“I meant why did you do the demonstration?”

“I had to do something to keep him occupied until you got here. The kid is curious.”

“So you thought it would be a good idea for him to play with fire?”

“I found him playing with fire.”

“What!”

He explained about Drew and the lighter and how his shop was filled with wood, sawdust, and other flammable materials. Again, Willow’s knees went weak. She stumbled toward his sofa, asking, “Mind if I sit down?”

“Could I stop you?” he grumbled.

“If your shop is such a flammable place, why do you leave lighters lying around?”

“I don’t. My torches and tools were properly stored in my shop. Your kid snooped. Like mother like son, it appears.”

Willow buried her face in her hands. “Is it Friday? I really wish it were Friday.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Why do you want it to be Friday?”

“Martini Friday. It’s so much better than Taco Tuesday. I limit myself to one martini on Friday evenings, but I could really use a drink today. That boy is going to be the death of me.”

“So this isn’t the first time he’s wandered off?”

“Actually, it is. And honestly, it’s a victory of sorts for both of us. Drew has been a clingy child.”

The look Noah gave said he didn’t believe her.

“It’s true. I’m sure it was my fault. He was involved in a serious automobile accident a couple of years ago, and afterward, I hovered. I’m trying to reverse that habit. Just like I’m trying to encourage the curiosity he’s currently exhibiting. But I’m learning that a curious child is a parenting challenge. I’ve traded one problem for another.”

And she didn’t know why she was babbling on about this. And yet she couldn’t seem to stop. “It’s hard being a parent in today’s world. Danger comes at your children in every direction. A mother hen gets whiplash trying to watch out for her chicks, and she ends up with scrambled eggs for a brain.”

“So that’s your defense for snooping in my bathroom cabinets?”

“How did you… never mind. I’m trying not to be an overprotective helicopter mom. No snowplowing the road ahead of my children. It’s one of the reasons we’ve come here to Lake in the Clouds. I want Drew to learn independence and self-reliance, and I thought it was safer to do that in the mountains than on city streets. But then I give him permission to walk by himself to buy a candy bar at the lodge, and he ends up treading thin ice. It’s disheartening.”

“I imagine so.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “Nothing wrong with watching out for your kid, Willow. Stranger danger and all of that.”

Willow shrugged. “But how do I raise children who aren’t fearful? I want my children to be safe, but I also want them to be strong and bold and brave. I want my kids to be brave. I want to be brave. If I’m always harping about safety, how will they have the courage to take a risk? How do I balance the message? My great-grandmother was only sixteen when she immigrated to America all by herself. What courage that took! And my grandmother used to send her children outside to play in the morning, and she’d tell them not to come home before dark. Such independence that fostered. Maybe my mother is so strong because she wandered the neighborhoods when she was young. That’s what I want for my children, but it’d be irresponsible to do that in Nashville. Maybe it’s irresponsible here, too.”

“If that’s what you want, then walk the walk.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ll learn more from what they see you doing than from what you tell them to do. You want ’em to be brave, then show them how brave you are.”

“That’s just it,” Willow said with a hint of a wail in her voice. “I’m not brave.”

“Sure you are. You just talked your way into a serial killer’s home to check for tortured cats.”

Her smile was slow in coming, but it dawned bright. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time. However, I didn’t say anything about cats. Though I guess I should make an excuse to check out your basement.”

“Be my guest.” He made a flourishing gesture toward a staircase. “I have a nice-sized attic, too. Been a while since anyone’s been either up or down, though. I live alone. Blessedly alone. Might want to take a broom with you to knock down the spiderwebs. Maybe some bug spray, too. Critter spray, just to be safe.”

She gave him a long look. “Are you looking for a cleaning lady, Mr. Tannehill?”

Maybe… just maybe… she saw the flicker of a genuine smile on his lips before he shrugged and said, “If the dust rag fits.”

He wasn’t a serial killer. He probably didn’t even have cobwebs in his attic. But after the past hour, Willow felt like she had bats in her belfry.

Finally confident her knees would once again support her, Willow rose from her seat on his sofa. “Another time, perhaps. I have a couple of appointments I’m late for already. Also, my mother and her sister are in the car with the children, and they’ll wonder what’s keeping me.”

“Brought along reinforcements, hmm?” he observed.

“I might be crazy, but I’m not stupid.”

“Won’t they be worried that you’ve been inside Jeffrey Dahmer’s lair for so long? Will they knock down my door and come after me with baseball bats?”

Willow smirked. “Have you met my aunt Helen? It’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”

“In that case, allow me to usher you quickly toward the door.”

She laughed. “Here’s your hat. What’s your hurry?”

“I’m not stupid, either. Your car is out back. Go this way and save some steps.” He escorted Willow through the kitchen toward his back door.

Before he opened it and allowed winter inside, she extended her hand. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Noah Tannehill. Thank you for your kindness to my son and for being a good neighbor and Good Samaritan. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you. I owe you.”

He hesitated a moment before extending his own hand. Only then did Willow notice the burn scars. Oh great. How appropriate that I’d end this encounter with a faux pas.

Because it wasn’t in her to ignore another’s pain, she asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore.” He clasped her hand and shook it. “Goodbye, Willow.”

“Good-bye, Noah. I’ll let you return to whatever you were doing before we invaded your world. But before I go, may I ask… do you make the other kind of dollhouse? My little girl turns five soon. I think a dollhouse would be a perfect gift for her. She’s just the right age.”

“Sorry, I don’t,” Noah said with a note of finality.

Willow shrugged. “Hey, never hurts to ask. Thanks again, Noah. Maybe we’ll see you around town sometime.”

“Don’t count on it. I stay swamped burying bodies.”

Willow laughed as she exited Noah Tannehill’s house. Nothing like ghoulish humor to brighten a girl’s day.

Leaning against the passenger-side door of Willow’s SUV, Genevieve watched her grandchildren roll a ball of snow destined to become the torso of a snowman. “You’d think they’d get tired of snowmen, but they don’t.”

“A field of fresh, unspoiled snow is difficult to resist,” her sister responded. Helen remained inside the vehicle, but had the back passenger window rolled down.

Genevieve frowned. “I wonder what’s keeping Willow so long? At this rate, she’ll have to reschedule her vendor appointments. It could prove to be a problem with only six weeks to the wedding.”

“Maybe she’s flirting with Noah Tannehill.”

Genevieve whipped her head around and looked at Helen with interest. “Now, why would you say that?”

“He’s gorgeous. I saw him in the post office around Thanksgiving. He’s the kind of pretty that makes a room full of women burst out into excited giggles in his wake.”

“Oh.” Genevieve glanced toward the house. “Interesting. I do wish she’d show some interest in men again. But as far as I know, she hasn’t dated since Andy died.”

“Actually, she has been dating some.”

The words struck Genevieve like a dart to the heart. On the one hand, she was thrilled to learn that Willow had taken that all-important step in moving forward with her life. And yet it hurt Genevieve that Willow would tell her aunt about it, not her mother. “I see.”

“Stop it, Genevieve,” her sister warned. She exited the SUV and stood beside Genevieve. Helen knew her better than anyone alive, so it was no surprise that she correctly surmised what Genevieve was thinking. Helen added, “There’s no need to get pissy about this. Last summer, Willow talked about it with Brooke when we all met in Texas at your Fourth of July get-together at the family lake house. I just happened to overhear.”

Genevieve’s sidelong look was sharp enough to cut steel.

Helen continued. “Okay, it’s possible I intentionally eavesdropped. The girls were downstairs in the playroom, and I’d come in to mix more Bloody Marys. When I heard Brooke mention the word divorce, my ears couldn’t help but perk up.”

“Mine would have, too,” Genevieve conceded.

“Willow was reassuring her sister that life did go on after a relationship ended. Then she said she spoke from experience and that her heart had healed to the point where she’d wanted to date again. She signed up on a dating app.”

Genevieve’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Willow?”

Helen responded with a knowing nod. “Surprised me, too. She said she’d been on two first dates that didn’t click. She had seen another man four times before deciding it wasn’t right. Brooke had just asked her if she’d slept with any of them when Drew ran into the house yelling for his mom. It was right after that boat ride where Lucas played Dastardly Boat Driver.”

Genevieve recalled the moment. Drew’s laughter and excitement had attracted the attention of the entire gathering. He’d giggled his way through a description of his “wild and wooly best ever” tube ride. It made everybody smile.

“Anyway,” Helen continued. “I cornered Willow afterward.”

“I’m sure you did,” Genevieve replied in a snippy tone. Helen wasn’t one who let a chance to learn juicy details pass her by.

“Willow told me that she’d been dipping her toes back into those waters but intends to go slow. Very slow.”

“And you didn’t tell me about it?”

“She asked me not to.”

Genevieve folded her arms, torn between hurt and curiosity. She pointed out, “You’re telling me now.”

“It was last summer,” Helen said with a shrug. “I figure the statute of limitations has run out on my promise.”

“Hmm.”

Helen gave her sister a considering look. “Hmm, what? I know that tone.”

“I don’t know. Willow’s dating again is just… curious.”

“Because Andy was the great love of her life? You think she should take more time to mourn? You waited an age after David died to go out with a man, as I recall.”

“No, that’s not it at all. Everyone mourns differently, and Willow is the only person who can know when it’s right for her to move on romantically. I just—” Genevieve shrugged. “I’ve spent more time with her in the past year than the previous five years put together. I’m picking up on something… I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is… but I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something she didn’t tell us about her marriage. I wonder if they were having problems.”

“Willow and Andy? Seriously? Why would you think that?”

“Just… I don’t know. There hasn’t been one thing in particular. Little comments she’s made from time to time. They made my antennae go up.”

“You haven’t asked her about it?”

“With my history on the subject? Not hardly.”

“Understandable,” Helen observed with a nod.

Genevieve’s and Willow’s rocky relationship had begun when her eldest daughter first brought Andy Eldridge home to meet the family. At the time, Genevieve and Willow had been very close, and Genevieve had been looking forward to meeting the man who put such bright stars in Willow’s eyes. But unfortunately, Genevieve hadn’t liked Andy that day. Something about him had sent her Spidey senses fluttering. Something struck her as off. She’d mistrusted him and refused to give Willow her blessing.

Willow didn’t take kindly to that. Genevieve’s unfounded suspicions about Andy caused damage to her and Willow’s relationship even to this day. They’d never gotten back to the closeness they’d shared before Andy came into their lives.

Not that Genevieve hadn’t tried. Andy proved himself over time, and Genevieve apologized to both her daughter and her beau for withholding her blessing. And yet Willow never quite forgave her. Their closeness appeared to be a thing permanently in the past. By the time he’d popped the question, Genevieve had been more than ready to dive in and throw a spectacular wedding, which she’d done.

Willow’s attitude had warmed during the wedding planning. The girl had a natural affinity for such a task, and they’d made a good team putting the event together, well, except toward the end when she went a little Bridezilla and didn’t like anything her mother suggested. Nevertheless, Genevieve had begun to believe that their troubles were behind them.

Then, shortly after the honeymoon, Andy accepted a job offer and moved Genevieve’s daughter to Tennessee.

Genevieve never felt like she had a place in Willow’s new life. News that Drew was on his way a short time later both thrilled Genevieve and broke her heart. She’d always dreamed of being a local nana. Learning to be a long-distance grandmother required a change of attitude, but she’d quickly learned to treasure the experience.

Now, though, she lived fifteen minutes from her grands. It had taken disaster for her old dreams to come true. While she never would have wished widowhood on Willow—been there, done that, understood the heartache—she was thrilled to have her babies close. Mostly thrilled, anyway. She’d get this disruption to her new life figured out. “Well, her marriage to Andy isn’t the issue here.”

Helen drummed her fingers against the car door. “Maybe not, but this could be a piece to the puzzle that is Willow. We should feel out Andy’s parents when they come up to help Willow with the kids before Jake’s wedding.”

“No, just let it lie, Helen. I’m happy Willow is dating again. More than anything, I want her to handle widowhood better than I.”

“You did just fine. You raised four awesome children.”

“I did that, and I’m very proud of them.” Genevieve’s lips lifted in a rueful smile as she added, “I wouldn’t have said that this time last year. They weren’t awesome children a year ago.”

“True. The boys, especially, were stubborn mules. If their grandfather had known the damage he would do to your family by the manner in which he bequeathed his ranch to y’all, I wonder if he’d have done things differently.”

“Maybe. It would have been nice to avoid World War Prentice. And yet it worked out in my favor because I moved to Lake in the Clouds, and I love it here.”

“I’m glad. You’re happy, and the Prentice family is better now.”

“I think so. I hope so. The wounds my family suffered are real. They may be scabbed over, but they’re not entirely healed. It takes time.”

“You have time.”

Genevieve thought about her birthday rushing toward her like an F5 tornado. “Time is our most valuable commodity, and we waste so much of it when we are young. I wish my children would recognize that and not repeat my mistakes.”

“What sort of mistakes?”

A kaleidoscope of scenes from her past flashed through Genevieve’s mind, and the sting of tears came with them. A dozen responses to her sister’s question hung on her tongue. She voiced the one uppermost in her mind. “I don’t want to be old with an empty life, Helen.”

“Well, thank you very much,” Helen said with a sniff.

“Oh, don’t be that way. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Well, we were talking about men and dating, for one thing. Not sisters. I have the best sister in the universe. She’s always there for me. If I don’t say often enough just how much I love her, how important she is to me, and how I’d be lost without her, then I am a wretched human being.”

“You are a wretched human being.”

Genevieve leaned over and rested her head on her sister’s shoulder. “I love you, too.”

They passed a few moments in silence and watched as Drew struggled to lift the second snowball and place it on top of the first, assisted by his four-year-old sister. Then Helen said, “This seems to be a good time for me to bring up something I’ve wanted to mention to you.”

“That sounds a bit ominous.”

“Not ominous. On topic, I think. But frank.”

“When are you not frank, Helen?”

“So sue me,” she said with a shrug. Then she drew a deep breath, met her sister’s eyes, and exhaled in a rush. “You’re doing it again.”

Genevieve blinked. “Doing what again?”

“You’re losing yourself in Prenticeworld.”

Genevieve’s defenses flared. “What do you mean?”

“Where the hell is Vivie? She’s disappeared.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Genevieve snapped. “That nickname was just a phase.” She’d tried calling herself Vivie when she’d first moved to Colorado, but it hadn’t fit.

“Well, call yourself what you want, but that Genevieve was a lot of fun. That Genevieve was focused on reinvention and revitalization. That Genevieve went snowmobiling and danced across an Alpine meadow. This Genevieve…” Helen’s voice trailed off.

“What?” Genevieve said testily.

Helen lifted her nose into the air. With lemon in her tone, she said, “Babysits.”

Genevieve folded her arms. “I don’t babysit. I have nana playdates with my grands. What’s wrong with that? I’ve been waiting for eight years to be able to go and have special times with them.”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. I know how much you love Emma and Drew and enjoy spending time with them. But…”

“But what?”

“Do you know how often you’ve turned down an invitation from friends and family because you had to babysit? You skipped the bridge club’s Telluride ski-and-spa trip.”

“I took the children to see the Eternity Springs hot-air balloon festival that day.”

“You totally blew off the Friends of the Museum winter gala.”

“That wasn’t because of the children. I didn’t have a date.”

“Half the people there didn’t go with dates. You were too tired to go because you spent the day sledding with Drew and Emma.”

Genevieve started tapping her toes. She felt like she was under attack. “Look, I’ve waited a long time to be an in-town grandmother. Playdates are important to me. Doing things with Emma and Drew when it’s just the three of us has added a new and special dimension to our relationship.”

“Fine. If that’s what you want, great. I’m just pointing out that it’s a change—a big change—from what you said you wanted when you moved here. You even missed a meeting with Gage Throckmorton and the architect about The Emily renovations. You claim the project is special in your heart, and here you go alienating Gage. So much for Vivie finding love again.”

“I rescheduled! Gage wasn’t upset. He understands grandchildren, and I am not setting my sights on him. And for the love of a good cabernet, would you stop using that name!”

“Okay, Nana.”

She said it in such a snippy tone that Genevieve couldn’t stop herself from firing back. “You’re just jealous.”

Helen folded her arms and arched a brow. “Oh? Of what?”

“I’m spending time with them instead of you.”

Pursing her lips, Helen studied Genevieve with narrowed eyes. Then, after a moment, she nodded regally. “I concede the point. I had a year with the new Genevieve when I didn’t have to compete with anyone for your time. I enjoyed that. I miss that. I miss you.”

Genevieve sighed as the starch went out of her. Helen’s complaint was valid. Genevieve had missed the sister time with Helen, too.

Helen continued, “However, this isn’t only about me. It’s about you, too. This is a caution. I see you slipping back into your old ways, where you always put your children’s needs, wishes, and desires before your own. You worried about backsliding last year when we arrived home from Europe and discovered that your children had descended upon Lake in the Clouds. Well, you handled your children just fine. It’s your grandchildren who have you tumbling down the mountain. Those grandchildren turn you to mush, Genevieve. You don’t want to be old and empty and alone? Then you need to find some balance.”

Darned if those tears didn’t flood her eyes again. Genevieve blinked them away. She kept her gaze focused on Emma and Drew as she asked, “I’ve hurt your feelings, haven’t I, Helen? I’m sorry. That’s the last thing I ever want to do. I meant what I said earlier. You truly are the world’s greatest sister.”

“Thank you. But look, you’re not responsible for my feelings. You certainly don’t owe me any particular percentage of your time. Maybe I get a little green-eyed and lonely when you choose the kiddos over me, but that’s on me. Not you.”

“I don’t choose them over you, Helen.”

“Okay, maybe that’s not the best word choice. It’s a weird sort of sibling rivalry that doesn’t involve siblings and reflects poorly on me. However, remember what Mama always said to us. ‘Begin as you mean to go on.’ You need to set some nana boundaries, Genevieve. Right now, you host nana camp every single day.”

“Playdates. We have playdates. And I want my nana playdates!”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t have them. I’m saying that time is precious, and you need to be in charge of yours. What if Willow decides to make this move permanent? Will daily playdates become permanent, too? Will you ever be free to jet off on a last-minute trip with me again? This brings us to Bora-Bora. You never gave me an answer.”

Genevieve winced. “I want to go. You know I do. But when we talked about a sisters’ trip this winter, I didn’t know I’d be hosting a wedding in March.”

“At the risk of pissing you off even more, I’m going to point out that you aren’t hosting the wedding. Jake and Tess are doing it, and they’ve hired someone to oversee planning and execution. Times have changed, Genevieve. Children are marrying later in life and paying for their weddings—as well they should. You’re an honored guest at this wedding, not the hostess.”

“Okay, you’re right about that, but Willow needs my help with the children.”

“So that’s your answer about the trip. It’s nana time, not sister time.”

“We could go later—”

“I’m leaving next Tuesday.”

Genevieve drew in a quick breath. “You’re going without me? You’re going alone?”

“Not alone. Linda Bartlet is going with me. You are welcome to join us if you’d like.”

Helen might as well have slapped Genevieve across the face. She’d invited Linda Bartlet? “But it’s supposed to be a sisters’ trip!”

“Well, that’s how we originally planned it, yes.”

“You couldn’t wait for me to be able to go?”

“I could have. I chose not to wait. You’re not the only person growing older, Genevieve. The sands of my hourglass are draining, too. If I don’t go to Bora-Bora now, I may never get another chance.”

Genevieve closed her eyes. Helen was right. Their lives could change in an instant. Genevieve had learned that hard lesson early when her husband died from a heart attack at the ripe old age of thirty-nine. None of us were guaranteed another day, and advancing age made that all the more apparent.

If she didn’t make that South Pacific trip now, she might never see that part of the world.

And yet she’d dreamed of nana playdates since Willow and Andy announced their engagement. She wanted to make memories with her grands while she had the chance, memories that would live on in the little ones’ minds long after she was gone.

She wanted both. She wanted to be Supernana and the new Genevieve she’d been becoming over the past year. While the nickname Vivie didn’t suit, the spark of newness and life it represented did. But it didn’t end at Nana and Genevieve/Vivie, did it? She had the “mom” part of her to consider, too. Mom could also use some TLC.

Genevieve desperately hoped that Willow’s presence in Lake in the Clouds would lead to a continued improvement in their mother/daughter relationship. She loved her daughter wholeheartedly and wished desperately to reclaim that closeness they once shared. Things were better than they’d been, but issues remained. For instance, Genevieve still wasn’t sure what she’d done to drive the wedge deeper between them when Andy died. She’d like to know, but she guessed she didn’t need to know. She simply wanted it fixed.

She couldn’t fix it if she was in Bora-Bora.

“Oh, Helen. I’m so torn.”

“I understand.” Helen gave her shoulders a shrug. “Honestly, I do. I’m trying to make the point that I don’t care if you decide you want to babysit—excuse me, have a playdate—eight hours every day. Just make certain that Genevieve is doing what is right for her, rather than Mom and Nana doing what her family needs of her.”

Her sister understood. Genevieve’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re the only person who sees all three of me.”

Helen quipped, “The three faces of Genevieve. Ooh, someone should make a movie.”

Recognizing the reference to a 1950s movie classic, The Three Faces of Eve, Genevieve gave her head a toss. “Now, there’s a great idea, although the plot needs tweaking. Instead of strangling her daughter, the protagonist chokes her sister.”

“Made you murderous, have I?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Genevieve heaved a sigh. “I hear you, Helen, and I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but I’m so mixed up right now. The ground is shifting beneath my feet. It’s a question of roles and reinvention and balance. Who do I want to be now that I’ve finally grown up? I thought I had it figured out six months ago, but I think the only thing I’ve figured out is that I’m a snowflake.”

Helen spurted a laugh. “You? A snowflake? In what universe?”

Her gaze on her grandchildren, Genevieve corrected. “Actually, I’m a clump of snowflakes. I’m a snowball.”

“You’d better get back into the car, Frosty. You’ve been out in the cold too long, and your brain has frozen.”

“Not frozen. Transformed. I’ve transformed. Spring and summer and autumn are long gone. Now I’m winter. I’m thousands of individual snowflakes clinging together.”

Her sister made an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

Warming to the imagery, Genevieve ignored her. “But here’s the deal, Helen. My winter is in a constant state of change. When the sun comes out, I start to melt, which changes my shape. When another cold front rolls in, I refreeze. Then it snows, and I catch some more flakes. Right now, I’m a big fat snowball perched on an incline. I’m teetering, and I could start rolling any time. Straight downhill and headed for a tree trunk. No, wait. Make that a gravestone. I’m a snowball ready to roll into a grave marker.”

Clapping her hands together, Genevieve added, “Splat.”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m honestly a bit concerned at this point. Hypothermia can do strange things to a person.” Helen turned toward the children and called, “Emma? Drew? Y’all finish up your snowman. Everybody needs to get into the car to warm up. Your mom will join us soon.”

More quietly, she murmured, “I hope. I will start honking the horn if Willow doesn’t show up soon.”

“I am a little chilled,” Genevieve admitted. Chilled and confused, which was only natural, considering that her life-role desires were pulling her in different directions.

Helen grumbled. “Too bad we don’t have a Saint Bernard with a cask of brandy in the backseat.”

“I could use a drink. And someone warm to snuggle up against.”

“Now, there’s the most sensical thing you’ve said in minutes, Genevieve!” Helen exclaimed. “Why don’t you call Gage and invite him to dinner?”

“I’m not going to date Gage Throckmorton. It’s only been a year and a half since he lost his wife. He’s not ready for a new relationship.”

“I don’t know. Men tend to move faster than women following a loss.”

“Well, romance is the last thing on my mind right now.”

Helen shot her sister a meaningful look. “Maybe it shouldn’t be.”

“Drop it, Helen.” Genevieve’s gaze shifted toward Noah Tannehill’s home. “I do wish Willow would hurry along, however. We are wasting time, and that is a crime.” Genevieve looked at her sister and smiled. “Thank you.” She hugged Helen hard and repeated, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” Then, following a moment’s pause, she added, “Um, what for?”

“Because you’re right. As usual.”

“That’s true, although exactly what am I right about in this case?”

“I need a plan, some organization. I need to guide the snowball downhill. I need to find a balance between Mom and Nana and Genevieve.”

“Hear! Hear!”

“It will have to wait until after the wedding, though. As much as I’d love to go on the South Pacific trip, I just can’t. When my kids need help—truly need it—I’m going to help. It’s in my DNA. Willow needs help until after the wedding. I cannot switch granny gears until after the I dos are done.”

“Granny gears? Genevieve, please, no! You can’t stand the word granny.”

“But I like the alliteration. So sue me.”

“Do not ask me to use that word. I’ll call you Vivie, but I’m not touching granny. After all, I’m six years older than you are.”

Genevieve laughed as Emma came running toward them, her cheeks red with cold and her eyes shining. Drew followed on his sister’s heels. Both children were dusted with snow. Genevieve’s heart swelled with joy. She went down on one knee, heedless of the snow and the twinge of pain the movement caused her knees, and opened her arms.

Her grandchildren ran to her for a hug. Drew was safe and in her arms. Emma was safe, in her arms, and babbling about a lopsided snowman.

Willow approached from the direction of the house, a bemused expression on her face. And beside Genevieve, always beside her, Helen stood ready to help.

Genevieve met her daughter’s and sister’s gazes, thought about New Year’s Eve, and said, “Muffle.”

“Excuse me?” Willow asked as Helen snorted.

“My guiding word. I haven’t been paying attention to it, but that will change.”

Helen folded her arms and spoke in a false snippy tone. “You intend to muffle my advice?”

“Did I say that? I didn’t say that.”

Willow gestured toward her SUV. “Can you two continue this argument while I drive? I’m already late for my meeting with the caterer.”

“Excellent idea.” Helen turned and spoke to the children. “Drew, get into the car. Emma, come here, sweets. Let me buckle you in.”

Genevieve climbed into the backseat and sat between her grandchildren. Once Helen settled into the front passenger seat, Genevieve leaned forward and placed her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I’m not muffling your advice, Helen. It’s the noise. It’s always about the noise. You know what noise does to snow, don’t you?”

“Hon, I haven’t a clue.”

“Avalanche.”

Willow glanced at her aunt as she started the car. “What is she talking about?”

“It’s beyond me. Maybe we really should run by the ER. Perhaps she’s had a TIA.”

“No, I haven’t had a stroke. I’m muffling. I’m searching for that balance you’ve convinced me I need in the quiet. I can’t stop the melt, but I can control the roll.”

Helen glanced at Willow. “Your mother is a snowball.”

“That’s silly, Nana,” Emma declared.

“Sometimes a little silly is exactly what a nana needs.” Genevieve sat back in her seat, determined to enjoy the drive. Enjoy the afternoon and evening and tomorrow and the day after that. She would enjoy her role as the mother of the groom six weeks from now.

She could do this. She would do this.

After all, age need not be necessarily measured as time already lived. In terms of the time Genevieve had yet to live, statistically speaking, she was still middle-aged. Sixty was the new forty, right?

Yeah, well, tell that to your knees.

Well, snowballs didn’t have knees, did they? So she could—she would—enjoy this roll downhill.

Right toward the gravestone in the cemetery at the end of the road.

Splat.

Okay, this new attitude of hers needed some fine-tuning.

She turned her gaze toward the window and the snow-covered mountain meadow. Where did the time go? She’d been thirty-nine ten minutes ago, facing her fortieth. Now, sixty. That old saying about youth being wasted on the young… so much truth. And yet so silly to bemoan a birthday. Wasn’t she still on this side of the grass? Wasn’t she spending glorious time with her grandchildren, watching them grow and learn and thrive, despite losing their father so young?

Just like her children had lost their father. Oh, David. I wish you could join us on playdates. I wish you could be here to watch Jake marry the woman of his dreams. I wish you’d been here to grow old with me. I’m so lonely.

Tears welled in her eyes, and as she furiously blinked them away, Emma’s small hand stole into hers. “It’s okay, Nana. Don’t cry. I’m here.”

Out of the mouths of babes. “I know, sweetheart. I’m so glad. So very glad.”

The rest she’d get figured out.

In time.