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The road south to Whitefish was bright with promise. Cloudless blue skies delineated the tips of lodgepole pines and the bright islands of aspens. Cottonwoods dominated the skyline along streams that flowed from the snowpack to the lake. With most of the past winter’s deposits gone, the water flows had turned to trickles.
The classical playlist she’d made provided the perfect background music to the scenery.
Just a few more tasks to be done and she’d be on her way back to California, just in time to get ready for the school year. She’d accomplished a great deal in the past week. Larry had come to make the few final repairs and was happy to have his pick of the stack of things she was giving away.
The piano had sat unplayed, and Kelly had pushed aside any desire to stay in Montana. She wasn’t going to uproot her stable and successful life to satisfy a whim ... or a man. She wasn’t running away from Ryan. She was simply leaving.
Someday, when the time was right, she might move on to a second relationship—or third if she counted whatever went on with Ryan. Time would allow her to relegate John’s continued infidelity to the past where it belonged. Her long-ago crush on the man in Montana could be delegated to the land of fantasy, where it obviously belonged. An aging handyman quilter determined to live a quiet life in the woods was obviously not the man for her.
After weaving through the morning streets of Whitefish, she headed to the attorney’s office, where he had some final papers for her to sign.
“Good morning, Kelly,” he said when she arrived. “Coffee?”
“That would be wonderful.”
“So you’ve decided to go back to California,” he said once they were settled.
“Yes.”
“Henrietta would be disappointed. She had great dreams of you taking over her work.”
“I’m not suited for it, I’m afraid. And definitely not ready for life in the big woods.”
He chuckled. “It’s too bad you’ll miss fall, though. It’s a really magical time of year. The tourists are mostly gone, and we have Glacier back to ourselves. The animals seem to know they’re protected there, and there’s more chance of seeing something very unique. You haven’t lived until you hear an elk bugle!”
There was one thing to be said about Montanans. They loved their state.
“I’m sure,” she said. “You said there were things for me to sign.”
“Yes. They’re here in this folder.”
He guided her through the several pages of legal documents, explaining them as he went. When they were finished, he smacked the edges on the desk several times and put them back into the folder.
“You have sixty days to change your mind,” he said. “After that, everything will be filed and the place put up for sale.”
“You can do that if you want, but I’m ready to let it go as soon as I get on that plane next Friday.”
“It’s what Henrietta wanted.”
“Okay, then.” She rose and held out her hand. “Thank you for all your help. It was an interesting trip. I look forward to getting everything finalized.”
He gripped her hand with both of his for a few seconds. “I hope you’ll be happy in California. Good luck.”
“Thank you.”
She should have felt elation at being done when she left. Instead, a whisper of sadness claimed her.
Walking back to her car, she decided to take one last stroll around Whitefish, maybe pick up lunch before she headed back to Promise Cove. Maybe she’d stop at the same restaurant she’d gone to with Ryan, reinvigorating one last memory of what might have been to take home with her.
She was being stubborn and more than a bit afraid. Impulsive decisions had never been a factor in her life, so making the decision to return to her own life made all the sense in the world. If only it didn’t feel so wrong, like she was losing out on something wonderful because her comfortable rut felt safer.
Her comfortable loafers didn’t make a sound on the wooden sidewalks that lined a part of the main street. Overhangs gave the place a Western feel, not that it needed it. The tall, granite-topped mountains surrounding the town provided that. An outdoors vibe, similar to that of Vermont, made its presence known in ski, hiking, and outfitting shops. A few galleries and tourist shops were interspersed with restaurants. A distillery was tucked around a corner.
She paused here and there, trying to imagine what some of this charm would do to a place like Promise Cove. Maggie was determined to put the cove on the map, turning it into a destination instead of just a pass-through. Would that save it or ruin it?
The idea of a performance space was solid, but the town would need more infrastructure to support it: a few more restaurants and nice places to stay overnight. Not everyone was fond of sleeping in a tent.
The skills she’d built up raising money for charitable causes and serving on boards over the years would have been valuable to Maggie’s efforts. But like staying in Montana for a man, staying here to support someone else’s cause didn’t make sense, did it?
But what was she going home for?
She wandered into an upscale tourist shop. Paintings and photos lined the gray planked wall, while cute carved bears, native-made soaps, and other creative souvenirs stood on rustic wooden shelves. A photo caught her eye.
It was Promise Cove. The view was one she’d seen many times from her grandmother’s property. She stared at it, tears beginning to form in her eyes. This was the view she’d just signed away, the one her grandmother had created and done her best to keep going in order to pass something on to Kelly.
But she’d refused the gift.
Her heart ached as she picked up the photo. She turned it over to identify the photographer: Pamela Cuzins. The name sounded familiar. Oh, yes. Pamela had been proposed for her mini-retreat.
Kelly checked the price on the photo and was surprised at the cost. It was way too low for the quality of the work.
She took the print to the cashier and paid for her purchase. “This is really a steal,” she said to the cashier, who’d identified herself as one of the owners. “The artist should be charging much more for this type of work. I’m from California, and we’d easily pay twice that price for something this good.”
“Oh? Really?” The owner pulled out a notebook, checked it, and nodded. She scribbled something on a sticky and stuck on the page. “I’ll check into that. We like to see that our artists are paid fairly. Thank you.”
Kelly smiled as she left the store. Score one for Promise Cove.
# # #
FINALLY! RYAN HELD up the cassette he’d never lost in all his travels but had somehow buried in the most remote closet in his cabin. He’d always kept a small player with him. Technology had definitely improved, and now was the time to transfer the contents to something more permanent.
Using the computer, he cleaned up the sound and transferred the recording to a CD, then created a cover from a picture he’d taken a long time ago.
Now the only question was when and where to give it to Kelly.
Would it do what he needed it to do? And if it didn’t, how far would he go to get her love again?
Maybe they could work out a duel state life: warm weather season in Montana, winter in California. Lots of people did that. There had to be solution. Kelly was too vital to his life to let her go again. He just had to convince her to give them a chance.
# # #
KELLY WAS HEARING THINGS. Somewhere, a Berlioz piece was playing. It had once been a favorite of hers.
Then she heard the same mistake she always made.
Putting her grandmother’s journal down, she stood from the rocking chair, causing it to thud back against the wall. She walked around the side of the house to the porch by the kitchen. A small speaker sat on a table near one of the Adirondack chairs. Next to it sat a CD case. Picking it up, she stared at the cover. The title overlay a picture of her from a long time ago. It said simply: Kelly, The Inaugural Album.
There was only one person who would have a picture like that. The squeak of a board made her turn.
Ryan stood with a bouquet of flowers, a hopeful smile on his face.
Kelly’s hand went to her mouth.
“Did you do this?”
He nodded. “These are for you.” He held out the flowers, a shy teenage boy in a man’s body.
She took them and breathed them in deeply.
She should say something. But what?
“Whenever you practiced, I was nearby listening.” He pointed to a group of aspens at the back of her grandmother’s house. “I think Henrietta knew I was there, but she never let on. One day I decided to make a recording so I could listen to you all winter. I wanted the feeling you were close, even though you were almost a continent away.”
“I used to look out my window—it faced west—and imagine we were together somewhere, floating in space between two worlds.” The longing to be with him had been incredible. Where had it disappeared to?
She picked up the CD and stared at it, her heart bursting with the memory of playing her heart out for an imaginary audience. It turned out the audience wasn’t totally in her mind.
Ryan stepped closer.
“I’ve been an idiot. I never let you know how I felt as a kid, and I sure haven’t let you know how much I feel now.”
“And what do you feel?” she asked.
He hesitated, then seemed to gather himself. “I love you.” He went silent, as if he were a stunned by the words as she was.
“But how ... you hardly know me.”
“I know what’s important. I know you from your music.” He gestured to the CD. “And I know your heart from how you played and how you lived your life. Even though it wasn’t the one you wanted, you were steady and true. That matters. You matter.” He took the flowers and CD from her hands and laid them on the table.
He clasped her hands in his. “I’m hoping you believe in third chances.”
Did she? This was sudden. Too sudden. Her mother’s training kicked in. They hadn’t been dating long enough. They’d barely dated at all. He lived too far away. They’d never make it work.
Then she looked into his eyes.
This was Ryan. She’d known him once, and she knew him still. He was dependable, trustworthy, and set her pulse racing whenever she saw him, although she’d never admit that to anyone else.
“How ...?” she began.
“We can live in California in the dead of winter if that suits you.”
“But what about my job?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
He was trying to meet her halfway. She needed to try.
“I could try to run the retreats,” she said, a quaver in her voice.
“You could, but either way, I think there is an answer. Provided, of course, that you love me. You haven’t said.”
Did she?
Would she allow herself?
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
“Then that’s all that matters. The rest of it are just logistics. And speaking of logistics ...” Dropping to one knee, he pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it. “Will you marry me?”
For a nanosecond, the old rules hammered at her. It was too soon. He was the wrong type of man. What would her children think?
She kicked them to the curb.
“I will.”
All smiles, he slid the ring on her finger, a silver setting with a polished blue stone that reflected hidden depths, like the man who gave it to her. “It’s a yolo sapphire,” he said. “It’s Montana’s stone.”
“I love it.” She looked up at him. “But not as much as I love you ... or the idea that someone will keep me warm in the winter.”
He laughed. “I’ve taken care of that, too.” He indicated an envelope stuck in the flowers. “Open that.”
Eagerly, she tore it open.
“Hawaii!” she yelled.
“Yes, my love. Hawaii in February when Montana’s at its coldest. Or if you are teaching, we’ll change the tickets and go when California is at its wettest and you are on winter break. As long as you’re with me, that’s all that matters,” he said.
“I’ll be here for the rest of your life.” She wrapped her arms around him and coaxed him toward her for another kiss. “I love you,” she whispered again. “It was always you.” She slipped her arms around his neck and tugged him closer.
She sighed as their lips touched. At last they were together.
