Saturday, 8:50 a.m.
During the earliest years at Ridgepoint Ranch, Olivia Duran had believed giving birth to her first son, Dominic, would be her life’s greatest pain. She was nearly a child herself—only nineteen—and she’d had no idea what to expect. Labor lasted nearly two days, and toward the end, he got stuck. By the time he was wrenched free, Olivia felt as if she’d run a marathon while being pelted with rocks. Every inch of her ached.
But that wasn’t the pain that laid claim to the worst-ever spot. That came in the silence that followed when she waited for a cry that didn’t come and she looked over to see his newborn body limp, his skin with a bluish cast. It was hours before she was told Dominic would be okay and weeks before she believed it.
A couple of years later, when Olivia found out she was having another boy, although the pregnancy was planned, the fear hit first. Not again. Other mothers reassured her: The second birth is easier. And it was. After only half a day of labor, Adam emerged pink and screaming. She’d survived the worst of it.
How stupid she’d been.
Olivia released the arrow, but the tremor in her hand sent it several inches below the bull’s-eye.
Keep it together, Olivia.
Richard had built the simple archery range with his cousin Rocky’s help as a gift for their younger son’s sixteenth birthday: A couple of flat targets flanking a large foam goblin. Green netting to catch stray arrows. All of it circled by trees. It wasn’t much, but Adam, a huge Green Arrow fan, had greeted the gift with the enthusiasm of a boy half his age.
No way. Beaming. This is so cool.
He’d had only a couple of months to use the range.
Olivia’s gaze wandered to the trees, and she thought of the safety she’d once believed they offered—a buffer against the worst parts of the world. When they’d first moved to Plumas County, Richard suggested they install security fencing. Olivia had brushed off the idea. Who’s a threat to us here?
The idea had occurred to him because of his dad, of course. His father had been born in Quito. His parents met when Richard’s Santa Cruz–raised mom visited Ecuador’s capital with some university classmates. She’d extended her stay, and eventually they’d traded his home for hers—but according to Richard, Santa Cruz had never truly felt like home to his father.
When they inevitably divorced, his dad moved back to his family’s Quito home, then occupied by three generations of Durans. It was hidden behind a concrete wall topped with broken soda bottles. A young Richard had visited Ecuador only a few times before his dad died, but years later, he still remembered that wall topped with glass. The image stuck with him as surely as the memories of his great-aunt’s cooking, the long and sunny days, and the altitude sickness that had leveled him on his first trip. When he was a boy, that wall and being surrounded by family had made him feel safe. Loved.
Richard approached from behind and handed her a glass of water. “It’s already warming up.”
To mollify him, she took a drink, then set it down on a flat patch of earth, then looked around to make sure Goose hadn’t followed him out. She couldn’t have the dog wandering into her shooting line.
Seeing no sign of Goose, Olivia adjusted her bow and studied the target. She tried to still her hand and her body, wait for her shot between the gusts.
“Got a call from the mechanic,” Richard said. “The part for your car is in.”
Her hand tightened on the bow. Steady. She tried not to think about how that cracked radiator had ruined her life.
He said, “We should have it back the beginning of the week.”
“That’s great.” Olivia backed up a step and nocked the arrow on the bowstring. She pictured Richard’s face on the target and drew back the string.
“Who’re you picturing on that target?”
Startled, she released the string too soon. It snapped her arm, and the arrow fluttered to the ground several feet short. Even with the armguard she wore, the bowstring burned her wrist.
She took a step away from him and knocked over the glass of water. “Who says I was thinking of anyone?”
“The way you were staring at that bull’s-eye so intently. It was Meredith, wasn’t it?”
“You know me so well.”
He picked up the glass—always so helpful, her husband—and gestured to the bow. “You were too tight in your shoulders. May I?”
She handed him the bow and an arrow from her quiver.
Richard placed one finger above the arrow and two below. He stared down the target as intently as she had. He pulled the string back in a straight line, his hand cupped around it next to his cheek.
“You need a consistent anchor,” he said. “On the string and near your face.”
She’d taught him this, but she nodded as if he were reminding her of something she’d forgotten. She noticed a slight bend of his spine, and his elbow was pointed a little low. She predicted the arrow would go high and to the right.
He narrowed his eyes at the target. “Rocky loves that you spend so much time out here.”
Olivia’s jaw tensed. She tried for a casual tone. “Have you talked to Rocky lately?”
“Last night. Why?”
She placed a palm to her chest, reassured by her heartbeat. Most days, she felt as if her chest were filled with dust and ash. “Just wondering how he’s doing.”
Richard released the arrow but moved the bow away from his face a fraction of a second too quickly, obviously eager to see where the arrow landed. It lodged on the line between the blue and red circles. High and to the right, as she’d predicted.
“Damn.” He held out the bow. “He’s as good as he ever is.”
She took the bow from him and an arrow from her quiver. As she positioned it on the string, Richard said, “Nearly done out here?”
Olivia kept her focus on the paper target ten yards ahead. The thought of going inside turned her stomach. Out here, with her arrows and surrounded by trees, she could be invisible.
“Ten minutes.”
The wind calmed, and Olivia stretched her spine—she’d always had perfect posture. Elbow cocked, her fingers curled around the pressure point, index finger sitting gently on the front of the bow. She pulled the string back in one smooth movement, feeling the tension in it even as she forced her shoulders to relax. When she let go, her elbow continued backward, completing the motion.
The arrow landed in the middle of the center yellow.
As he smiled, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Guess you didn’t need my help after all.”
She smiled. “Lucky shot.”
Olivia walked toward the target. His stare was heavy on her back. She knew he watched. He always watched.
He called to her. “You’re stunning, you know.”
The slight catch in his voice brought heat to her cheeks. Now that she was in her early fifties, the compliments she received had asterisks. You’re in such great shape for your age. And I would’ve guessed you were ten years younger. Richard never qualified his compliments. He’d always accepted her exactly as she was.
In her life, he’d been the only one who hadn’t sought to change her. Even her parents had tried. Especially her parents. Her father had attempted to force her into a career in science, although she had no aptitude or interest in it, but her mother was worse. For Olivia’s twelfth birthday, her mother had given her a blue taffeta dress with Swarovski crystals sewn onto the bodice. “Isn’t it the most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen?” her mother had asked.
Though it was too loose and a couple of inches too short, Olivia nodded, because agreement was what her mother expected. Her mom’s need for control probably had roots in her own chaotic marriage. She couldn’t stop her husband’s transgressions, but she could force her daughter to wear taffeta and learn to play the violin.
Olivia had always taken pride in parenting better than they had. Until Adam disappeared.
She sometimes wondered if she should’ve let Richard install that fence. But it wouldn’t have protected Adam—not when the danger came from someone he would’ve gladly given the security code to.
When Olivia returned from gathering her arrows, Richard smiled and moved to leave. “I’ll tell Dominic you’re out here.”
Though they’d invited their son for brunch, he was more than an hour early. “Dominic’s already here?”
“I assumed you heard him arrive.”
Why hadn’t she? The archery range wasn’t far from the house. But she’d been distracted for days. She needed to pull it together, quickly, or Richard might suspect she knew his secret. “Where is he?”
Richard’s pause lasted several beats too long, and Olivia’s hand froze around the bow.
“Richard?”
“He’s in your office.”
Why would it matter that Dominic was in her office? It wasn’t even really her office anymore. Now that she was semiretired from her career in corporate communications, Richard and their daughter, Thea, used it more than Olivia did. “Doing what?”
“He’s on a call.”
She sighed in exasperation. “With who?”
“With Leyna Clarke.”
Her body grew as taut as a drawn bowstring. “Why’s he talking to Leyna?”
It was Richard’s turn to be exasperated. “How should I know?”
“You heard them talking.”
“I heard her name when I went in the kitchen to grab some pretzels.”
“You must’ve heard something more than that.”
“I was more focused on finding pretzels—which it turns out we’re out of—than on eavesdropping on our adult son.”
She couldn’t keep the pinch of irritation from her face. Wonder how stunning he thinks I am now?
“It’s Leyna,” she said. “Of course I want to know what they’re talking about.”
“I didn’t realize I’d been recruited as a spy.” He strained to keep his tone light, but she could tell he was annoyed. “And you’re missing the important part—we’re out of pretzels.”
Olivia blew out a long breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“It’s okay. We can pick some pretzels up at the store.” He grinned, but he studied her face as intently as she had the paper target. “What do you think about inviting Rocky over for brunch too?”
Olivia kept her eyes pinned to his. “Sure. We have more than enough.” She forced a smile. “Would you mind checking if we have asparagus for the frittata?”
They had several bunches in the crisper, but she needed the time alone to compose herself before going back into the house. In there, she could hide nothing.
“Of course,” Richard said. He added playfully, “Should I spy on our son too?”
Yes. And if you could record the conversation, that’d be great.
“No. It’s fine.”
Richard leaned in and placed a hand on the small of her back; his thumb made small circles there.
“Is everything okay, Liv?” he asked. “You seem distant today.”
“It’s the heat, I think. This weather always puts me on edge.”
She didn’t blame Leyna for what happened to Adam. She’d been only twelve at the time, and there were greater shares of blame for the other Clarke women—Grace and, especially, Meredith. But it was Leyna who’d tried to ruin her son’s memory, and Olivia could never forgive her for that.
She comforted herself with the thought that at least Leyna was in Reno, closer than Olivia would’ve liked but still an hour’s drive from her home and her son.
Richard’s thumb traced a last lazy circle on her back before he dropped his hand. “You’d tell me if something was wrong?”
“Of course,” she lied.
Olivia shifted away from him, but her skin still prickled where he’d touched her.