Big Sky River. Linda Lael Miller
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airplane at all? It would be like him to set up Tara for a disappointment like this. He was a man with a score to settle, in his own opinion at least, and he could be ruthless at times.
No, her sensible side argued, as she locked doors and put away the pitcher of lemonade in the refrigerator. This visit from the children wasn’t something James was doing for Tara’s sake, certainly, or even for that of his daughters. The whole thing was all about him, what he wanted. And that was some “alone-time”—read: lots of impromptu sex—with this Bethany person. The deal was simple enough: if he didn’t send the twins to Tara in Montana, he wouldn’t get that.
Calmer now, Tara fed Lucy, let her outside, let her back in again. She watched the news on her small kitchen TV, the only set in the house, and shut it off when, after fifteen minutes or so, the programming looped back around to the beginning.
Tara retreated to her study, keeping her cell phone close at hand, and logged on to her computer to check her email. Nothing from James, nothing from the twins. She frowned, worried in spite of all her best reasoning.
Lucy, curled up on the hooked rug in front of the bookcase, gave a little whimper of shared concern. She was just one big fur-covered heart, that dog.
Finally, the phone made a familiar ting sound, signaling an incoming message.
Tara fumbled for the device, holding her breath, and peered at the screen. Sorry it took so long to get back to you, James had texted, but Bethany managed to book the kids’ flights, and here’s the info. The name of the airline followed, along with departure and arrival times.
There was nothing about the return trip, and Tara tried not to read anything into that. She couldn’t afford to hope for further miracles, because the letdown would be crushing. This was a visit, not a homecoming, she reminded herself firmly, and Elle and Erin would be going back to New York.
For now, though, it was enough to know that James hadn’t pulled out the proverbial rug from under her as she’d feared he would, and this wonderful gift of a thing was actually going to happen. She was about to see them again, Elle and Erin, the daughters of her heart if not her body, the very next morning. They’d arrive in Missoula at eleven-fifteen and come out through the security gate a few minutes later, and she would hug them and hug them, and then she would bring them home with her and treasure every moment spent in their company.
Tears of joy and relief filled Tara’s eyes, and her hand trembled so that she nearly dropped the phone before she managed to text back, I’ll be there to meet them and make sure they call you right away. Thank you, James.
He didn’t respond, being James. Problem solved, on to the next challenge.
Elle and Erin were as good as on their way, and that was all that mattered to Tara.
She swiveled around her office chair, phone still in hand, and saw that Lucy was sitting up now, watching her, totally alert to every nuance.
Tara laughed and reached out to ruffle the dog’s silky ears. “You’re going to love the twins,” she said, knowing it was true, “and they’re going to love you right back.”
Lucy seemed to take her at her word, wagging her tail and donning a dog grin.
It took a long time to get to sleep that night—every time Tara closed her eyes, she thought of something fun she and the girls and Lucy could do together, or something she wanted to remember to tell them, or ask them, and then she was wide-awake again.
She got up once for a drink of water and found herself at the bedroom window once more, looking across the narrow, moon-streaked finger of Big Sky River. There was a light on in Boone’s trailer. What was he doing up at this hour?
Of course she knew it was none of her business what Boone Taylor was doing over there in his ramshackle double-wide in the middle of the night, but something kept her at the window just the same, and for a long time.
When the light eventually blinked out, Tara went back to bed, and this time, she slept.
* * *
AS GOOD AS HER WORD, Opal was on Boone’s doorstep bright and early that first morning after the boys came home, wearing one of her flowery homemade dresses, clutching her big faux patent-leather purse to her ample bosom and grinning wide.
Yawning, still clad in the backup sweatpants he’d put on after Fletcher’s bed-wetting episode, though he’d pulled on a T-shirt to answer the door, Boone let her in. Opening the door always reminded him that the inside of the double-wide was a kind of vacuum—there was a faint whoosh, more feeling than sound, whenever anybody came or went. It was a little like living in a refrigerator, except warm.
“Is there coffee?” Opal immediately wanted to know. Her eyes were bright with purpose, like her smile.
“Not yet,” Boone said, yawning again, smoothing down his sleep-rumpled hair with a motion of one hand. The boys were still out of commission, this time in their own bed. The three of them had had to vacate his, of course, and he’d washed and dried the sheets during the night, and crashed on the couch while he was waiting for the last cycle to finish.
Opal made a tsk-tsk sound. “I declare,” she fussed good-naturedly, heading resolutely for the coffeemaker. “How do you get through a single day on your own?”
When Boone noticed her purple high-top sneakers, he couldn’t help grinning. Then he remembered that Bob was under the knife at that very moment, and a lot of hard things would happen before his good and inherently decent brother-in-law got back to normal, that Molly and the kids would suffer, too, by extension.
“I depend on the kindness of strangers,” Boone said cheerfully. He knew Opal’s question hadn’t really required an answer—she’d merely been reminding him that he needed a wife.
Opal thought every single man in the world needed a wife.
As for how he managed, well, he got through his days the way most everybody else did, he reckoned—by showing up and doing his best with what he had.
“I’m no stranger, Boone Taylor,” Opal objected sweetly, starting the coffee brewing. “I’m your second mama. I just happen to be black, that’s all.”
He chuckled and once again shoved a hand through his hair, wondered if he ought to wake up the boys or let them sleep for a while longer. They’d met Opal before, on their brief visits to Parable, and he knew they liked her a lot. They liked Hutch and Kendra, too, and Slade and Joslyn. He was the one they tended to be skittish around.
He sobered, remembering. “Molly’s husband shattered his knee yesterday,” he said very quietly.
Opal immediately stepped away from the counter and crossed the sagging floor of that tiny kitchen to put her arms around Boone, gave him a hard motherly squeeze and then stepped back to look up at him through the lenses of her old-fashioned glasses. The frames resembled a pair of jaunty wings, and they were studded with tiny rhinestones.
“Bless your heart, honey, I know all about that,” she said. “Hutch told me. I won’t pretend I’m not glad the boys are back home, but I am so sorry it had to happen like this.” She paused then, squared her broad shoulders and shook a finger under his nose. “Times like now, prayer’s the ticket. It makes everything easier.”
No prayers had made Corrie’s passing easier, not one whit, for her or for him, but he didn’t say that. Boone numbered himself among the former believers of the world, the disgruntled and doubtful ones, but that didn’t mean he could go around raining on Opal’s parade, so he kept his opinion to himself. After all, Opal was a churchgoing woman, and she did seem to get a lot of prayers answered. There was a rumor floating around that she might just marry up with the new pastor, Dr. Walter Beaumont, the two of them joining forces against the devil. They’d been seen fishing together and sharing a pancake special over at the Butter Biscuit Café, and just the other day, Slade had said he and Joslyn were on the lookout for another housekeeper.
“I guess so,” Boone finally said, because he knew his old friend was waiting for an