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  Today though she looked wistfully, she shook her head, no.

  “I’ve been neglecting my work here for too long. Poor Jake must be run off his feet.”

  “I saw him for lunch earlier today. Looks like he’s holding up.”

  “I guess someone around here has to.”

  The volume on the television increased, and they turned to see an ad for winter tires come on the screen.

  “I hate how the commercials are always louder,” Mattie said. Tears were forming in her eyes as she said this. Nat didn’t think she was worried about the volume of the television. Or the need for winter tires, either.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he told her believing with all his heart that this was true. Whether her marriage to Wes withstood this storm, or not, she’d emerge stronger than ever.

  But the look she gave him was full of doubt.

  * * *

  After Nat left, Mattie had to allow that his visit had done her good. Not only was her door better prepared to withstand the winter blizzards coming their way, but she was stronger, too. And she realized that cutting herself off from the rest of the world had to stop.

  Today.

  She’d start by phoning one of her sisters.

  Dani, a professor of psychology at the University of Washington, was the closest to her in age and the most obvious first choice. But Mattie could imagine how that call would go.

  Dani would be cool and collected. She’d pass on whatever the statistics currently were for failed marriages and tell her this was not the end of the world. She’d give her a pep talk and tell her to protect herself and hire a good lawyer. She’d also suggest counseling—of course!—and putting her name up on an Internet dating site.

  Dani, for all her supposed insight into the human condition, would have no idea how it felt to be looking at the end of a nineteen-year marriage.

  Driven and career-focused, at thirty-four, Dani had never been in a serious relationship. She’d eschewed clinical practice for the joys of research and teaching. Nothing got Dani more excited than a bunch of data and the opportunity to run a statistical analysis.

  As for telling the twins the awful news—Dani would probably be full of advice for how to do this, as well. But Dani didn’t know how it felt to be a mother. She didn’t understand the need to protect.

  And she didn’t know Portia and Wren.

  This was going to crush them. Especially Wren, who was less social than Portia, and didn’t have a large group of friends for support.

  Mattie paced from the kitchen to the far windows and back again. Several times she reached for the phone, then hesitated.

  Callan was the youngest of her sisters, but also the toughest. If Mattie called her, she’d probably find her out on the range somewhere, repairing fences, or making other preparations for winter on the Circle C. Callan would be full of fury toward Wes. She’d talk about revenge and making him pay.

  And Mattie wasn’t up to that.

  Maybe she should be storming around having fits of outrage and indignation.

  But she was too sad and worn-out for such theatrics.

  So no. She wouldn’t call Callan yet, either.

  Which left Sage. Of course it did. The third of the Carrigan girls, Sage had a quiet way about her. She would listen to Mattie. She would be sympathetic. And best of all, she would not presume to tell her what to do.

  Though all of them had grown up in the saddle, Sage was the most talented rider. On horseback she looked like a ballet dancer, all strength and grace. Their father, seeing her gift, had convinced her to become a barrel-racer.

  Disappointed in his brood of females, he’d taken momentary pride in Sage’s rodeo accomplishments, until an accident had resulted in Sage injuring her knee—and giving up the sport.

  That had really ticked Hawksley Carrigan off—but Mattie had never seen her sister more at peace than since she’d made the decision to hang up her spurs and open her own chocolate shop back home in Marietta.

  Phone in hand, Mattie returned to the windows and the view. She couldn’t stand to think about the possibility that one day—maybe sooner than she thought—this view would no longer to be hers to enjoy.

  As she waited for her sister to answer, she turned her back on the windows and tried to picture Sage in her shop. Her sister’s red hair would be tied in a ponytail or braid and she’d be wearing one of the shop’s signature aprons. All around her would be copper-tinted boxes filled with confections of chocolates, nuts and specialty flavors, the air smelling so rich, you could put on weight by just breathing.

  Maybe, at the very least, she could ask Sage to send her a package of those delicious salted caramels...

  “Hi, Mattie. Good timing, a customer just left. How are you?”

  The question hung out there. Mattie realized, damn it, that she’d started to cry again. From her pocket she dug out a couple of tissues, taking a deep breath at the same time.

  She had to say something quick or Sage would worry someone had died or something.

  “W-wes is gone. He wants a d-divorce.”

  “Oh, Mattie. Hang on.” Almost a minute passed before Sage came back on the line. “I’ve left Rose Linn in charge of the shop. I’m in the kitchen now, with lots of time to talk. When did this happen?”

  As she recounted the events of the past week, somehow Mattie’s load felt lighter. Nothing had changed, the news was all still so very, very bad. But with Sage to talk to, and listening to her sister’s calm, kind voice, Mattie’s feet were finally able to feel the stability of solid ground again.

  She wasn’t just Wes Bishop’s wife. She was a Carrigan. She had a father—even if he was a mean bastard—and three sisters. And she had a home that had belonged to her even longer than this one had.

  “Wow, Mattie, Wes really hit you with a lot. Leaving and selling the ranch, too. And this was the first time he’d talked to you about any of it?”

  “In so many words, yes. But I believe my subconscious picked up on certain signs. Because I had this dream the night before, Sage. I was in an airport and I’d booked the two of us on separate flights.” She closed her eyes, remembering how, in her dream, she’d been so upset. Beyond what was called for in the circumstances.

  “How intense. I bet Dani will have a lot of fun analyzing that one.”

  “Eventually. But don’t tell her yet, okay? I need to break this news to the twins, first.” And suddenly Mattie knew how it should be done, and when. Her feet were not only back on the ground, but her strength was returning. “I’ll tell them in person when they come home from college for Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Sage agreed. “It’ll give you and Wes a little time to sort things out. I assume he’ll want to be there with you when you tell them.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But the way he’s been acting, I really don’t know.”

  A beep from her phone signaled an incoming call. Mattie glanced at the screen, expecting to see one of the twins’ names. But it wasn’t.

  “Can I call you back later, Sage? Looks like Wes is finally ready to talk.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Amazing how many thoughts can race through the mind in just a few seconds. In the time she took to disconnect the call to her sister and accept the one from Wes, Mattie wondered if this was more bad news. Maybe he’d found a buyer for the ranch. Or had he realized he’d made a big mistake and wanted to come home? Did he miss her?

  Maybe he was calling just to talk...

  “Wes?” She stopped pacing. Stood breathless and anxious, her eyes on their wedding photo displayed on the mantel.

  But it wasn’t her husband, after all. It was a woman.

  “You don’t know me, Mattie—"

  Oh, how Mattie resented the sound of her name on this stranger’s tongue. This stranger who was using Wes’s phone to call her and invade her own personal space. “Don’t call me that. I’m Mrs. Bishop.”

  “I’m phoning as a favor,” the unknown woma
n continued, ignoring the correction. “I’m sure it’s hard, but you have to let Wes go without a fight. He doesn’t love you anymore. You may find that hard to believe, but it’s true. Trust me.”

  This—couldn’t be happening. Mattie sputtered at the effrontery. And then anger exploded. “Trust you? Who the hell are you?”

  The phone went dead.

  Mattie glared at the screen which had suddenly gone pale, then hit the “End” button with a shaking finger.

  Had it occurred to her that there might be another woman in the picture? Of course.

  But, just as she avoided the problem signs in her and Wes’s marriage, so too had she shied away from thinking about the possibility he was having an affair.

  But clearly he was. Or at least he was on the verge.

  The key she’d found that morning. Maybe it hadn’t been for the Wilkinson’s cottage at all, but a room where he’d been meeting this mystery woman?

  Her body reacted then, not with tears, but with a sudden, violent need to purge. Mattie ran to the bathroom getting there just in time as her body rejected everything she’d eaten in the last twenty-four hours, the way her mind wanted to reject everything that had happened in that same span of time.

  When it was over, she felt weak, trembling... and very cold.

  She ran a hot bath for herself, and let herself be soothed by the scented water.

  She would not let that woman get to her. This was her life and she was the one who was in control.

  Wes could leave her, he could sleep around, he could even fall in love with someone else—she couldn’t change any of that. What she could control was the way she reacted.

  And the most important thing, she realized, as she was toweling off and selecting clean clothes, was being a strong mother.

  * * *

  “Do you think something’s wrong with Mom?”

  Portia glanced at the message, then turned her phone face down on her desk. She was in her Introduction to Psychology class—and the instructor was her Aunt Dani.

  One of the reasons she’d decided to come to the University of Washington was to be close to her aunt. Her mom thought it was good for her to move away from Montana—expand her horizons and all of that. But Portia hadn’t admitted that she felt nervous about being on her own.

  Ideally she and Wren would have gone to the same school, maybe even been roommates in the same sorority house.

  But Wren wouldn’t go for that.

  Wren had chosen to go to school in Colorado. As for sororities—Wren claimed she had no time for them.

  Being a twin should have been so fun, but it seemed to Portia that Wren was always trying to push away from her. If Portia chose shoes in red, then Wren would pick black. When Portia decided to grow out her bangs, Wren had cropped hers.

  Why was she so determined to be different? Probably because she was embarrassed. Wren had always been the smart one, and Portia suffered in any comparison between the two.

  At least coming to Seattle had proven to be a good decision. First, she’d been thrilled to discover she was actually going to be in a class taught by her aunt. She’d been worried there might be rules against that, but Aunt Dani had assured her that since the assignments and exams were all marked by TAs—teaching assistants—there wasn’t any conflict of interest.

  Dani had always been Portia’s favorite aunt. Dani was so sophisticated, with beautiful clothes and an elegant way about her. She’d always been really sweet to her and Wren, bringing them gifts when she came to visit and listening to them like they were real people, not just mini versions of their mother—which was how Callan treated them sometimes.

  Since she’d made the decision to attend UW her aunt had been especially kind. She’d picked her up at the airport, taken her shopping for clothes for rush week, and given her a tour of the campus. She’d explained to her about the various sororities and made recommendations on which ones she thought Portia would like the best.

  Since Portia had settled into her sorority house, every Sunday night Dani invited her to dinner, in her beautiful modern condo with a view of the city. It was painted white with gray furniture and gleaming wooden floors. Real oil paintings were on the walls and all the appliances and lighting fixtures were high tech. One wall was floor to ceiling windows and you could look out at the Space Needle. Portia wanted to live in a place like that when she was older. But she still wasn’t sure how she’d earn the money to afford it.

  She sure couldn’t see herself being smart enough to become a professor.

  The lecture today was hard to understand, even though she’d done the required reading. She tried focusing harder on her aunt, who was moving confidently around the stage, not huddling behind the lectern and reading from notes the way some of Portia’s professors did.

  “The simple fact is,” her aunt Dani was saying, “we don’t always see what we think we’re seeing. Our perception is more than what we take in with the five senses. It also includes the ability to detect changes in another person’s body position or movement. Does anyone know what we call that?”

  A few of the students sitting lower down in the auditorium-style classroom called out some answers. Portia, at least, could recognize when she heard the correct one. It was proprioception.

  Despite her aunt’s advice to sit as close to the front in each class as was possible—the professors will remember you better that way—Portia was in one of the back rows, hidden among the almost seven hundred students. She was more comfortable here. She was pretty sure being remembered by her professors for being dumb wouldn’t work in her favor.

  Her phone vibrated against the desk, signaling an incoming text message. Probably another from Wren. Unable to stop herself, Portia turned her phone over to read it.

  “I haven’t talked to her all week. Have you?”

  What was the matter with her? Her sister was getting paranoid. Placing the phone in her lap, Portia used both thumbs to make a quick reply.

  “She must be busy.”

  Portia wasn’t worried about her mother the way Wren was. She was annoyed. After making such a big fuss about them leaving, and insisting that the three of them Skype every Sunday afternoon, her mom had been the first to bail out. If her laptop wasn’t working, then she could have used the computer in Dad’s office.

  Or bought a new one.

  What kind of mother would go a whole week without checking in with her daughters. And no, text messages did not count.

  Portia’s own proprioception kicked in then, and she glanced up to see that the students were filing out of the auditorium. Her aunt was no longer on the stage, she must have dismissed them and left already. She had to stop zoning out like this. From now on when she went to class she would turn her phone completely off, not just put it on stealth mode.

  “Hey, Portia. Have you decided what to wear to the party tonight?”

  A redhead with olive shaped green eyes, wearing trendy Citizen jeans that Portia coveted, but couldn’t afford, stopped by her desk. Kirsten was in her sorority, they’d met during rush week. Kirsten’s family lived in Portland, her father owned a car dealership and her mother managed an art gallery. Portia had seen pictures of all of this, including the mansion where Kirsten lived, the beautiful Irish Setter that was the family dog—and the gorgeous brother who was one year older, and also enrolled at UW.

  For some reason Kirsten thought it was cool that Portia had grown up on a ranch and that her father was a rodeo cowboy. It wasn’t cool to Portia, though, when on the night they were all presented into the Greek system, almost every other girls’ parents came except her own.

  Her dad had been at a rodeo, of course.

  And her Mom hardly ever left the horses. “That’s the price of owning a ranch,” she’d say, whenever Portia complained about not getting to go on holidays like other families. Pretty much the only time they left home was to visit their grandfather and Aunt Callan in Marietta, or, occasionally to watch their father at a nearby rodeo.


  But Kirsten didn’t get any of that, of course. She didn’t understand that owning a ranch meant waking up before the sun came out and scooping horse shit out of stalls. Kirsten watched YouTube videos of Portia’s father on the bucking bulls and gasped at how brave he must be.

  “I should probably catch up on my reading.”

  “We’ll go later, around ten?”

  Portia didn’t commit. The late nights were beginning to get to her. The drinking, too.

  The one thing she and Wren had in common was a distaste for alcohol, ingrained by their mother who almost never indulged herself with so much as a beer or a glass of wine. When she was a teenager her mom had given riding lessons to a girl named Neve Shepherd until Neve suddenly decided boys were way more cool than horses.

  Shortly after that Neve ended up dead—the result of using alcohol and drugs at a prom night party.

  Her Mom had been strongly affected by that. And she’d managed to pass her attitudes along to her daughters. Mostly because she’d never tried to be preachy or bossy about it.

  Whether to drink or not will be your choice girls. I just hope you do what feels right to you—and don’t start drinking just to fit in with your friends. And never if you’re driving.

  Kirsten was nice. Most of the time they ate dinner together and studied, or went to parties, in the evening. But lately, Portia had begun feeling a little hemmed in. Kirsten had a lot of ideas about the kind of people she liked—and the kind she didn’t.

  And one of the guys Kirsten definitely didn’t like was moving toward them right now.

  Hastily Portia slipped her laptop in her shoulder bag, then pocketed her phone, as a tall boy with long hair that brushed over his eyes, gave her a private smile. No, more like a grin. She’d noticed him watching her in classes before.

  She didn’t know his name, only that he didn’t belong to any of the fraternities and none of her new friends seemed to like him. Kirsten joked about his cowboy boots, calling him a pretend cowboy behind his back.