Way. There they’d visited Annie’s first cousin, Martha Davies, owner of the Cuttin’ Loose hair salon.
After all the rough, run-down city neighborhoods she had lived in, the cozy, close-knit little town of Lonesome Way had seemed like a magical fairy-tale place to Carly.
It still did.
But especially back then, the tiny Montana town nestled in the shadow of the Crazy Mountains struck Carly as picture-perfect, with its astonishing canopy of pure blue sky, its rugged open spaces, and its endless vistas of sage-scented hills and pastures.
Then there were all of its charming Main Street shops, the park, the flower-bordered streets, and the friendly people stopping to chat with each other in the town square.
The spring morning she’d spotted a doe and two fawns picking their dainty way into Martha’s garden, staring at her as she sat on the back porch steps, and then nibbling calmly at some shrubs before Martha rushed out to shoo them away, she’d been completely enchanted.
She’d never felt as peaceful, as far removed from her turbulent childhood as she did when she and Annie visited Martha in Lonesome Way.
Of course, there had been that one altercation, Carly thought, as she reached the nursery with Emma in her arms. The fight she’d witnessed on Main Street the first time she’d ever laid eyes on Jake Tanner.
Carly had just turned eleven that summer. Perched on a bench outside of the Cuttin’ Loose, she’d been daydreaming while inside Martha snipped away at Annie’s wet gray hair. Suddenly a fight had sprung up between a few boys standing outside of Roy’s Diner.
Well, not a fight exactly. It was more like three tough-looking young teenagers picking on a fourth boy, one who was shorter, with narrow shoulders. He looked to be about a year or two younger than the others—or else he was just small and skinny for his age. They began shoving him back and forth between them, laughing all the while. The boy yelped as the tallest of the three smacked him suddenly in the face. He tried to break free, to run, but they closed in, surrounding him.
Desperately, he swung a fist at the closest of the bullies, but the blow missed its mark and suddenly he was shoved hard by one of the bullies and careened sideways. He tumbled facedown clear off the sidewalk and into the street.
Carly remembered gasping in alarm. The bullies reminded her of her cousin Phil, who’d always been smacking someone in the neighborhood around. Phil had never hit her, but he’d shoved her hard more than once and he’d gotten a kick out of locking her in Aunt Gertrude’s closet for hours at a time. Panic had overwhelmed her whenever he stuffed her into that closet. The darkness, the hanging clothes, the smell of mothballs left her feeling like she couldn’t breathe.
And no matter how much she cried and pleaded and screamed, he wouldn’t let her out, not until Aunt Gertrude came home from her job at the Quik-Mart.
Thinking about Phil, her breath had hitched in her throat and she felt for one dizzying moment like she couldn’t getenough air. But the boys were taking turns kicking the fallen kid in the street, taunting him, and before she even realized what she was doing, she forgot about Phil. The breathless feeling evaporated as she sprang up and shouted, “Stop that!”
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a handsome, husky boy she hadn’t spotted before was there in the midst of the fight, launching himself like a cannonball into the fray.
She guessed he was about fourteen or fifteen. He was nearly as tall as the biggest of the bullies, and he was broad shouldered and fierce—so amazingly fierce—with thick jet-black hair that tumbled over his brow. Grabbing the tallest of the bullies, he punched him hard in the stomach, then swung lithely toward the one who’d knocked the smaller boy into the street.
Carly heard the hard thunk of his fist connecting with the second bully’s jaw and she had to clench her teeth to keep from
After all the rough, run-down city neighborhoods she had lived in, the cozy, close-knit little town of Lonesome Way had seemed like a magical fairy-tale place to Carly.
It still did.
But especially back then, the tiny Montana town nestled in the shadow of the Crazy Mountains struck Carly as picture-perfect, with its astonishing canopy of pure blue sky, its rugged open spaces, and its endless vistas of sage-scented hills and pastures.
Then there were all of its charming Main Street shops, the park, the flower-bordered streets, and the friendly people stopping to chat with each other in the town square.
The spring morning she’d spotted a doe and two fawns picking their dainty way into Martha’s garden, staring at her as she sat on the back porch steps, and then nibbling calmly at some shrubs before Martha rushed out to shoo them away, she’d been completely enchanted.
She’d never felt as peaceful, as far removed from her turbulent childhood as she did when she and Annie visited Martha in Lonesome Way.
Of course, there had been that one altercation, Carly thought, as she reached the nursery with Emma in her arms. The fight she’d witnessed on Main Street the first time she’d ever laid eyes on Jake Tanner.
Carly had just turned eleven that summer. Perched on a bench outside of the Cuttin’ Loose, she’d been daydreaming while inside Martha snipped away at Annie’s wet gray hair. Suddenly a fight had sprung up between a few boys standing outside of Roy’s Diner.
Well, not a fight exactly. It was more like three tough-looking young teenagers picking on a fourth boy, one who was shorter, with narrow shoulders. He looked to be about a year or two younger than the others—or else he was just small and skinny for his age. They began shoving him back and forth between them, laughing all the while. The boy yelped as the tallest of the three smacked him suddenly in the face. He tried to break free, to run, but they closed in, surrounding him.
Desperately, he swung a fist at the closest of the bullies, but the blow missed its mark and suddenly he was shoved hard by one of the bullies and careened sideways. He tumbled facedown clear off the sidewalk and into the street.
Carly remembered gasping in alarm. The bullies reminded her of her cousin Phil, who’d always been smacking someone in the neighborhood around. Phil had never hit her, but he’d shoved her hard more than once and he’d gotten a kick out of locking her in Aunt Gertrude’s closet for hours at a time. Panic had overwhelmed her whenever he stuffed her into that closet. The darkness, the hanging clothes, the smell of mothballs left her feeling like she couldn’t breathe.
And no matter how much she cried and pleaded and screamed, he wouldn’t let her out, not until Aunt Gertrude came home from her job at the Quik-Mart.
Thinking about Phil, her breath had hitched in her throat and she felt for one dizzying moment like she couldn’t getenough air. But the boys were taking turns kicking the fallen kid in the street, taunting him, and before she even realized what she was doing, she forgot about Phil. The breathless feeling evaporated as she sprang up and shouted, “Stop that!”
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a handsome, husky boy she hadn’t spotted before was there in the midst of the fight, launching himself like a cannonball into the fray.
She guessed he was about fourteen or fifteen. He was nearly as tall as the biggest of the bullies, and he was broad shouldered and fierce—so amazingly fierce—with thick jet-black hair that tumbled over his brow. Grabbing the tallest of the bullies, he punched him hard in the stomach, then swung lithely toward the one who’d knocked the smaller boy into the street.
Carly heard the hard thunk of his fist connecting with the second bully’s jaw and she had to clench her teeth to keep from
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