Page 86 of York

Sure enough, when I went to check on her ten minutes later, she was passed out with her pile of toys.

“We can do that later,” York said, grabbing me and pulling me away from the package mess I bent to clean up.

He dragged me back over to the sideways couch, pulling my legs until they were over his. And I didn’t pull away. In fact, I leaned in to put my head on his chest. The immediate surge of relaxation was what I was chasing by moving closer. I’d gotten addicted to it with him. A part of me was terrified what might happen if I no longer had it to rely on.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m nervous.”

“About the lawyer?”

“Yeah. It makes no sense. If I don’t inherit anything, then… nothing changes. If I do, good things happen. It’s stupid to feel like this.”

“Maybe it’s more about going back home for the first time in years.”

“Maybe. But no one is there…”

“Which might feel even more complicated.”

“I guess. The lawyer was nice on the phone. He had that friendly, grandpa kind of voice.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come?”

“I don’t want Denali to be confused. Or to see me curse my grandfather out if he left some really insulting note. She will be happier with you at the cafe across the street.”

A few hours later, we were walking away from the plane with a revived Denali carrying two new bags of toys.

“Wow,” York said. “This is out in the middle of nowhere.”

It was.

We were in a long stretch of flat land with mountains way off in the distance.

I paused to take a deep breath, smiling to myself at how it smelled the same.

Maybe it was a weird observation, but I felt like every state I’d been to had its own unique smell. And this was just the one I knew the best. It was crisp and clean and familiar.

We made our way to our rental car, and I got to sit in the passenger seat as York drove us the hour from the airport to the little one-lane town not far from the ranch I’d grown up in.

It hadn’t changed much over the years—a refreshed facade here, a new store there. But the same general store, feed store, credit union, cafe, and clothes store that featured a lot of boots, cowboy hats, and duck cloth jackets.

I noticed that the Dr. John Miller’s sign now said and Son. And that the library had a memorial garden for the lovely old lady I remembered seeing each time I visited.

“You’ve got this,” York told me, giving my hand a squeeze. “And we’ll be right here for you after. Whichever way it goes.” He waved toward the cafe that seemed to have the same worn wooden tables and mismatched chairs of my childhood.

“Thanks. Be good for Daddy, okay?” I said, touching Denny’s head before sucking in a breath and walking across the street.

Greg Denvers’s office was all light, warm wood, clay-red walls, and a metric ton of western cowboy artwork on the walls amongst heads—pronghorns, bighorns, and a taxidermy snarling wolverine on the corner of the receptionist’s desk. I didn’t miss that about this town. If I could go the rest of my life not seeing an animal’s head mounted, I’d be a happy woman.

“Is that the elusive Runa I do see?” Greg, just as friendly in person as he was over the phone, declared as he walked down the hallway.

He was tall and fit with just the smallest of beer bellies stretching the buttons of his tucked-in light blue dress shirt. He had that paired with black slacks, tan cowboy boots, matching suspenders, and a big old cowboy hat.

Something about him put me immediately at ease.

His office was massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows that showed off the mountains behind. We were just going to ignore the giant, soft-eyed bison mount looking down at me from the wall.

“You have been a hard lady to track down.”