Page 1 of Rebel Moon

1

KNOX

December 1

Arrivals & Christmas Tree Lighting

Cold, gray · chance of snow

Supper: Standing rib roast · Garlic mashed potatoes · Roasted winter vegetables. Elliot’s famous rolls

God made trucks so a man could drive himself places. That’s just a fact. And don’t get me started on airports. The crowds and delays, especially during the holidays, and the possibility of a crash over some mountain range. A crying baby. I mean, I like babies as much as the next guy, but not for a four-hour plane ride. Also, factor in terrible food, overpriced drinks, and a seat mate who won’t stop talking about her grandchildren, and that’s a big, fat no, thank you.

So yeah. I chose to drive to Montana like any self-respecting man would for Jack and Ivy’s wedding. I’d left Nashville before dawn, stopping only for restroom breaks, gas and snacks, which so far had consisted of pepperoni sticks, pistachios, and a bag of pretzels, washed down with some good old-fashioned diet Dr. Pepper. However, somewhere around Jackson Hole, I started questioning my life decisions, including why I hadn’t just taken a plane. Not that I would ever admit that to a living soul.

Jack had urged me to fly into Bozeman and rent a car like everyone else. He knows one of my life rules is no flying. Regardless, Jack’s an eternal optimist. He never gives up on me even when he probably should, putting up with my eccentricities while politely calling them quirks instead of weird rituals. Flying wasn’t the only thing I had a rule about, but that’s neither here nor there.

After stopping for gas in Jackson Hole, I turned on a playlist I’d made for the trip, a mix of eighties and nineties country, then dug another pepperoni stick out of the bag. Still hours and hours to go until I reached Blue Fern, Montana, to see Jack get married. Not just any ordinary wedding either. We were celebrating for the entire month of December at a dude ranch. Apparently, Ivy had always wanted a wedding at a ranch, and God knows no one in their right mind would even consider noncompliance, especially Jack. Ivy’s the walking example of attracting more bees with honey than vinegar. She’s not just America’s country sweetheart. She’s one for real. I couldn’t be happier for Jack, even though I felt it was the beginning of seismic changes. That’s how things happened. Once the first man in a friend group, or in this case a band, went down, the rest would fall one by one.

Not me, obviously. But Grant and Beck were made for marriage, just like trucks were meant to be driven, not sit in a garage. I’d always figured it would be Rhett who married first. Women flocked to him, and he wasn’t even in the band. He managed us in his three-piece suit with a phone connected to his ear and still managed to attract the ladies.

I’d learned just yesterday, because they were keeping it from me, that Madeleine had hired some Hollywood type to film the whole month for some sell-out documentary that was more puff piece than substance. Yep, that was Madeleine for you. Even her name was ridiculous. Too many vowels. An e i when an i would do? Totally pretentious. Just like her.

Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t miss Jack’s wedding, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. A month out of my life for a wedding party? Who did that? Ivy and Jack. They were nauseatingly in love, and the rest of us had to suffer because of it.

I let out a sigh of relief as I spotted the sign for Crescent Moon Ranch. A big timber arch had WELCOME burned into the crossbeam and a large wreath, twinkling in the dim light, hung just below. I eased the truck up the lane, gravel crunching soft under packed snow. A town car was just before me on the driveway, going way too slow, like it wasn’t sure this was the right address. When we reached the main parking lot in front of the office, the car didn’t bother to pull into one of the spots, instead it just stopped in the middle for whoever waited inside to step out. I knew exactly who it would be even before I saw one shapely leg in a black heeled pump, followed by the other, also in a completely ridiculous shoe choice for Montana on the first day of December.

Madeleine Price. Besides all the extra vowels, she wore a long coat with a faux fur collar, her hair long and loose down her back. For a moment, she seemed to take in the ranch, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The only thing cheering me up was the thought of how much she would hate this. But, like me, there was no getting out of this. Ivy and Madeleine were tight. Ride or die as far as I could tell, which never made any sense to me. Ivy was a real country girl, not a slick public relations manager in a designer dress that cost more than most folks took home in a month. Regardless, they’d been best friends long before either of them was gainfully employed. If I remembered correctly, they’d met when they were nineteen, both new to Nashville.

I parked in one of the only spots available to me, given the town car hogging the space, and got out of my truck. The cold immediately stung my cheeks and had me scrambling for my down jacket.

The driver of the town car had started unloading her bags from the trunk by this point. Two large suitcases, then another two smaller ones.

“You bring a case just for shoes?” I asked as I approached.

Madeleine turned to look at me, a hint of surprise in her eyes, like she hadn’t expected me to show. As if I wouldn’t. Jack was my friend. My brother for all intents and purposes. She was the outsider here, not me.

“We’re here a month, Knox. It requires a lot of clothes. And shoes.” She spoke in her usual manner, slow, enunciated and, when directed at me, particularly disdainful. I often had the feeling she’d taught herself how to speak like a rich person. There was something below the surface that hinted she’d gone to considerable trouble to package her own image, just like she’d done to Jack and his band.

“You starting to regret the ones you’re wearing now?” I asked, reaching into the back cab of my truck for my guitar and suitcase.

Her eyes narrowed as she buttoned the top of her coat. “I had a meeting at the airport before I left Nashville and didn’t have time to change. Not that I answer to you about what I wear.”

“That’s obvious,” I said under my breath.

She glared at me before reaching into her bag for a hundred dollar bill, which she gave to the driver. “Thanks, Tom. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

The driver seemed startled by the tip. “Oh, ma’am, this is too much.”

“It’s Christmastime, Tom, and I’m sure it could come in handy.”

“You’re right about that. Thank you.”

A young blonde woman in a parka approached, an iPad in her hand. “Welcome to Crescent Moon Ranch.” Strangely enough, she had a crisp British accent. “You’re Knox Hartley, is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Madeleine, it’s nice to see you again.”