Page 6 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)
An idea stirred in my mind, calling and demanding some attention. It was like a flashing light, one that would keep blinking until I gave it my focus. This feeling was familiar, and usually, it meant another successful business venture.
But not this time.
This idea had nothing to do with money.
“Would you care if it took me longer than planned to get the Cadillac to Karson?” Because my intuition was screaming at me to take a massive detour.
“Nope,” she said. “It’s your trip. Make the most of it.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “Thanks, Lonny.”
“Of course. Call me soon.”
“Bye.” The moment I ended the call, I pulled up my digital map and punched in a new destination.
These spontaneous decisions of the past few weeks suddenly made sense. They had purpose. They had meaning. They were to get me here, in this moment.
I was setting out to right a wrong. To find myself again.
On the wild highway.
Chapter Two
Gemma
I’d forgotten the majesty of Montana. I’d forgotten how vast the state was. How the landscapes changed from savage prairie to rugged forest as you traveled from one side to the other.
The last time I’d traveled through Montana, it had been on a bus destined for Boston. Back then, I’d cursed the driver for taking the trip at such a lazy pace. This time, I’d let myself find excuses to slow down.
In the past five days, I’d made a conscious effort to drive unhurried. Mostly, it was to avoid a ticket. But there was also a part of me nervous about seeing Katherine again, and that anxiety had given me plenty of excuses to stop along the way.
My journey had taken me north, through Colorado and Wyoming. I’d spent last night in Missoula, not wanting to arrive at the ranch at dinnertime. Really, I was a coward and had needed one more night to work up the courage for what I was about to do.
So I’d stayed in town and found a cheap nail salon for a last-minute mani-pedi. This morning, I’d taken care with my appearance, going for the makeup treatment and adding loose waves to my long hair.
The tattered boyfriend jeans I’d been wearing on repeat were traded for a pair of dark wash skinnies. My green sweater brought out the caramel flecks in my hazel eyes and my tan booties had enough of a heel that they took my outfit from casual to chic.
Still, I’d wished for one of my designer suits.
I’d worn blazers, pencil skirts and six-inch heels, almost exclusively, over the past decade. Since leaving West Virginia, my laid-back attire of jeans, oversized sweaters and sandals had been an adjustment. I didn’t feel prepared. Powerful.
My wardrobe in Boston had become an armor of sorts. When I’d walked into the office in a suit, my hair twisted into a tight chignon, no one had questioned who was in charge. I needed that armor today—a bit of the old Gemma to help me get through this.
But the suits were all in storage. Today, I had to face this without airs. I’d be vulnerable. Humble. Sincere. Because today
wasn’t about conquering the world or turning a profit. Today was about making things right with a friend.
The trees along the road were changing. Stark yellow and orange leaves popped against an evergreen backdrop. The fall air was crisp and, if I hadn’t spent time on my hair this morning, I would have driven with the convertible’s top down.
The miles disappeared too quickly and when the first sign for the Greer Ranch and Mountain Resort came into view, my stomach somersaulted.
I could do this. I had to do this. I hadn’t made many apologies, lately. Arrogant as it was, I did my best not to screw up, and for the most part, I had a good track record.
This would bruise my ego but would be worth it.
I turned off the highway, my heart pounding, and traversed the gravel road that led from the highway toward the lodge. Being here, on this road, took me back to another lifetime. I struggled to keep my eyes on the road as I took it all in. The mountains. The meadows. The buildings coming into view past a grove of trees.
It was exactly as I’d remembered. In the past decade, the Greer Ranch hadn’t seemed to change.
