Page 5 of Juniper Hill (The Edens 2)

“I’m sorry, Drake,” I murmured as he continued to cry. As we both cried. “I’m sorry.”

A better mother would probably get out of the car. A better mother would hold her son, feed him and change him. But then I’d have to load him into his car seat again and he’d cry, like he had for the first hour of our trip this morning.

Maybe he’d be better off with a different mother. A mother who wouldn’t have made him travel across the country.

He deserved a better mother. And a better father.

/>

We had that in common.

“Miss?”

I gasped, nearly jumping out of my seat belt as a woman’s voice cut through the noise.

“Sorry.” The officer, a pretty woman with dark hair, held up her hands.

“Oh my God.” I slapped a hand to my heart as the other shoved a lock of hair from my face. In the rearview, I spotted the familiar blue and red lights of a police car. Shit. The last thing I needed was a ticket.

“I’m sorry, Officer. I can move my car.”

“It’s all right.” She leaned in, peeking inside my car. “Is everything okay?”

I wiped furiously at my face. Stop crying. Stop crying. “Just a bad day. Actually, a really bad day. Maybe the fifth-worst day of my life. Sixth. No, fifth. We’ve been in the car for days and my son won’t stop crying. He’s hungry. I’m hungry. We need a nap and a shower, but I’m lost. I’ve been driving around for thirty minutes trying to find this place where we’re supposed to be staying.”

Now I was rambling to a cop. Fantastic.

The rambling was something I’d done as a kid whenever my nanny had busted me doing something wrong. I didn’t like to be in trouble and my go-to response was to talk my way through it.

Dad had always called it making excuses. But no matter how often he’d scolded me, the rambling had become a habit. A bad habit I’d correct later in life on a day that didn’t rank in the top ten worst days.

“Where are you going?” the woman asked, glancing at Drake, who was still yelling.

He didn’t care that we’d been pulled over. He was too busy telling her that I was a horrible mother.

I scrambled to find the sticky note I’d dropped, showing it to her through the open window. “Juniper Hill.”

“Juniper Hill?” Her forehead furrowed and she blinked, reading the sticky note twice.

My stomach dropped. Was that bad? Was it in a sketchy neighborhood or something?

When I’d tried to find a rental in Quincy, the pickings had been slim. The only options had been three- or four-bedroom homes, and not only did I not need so much space, they’d been outside of my budget. Considering this was the first time in my life I’d had a budget, I was determined to stick to it.

So I’d called Eloise Eden, the woman who’d hired me to work at her hotel, and told her that I wouldn’t be able to move to Quincy after all.

When she’d promised to find me an apartment, I’d thought maybe a guardian angel had been looking out for me. Except maybe this studio apartment on Juniper Hill was really a shanty in the mountains and I’d be shacked up next to meth dealers and criminals.

Whatever. Today, I’d take the crackheads and murderers if it meant spending twenty-four hours not in this car.

“Yes. Do you know where it is?” I tossed a hand toward the windshield. “My directions led me right here. But there isn’t a road marked Juniper Hill. Or any road marked, period.”

“Montana country roads rarely are marked. But I can show you.”

“Really?” My voice sounded so small as another wave of tears crashed open the dam.

It had been a while since anyone had helped me. The little gestures stood out when they were rare. In the past month, the only people who’d offered me help had been Quincy residents. Eloise. And now this beautiful stranger.

“Of course.” She held out a hand. “I’m Winslow.”