EXCERPT: Crossroads
CHAPTER 1
Indya
“You’ve reached Grant Keller. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you.”
The beep following Dad’s voice echoed through my car’s speakers.
“Hi, Daddy. Just wanted to let you know I made it.” Well . . . almost.
The hum of tires on pavement had been my stoic companion for the past four days. From Texas to Montana, the miles in my rearview mirror were endless, with only twenty to go.
Except I wasn’t ready yet.
I needed more miles.
“I love you,” I added before ending the call.
The GPS route on the console chimed, signaling the turn off the highway was approaching. The directions were unnecessary. I’d keyed them in only out of habit.
I hadn’t been on this road for years, but I knew the way. And once I hit gravel, service would be spotty, at best.
Dad loved that about Montana. How one minute, you’d be fully connected to the world. The next, this place would decide for you that it was time to put the devices away. Like Montana knew you weren’t paying attention to its beauty because you were too focused on a screen.
And it was beautiful. Breathtakingly so.
Fields of green streaked past my windows. They rolled to foothills covered in towering trees. Beyond them were indigo mountains capped in snow.
My stomach climbed into my throat as I crested a hill and a sign came into view.
Crazy Mountain Cattle Resort
Both the letters and the arrow beneath were faded and nearly impossible to read from a distance. The white paint had chipped and flaked away from too many hot summers and cold winters.
What if I turned around? Big Timber was forty-five minutes from the ranch. The small town had more bars than stoplights, but there was a nice hotel. I could book a room and stay far away from Haven property.
Or I could keep going. What if I drove and drove and drove?
It would be so easy to breeze past the turnoff. I could stay on this highway and find out what town came next. In all my years of visiting Montana, I’d never passed that sign. This had always been the final destination.
And this trip could be no different.
I forced my foot off the gas pedal and to the brake.
My nerves spiked as I slowed to turn. The moment my wheels hit gravel, my stomach dropped.
I’d thought a lot about what I was going to do, to say, over the thousands of miles I’d traveled this week. Every idea, each planned speech, flittered out of my brain and floated away like the dust rising in my wake, disappearing on the wind.
Was this a fool’s errand? Had I let Dad’s love for this ranch cloud my judgment? The chances of the Havens accepting me into their lives were slim to none.
Especially West.
Just thinking his name made my heart twist. Did he hate me for this? Probably.
Every vacation to Montana came rushing back, replaying on loop. Campfires and s’mores when I was eight. Wildflower picking when I was nine. Paper airplanes at eleven. A broken heart at twenty-three.
What the hell was I doing here?
This was a job for Dad, not me. For every bit of my anxiety, he’d feel twice the excitement. It was June. He loved Montana in June and always said it was impossible to beat. He said the Crazy Mountains in summer—with their proud, jagged peaks—called to his soul.
He should be here. He was the right person for this job. Instead, I was dodging potholes on this miserable road.
“Good God,” I muttered, my teeth clattering in my skull as I rolled over a stretch of vicious washboard.
When was the last time they’d had the road graded? I slowed my Land Rover Defender to a crawl, veering side to side to find a smooth stretch. There wasn’t one, so I fisted the wheel and pressed onward.
To the mountains.
To the ranch.
The road wove past groves of trees. It followed the incline of the land, up and down over hills and into coulees, until it reached the Haven River.
From there, the drive followed the path of the clear, cold water. The river was too shallow for floating anything but an inner tube, but it was perfect for fly-fishing.
I made a mental note to check the ranch’s website for a listing of activities. I couldn’t remember seeing fishing on the list—maybe they’d stopped offering it to visitors.
An archway that spanned the road marked the point when I crossed onto Haven land. The logs of the archway looked as weathered as the sign on the highway. At some point in the past four years, the brown had flecked away to show gray beneath.
Those logs looked as tired as I felt. They’d need to be restained. It went on my to-do list along with a call to county services to have the gravel graded.
On both sides of the road, black cattle grazed in the fields. The fences keeping them company were made of straight and tight barbed wire with green steel posts.
The fences were pristine—no surprise. West had always made his priorities clear when it came to the resort.
He’d kick a guest out of their bed if one of his cows needed a room.
The Defender rattled as I rolled over a cattle guard, the marker that separated ranch from resort.
The first log cabin I passed looked lonely. Empty. The grass around its porch was overgrown, and like the archway, the paint was in need of a refresh. The second cabin looked much the same.
Updates to both went on my list. A list that seemed to grow with every turn of my tires. Maybe it was just those two cabins. Maybe everything else was in better shape.
My hopes sank when I reached the third cabin and it was arguably worse than the others. One of the gutters had fallen down and was hanging like a limp noodle from the roof. The flower beds were overrun with tall thistles.
Those three cabins were the oldest and smallest on the ranch. They’d always been slightly outdated. But they were the first impression, and if I were a paying guest, I’d be contemplating a short-notice cancellation.
It hadn’t always been like this, right? Had my memory failed me? Usually by this point on a vacation, Dad would be vibrating with excitement to finally be here. Mom and I would be just as elated.
Had our excitement clouded reality? Had it made everything seem better? Brighter?
There was no eagerness today. Dread weighed like a hundred thousand bricks in my gut.
My sigh of relief filled the cab as I passed the next cabin. It was set apart from the initial three, and there were no visible issues in sight. There was even a hanging basket of purple and pink petunias on the porch.
Next came the largest of the private cabins. Other than a cursory glance, I didn’t let myself study its condition. Not yet.
I wasn’t ready to face that cabin yet.
So I kept my eyes locked on the lodge and its red tin roof. Nerves swarmed in my belly like wasps, stinging and buzzing as I pulled into the gravel lot.
The lodge looked deserted. There were only two other vehicles parked outside. As I opened my door, nothing but the singsong of birds and rustle of leaves greeted me. No laughter. No conversation.
Where were all the guests?
I spun in a slow circle, taking it all in. Maybe it was run down. Maybe it was quiet. But the bones were the same, and with them came a flood of memories. Dull memories that zapped my energy. Sharp memories that slashed and shredded.
I pressed my palm to my sternum, rubbing the ache away.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t stay here. Live here. What was I thinking?
Temporary. This was only temporary. I’d made my choice. I’d made this deal.
There was no going back.
So I headed for the lodge, my heels clipping on the dirt as I crossed the parking lot. The breeze tugged at my blouse and slacks. It lifted a blonde curl that wouldn’t stay trapped in the knot I’d fashioned this morning.
The lodge’s porch had five steps. My legs felt heavier as I climbed. How many times had I raced up these stairs? How many times had I rushed inside the lobby, smiling and laughing and ecstatic to just . . . be here.
It took all my strength to get past that top stair.
The moment I went inside, everything would change. There’d be no undoing this.
Except I couldn’t turn back, and I couldn’t go home.
There was no home.
So I steeled my spine and walked to the door, adding more items to my list.
The porch needed to be swept and power washed. There should be chairs out here, a place for people to sit and take in the view. Rocking chairs would be best, in red, like the roof. The double doors might look nice painted red too.
Maybe I’d make that the signature color.
Deep red, like blood.
Because the Crazy Mountain Cattle Resort would get my blood. It would get my sweat.
I’d already given it too many tears.
Above the door was a sign with the resort’s name tooled into the wood.
Crazy Mountain Cattle Resort
Oh, God. That was a horrible name. How had I not realized it before? It sounded like a resort for cattle. A place to bring your cow for a weekend of pampering.
I had a better name in mind. Changing it would cause a massive fight. The first of many, no doubt. I’d probably piss someone off within the hour.
The door creaked, its hinges in desperate need of oil, as I pulled the handle. The overpowering scent of vanilla greeted me as I stepped inside the lobby.
No one was stationed at the reception desk, so I rang the silver bell. As it dinged, I leaned toward the candle burning next to a rack of brochures and snuffed it out.
Effective immediately, no more cheap candles.
The lobby felt smaller than I remembered. Had it always been this old? Didn’t it used to be . . . shinier? Brighter?
Maybe it wasn’t actually that dull. Maybe it was simply my attitude.
My positive, cheery attitude had taken a major hit over the past four years.
Well, at least the lobby had a rustic charm. But it needed more light. The wood paneling was dark, and the only light came from an antler chandelier overhead. Its bulbs were too small and too yellow for the space.
Where was the receptionist? I dinged the bell again.
“Coming!” The shout came from a faraway hall. It took a full minute before a young woman emerged. Her face was framed with a blunt black bob. “Hello. How can I help you?”
I returned her smile, reading the name tag pinned to her navy polo. “Hi, Deb. I’m Indya Keller.”
“Welcome to Crazy Mountain Cattle.”
Crazy. Mountain. Cattle.
I cringed. The name definitely had to go.
Deb riffled through the papers behind the counter, probably searching for something with my name on it. Did she have a computer or iPad? Was everything done on paper? When she came up empty, confusion clouded her blue eyes. “Um . . . do you have a reservation?”
“No, I don’t. I’m looking for Curtis.”
“Oh.” Her frame relaxed. “I just saw him in the kitchen. I’ll go track him down and let him know you’re here. Miss . . .”
“Keller. Indya Keller.”
“Right. Sorry.” She gave me an exaggerated frown. “I’m bad with names. Be right back.”
I sagged against the counter and pinched the bridge of my nose as she scurried off. Then I checked my watch. Four thirty. Still early. And the real misery hadn’t even begun.
It was 4:39 before Deb returned, cheeks flushed and breathless. “Curtis is on his way. Sorry. He snuck out, so I had to chase him to the barn.”
“No problem. While we wait, could I please get a room?”
“Oh. Uh . . .” She blinked, then opened a drawer and pulled out a laptop. There it was. “Yes, of course. Here at the lodge? Or would you like a private cabin?”
“The lodge. Please.” Later, I’d commandeer a cabin. But there were discussions to be had first.
Deb had just finished taking my information when a throat cleared.
Curtis walked into the lobby with dirty boots, dingy jeans, and a faded green button-down shirt with pearl snaps. His hair was more salt than pepper, and the fine lines on his face had turned to heavy wrinkles. He looked thin. Tired. He was limping. Why was he limping?
The past four years had been hard on Curtis. I could relate. It might not show on my face like it did his, but he wasn’t the only person who was worn down.
“Hello, Curtis.”
“Indya.” His eyes softened for a split second, like he was seeing an old friend. Then he must have remembered why I was here, and that gentleness disappeared. His lips pursed, and he jerked his chin toward the hall. “We’ll go meet in an office. Deb, get Miss Keller a room. Comp it.”
“Already on it.” She gave him a mock salute, then went to work, her nails clicking on the keyboard as she typed.
He shouldn’t be comping rooms, even for me. But I kept my mouth shut and followed him as he walked to the hall. With a limp.
It had been ages since I’d been in this part of the lodge. With every open doorway we passed, I peeked inside. A bathroom that needed to be cleaned. A tiny office coated in dust. A storage room in complete disarray.
My task list kept expanding, and with it, a headache bloomed.
Curtis walked into the office at the end of the hallway—the corner office—and flipped on a light. The air was stale. Dust motes caught the light that streamed through the glass. The room wasn’t big, but its windows gave the illusion of space. The panes framed lush green meadows and the forests beyond.
“Have a seat.” He waved a hand to the walnut desk. “Boys are on their way. I’ll grab a couple more chairs. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, thank you.” I offered him a kind smile.
It went unreturned as he stepped out.
My heart climbed into my throat as I walked to the executive chair that was pushed neatly into the desk. The leather was cold and stiff as I sat. The lumbar was too pronounced, and the armrests were a rough plastic. Either this was a brand-new chair for the office, or it had been a long time since someone had taken this seat.
Given the reason I was here, probably the latter.
It didn’t feel right to be behind this desk. It didn’t feel right to be in this room.
It didn’t feel right to be in Montana.
Curtis returned to the office with three folding chairs tucked under his arms. He snapped them open and practically slammed them on the floor, each landing with a hard bang that made me flinch.
Three chairs. For three Havens.
On the wrong side of the desk.
“I’ll, uh . . .” He dragged a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. Then he left the room without finishing his sentence.
The awkwardness was expected. It was only going to get worse.
My insides knotted as I waited, my gaze glued to the dusty desk. If I looked around, I’d probably find more items for my list, and it was already too long.
Dad should be here to do this, not me. He’d know what to say to defuse the tension. He’d know how to soften this blow.
Curtis returned with four water bottles. He set them on the desk, snagging one for himself, then took the farthest folding chair from the door.
“Thank you.” I took a water, then twisted off its lid and took a sip.
He wouldn’t look at me. He stared at his own bottle. He inspected his scuffed boots. He faced the window, his eyes unfocused as he stared into the distance.
Silence stretched between us as uncomfortable as my seat.
“The boys don’t know about this.” Curtis’s announcement was no more than a murmur, but he might as well have screamed it in my ear.
“W-what?”
“I didn’t know how to tell them.”
My jaw dropped. “So you just . . . didn’t?”
He shook his head.
Oh, hell. Seriously? How could he have kept this a secret? Was this my punishment for trying to do the right thing? Having to watch as he delivered the bad news? Or was he expecting me to tell them?
My temples throbbed with every question. This headache would be a migraine before the day was done.
“You will tell them.” I steeled my spine and splayed my fingers on the desk.
My desk.
This was my desk.
I wasn’t a guest. I wasn’t a spectator. I was here on business.
I was here to do what Dad had taught me to do.
From this moment on, I was in charge. And I was going to make Curtis tell his children that I was now the owner of the Crazy Mountain Cattle Resort.
“I’ll tell them.” Curtis nodded.
As the color drained from his face, my heart twisted.
He’d had over a month to tell them. Any other situation, and I wouldn’t feel an ounce of pity. He’d made his bed.
But this was Curtis. This was the man who’d helped me on my first horse. The man who’d befriended my father. The man who’d always made sure my family had an escape.
If he couldn’t do it, if he couldn’t tell West and Jax, then I’d do it for him.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
I sat up straighter as my pulse raced. Breathe. In and out.
Four days on the road, prepping myself for this, and I still wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to face him.
“Dad?” Jax called.
Phew. The air rushed from my lungs. The relief would be short lived, but I’d take every millisecond I could get.
“In here.” Curtis kept his gaze trained out the window.
Jax breezed into the office, drawing up short when he spotted me behind the desk. “Hi. Sorry. Thought Dad was alone.”
“Hi.” I stood and held out my hand. “Indya Keller.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He studied my face as he returned the shake. “Or have we met?”
“We have.” I nodded. “But it was a long time ago.”
The last time I had seen Jax, he was a teenager, finishing his senior year of high school. Had he gone to college? Or had he been here for the past four years?
He’d filled out his broad frame and lost the softness of youth. Dark-blond whiskers covered his jaw. His smile was easy. Charming. Not something he shared with his brother.
West’s smiles were always charming but never came easy.
Jax took the seat beside his father, kicking an ankle up over his knee. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes narrowed, no doubt wondering what I was doing on the wrong side of the desk. “What’s this about?”
“We’ll wait for West,” Curtis said.
Jax hummed and snatched a water, gulping half the bottle in the time it took for another pair of footsteps to echo in the hallway.
My shoulders drew toward my ears, but I forced them down. I donned the impassive expression I’d mastered lately. The expression Blaine hated. Ironic, because our marriage was the reason I’d learned it in the first place.
But despite the neutral facade, my heart drummed faster and faster. Then it stopped. The moment West appeared, everything stopped.
The world faded to a blur, and I forgot how to breathe.
God, he looked good. As rugged and handsome as the day I’d vowed never to visit this ranch again. His dark hair was a mess. There was a slight ring around it, like he’d been wearing a hat for hours today and he’d used his fingers to comb it out. His chiseled jaw was covered in thick, dark stubble.
His broad frame filled the doorway. The top two buttons on his chambray shirt were undone, the skin beneath tan and sweaty. There was a pair of leather gloves tucked in the back pocket of his faded Wranglers.
“What’s—” The moment he spotted me behind the desk, he came to an abrupt halt outside the door. “Indya?”
Once upon a time, I’d lived to hear that deep, gravelly voice. “Hi, West.”
His hazel eyes roamed my face, taking in every detail. Then they dropped to my hands on the desk. To the finger that used to wear a diamond ring.
“Have a seat,” Curtis said.
West’s gaze shifted to his father. Whatever he saw made his frame lock and his jaw clench. “Think I’ll stand.”
Of course he would.
There was no more obstinate, stubborn man on this planet than West Haven.
Curtis sighed, like he’d expected that reaction from his oldest son. He nodded, then swallowed hard, but didn’t speak.
Would he tell them? Or was he just going to sit there and stare at me?
The sound of my pounding heart was so loud, I was sure the men could hear it too.
Curtis kept his attention fixed on me like we were playing a game. Who would crack first? He wasn’t going to tell them, was he? Coward. He was going to make me do it.
“Dad?” Jax asked. “What’s—”
“I sold the ranch.”
The breath I’d been holding rushed from my lungs. The temperature in the room plummeted as Curtis’s statement settled deep.
“What the fuck?” Jax exploded out of his chair, the backs of his knees sending it skidding across the floor. “You sold the ranch?”
Waves of icy fury rolled off West’s body, but he didn’t move. He fixed his stare on me, pinning me to this horrible chair.
Curtis dropped his chin and managed a nod. The shame seemed to weigh so heavily on his shoulders I feared that flimsy chair would collapse.
“To you?” Jax pointed to my nose. “He sold it to you?”
“Yes,” I answered, still holding West’s gaze.
“What does this mean?” Jax asked. “Do we have to move? Are we out of jobs? What about our homes? What the fuck is going on?”
His questions filled the room while I stared at his brother.
When I was younger, West’s stare would have made me nervous and jittery. But then I’d learned it was simply his way.
West stared when he wasn’t sure what to say.
So I stared back, taking in that face.
Even angry and confused, he was gorgeous. And oh, how I’d loved him once.
I’d loved West Haven so much I couldn’t see straight. So much I would have given up anything and everything to be at his side.
What a stupid little girl I’d been.
“West.” Jax smacked him on the arm. “Say something.”
He wouldn’t. West would walk away without a word. He’d stay quiet to ensure he didn’t say the wrong thing. The mean thing.
And as expected, one moment I was staring into blazing hazel eyes.
The next, I was staring at his back while West turned and disappeared.
“Fuck,” Jax clipped, chasing out of the office on his brother’s heels.
I waited until the hallway was quiet. “You should have told them.”
“Guess I figured it would be better this way. You could be here to make sure I didn’t share too much.”
Was that a threat? “We have a deal, Curtis.” A deal that required he keep his damn mouth shut.
“I’m well aware of the deal, Indya,” he snarled. He shoved to his feet and left the room.
The silence returned slowly, like a feather floating to the ground. I waited for it to fall, for my heart to stop hammering, then finally surveyed the office.
There were no bookshelves. No photographs. No paperwork or laptop. Nothing personal except for a lone painting across from the desk.
The watercolor was of a horse’s face. Its tangled mane was draped over an eye. The brown, gold, and rust colors were blended to perfection.
I stared at the horse as I took out my phone and called Dad.
“You’ve reached Grant Keller. Please leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you.”
“Well, Daddy. That went . . . it went. I’ll tell you about it later.” I ended the call and set my phone on the desk.
This was wrong. This was all wrong.
I never should have come back to Montana.
“What the hell am I doing here?” I whispered.
The horse didn’t have an answer.
by