“How sad.”

“Yeah, but then my teacher did something I hadn’t expected. She stood up for me. Hushed the other children, came to my side, took my hand and whispered in my ear. She asked me if I could see the board and I answered her honestly.”

“What did she do?” Bridge asked.

“She picked me up, wrapped her arms around me, walked me closer to the board and just like that, the words appeared clearly to me, the judging sounds of the other children grew quiet, and I knew exactly what they were, could read them perfectly. Where once I had no answer, suddenly I had one, and that fear, that anxiety, that adrenaline turned to calm. I realized that all I had to do to solve my problem was to get close to it, approach it, to see it more clearly. I had nothing to fear after all.” Bridge’s tears fell harder. “I know the answer feels cloudy right now. I know we can’t read what our future is because we feel so far away from it, but I promise you, Bridge, we’re getting closer to the blackboard. And when we get there, all that fear, all that overwhelming fear of not knowing what lays ahead for us will dissipate. In the end, we’ll have a beautiful little soul to take care of, and we’ll discover that we had nothing really to fear. We’ll discover that our problem wasn’t genuinely a problem after all, not after we’ve seen it for what it actually is. In the light of day, when our adrenaline wears off, we’ll discover that all we truly feared was the unknown.”

“And the children who laughed? Judged you?” she asked. “What did they have to say?”

“By recess, they’d forgotten all about it, moved on to the next poor sap. You see, all my problem was for them was something to focus on simply because they enjoyed it. They relished scandal just as much as the girls you pal around with, just as much as a lot of people we’ll encounter on the way, but they forget, Bridge. They always do. They move on with fiery intensity, hungry to latch on to their next victim. They’re constantly searching to kick those who are already down. They make it impossible for you to make a clear-headed decision. We’re all so afraid of what everyone around us thinks that we risk ourselves to desperation. It’s utterly stupid. It’s utterly frightening. But it’s utterly human.”

“I hate being judged, though,” she said.

“Who doesn’t, Bridge? Who doesn’t? But I ask you this, huh? Why in the hell do we care what others think about us?”

“Because we’re human.”

“But as humans, we’re also capable of forward thinking. I consider myself fairly progressive. I’m choosing right now to rise above those self-righteous assholes. I’m choosing to live the life I want to live, splintered prying eyes be damned.”

She wiped the tears away and laughed. “Yeah. Screw ’em.”

And all the while I bolstered my little sister...I also found that I’d bolstered myself. Come on, Bitterroot.

Chapter Twelve

We pulled onto the little dirt road off the highway, the only indication we were in the right place was the little rickety sign, hanging off its side that read HUNT RANCH, which was difficult to read because of the snow piled so high against it. It took us a little longer than I’d anticipated to travel the five-mile trek to the ranch because I’d never driven in snow before, not this kind of snow anyway. It wasn’t an issue of traction but visibility.

“You weren’t lying. This place is incredible,” Bridge said, her face plastered to the frosted window.

Mountains capped with white glittered in the setting sun amongst cotton ball clouds. A million diamonds appeared to reflect in the surface of those caps before your gaze bled down to a dark ebony rock—a dichotomy of nature. It was pure magnificence. If you followed the mountain line to the base, a sea of powdered snow-covered pine trees meandered their way toward the road we were traveling.

“So beautiful,” Bridge breathed. A tad bit lighter of heart, I thought.

“Yeah, makes me want to drink a beer,” I teased.

Her head whipped my direction, she laughed and shook her head. “You’re an idiot,” she said before returning her eyes to the sights.

I laughed.

A song rang from the stereo, making our surroundings feel even more breathtaking, if possible.

“I’m suddenly not so scared,” Bridge said.

We rounded the bend and came upon the ranch. It was everything I imagined an old-fashioned cattle ranch deep in Montana would look like. Nothing but a myriad of wood buildings alive with people.

We wound around to what looked like the main house. It was a two-story cabin with one large wall of windows jutting up and out in the center, but the roof over those windows extended out, covering a large wide deck and was supported by two huge trunks of what looked like very old trees.

The home was set a little farther up on a hill with its back to the mountains. A wide wood staircase ascended to the deck and met the broad wood front door underneath the overhang. There wasn’t a cut board in sight, just weathered logs shined to an impossible sheen thanks to time, weather and many, many hands.

Our tires crunched the snow and we came to a slow stop in front of the stairs next to five different rusted trucks, dusted with random boots, gloves, the occasional tool and scattered hay. One even had a saddle straddling its bed wall. I cringed when I pulled in next to them, knowing our new truck probably stuck out like a sore thumb.

“I take that back,” Bridge amended.

“No shit,” I said, a little bit intimidated myself.

This was farther from home than I’d ever realized. This was friggin’ Mars.

I got out and planted my foot in snow that was made icy by footprints and tire marks. I took a step and I almost bit it, catching myself on the bed wall before righting myself once again. I shook my head. Don’t drop, dude. I started my way over to Bridge’s side and opened her door for her.

A high-pitched whistle caught our attention. “Hi there!” a tall guy a little older than me yelled.

He waved his hand to stay us then jogged our way. I took the guy in. He was six-foot-two or -three, maybe one-eighty, his shoulders told me he was a manual labor kind of dude and that, if he needed to, he could knock you the shit out.

“Cricket?” I asked.

The guy laughed, which I thought odd, but he didn’t explain himself.

“No, Cricket’s my cousin. Jonah Hunt,” he introduced himself, his breath freezing midair. He removed a red-blistered hand by biting his leatherwork glove and held it out to me.

“Spencer Blackwell,” I said, shaking the offered hand.

“I’m one of Emmett and Ellie’s grandkids.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

Jonah turned to Bridge and his eyes widened before he cooled them to a forced apathy. I narrowed my own gaze.

“Jonah, this is my sister, Bridget,” I said, introducing her.

“You can call me Bridge,” she said.

He stuck out his hand for her and she took it. “Nice to meet you,” he offered with a smile. His straight white teeth were stark against his windburned red cheeks.

I hadn’t noticed, but a few other ranch hands had begun to get curious. No doubt they were anticipating us today and had seen our truck pull in. An older couple was making their way toward us and Jonah gestured toward them.

“There they are,” he said.

When they were just a few feet away, Jonah yelled out. “Pop Pop, this is Spencer,” he said resting his hand on my shoulder briefly before angling himself a little closer to Bridge, “and Bridget Blackwell.”

“A pleasure, sir,” the older gentleman said, offering his hand as well. He was tall and stood with a strength I’d rarely seen in a man of his years, a product of his profession, I suspected, with salt-and-pepper hair and sagging cheeks. “Emmett Hunt,” he continued. “This is my wife, Ellie.”

The older woman’s clear cerulean blue eyes squinted in the sun and a weathered hand shadowed her stare. “So lovely to meet you,” she said before getting closer, her eyes showed deep laugh lines.

Her cool hands found my cheeks and she smiled before moving to Bridge, doing the same for her but her hands lingered there.

“Welcome, brave girl,” she said simply.

Bridge’s eyes began to glass and she smiled back. “Thank you.”

“Well, you’ve caught us at the end of our workday,” she said, stepping back to stand with her husband. “Although, the work never really stops, but you’ve come just in time for dinner, which is a grand thing because we’re preparing something a little extra special for you.” She winked. “Jonah will show you to your trailer so you can settle in and rest a bit while I get it all sewed-up.”

“Thank you,” Bridge and I said in unison.

“Welcome to Hunt Ranch!” she said, before bounding up the steps behind Emmett.

“Hop in your truck and I’ll show you the way,” Jonah said.

We did as he instructed and I rolled down my window for him when he jumped on the truck’s step bar.

He bent down slightly. “Back up a bit and head in that direction,” he said, pointing at a cluster of wood buildings. I did so, slowly. “That was the main house, as you can guess. This here,” he said pointing again to a tall wood structure to our left. It was open but covered. “This is our hay storage. Next to that is our main barn and the pen’s attached to that on the other side.” We rounded a small bend. “Carriage house to store all our machinery. A few of us ranch hands live above the carriage house, including myself,” he said, glancing at Bridge. I felt like clocking him, but he was just trying to be nice. That didn’t mean I had to like the attention he was giving her. “Horse barn,” he continued. “We’ve got a few other little buildings a hundred yards or so that direction.” He pointed east and I saw a peppering of buildings. “Those were original to the ranch in the late eighteen hundreds. Here we are,” he said, gesturing to the left. “All of these weren’t built until nineteen-twenty or so. They don’t look that much different, do they?” he laughed.

We came upon a little silver Airstream tucked below some pine trees at the bottom of the sloping hill parallel to the main house. Bridge looked at me and I shook my head to keep quiet until we were alone. Jonah walked off the step bar as I came to a stop near the trailer and ran around to the passenger side, opening the door for Bridge.

“Thank you,” she said, taking his hand and stepping down.

I opened the back doors and started grabbing bags. Jonah followed suit by opening the back door nearest him and grabbed the remaining. I nodded my thanks.

He led us to the trailer and walked the small stairwell to the round pocket door and opened it. I stepped inside after him, directly to my right was a built-in sofa that butted against the width of the trailer, save for a small wall of cabinets that lay perpendicular against the wall farthest from the door. Along that same wall, was a small fridge, closet, and across from those was a small sink and stove. There was also a small laminate table in front of the sofa. Past the center accordion doors laid two small twin beds on opposite ends of the trailer walls and beyond that, a small bathroom with toilet, sink, and tub with shower. The entire place was a trip back in time to the seventies, complete with gold laminate floors and countertops, but it looked and smelled clean and had new mattresses and bedding. I hope they didn’t buy that for us, I thought. I felt bad enough imposing on their hospitality as it was.