Paradise Peak (New Americana 5)

Zeke raised his hand, opening and closing it, and smiled. “Bye, Giant.”

Travis smiled back. The fondness in Zeke’s voice as he spoke the nickname and the admiration in the boy’s eyes lifted his heart with a small sense of pride, and the hope that he might one day live up to Zeke’s high expectations.

“Good-bye, Zeke,” he said softly, before turning and facing the road ahead.

* * *

Hannah eased back in her rocking chair and opened her eyes, taking in the shadowy mountain range opposite her front porch. A thick blue shroud hung over the dark, rugged landscape and dawn had yet to break, its slow approach marked only by a thin strip of lavender just above the mountains’ rugged peaks.

The Carrollton boys’ laughter, which had echoed across the stream toward Hannah’s cabin late yesterday afternoon as they’d played, had vanished hours ago when they’d returned home for supper and bed, their small forms running and jumping along the crooked trail leading to Travis’s cabin.

Travis.

Hannah closed her eyes again and rubbed her temples, the painful throb in her head—and heart—persisting as it had all day yesterday after Travis had left, and throughout the night, making sleep impossible.

For a few hours yesterday afternoon, she’d cleaned her cabin from top to bottom, sweeping and mopping floors, dusting every nook and cranny, and raising every window she could reach to air out the place. She’d stripped the sheets from her bed and the one Travis had slept in and drowned them with extra detergent in the washing machine, hoping to erase every trace of Travis’s scent from her room, from the room he’d slept in, and from her home in general.

But there was a problem.

No matter how much she washed, scrubbed, and mopped, Travis’s presence still lingered in every inch of her cabin . . . and in her heart.

She’d seen him standing in her hallway, smiling down at her, and felt his lips on hers as he’d kissed her good night every night over the past two months. She’d rolled over in bed more than once as she’d strained for sleep last night, her hands fumbling over the sheets, seeking his warm chest. And when she’d given up chasing sleep and had walked outside and sat on the porch, she’d heard his voice, broken and full of pain.

Good-bye, Hannah.

And she’d realized it then—why she had been unable to clear Travis from her home and her heart. It wasn’t because she couldn’t; she had, after all, undertaken the grueling process of leaving Bryan, a man she had once loved.

No. The reason she was thinking, moving, and feeling in circles was not because she couldn’t say good-bye to Travis—it was because she didn’t want to say good-bye.

Despite his confessions, and despite how badly he’d hurt Margaret, she still loved Travis as the good man she’d met a little over two months ago. She still believed in that man. Still trusted him.

A low groan escaped her as she rubbed her temples harder. But how could she? How could she trust a man—a former addict like Bryan—after all he’d done?

“You couldn’t sleep either?”

Hannah lowered her hands to find Margaret standing on the top step of the stairs leading to the front porch, a softly lit camping lantern in her hand and a weary expression on her face. Red stood several steps below Margaret, dark circles under his eyes.

“No,” Hannah said. A humorless smile curved her lips. “I gave up hours ago and decided to use the sunrise as my excuse for sitting out here like a heartbroken fool. What’s your excuse?”

Margaret sighed and set the camping lantern on the porch rail. “I kept Red up half the night pacing the foyer, so we decided to take an early morning walk and ended up here.”

“Do you mind if we join you?” Red asked, his voice gruff.

“Not at all.” Hannah waved toward two empty chairs next to her. “Have a seat.”

They did, Margaret sitting in a chair beside Hannah while Red settled in a rocking chair on the other side of Margaret. It was silent for a few moments, save for the creak of their chairs as they rocked, and they watched thin shafts of color peek over the mountain range as the sun slowly rose.

“Red and I didn’t wander over here by accident,” Margaret said quietly. “It was selfish of me, but I hoped you might be up.” She slipped a hand inside the pocket of her long skirt and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “I spent yesterday afternoon and half of last night reading the letters Trav—” She bit her lip, then continued, “Reading the letters Neil left, and this is the last one he wrote. Since you were mentioned, I thought you might want to read it.”

Hannah stared at the paper in Margaret’s hand, her own shaking as she reached for the letter, then turned it over between her fingers. “How many were there?”

“More than I cared to count.” Margaret faced the mountain range again, dawn casting warm pink and lavender hues of light across her face. “I wasn’t going to read them, but once I started, I found I didn’t have the heart to put them down.”

Hannah grew still, watching Margaret’s carefully controlled expression, then stood slowly and crossed to the lantern. She unfolded the paper, smoothing it between her fingers, then began reading.

Dear Margaret,

When you read this, I will have already told you the truth. I’m sorry for not telling you who I was from the beginning and for the pain I’ve caused you, Niki, and Phillip in the past. And I’m sorry for the pain I’m causing you, Hannah, and Red now. I’m ashamed of who I once was and what I’ve done, which is why this will be the last time I write to you.