“I’ve been telling you that for ages.”
“But of course I don’t believe you because you’re my sister and a fan of everything I do.”
“I’m a fan because you’re good, not because you’re related to me.”
“Maybe I should advertise in the Courier, and try to pick up some custom orders here and there, just for the fun of it.”
“And the income. The extra income would give you more independence. You should have your own place. A two-bedroom apartment or a little house down by the high school. You could take the second bedroom and turn it into a sewing room.”
“But Mom and Dad need someone to look after them.”
“Charity, they want your money. They don’t necessarily want you.”
Charity winced.
“I don’t mean to be harsh, but we’re terrible codependents,” Amanda added quietly. “We don’t help them by hovering over them, watching for every misstep, and it’s not healthy for us.”
“You didn’t used to feel that way,” Charity said lowly.
“Tyler has helped me with perspective. Getting married has made me look hard at the way we were raised, and just because we were raised a certain way, doesn’t make it healthy, or right.”
Charity didn’t answer.
“Come over to the salon after work Wednesday night. Let’s have a proper girls’ night,” Amanda said more gently. “It’ll be like the old days when it was just you and me against the world.”
“That would be wonderful. I’ll bring the wine. Should I also pick up some appetizers?”
“I’ve got a good bottle of red here, and we’ll just have a pizza delivered. It feels like forever since we really talked.”
“I know.”
*
Quinn spent another two days in Wyoming, visiting different ski resorts in Jackson Hole to complete his research, before packing up the rental truck and heading north to Marietta.
When he first flew into Jackson Hole, he hadn’t planned on hitting Marietta this trip, but now that he knew who Tricia was, he needed to see her and explain things. And not just to explain things. He needed to see her, period.
The fact was, he missed her. These past few days without her had been long, and boring. Little Teton lost its magic without her, and even a day trip to Jackson left him irritable. He didn’t want to wander around the town on his own. He wanted Tricia with him. He wanted her hand in his, and he wanted to make a bad joke just to see her smile.
He had a sneaking suspicion he was falling for her. More than a sneaking suspicion. He wanted her, and he sensed she was interested in him, but her fears over failed relationships made her hesitant to get too close to him.
He understood that, and respected it, appreciating her caution, but if Quinn had learned anything about life it was that fate was fickle and time was short. If he wanted something—or someone—he went after it.
Which was why he was heading to Marietta now.
*
Quinn’s big log cabin home in Paradise Valley was on the way to Marietta, and he stopped at the sprawling house to shower and shave. While standing at the living room window with its expansive views of the Gallatin Mountain range and icy Yellowstone River snaking through the valley floor, he sent a text to his brother and sister letting them know he’d just arrived in Montana, and he’d be here for the night before flying out of Bozeman tomorrow.
“Want to come over for dinner?” his sister McKenna immediately texted.
“I don’t want to put you out,” he replied. “Let’s just go somewhere easy so you can sit and relax.”
“I can do that. How about Rocco’s?” she texted back, before adding, “I know you love their gnocchi. I’ll check in with Rory, but let’s plan on me making a reservation for six?”
“Deal.” He hesitated, before texting, “Can you add one more to the reservation? I might have a plus one.”
“Is Alice with you?”
“No.”
Quinn smiled, certain he could feel his sister’s wheels turning, but he wasn’t going to mention Tricia to her, at least not yet.
In good weather, it was an eighteen-minute drive from his house to town, but the icy roads had trucks going even slower.
He exited for Main Street and downtown Marietta looked just as it always did in December. Quaint. Charming. Festive. He was sure the Marietta Stroll had just taken place this past weekend. The red brick buildings lining Main Street were still decorated with little white lights and wreaths and boughs of greenery. Marietta had been lovingly preserved, recently written up in a national magazine as one of America’s hidden gems. Marietta was a gem, too, but he had a complicated relationship with the town. Folks in small towns knew too much about their neighbors, and people in Marietta most definitely knew too much about him, and his family.
In Seattle, he’d escaped his legacy as “one of those Douglases.” On the field, no one cared about his past, and no one bothered bringing up the tragedy. The broadcasters had learned to leave it alone and the general public had forgotten that there had even been a “Paradise Valley Ranch Invasion.” It was only here, in Marietta, that people remembered. It was here that people looked at him and remembered that he had been the only one who’d survived the shooting.
Quinn spotted Marietta Travel and parked his rental car out front. Opening the door to the travel agency, his gaze swept the interior. Marietta Travel had been on Main Street for as long as he could remember and in the early days of his career, Mrs. Ferguson, the former manager, would book all his travel. He glanced around the small office with the trio of desks in the front with another desk in a glassed-in office at the back. Mrs. Ferguson had retired years ago and he didn’t recognize anyone at the desks, nor did he spot Tricia’s long blonde hair and elegant profile.
Maybe Tricia was at lunch, or maybe she was in the bathroom or a storage room. He asked for her at one of the front desks. The older woman pointed to the glassed-in office at the rear.
“That’s Tricia’s office,” the woman said. “Want me to get her for you?”
Quinn frowned as he gazed at the brunette sitting at the desk behind the glass wall. She wore her hair in a sleek ponytail and she looked to be the right age, but she wasn’t Tricia. She looked nothing like his Tricia. “Maybe I have the name wrong. I’m looking for Tricia Thorpe. She was just in Wyoming on a travel agent familiarization this past week.”
The woman’s forehead creased. “That is Tricia Thorpe. She’s our manager. But she wasn’t on a travel agent familiarization in Wyoming or anywhere else. She was here all week.”
“It can’t be. I was with Tricia at the Little Teton Resort, and Tricia is slim and blonde, with long hair, really pretty hair.”
“Oh.” The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh. I think I understand.” She rose from behind her desk, giving him a quick, sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you come with me? I’m sure, uh, Tricia can clear this up.”
He nodded grimly and followed her to the glass door.
“Can I help you?” the brunette asked, gesturing for him to take one of the two chairs opposite her desk.
“I’m looking for Tricia Thorpe,” he said.
“I’m Tricia Thorpe,” she answered with a quick smile. “And I think I know who you are. Quinn Douglas, yes?”
He swallowed around the uncomfortable lump in his throat. “Yes.”
“Are you interested in booking some holiday travel—”
“Little Teton Resort,” he interrupted, flatly. “They claim you were there this week and yet your agent up front said you’ve been here all week.”
Tricia’s smile faded. “I see.”
“Do you? Because I don’t.”
Tricia exhaled slowly. “It’s kind of convoluted.” She stood up. “Want coffee or anything?”
“No.” His arms folded across his chest. “So if you weren’t in Wyoming, who was at the ski resort pretending to be you?”
Tricia sat back down. “Charity. Charity Wright.”
&n
bsp; The name was unfamiliar. “Is she from Marietta?”
“Yes. She’s just younger than you. Do you remember Jenny Wright? She would have been your grade in school I think.”
It took Quinn a second to picture a petite, slim blonde girl with big brown eyes. “I think so.” His brow creased. “Blonde?”
Tricia nodded. “All three Wright girls are blonde and pretty. Jenny is the oldest. Amanda is the youngest. Charity is the middle sister.”
Charity Wright. He silently repeated her name. The middle Wright. And suddenly he could remember Carol Bingley, Marietta’s town gossip, making little digs about the Wright girls being all wrong. Was Charity one of those Wright girls who’d been mocked for being all wrong? “Mrs. Bingley didn’t like the Wrights, did she?” he asked abruptly.
“No.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“The family struggled. Mr. Wright was a janitor at the high school and had… problems. He was eventually fired because of those problems.”
Quinn flashed back to high school and the nice custodian who didn’t mind if the boys were in the gym shooting baskets late because it meant he could hide away in his closet and drink.
They all knew he was drinking all the time.
Quinn’s chest tightened, as air bottled in his lungs. He should have just gone back to Seattle where he was the Mariner’s third baseman. “I remember,” he said quietly.
“Charity is a really good person. In fact, she’s one of the best people I know.”
“You don’t need to defend her. I’m not mad at her. I’m trying to find her to apologize.”
Tricia suddenly looked worried. “What happened?”
“It’s between her and me. But tell me, why was she there as you? She used your name the entire time.”
“I was invited to attend the fam but I couldn’t go, and they really wanted Marietta Travel represented so I sent Charity in my place.”
“So she is a travel agent?”
Tricia shifted, uneasy. “She worked here for a summer years ago, but she’s not affiliated with Marietta Travel right now.”
“Why send her in your place?”