“Jonathan?” I spin back to him, but he’s already heading toward the barn. Cal is nowhere in sight, but Baxter looks like a gaping hole in the shadows. It’s a trick of the light that makes it appear as if Cal has already dug a grave. I hurry after my brother and catch his arm. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know,” he says. He yanks away, and as he leaves I hear him say, “But this wasn’t an accident.”
CHAPTER 3
WINTER TODAY
The lights were on inside the farmhouse, and framed in the picture window was a scene reminiscent of a Norman Rockwell print. They were setting the table, carrying stacks of plates and stemless wineglasses and a serving dish with potholders that Juniper knew her mother had knit. There was laughter—she couldn’t hear it, but she could see it in the way that her sister-in-law, Mandy, tossed her head, lips pulled back in what could be considered a rictus. But no, they were happy, or at least pretending to be.
I could leave. The thought was tempting. She could whip the car around and speed away, past the little blue house and the library and the shot-up WELCOME TO JERICHO sign. This time, she would keep her promise to herself and never, ever come back.
But no. Juniper shoved the idea away. She had a plan. Besides, it was too late. As she watched, one of her nephews came running over to the window. Cameron? He pressed his nose against the glass, and his gap-toothed grin told her that he was indeed her four-year-old nephew. He looked over his shoulder and shouted something so that everyone turned to stare.
The night was moonless and cold, so dark that Juniper could hardly see where she was going and had to pick her way carefully or risk breaking her neck on the icy walk. By the time she mounted the porch steps, Cameron had come outside and Hunter had joined his brother, one hand fisted around the collar of Jonathan’s dog. Diesel was a Great Dane with classic fawn markings and the personality of a teddy bear. The little trio were the only family members willing to brave the night to say hello. Juniper didn’t know if she should be disappointed or relieved.
“Did you bring us something?” Cameron asked in greeting. A towheaded carbon copy of Jonathan at four, he pressed himself against his older brother. Hunter favored his mother, but Cameron made Juniper feel strangely wistful.
“Of course.” She smiled and held out a bag filled with lollipops from Hammonds. She didn’t even tell them to save the sweets for later.
Hunter snatched it and murmured a thank-you. Then they both seemed to remember their manners and hugged her, quickly, before racing back into the house. Cameron left the door wide open for her grand entrance.
But Juniper’s homecoming wasn’t grand, and as she stood just outside the slash of light carved on the crooked porch of her childhood home, the full reality of it hit her like a blow. This was a moment so ripe with shame, she couldn’t stop herself from recoiling a little. She was the runaway, the prodigal daughter who had split when the going got tough. And beneath the brittle layer of that ugly truth, Juniper harbored the fear that she hadn’t left of her own free will—she’d been pushed out. Banished. Suddenly she knew that all the years between hadn’t lessened the guilt and horror she felt. If anything, those feelings had intensified.
It was true that she made the pilgrimage home once a year—usually a quick weekend stay to celebrate Willa’s birthday—but she avoided Jericho proper altogether. It was easy to bypass the entire town by taking gravel roads and then camping on the sagging couch in her parents’ living room for a scant night or two. These whirlwind trips—though carefully structured and contained—were as sweet and fleeting as candy on her tongue. And while Juniper treasured the meager memories she made with Willa, she always drove back to Colorado with a bitter aftertaste.
In the early years, when Juniper came home, she would tiptoe upstairs in the middle of the night to hold Willa in the rocking chair. The child was so small and yet so heavy, a warm, sturdy weight in June’s lap that threatened to anchor her to Jericho. And wouldn’t she give up everything for this? For the curl of her daughter’s chubby hand around her finger? For the scent of her milk-warm breath in the air between them? For the chance to start again? But Reb had quickly put a stop to those nights. She’d snuck up the stairs herself and whisked the sleeping Willa up and away, chiding Juniper that the little girl needed her sleep. The message was clear: Willa doesn’t need you. Juniper feared it was still true. She didn’t belong here.
Crouching down, she buried both hands in Diesel’s warm scruff. “What do you think, boy? Should we get out of here?” He licked her chin.