Page 20 of Losing the Moon


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Gibbs nodded, his smile fading as concern crept into his eyes. “That’s tough. She’s lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Charlie Grace nodded, the memory still raw. “Yeah. When I saw the snowface start to slide, my heart dropped. It’s terrifying how fast something like that can happen, how small you feel in the face of it.” Her voice wavered slightly, and she pressed her lips together to steady herself. “For a moment, I thought we would for sure lose her.”

Gibbs stepped closer, his usual swagger replaced with an unexpected gentleness. “Hey, it’s okay. You did everything you could, and Capri’s tough. She’ll get through this.” He placed his hand on the sleeve of her coat and squeezed.

The sincerity in his voice surprised her. They were talking like friends again, sharing a moment that felt real and unguarded. For a brief second, she thought maybe this was what they’d lost somewhere along the way.

And then, as if on cue, Gibbs shattered the moment.

“Speaking of getting through,” he began, scratching the back of his neck, “I was wondering if I could get an advance on my paycheck. I’m running a little low right now.”

Charlie Grace’s brows shot up. “An advance? Gibbs, we’ve talked about budgeting before. What happened?”

He hesitated, shifting his weight. “Well, Brewster Findley was selling his spotting scope. I picked it up for only two hundred bucks. That’s half of what it sells for new. If I didn’t scoop it up, someone else would have.”

“A spotting scope?” Charlie Grace’s voice was flat, the disbelief clear.

“Yeah,” Gibbs said earnestly, as though this explanation would smooth everything over. “It’ll be great for hunting season. You can’t pass up a deal like that.”

Charlie Grace stared at him, torn between exasperation and the tiniest flicker of amusement.

Same old Gibbs.

“Truth is, Gibbs. Cash flow is tight for the ranch right now. I really can’t advance you the money.”

“You know I’m good for it,” he argued.

“That’s not the issue. My statement is one hundred percent accurate. There’s no money to spare in the ranch’s bank accounts. Not until tourist season arrives.”

Gibbs hesitated. “What about you personally? Can you spare a couple of hundred so I make rent? My landlord is cracking down on late payments, and I’d rather not end up living out of my truck. That might not sit well with Lizzy and the baby. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can, Charlie Grace. You know I always do.”

Charlie Grace folded her arms and studied him. Same pleading tone, same excuse, same tired promises. Gibbs Nichols might as well be a broken record, spinning the same sorry song he’d been singing for years.

“Gibbs, you’ve got to stop coming to me like this. You’re a grown man,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “I can’t keep bailing you out every time you hit a rough patch. You’ve got to figure out how to stand on your own two feet.”

His face tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might argue. But then, like always, he softened into the charming grin that had once worked so well on her.

“Come on, Charlie Grace. Don’t be like that. You know I’d do the same for you.”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No, Gibbs. You wouldn’t. That’s the thing about you—you’re always looking for someone to fix things for you, to catch you when you fall.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if searching for the right response but coming up empty.

“I’m sorry,” she said, gentler now. “I really am. But this time, you’re going to have to figure it out on your own.”

For a moment, Gibbs just stared at her, his grin slipping into something harder to read. Then he shrugged, shoved his hands into his pockets, and muttered, “Guess I’ll figure something out, then.”

As he turned and walked away, Charlie Grace felt a pang of sadness. There was a time she might have handed him the money without a second thought, believing she was helping him, believing he might change. But she’d grown to know better.

Gibbs Nichols was a master at landing on his feet—and that would never change.

She watched him head outside and toward the feeding bins, his boots kicking up powdery snow. She stood gazing at his retreat for several seconds before turning and heading for the house.

On the way, she looked up at the fading moon and murmured to herself, “The trouble with Gibbs isn’t that he’s stuck in a rut. It’s that he’s made the rut his home.”

11

Reva pulled into the parking lot of Moose Chapel just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, amber shadows across the gravel. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she drew a deep breath. The chapel’s familiar log frame loomed ahead, its cross silhouetted against a lavender sky. The sight had always brought her comfort, but tonight, it felt like a lifeline.