Reva sat in the front row, flanked by her family. Her mother, regal even in bereavement, dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Kellen, stone-faced, kept one protective arm around her. Her two brothers—Quincy in a crisp navy suit, every inch the businessman he aspired to be, and Mason, awkward in a jacket slightly too large—shifted uncomfortably in the pews, sadness etching their faces.
Kellen reached for her hand, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles. But Reva felt barely tethered, her heartache so vast it threatened to pull her under completely.
When the pastor rose to speak—recounting Grand Memaw’s strength, her stubborn faith, her fierce, abiding love for family—Reva bowed her head, hot tears spilling onto the stiff black fabric of her dress.
Eventually, the final hymn swelled through the sanctuary, the organ’s rich notes trembling in the heavy air. As the last amen was spoken and the congregation rose to their feet, Reva stood too, feeling the hollow ache in her chest deepen. She turned to gather herself—and that’s when she saw them. Standing quietly at the back of the church, hands clasped, faces full of love, were Charlie Grace, Lila, and Capri.
Reva’s breath caught, a fresh sob clawing its way up as she made her way to them. “What…what are you doing here?” she managed to croak.
Charlie Grace smiled first, her eyes glistening. “Real friends show up. No invitations needed.”
Lila stepped forward, voice thick with emotion. “You’ve carried us through plenty, Reva. Now it’s our turn.”
Capri, normally the boldest, blinked fast against tears. “Yeah, you didn’t think we’d let you face this without backup, did you?”
The dam inside Reva broke wide open. She surged forward, half-stumbling down the remaining aisle, and into their arms. They folded around her without hesitation, a fortress of friendship, of love.
The heartache of this loss had altered the shape of her life, but it hadn’t stolen everything. People remained who mattered, and they were still here—in the hands that reached for her, the voices that called her name, the quiet certainty that she was loved beyond measure.
22
Reva crossed the sidewalk toward Town Hall, her lunch bag bumping gently against her hip. The morning sun glinted off the courthouse windows, casting long shadows across the square. She paused at the entrance, her hand resting on the worn brass handle, and let her gaze sweep over the familiar scene—the park benches, the lampposts, the steady rhythm of small-town life. It should have comforted her. Instead, her chest tightened with a hollow ache, a silent reminder of how much she loved it here.
Memaw was gone.
The farm would be hers.
Her future—Lucan’s future—would soon take root in red clay soil, not the craggy Tetons she adored.
But not yet.
Not today.
Today she was still the mayor of Thunder Mountain, with work to do. Important work. Hard work.
Squaring her shoulders, Reva stepped into the crisp fall air, the familiar smell of brewing coffee and wet pine rising from the street. She bounded up the steps, and as she pushed through the heavy oak doors, Verna Billingsley was waiting—armed and ready.
“Good morning, Mayor Nygard,” Verna chirped, her lipstick bright enough to stop traffic. She shoved a thick stack of papers into Reva’s hands before she’d even made it past the reception desk.
Reva blinked. “What in the world is this?”
Verna sniffed primly. “Applications.”
“Applications?” Reva repeated. She flipped through the sheaf—cover letters, résumés, even a few headshots. “We haven’t even posted the sheriff’s job yet.”
Verna’s mouth curved in a smug little smile. “This is Thunder Mountain, ma’am. You think you have to post something for folks to know the position is up for grabs?”
Reva sighed and tucked the papers under her arm, heading for her office. “I was hoping to have at least five minutes to get settled.”
Verna trailed behind, clipboard in hand. “Well, make it quick. Ernie Dupree’s already called twice to say he’s ‘highly interested’ in the position. So has Midge Cartwright—and I’m pretty sure she’s never even fired a squirt gun.”
Reva pushed open the door to her office and paused, taking a steadying breath. Sunlight slanted across her desk, illuminating the framed photo of Kellen and Lucan she’d placed beside the phone. A tiny lump rose in her throat, but she forced it down.
So many changes ahead.
She crossed the room and set the applications down with a thump. “Let’s start a list of serious candidates. People with actual law enforcement experience. And give preference to local.”
The town could weather a lot—harsh winters, tourist swarms, even the occasional tremor—but its sheriff had to be one of their own, someone who understood the unspoken codes of Thunder Mountain, where trust wasn’t given lightly, and respect was earned over coffee counters and cattle gates.
