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She felt guilty before she’d even shut the door. She might be a crazy ghost-town black widow, but she wasn’t a litterer, so she got out and tossed it onto the passenger side floor. The door sounded horrifically loud when she shut it, so Merry pulled away quickly to avoid being stopped by Grace or caught by Shane.
She needed to be alone. She loved Providence, and she needed these last few hours with it. She wouldn’t be able to return until it was open to the public as a museum. And hell, her picture might be next to the cash register even then, like a girl who’d passed too many bad checks.
Rolling down all the windows despite the cold, she drove slowly through town, passing only a few joggers and the poor folks who had to get up and make breakfast for tourists. A ragged bus rumbled through, empty and ready to pick up rafters for the all-day floats down the Snake River. Maybe she’d try that one of these days. She was about to have a lot of free time.
She knew it was stupid to feel so prematurely nostalgic as she drove north toward Providence. She wouldn’t be banned from the highways. She could take this drive anytime she wanted, as long as she could afford gas. But she still felt choked with grief as she watched the familiar landmarks pass. The wetlands where she always spotted beaver dams but no beavers. The grass fields that usually sheltered a herd of deer or antelope. The little sign for Warm Springs that still made her smile. Warm springs. Not exactly hot, but still pleasant. Another place she could still explore, but somehow knew she never would.
By the time she got to the town, the sun was just starting to peek over distant hills. Merry got out of her car and sat on the hood to watch morning come to Providence.
It was so quiet out here, but if you really stayed still, the sounds could overwhelm you. Birds, dozens of them, sang and whistled and called. They hopped through the dry grass looking for food and making a surprisingly loud racket. Every time she watched a clump of rattling grass, expecting a raccoon or weasel to pop out, a tiny little finch would expose itself.
Then there was the wind, even the faintest hint of it swaying the long grass and shushing the seeds against each other. And the sound of the stream… It was hardly even worthy of that name now, but she could still hear it when the wind calmed. The faintest little ring of water as it jumped over stones and carved around plants. She wondered what it had been like when the town was settled. It had been almost a proper river then, before it had been forced into a half dozen different channels that probably snaked down the mountain miles apart.
She knew this place wasn’t hers. Logically she knew that. She was only a curator, brought in from out of town and never even meant to be permanent. This place didn’t belong to her. It wasn’t even her heritage. She had no family here and no ties except a best friend from L.A. who was just as much a stranger to Wyoming as she was.
So she’d be okay. She was almost sure of it.
Merry slid off the car and moved slowly through town. She marked each building with her eyes. Her favorites she walked into or she just touched the walls if they weren’t stable enough to hold her weight. She didn’t even dodge away from the spiders. She was too damn heavy for that kind of fear.
She’d have to find another way to prove herself to the people who loved her, if that was possible. She was beginning to think it wasn’t. She was beginning to think she had nothing to prove, not because she was too great for it, but because there was nothing there. No core. No strength. Just a futile hope that she wasn’t a loser.
The wind rose then, sweeping over her skin, picking up her hair and floating it behind her. Merry closed her eyes and pictured herself as that bit of dandelion fluff she’d feared she was. Any second now she’d break away and be swept off.
But not yet. She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, then headed to her little makeshift office to clean it up.
Two hours later, she had everything organized for the person who’d replace her, and she’d made a tiny pile of the things that belonged to her. Everything else belonged to someone else. Or it belonged to the Providence Historical Trust. Not even a person, but a group that would never love this place as much as she did.
She meant to get up then. To leave. But her hand went to the biography notes she’d taken about Gideon Bishop. In those notes was the information about his family. His descendants. About Shane.
Before she could start reading, she heard a car door slam and she sat straight with a terrified start.
Whoever it was, she didn’t want to see them. Not even Grace. An ungracious thought, considering her friend would only be worried for her. Merry hung her head for a moment, took a deep breath and then stood.
But when she stepped out onto the little porch, she froze and that breath she’d taken flew from her lungs on a choked cry. It wasn’t Grace. It was Shane walking toward her, his face half-hidden by the shade of his hat.
In that moment, she hated him more than she’d ever hated anyone in her life. She shook her head, but he kept coming.
“Go away,” she ordered. He ignored her. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she shouted.
That stopped him, at least, but he was only ten feet away now. Way too close.
“Merry, please. I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you. I wanted to, but by then it was too late. I didn’t know how to—”
“I said I don’t want to talk to you!”
He took off his hat and rubbed a hand over his hair. “I know you don’t. That’s fair. You can just stand there. But I need you to understand that what happened between us didn’t have anything to do with Providence.”
“You’re a liar. And I don’t care about that. It didn’t mean anything to you and it didn’t mean anything to me.”
“Merry, that’s not true—”
“Why are you here? To rub it in? To gloat about how you’re going to ruin all my plans? Just do it!”
“Do what?”
“Tell the board. Tell the press. Tell the judge. Just get it over with. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to wait to be fired. I’m resigning.”
He shook his head. “No. Didn’t you read my letter?”
