Page 19 of Tribulation Pass

She studied the picture and traced the smile on his face. If only she’d known how soon he would be gone after that picture was taken. She’d been high on life, the whole world in front of her, and he’d already been dying of cancer.

She set the picture on her dresser in the bedroom, and finished up with the boxes. And then she did a walk-through of the house, making a list of supplies she needed and anything she could add to the house to make it her own. The furniture in the cabin was beautiful, but they’d purposefully left things as basic as possible so she’d have a chance to leave her own fingerprints. Everything was white—the walls, throw pillows, and bedding. There was no art on the walls.

It was a blank slate for her to do as she wished, and Atticus had said she could do whatever she wanted with it. It was hers. She wanted a permanent home, and for once, she wanted home to feel like it belonged to her and not on the pages of some snooty magazine.

She’d been emptying her accounts for months in preparation for when she’d be out on her own—hiding away cash and gift cards. Derek had monitored everything, especially when it came to her money. She had enough to start a new life here. And once she started working, her salary would be enough to cover anything else. Independence felt good.

Until she remembered her car was stuck in a ditch, and she was going to have to call a tow truck. She checked her cell phone, but there was still no service, and she laid her head against the wall.

Atticus had left her the new cell phone at a drop location they’d agreed on, along with her new identity and other essential paperwork after her “death.” When Harriet Ashbury-Bancroft had died, Harriet Jones had risen from the ashes. Atticus had told her it was always best to stick as close to the truth as possible. Creating a completely new backstory and identity would only trip her up at some point. So she’d stayed Harriet.

She put her cell on the coffee table and wandered into the kitchen, wondering if cell service was always so spotty. There was a house phone on the bar, and beneath it was a phone book. It had been so long since she’d seen either she wasn’t sure she remembered how to use them. Were the O’Haras listed? Atticus’s number was in her cell phone. She could always call him.

She picked up the phone and started to dial when something caught her eye out of the window of the kitchen door. Her car was parked under the little portico. She opened the kitchen door and stuck her head out, and sure enough, it was there, big as life. Not only was it there, it had also been cleaned.

Then she remembered she’d given Duncan her keys, and he’d never given them back. It was just one more thing she owed him for.

She went out to see if he’d left the keys, and she saw them sitting on the seat of the driver’s side.

“I’m definitely not in New York anymore,” she said. “I guess you don’t have to worry about car thieves out here.”

Hattie breathed in the fresh air, feeling the tension roll out of her shoulders. There was freedom here, and she’d spent enough time resting. She ran back inside and grabbed her purse and her list, and then came back to the car. She wasn’t really sure what day of the week it was, but the weather was nice and the sun was finally out, and the need to explore was taking over.

So maybe the car wasn’t practical or ideal for Idaho winters or torrential downpours, but it was perfect for the summer. She decided one of her stops would be by the mechanic shop to make sure she hadn’t done any damage, and to also see if anyone knew of a good secondhand four-wheel drive she could buy for cheap.

It was a good half-hour drive back into town, and it looked like she wasn’t the only one who’d had the idea of getting out. Everyone had been cooped up and was desperate for sunshine and conversation by the looks of it. The parking spots on Main Street were full, so she looped around and found a place to park behind the library.

She wanted to walk. To get a feel for Laurel Valley. This was her home now, and soon, she’d be working and interacting with the people, and she wanted to absorb as much as she could. She was Hattie Jones, a woman who’d recently lost her father and was now without any family. She had a master’s degree in business and her middle name was Elise.

Stay as close to the truth as you can get.

The ground was still damp in places, and there were several puddles along the cobbled streets of downtown, so she carefully made her way to the sidewalk and nodded to a couple of people as they passed her by.

American flags waved over the shops and bright red umbrellas were open over the outdoor tables. All in all, they had things put back together after the storm. She passed by a bright red door and stopped, checking out the window display.

Raven Layne.

She’d noticed the clothing boutique the day she’d driven into town. The clothes in the window were fashionable and well made, but also functional, and Hattie thought the store would’ve done very well in New York.

She opened the door and was greeted with the smell of cinnamon and the soothing sounds of a rainforest. There were clothes displayed on mannequins and completed ensembles artfully displayed on the walls. There was everything from daywear to eveningwear, and everything in between.

“Hello,” a voice called out from the back room. “Come on in and make yourself at home. Can I get you some coffee or champagne?”

A gorgeous dark-haired woman came out from the back, wearing a long flowing skirt in a bright fuchsia and a draped top of black lace and a rainbow of colors. She looked like a gypsy with her crystalline blue eyes and hoop earrings.

“Oh,” Hattie said. “No thank you, but I appreciate the offer.”

“I try to keep my customers happy,” she said, smiling. “I’m Raven.”

“Hattie,” she said, taking the woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be the Hattie who’s staying at the lake house, would you?”

The look of horror on her face must have been obvious because Raven rushed on to reassure her.

“News travels very quickly here,” she said. “You’ll get used to it. Besides, your car got stuck pretty close to my house. If you’d made your way to the right instead of straight ahead, you would’ve fallen through my door instead of Duncan’s. And probably about an hour sooner.”

Hattie let out a laugh. “Now you tell me. I take it you’re an O’Hara?”

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