Page 60 of Trails of Temptation

“Is your mom having a funeral? We’d like to go, if so.”

“She had nothing planned in her will besides her wishes to be buried beside my dad in Hot Springs, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“Keely could whip a nice dinner to honor her if you know her favorite foods—”

“Nah,” I breathed, pain radiating in my chest. “I couldn’t ask that of her after this.”

“George,” he said on a breath, “when are you coming back? To the ranch?”

“A day or two, at the most,” I replied, closing my eyes.

“Take as much time as you need to settle things,” he replied. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“How’s Keely?” I asked, my throat tightening painfully.

“I think you should ask her that yourself,” he breathed, then lowered his voice. “She’s having a hard time.”

“I messed up.”

“Nothing that can’t be mended,” he whispered, sighing deeply. “Just let me know if there’s anything I can do help you out right now.”

“I will,” I replied, ending the call.

Edgewater was twenty miles east of Hot Springs, tucked up against the rolling mountains. Grasses taller than my waist brushed over me as I trudged down the overgrown driveway that was once covered in gravel, but now was indiscernible from the rest of the pasture that sprawled out on either side. Orange, red, and yellow wildflowers drifted in a soft, warm breeze as the once grand, block-like farmhouse sprouted in the distance. White-washed paneling fell away from the house, its face covered in dead vines and its gabled roof caving in on itself. Two old, graying barns rose like gravestones in the distance.

I paused, squinting at the rusted-red truck next to one of the barns. The sun glinted off the hood. Dad’s old truck was still here, right where he left it.

“Damn,” I exhaled, looking around. This place was totally untouched.

My mom’s lawyer had told me several dozen offers had been made on the property over the years, some totaling in the millions, but Mom had ignored them all. Why she held onto this place was a mystery to me. I walked up onto the front porch, digging in my pocket for the keyset I’d found in the lockbox my mom rented in Helena that stored mostly family heirlooms and important documents. I unlocked the front door and opened it wide, sucking in a dusty breath.

Flashbacks of my early childhood drifted back to me as I looked at the old staircase that separated the house into two sections, the kitchen and dining room on one side and the living room and covered back porch on the other. Upstairs, there were four large bedrooms and two bathrooms. Downstairs had a small half bath and large laundry room with a washtub and drying rack just outside the back door.

Our old dining room table was still there, coated in over thirty years’ worth of dust. Old couches sat facing each other in the living room, the cushions discolored and coated in what looked like moss. Dust hung thick in the air in long tunnels as it danced in the sunlight coming through the soft lace curtains that had yellowed with age.

“Wow,” I said, tears burning my eyes. “This is unreal.”

I’d thought we’d lost this place. How was this possible?

I spent the next three hours walking through the house, opening every door and looking into every drawer and cupboard. It neededa lotof work. A gut-job, probably, but a lot of the charming fixtures and details could be saved. My old room was in good shape, the wooden furniture my dad had made by hand in perfect condition. But the main bedroom had been exposed to the elements because of the sunken roof and I wasn’t confident the floors could hold my weight after baking in the sun and rotting under snow and rain for three decades.

But something caught my eye as I stood in the doorway to my parents’ old bedroom. There was a jewelry box on top of the dresser—brass, which had turned green with age and exposure. I remembered that box from my childhood. Dad bought it for Mom for their tenth anniversary when I was five years old. I used to bring rocks to my mom to keep safe for me in there.

I gingerly stepped into the room, the floor creaking and groaning underneath me. I took a deep breath and sprinted over to the dresser, snatched up the box, and sprinted back to the doorway. The house trembled, and the floor cracked, pieces of rotted hard wood giving way and exposing the living room below.

“Jesus,” I croaked, peering down and shaking my head. “I’ll have to rebuild this entire section of the house before Keely and I can move in,” I said aloud before I even had a chance to process what I was saying.

An odd feeling of… rightness. Of security, of a future, seeped into me as I stole another look around. I looked down at the box then, opening it up to find it was empty, save for a tiny piece of newspaper. The print was faded, but someone had written something on it.

“George will be back. And he’ll take care of this place and make it home when he’s ready, when he has someone he loves to help make this old house a home again. I promise you that. I just can’t be here without you, my love. I love you. I miss you. See you in the next life.”

My chest ached painfully as I set the paper back in the box. It was mom’s handwriting, and suddenly the fresh memory of her taking her engagement ring out and placing it in my hand came rushing back to me.

She’d been waiting for this. She’d been waiting for me to findthe one. I’d loved my late wife, of course. I’d married her because I loved her, but also because I thought that was what I was supposed to do. To settle down, to try to be happy. Things were easy.

But I hadn’t felt… this fire that I felt with Keely. Nothing was easy. Everything was passionate, white-hot, or ice-cold with her. She was everything I’d ever wanted and everything I feared in one woman.

My life with Keely would be long and trying in the best of ways. I’d live passionately, not just survive. I’d live like my parents had lived—wholly and utterly in love to the point not being together any longer felt like a death sentence, like nothing could ever replace what had been lost.

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