the homestead alone.
She should be reattaching her tool belt to her waist and getting back to work. She’d only come home for a quick snack—and to take the pregnancy test without Bishop around—and he was likely waiting for her down near Preacher’s place.
Mister had asked for a house at Shiloh Ridge, and the administrative board had met with Bishop and Montana. A site had been chosen across the main road that led up to the ranch, almost parallel to Preacher and Charlie’s farmhouse. That would give Libby easy access to the highway that led out to Golden Hour, where she would continue to work on her family’s ranch.
She and Mister had set a date for their wedding in February, which was the shortest engagement of all the Glovers. Well, besides Preacher and Charlie, who’d decided to get married spontaneously once they’d been trapped on the ranch together.
Montana sank onto the couch, tears threatening to overflow down her face. She couldn’t go back out onto the ranch to work. She couldn’t even see straight. She couldn’t think.
The doorbell rang, and she didn’t move. Why would someone come here in the middle of the day? While Holly Ann, Sammy, Oakley, Willa, Zona, and Dot got together in the middle of the day, Montana didn’t join them very often. She still had a very busy job to do around Shiloh Ridge, and Bishop usually took Robbie with him or he dropped him off at Ace’s, Bear’s, or Cactus’s for the day.
The ranch wives have been nothing but good to Montana. She shouldn’t have such negative and bitter thoughts about them and how easy their lives were. But the truth was, she did.
“Maybe that’s why you can’t get pregnant,” she murmured to herself, and that only made the tears too heavy for her to contain. They flowed down her face, and she wished they would take all the bad feelings with them.
“She’s here,” someone said, and Montana looked toward the door as Willa and June entered the house. What in the world was June doing here? She ran a busy networking company, and she didn’t have time to come back to the ranch for mid-morning snacks, lunch, or even dinner sometimes.
She couldn’t stop crying, even when Willa sat right beside her and drew her into a tight embrace, saying, “What’s wrong, Montana? Please, tell us what’s wrong so we can help.”
Chapter 9
Willa Glover’s heart hurt at the pain and devastation pouring from one of her dearest friends. She’d been standing in her kitchen with Chaz on a chair beside her, the two of them pushing chocolate candy kisses into peanut butter cookie dough when she’d had the overwhelming thought to leave now! Go to Montana’s.
She’d paused while her son continued to mash candy into dough. “Momma,” he’d said, and all Willa could hear was Go now, Willa. Go.
So she’d scooped Chaz into her arms, and she’d left the Edge Cabin. She’d left the cookies. She’d left the oven on. She’d loaded up Chaz and Lynn, who didn’t have preschool on Thursdays, and she’d started the journey in from the Edge. June had flagged her down from the backyard as she’d started to pass the Ranch House, and she’d said, “I have a terrible feeling inside. Do you need something?”
“Not me,” Willa said. “It’s Montana.”
“Did she call you?”
“No,” Willa said. The Lord had called her. “Let’s stop at the homestead and see if Etta will take the kids.”
She had, of course. Etta always wanted the kids, and she’d said she’d pray for Montana. June and Willa had continued down the road and behind the barn. She’d rung the doorbell three times, as Montana’s truck sat out front. Willa had known she was inside, and June had finally reached for the doorknob and opened the door without being invited inside.
Willa met June’s eyes over the top of Montana’s head. Seeing her sobbing on the couch had wrenched her heart into the wrong position inside her chest, because Willa knew devastation like this. She’d once lost her son to her ex-husband, and she’d once had to spend hours, days, months, and years on her knees and working hard in her life to fix the things she’d done wrong.
She stopped asking Montana to talk to her and instead just held her. June stroked her nearly white-blonde hair and murmured things like, “We’re right here, Montana,” and “We can help you.”
Willa wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but she’d like to believe it was. Sometimes just being