Juniper Hill (The Edens)

“Juniper Hill. Juniper Hill.” I plucked the sticky note from the cupholder to double-check that I had the correct street name. Juniper Hill. “There. Is. No. Juniper. Hill.”

My palm smacked on the steering wheel, adding a whack with each word. Frustration seeped from my pores as I desperately scanned the road for a street sign.

Drake screamed in his car seat, that wailing, heartbreaking, red-faced scream. How could a noise so loud come from such a small person?

“I’m sorry, baby. We’re almost there.” We had to be close, right? This miserable trip had to end.

Drake cried and cried, not giving a damn about my apology. He was only eight weeks old, and while this trip had been hard on me, for him it was probably akin to torture.

“I’m screwing everything up, aren’t I?”

Maybe I should have waited and made this trip when he was older. Maybe I should have stayed in New York and dealt with the bullshit. Maybe I should have made a hundred different choices. A thousand.

After days in the car, I’d begun questioning my every decision, especially this one.

Escaping the city had seemed like the best option. But now . . .

Drake’s scream said otherwise.

It seemed like a decade ago that I’d packed up my life—our life—and loaded it into my car. Once, I’d been a girl who’d grown up in a mansion. A girl who’d had a private jet at her disposal. The realization that the only possessions truly mine would fit into a Volvo sedan was . . . humbling.

But I’d made my choice. And it was too late to turn back now.

Thousands of miles and we’d finally made it to Quincy. The site of our fresh start. Or it would be if I could find Juniper Hill.

My ears were ringing. My heart was aching. “Shh. Baby. We’re almost there.”

Neither did he understand nor care. He was hungry and needed a diaper change. I’d planned to do it all when we arrived at our rental, but this was the third time I’d driven this stretch of road.

Lost. We were lost in Montana.

We’d come all this way and were lost. Maybe we’d been lost since the morning I’d driven out of the city. Maybe I’d been lost for years.

I swiped up my phone and checked the GPS. My new boss had warned me that this road wasn’t on a map yet so she’d given me directions instead. Maybe I’d written them down wrong.

Drake’s tiny voice cracked. The crying stopped for a split second so he could refill his lungs, then he just kept on wailing. Through the rearview and the mirror above his seat, his little face was scrunched and flushed and his fists balled.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as tears blurred my vision. They fell down my cheeks and I couldn’t swipe them away fast enough.

Don’t give up.

My own sob escaped, joining my son’s, and I eased off the highway for the shoulder.

But God, I wanted to quit. How long could a person hold on to the end of their rope before their grip slipped? How long could a woman hold herself together before she cracked? Apparently, the answer was from New York to Montana. We were probably only a mile from our final destination and the walls were beginning to crumble.

A sob mixed with a hiccup and the tears flowed until my tires were stopped, the car was in park and I was hugging the steering wheel, wishing it could hug me back.

Don’t give up.

If it was only me, I would have given up months ago. But Drake was counting on me to endure. He’d survive this, right? He’d never know that we’d spent a miserable few days in the car. He’d never know that for the first two months of his life, I’d cried nearly every day. He’d never know that today, the day when we’d started what I hoped would be a happy life, had actually been the fifth-worst day of his mother’s life.

Don’t give up.

I squeezed my eyes shut, giving in to the sobs for a minute. I blindly felt along the door, hitting the button to roll down the windows. Maybe some clean air would chase away the stink of too many days in the car.

“I’m sorry, Drake,” I murmured as he continued to cry. As we both cried. “I’m sorry.”

A better mother would probably get out of the car. A better mother would hold her son, feed him and change him. But then I’d have to load him into his car seat again and he’d cry, like he had for the first hour of our trip this morning.

Maybe he’d be better off with a different mother. A mother who wouldn’t have made him travel across the country.

He deserved a better mother. And a better father.

We had that in common.

“Miss?”

I gasped, nearly jumping out of my seat belt as a woman’s voice cut through the noise.

“Sorry.” The officer, a pretty woman with dark hair, held up her hands.

“Oh my God.” I slapped a hand to my heart as the other shoved a lock of hair from my face. In the rearview, I spotted the familiar blue and red lights of a police car. Shit. The last thing I needed was a ticket.

“I’m sorry, Officer. I can move my car.”

“It’s all right.” She leaned in, peeking inside my car. “Is everything okay?”

I wiped furiously at my face. Stop crying. Stop crying. “Just a bad day. Actually, a really bad day. Maybe the fifth-worst day of my life. Sixth. No, fifth. We’ve been in the car for days and my son won’t stop crying. He’s hungry. I’m hungry. We need a nap and a shower, but I’m lost. I’ve been driving around for thirty minutes trying to find this place where we’re supposed to be staying.”

Now I was rambling to a cop. Fantastic.

The rambling was something I’d done as a kid whenever my nanny had busted me doing something wrong. I didn’t like to be in trouble and my go-to response was to talk my way through it.

Dad had always called it making excuses. But no matter how often he’d scolded me, the rambling had become a habit. A bad habit I’d correct later in life on a day that didn’t rank in the top ten worst days.

“Where are you going?” the woman asked, glancing at Drake, who was still yelling.

He didn’t care that we’d been pulled over. He was too busy telling her that I was a horrible mother.

I scrambled to find the sticky note I’d dropped, showing it to her through the open window. “Juniper Hill.”

“Juniper Hill?” Her forehead furrowed and she blinked, reading the sticky note twice.

My stomach dropped. Was that bad? Was it in a sketchy neighborhood or something?

When I’d tried to find a rental in Quincy, the pickings had been slim. The only options had been three- or four-bedroom homes, and not only did I not need so much space, they’d been outside of my budget. Considering this was the first time in my life I’d had a budget, I was determined to stick to it.

So I’d called Eloise Eden, the woman who’d hired me to work at her hotel, and told her that I wouldn’t be able to move to Quincy after all.

When she’d promised to find me an apartment, I’d thought maybe a guardian angel had been looking out for me. Except maybe this studio apartment on Juniper Hill was really a shanty in the mountains and I’d be shacked up next to meth dealers and criminals.

Whatever. Today, I’d take the crackheads and murderers if it meant spending twenty-four hours not in this car.

“Yes. Do you know where it is?” I tossed a hand toward the windshield. “My directions led me right here. But there isn’t a road marked Juniper Hill. Or any road marked, period.”

“Montana country roads rarely are marked. But I can show you.”

“Really?” My voice sounded so small as another wave of tears crashed open the dam.

It had been a while since anyone had helped me. The little gestures stood out when they were rare. In the past month, the only people who’d offered me help had been Quincy residents. Eloise. And now this beautiful stranger.

“Of course.” She held out a hand. “I’m Winslow.”

“Memphis.” I sniffled and shook her hand, blinking too fast as I tried to stop the tears. It was useless. I was exactly the train wreck I appeared to be.

“Welcome to Quincy, Memphis.”

I breathed and damn those tears just kept on falling. “Thank you.”

She gave me a sad smile, then hurried back to her car.

“We’ll be okay, baby.” There was a sliver of hope in my voice as I scrubbed at my face.

Drake continued to cry as we eased off the road and followed Winslow down to a cluster of trees. Between them was a narrow dirt road.

I’d passed this road. Three times. Except it wasn’t a real road. Certainly not a residential street. She slowed, her brake lights glowing red, and turned down the lane. Dust flew from beneath her tires as she followed the trail, driving farther and farther away from the highway.

My wheels found every bump and every hole but the bouncing seemed to help because Drake’s wailing simmered to a whimper as I followed a bend in the road toward a hill that rose above the tree line. Its face was covered in dark evergreen shrubs.

“Juniper Hill.”

Wow. I was an idiot. Had I stopped and looked at my surroundings, I probably would have figured this out.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’d pay attention to Montana. But not today.

The road went on for another mile, following the same line of trees, until finally we rounded one last corner, and there, in a meadow of golden grasses, was a stunning home.

No mountain shanty. No questionable neighbors. Whoever owned this property had plucked it straight out of a home decor magazine.

The house was a single story, stretched long and wide with the hill as its backdrop. The black siding was broken up by enormous sheets of crystal-clear glass. Where a normal house would have walls, this place had windows. Through them I could see the open kitchen and living room. On the far end, a bedroom with a white-covered bed.

The sight of its pillows made me yawn.

Detached from the house was a wide, three-stall garage with a staircase that ran to a door on a second story. Eloise had said she’d found me a loft.

That had to be it. Our temporary home.

Winslow parked in the circular gravel driveway. I eased in behind her, then hurried out of my seat to rescue my son. With Drake unstrapped, I lifted him to my shoulder, hugging him for a long moment. “We made it. Finally.”

“He was just sick of his car seat.” Winslow walked over with a kind smile. “I have a two-month-old. Sometimes he loves the car. Most times, not so much.”

“Drake’s two months too. And he’s been a trooper,” I breathed. Now that he’d finally stopped crying, I could breathe. “This has been a long trip.”

“From New York?” she asked, glancing at my license plates.

“Yep.”

“That is a long trip.”

I hoped it had been worth it. Because there was no way I was going back. Forward steps only, from now on. The city was a memory.

“I’m the chief of police,” she said. “You know Eloise Eden, right?”

“Um . . . yes?” Had I told her that?

“Full disclosure. Memphis is a unique name and Eloise is my sister-in-law.”

“Ah.” Damn it to the moon and back. This was my new boss’s sister-in-law, and I’d just made an epically horrible first impression. “Er . . . what are the chances?”

“In Quincy? Pretty good,” she said. “You’ll be working at the inn?”

I nodded. “Yes. As a housekeeper.”

Before Winslow could say anything else, the front door to the house opened and a pretty brunette rushed outside, smiling and waving.

Eloise. Her blue eyes sparkled, the same color as the cloudless September sky.

“Memphis!” She rushed my way. “You made it.”

“I did,” I breathed, shifting Drake to extend my hand.

Whatever makeup I’d put on two days ago at our hotel in Minnesota had worn off from fatigue and tears. My blond hair was in a sloppy ponytail and my white tee was stained orange at the hem from an energy drink that had exploded on me this morning. I looked nothing like the version of Memphis Ward who’d done a virtual interview with Eloise weeks ago. But this was me. There was no hiding reality.

I was a mess.

Eloise moved right in to my space, ignoring my offered hand to pull me in for a hug.

I tensed. “Sorry, I smell.”

“Not at all.” She laughed. “You met Winn?”

I nodded. “She was kind enough to help me when I got lost.”

“Oh no.” Eloise’s smile dropped. “Were my directions bad?”

“No.” I waved it off. “I’ve just never driven on a dirt road. I didn’t expect it.”

Up until this trip, I hadn’t driven much at all. Yes, I’d had a car in New York, but I’d also had a driver. Thankfully, I’d spent enough time behind the wheel going to and from the Hamptons to feel comfortable making this journey.

“Can we help you get unpacked?” Winslow asked, pointing toward the loft.

“Oh, that’s okay. I can manage.”

“We’ll help.” Eloise squeezed the trunk’s release button.

The duffel bags and suitcases I’d shoved inside practically jumped out. Yes, all of my belongings fit into my Volvo. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t been a chore to stuff them inside.

She hefted a backpack over her shoulder, then lifted out a suitcase.

“Really, I can do this.” My face flamed red at the sight of my new boss hauling out my things. The bag she carried had my underwear and tampons.

But Eloise ignored me, marching to the garage’s steel staircase.

“Trust me on this one.” Winslow walked to the trunk. “The sooner you just go along with Eloise, the easier your life will be. She’s persistent.”

Like how she’d refused to listen when I’d had to decline the job offer. She’d ordered me to get to Montana, promising we’d have a home once we arrived.

“I’m learning this.” I giggled. It was the first laugh I’d had in . . . well, in a long time.

I held Drake closer, breathing in his baby smell. Standing there, with my feet on the ground, I let myself breathe again. For one heartbeat. Then two. I let the soles of my shoes be warmed by the rocks. I let my heart sink out of my throat and return to my chest.

We made it.

Quincy might not be our forever home. But forevers were for dreamers. And I’d stopped dreaming the day I’d started ranking my worst days. There’d been so many, it had been the only way to keep moving forward. To know that none had been as awful as the first-worst day. To know that if I’d survived that one, I could endure the second and the third and the fourth.

Today marked the fifth.

It had started at a gas station in North Dakota. I’d pulled over last night to get some sleep. Twenty minutes, that’s all I’d wanted. Then I’d planned to get back on the road. Drake had been zonked and I hadn’t wanted to wake him up by hauling him into a seedy hotel.

Napping in the car had been a reckless decision. I’d thought I was safe beneath the parking lot’s bright lights. My eyes hadn’t been closed for more than five minutes when a truck driver had knocked on my window, licking his lips.

I’d sped away and, hopefully, run over his toes.

My heart had hammered for the next hour, but once the adrenaline had worn off, soul-deep exhaustion had burrowed under my skin. I’d been afraid of falling asleep at the wheel so I’d pulled over on the interstate to hop out and jog in place under the stars. I’d stretched for all of thirty seconds before a bug had flown under my shirt and left two bites along my ribs.

The sting had kept me awake for the next hour.

At dawn, I’d found another turnoff to stop and change Drake. When I’d lifted him out of his seat, he’d spit up all over my shirt, forcing me to give myself a baby-wipe bath. Any normal day, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But it had been one more straw and my back was close to breaking.

During our last gas station stop, he’d started crying. With the exception of a few short naps, he hadn’t really stopped.

Hours of that wail and I was fried. I was weary. I was scared. I was nervous.

My emotions were battling each other, fighting to take first place. Fighting to be the one that pushed me over the edge.

But we’d made it. Somehow, we’d made it.

“Let’s go check out our new spot.” I kissed Drake as he squirmed—he had to be hungry—then shifted him to the cradle of my arm. With one hand, I hefted out the next duffel in the stack, but I’d forgotten how heavy it was. The nylon strap slipped from my fingers, the bag plopping to the ground. “Ugh.”

“I’ll get it.” A deep, rugged voice sounded from behind me, then came the crunch of boots on gravel.

I stood, ready to smile and introduce myself, but the second I spotted the man walking my way, my brain scrambled.

Tall. Broad. Tattooed. Gorgeous.

Why had I kept driving last night? Why hadn’t I stopped at a hotel with a shower?

I was in no place to crush on a guy. The new Memphis—mom Memphis—was too busy getting formula stains out of her shirts to preen for men. But the old Memphis—single, rich and always up for an orgasm or two Memphis—really, really liked sexy, bearded men.

He bent and picked up the duffel before grabbing the largest suitcase from the trunk. His biceps strained the sleeves of his gray T-shirt as he carried them both toward the garage. Narrow hips. Sinewed forearms. Long legs covered in faded jeans.

Who was he? Did he live here? Did it matter?

Drake whined and that sound snuffed the laser beam that had been my gaze on this guy’s sculpted ass.

What the hell was wrong with me? Sleep. I needed sleep.

Before anyone could catch me staring, I dropped my chin and rushed after him, pausing long enough to snag the diaper bag from the backseat.

The metal on the stairs gave a low hum with each step. The man had almost made it to the landing when Eloise popped out.

“Good, you’re helping.” She smiled at him, then waved us all inside. “Knox Eden, meet Memphis Ward. Memphis, this is my brother Knox. This is his house.”

Knox set down the bags and jerked up his chin. “Hi.”

“Hi. This is Drake. Thanks for renting us your apartment.”

“I’m sure another spot will open up in town.” He shot Eloise a glare. “Soon.”

The tension rolling through the loft was thicker than traffic on East Thirty-Fourth from FDR Drive to Fifth Avenue.

Winslow studied the honey-colored floors while Eloise narrowed her gaze at her brother.

Meanwhile Knox did nothing to disguise the irritation on his face.

“Is, um . . . is this place not for rent?” It would be on par for my day to arrive somewhere I was unwelcome.

“No, it’s not,” he said as Eloise said, “Yes, it is.”

“I don’t want to cause any trouble.” My stomach churned. “Maybe we should find another place.”

Eloise crossed her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows as she waited for her brother to speak. She was too pretty to be intimidating, yet I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that look.

“Fine,” Knox grumbled. “Stay as long as you need.”

“Are you sure?” Because it sounded a lot like he was lying. I’d heard my fair share of lies as a New York socialite.

“Yeah. I’ll get the rest of your bags.” Knox breezed past me, the scent of sage and soap filling my nose.

“Sorry.” Eloise put her hands on her cheeks. “Okay, I need to be honest. When you called and said there weren’t any apartments around town, I did some checking too. And you’re right. Nothing is available in your price range.”

I groaned. So she’d pawned me off on her unwilling brother. I was a charity case.

Old Memphis would have refused charity.

Mom Memphis didn’t have that luxury.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” Eloise said. “He could have told me no.”

Why did I get the feeling it was hard for people to tell her no? Or that she rarely accepted it as an answer? After all, that was how I’d driven out here.

After an hour-long Zoom interview, I’d fallen in love with the idea of working for Eloise and I hadn’t even seen the hotel premises. She’d smiled and laughed through our conversation. She’d asked about Drake and complimented my résumé.

I’d taken this job not because I aspired to clean rooms, but simply because she was the anti-Father. There was nothing cold, ruthless or cunning about Eloise. My father would hate her.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“Absolutely. Knox just isn’t used to having people out here. But it will be fine. He’ll adjust.”

Was that why he’d built a home full of glass? Out here, he didn’t need the privacy of walls. The location gave him seclusion. And I was intruding.

We didn’t have a lease agreement. As soon as a vacancy in town came open, I doubted Knox would mind losing my rent check.

He came striding up the staircase, the thud from his boots reverberating through the loft. His frame filled the doorway as he walked inside carrying another three bags.

“I can get the rest,” I said as he set them on the floor. “And I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know we’re here.”

Drake chose that moment to let out a screech before nuzzling toward my breast.

Knox’s mouth pursed in a thin line before he retreated down the stairs.

“Can we help you get unpacked?” Winslow asked. “I’d much rather stay here than head back out on patrol and write speeding tickets.”

“No, that’s okay. I can handle it. There isn’t much.” Just my entire life in bags. “Thank you for rescuing me today.”

“Anytime.”

“Are we still on for an orientation tomorrow?” I asked Eloise.

“Sure. But if you want a day or two to settle in before work—”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’d like to jump right in.”

Dive headfirst into this new life. Drake was starting at his daycare tomorrow and though I hated leaving him for the day, that was the life of a single mother.

The daycare cost would swallow thirty-one percent of my income. Quincy had a low cost of living compared to larger Montana towns, and renting this loft at only three hundred dollars a month would allow me to build a cushion, but unpaid weekdays were not an option. Not yet.

Life would have been easier, financially, in New York. But it wouldn’t have been a life. It would have been a prison sentence.

“Okay.” Eloise clapped. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Come in whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” I held out my hand once more because shaking her hand was important. It was one of the few lessons my father had taught me that I didn’t loathe.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

Winslow and Eloise waved as they walked out the door. Another whimper from Drake sent me flying into action, digging out a bottle from the diaper bag before we settled on the couch. While he chugged, I surveyed my new temporary home.

The white walls were pitched with the roofline and a thick wooden beam the color of the floors ran the length of the space. Three dormer windows had been cut into the side facing the house, giving me a view of Juniper Hill and the indigo mountains beyond. Alcoves and half walls created different compartments in the floorplan.

Across from the couch and behind a short partition was a bed covered in a patchwork quilt. The kitchen was on one side of the loft, next to the door, while the bathroom was at its opposite. The space was just large enough for a shower stall, sink and toilet.

“You’ll have to have baths in the sink,” I told Drake, taking the empty bottle from his mouth.

He stared up at me with his beautiful brown eyes.

“I love you.” I hadn’t told him that enough on this drive. We hadn’t had enough moments like this, just the two of us together. “What do you think about this?”

Drake blinked.

“I like it too.”

I burped him, then dug out a baby blanket, settling him on the floor while I rushed to bring in the last couple of loads and unpack.

Hours later, my clothes were refolded and put away in the one and only dresser. The drawers built into the bedframe I used for Drake’s outfits. The small closet was stuffed by the time I hung a few coats and sweaters, then stowed the large suitcases stuffed with smaller suitcases stuffed with bags and backpacks.

I’d bought two sandwiches at the last gas station I’d stopped at, thinking there wouldn’t be time to make a grocery store run, so I ate my dry ham and swiss, chasing it down with some water, and went about giving Drake his first kitchen-sink bath.

He fell asleep in my arms before I placed him in his portable crib. I summoned enough energy to shower and wash my hair, then crashed within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

But my son wasn’t much for letting me rest these days and just after eleven he woke up hungry and fussy. One bottle, one clean diaper and one hour later, he showed no signs of sleep.

“Oh, baby. Please.” I paced the length of the loft, walking past the open windows, hoping the clean, cool air would settle him down.

Except Drake was not having it. He cried and cried, like he did most nights, squirming because he just was not comfortable.

So I walked and walked, bouncing and swaying with every step.

A light from Knox’s house flipped on as I passed a window. A flash of skin caught my eye and stopped my feet.

“Whoa.”

Knox was shirtless, wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. They molded to his strong thighs. The waistband clung to the V at his hips.

My neighbor, my landlord, wasn’t just muscled, he was cut. He was a symphony of rippled muscle that sang in perfect harmony with his handsome face.

Pure temptation, poised at the window of a woman who could not afford to stray from her path.

But what was the harm in a look?

I hovered beside the window’s frame, staying out of sight, and stole another glance as he raised a towel to dry the ends of his dark hair.

“Not everything about today was bad, was it?” I asked Drake as Knox strode out of his bedroom. “At least we’ve got a great view.”