Cooper had been just drunk enough to toss the damn dart, and when it had landed on Scranton, Pennsylvania, he'd heard a maniacal laugh erupt, then realized it'd come from him.
"Throw again," Dunleavey had said, plucking the dart and handing it back. "Nobody picks Scranton for a fresh start."
This time, Cooper had studied the map through an enveloping fog, looking westward. He'd never been west. Never been to the Grand Canyon. Never seen the Pacific Ocean. So he'd aimed. Shot. Landed on a tiny town in Montana, just east of the northern Rockies.
"Perfect." Dunleavey had pulled a tube of Krazy Glue out of his pocket and squirted it on the damn dart, leaving it stuck to the paper and wall. "Good country for a fresh start. Good place to figure out who a man is … especially when everybody's been so damn busy lately trying to convince him he's somebody else."
And here he was, three months in … but a far cry from figuring it out yet.
Chapter 2
"Whisper Creek Ranch?" That night, Shelby's voice was quiet as she eyed Nicola, who had four suitcases laid out on the bed. "You're sending me to a dude ranch?"
Nicola held up two sundresses. "Blue? Or green?"
"Neither. Why am I going to a ranch? I don't even know how to ride a horse anymore."
"Because." Nicola packed both dresses. "We-I-think you need a little vacation. I mean, when's the last time you took some time off, just for you?"
"But-we're mid-tour. And I need to be here, seeing to my father's things."
I need to be here, where I can still feel him.
"Your father's things will still be here when you're ready to come back. Right now, we need to get you out of the spotlight and into a place where you can get your head back together."
"My head's fine, Nicola. It's just sad. Isn't that allowed?"
"Of course," Nicola snapped, then took a deep breath as she placed a pile of folded T-shirts carefully in a suitcase. "But let's take your sad out to Montana, okay? Where the tabloids can't find you."
"Why are you so afraid of the tabloids, all of a sudden? Why are you hiding me away?"
"Nobody's hiding you away. And there's nothing sudden about my fear of tabloids, honey. Surely you know that."
Yeah, Shelby knew, all right. Half of Nicola's job some days involved suppressing whatever stories the rag sheets came up with. At last count, Shelby had had affairs with at least six married men and had dealt with anorexia, bulimia, and everything else on that spectrum. Coupled with the alleged plastic surgery disasters and drunk-driving charges she'd purportedly bought herself out of, it was a good thing she didn't have a mother who had to see the headlines at the supermarket.
In reality, she'd had exactly zero affairs, had never been to a plastic surgeon, and rarely ever had more than a glass of wine.
"I don't want to go to-wait, where is this place?"
"Montana." Nicola efficiently dumped five pairs of jeans in one suitcase while stuffing underclothes in another. As Shelby watched, it occurred to her that she should feel something-anything-about the fact that her assistant was handling her underwear, but she was too numb to do anything but follow Nicola's hands as they went from drawer to bed to drawer to bed.
"Have I ever been there? For a concert?" Her voice sounded hollow, like it was coming through one of those old cement playground tunnels. She struggled to hold on, to not let the chill creep all the way up her spine.
"No. Denver's the closest you've gotten."
"Are you coming with me?"
Nicola's hands paused, and Shelby felt her stomach jump. "Not this time."
"But … you always come with me."
Her own voice sounded pathetic, and how many times had she dreamed of being left alone? But right now, right here, it felt … scary. Nicola might be an uptight, controlling pain in the butt, but she was also a beacon of sorts, helping Shelby navigate the past decade. What was she going to do without Nic around?
"I know. But it'll be better this way. You can go have some R-and-R, and I'll be back here handling things for you. It'll be better if you're out of the fray, believe me."
Shelby tipped her head, Nicola's tone not sitting quite right, even though it was the same tone she'd been using for years.
"What if I don't want to be out of the fray? What if I want to be here, 'handling things'?" She air-quoted the last two words, suddenly irritated that she was being packed up and shelved in Montana without even knowing why.
"Shelby, honey, they're not the things you'd know how to handle, even if you wanted to help. And I appreciate that you do. Really. But right now, what you need is some space and some time. Trust us, okay?"