Finding Home (Montana Born Homecoming Book 2) Read online

  Finding Home

  A Montana Born Homecoming Novella

  Roxanne Snopek

  Finding Home

  Copyright © 2014 Roxanne Snopek

  Kindle Edition

  The Tule Publishing Group, LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-942240-02-0

  Dedication

  “For Ray. Anywhere you are is home for me.”

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Dear Reader

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Montana Born Homecoming Series

  About the Author

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to Marietta, Montana or, if you’ve visited before, welcome back! It’s a great place to call home, even if it’s just in our imaginations. In fact, that’s how this story begins. My heroine, Samara, has had it rough her entire life and all she wants is to settle down somewhere quiet, where her little girl can grow up safe, secure and happy. She picks Marietta because the year she lived there during high school, was the happiest time she can remember, and she imagines she can recreate that for her daughter.

  Of course, she fell in love for the first time in Marietta, which probably helped, right?

  But nothing is ever exactly the same as we remember and that can be disappointing. Ah, yes, poor Samara. And poor Logan! Neither one of them was prepared for the shock and challenge of rediscovering each other. So they pretend that it’s no big deal. They’ll be friends; Logan will finish Samara’s house so she and her little girl can move in. They’ll wave at each other at the grocery store, and all will be well.

  Ha! What was she thinking, trying to resist Logan, who’s even sweeter and hotter than ever? Especially when her daughter and even the dog think he’s the best thing since chocolate chip cookies.

  I hope you enjoy following along as Marietta casts its spell on Samara and Logan, and even little Jade and her dog, Bob, who’s a girl, by the way. (Jade named her that. No one knows why.) I think you will. I know I did!

  Happy reading!

  Roxanne

  PS: Although I’ve visited Marietta many times as a reader, this is my first time here as a writer. I’m so grateful to the lovely Jane Porter for inviting me to join the party! This place – the imaginary world and real world it came from – is full of wonderful people who all understand the magic of coming home.

  Chapter One

  ‡

  Of course it had to be the underwear suitcase that slipped from her hands. The ancient hinges ruptured on impact with the sidewalk and it split open like a bale of fiberglass insulation. Except, instead of bright pink slabs, what burst forth was dull white, black and beige –

  “Panties!”

  Jade planted her little feet on the cobbled drive leading to the Bramble House bed and breakfast, and glared at her mother accusingly. “Panties are private, Mama.”

  Bob the dog cocked her homely one-up one-down ears, always alert to her little charge’s ever-shifting emotions.

  Some teenage boys leaving the park across the street paused in their roughhousing. One of them handed his football to the others and began loping over to her.

  “Hey lady, need a hand?”

  If there was anywhere on the planet where you could still find old-fashioned courtesy, even when you didn’t exactly want it, it was Marietta, Montana.

  Samara saw the instant he recognized the items flung about them.

  He froze midway, seemingly paralyzed beneath the canopy of fall colors sheltering the street.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got it,” she said. “Thanks anyway.”

  The boy rejoined his pals and they loped away, but not before she heard hoots of laughter.

  Spare her from adolescent testosterone.

  “Mama! Panties!” insisted Jade, agitation making her voice quiver.

  “I know, honey.” She squatted to shove the formerly neatly rolled items into the case, but it had been packed tightly and without hinges, the laws of physics just laughed at her.

  “Stay here with Bob, sweetie,” she said. “Bob, stay.”

  She popped the back of the mini-van and pushed and shoved stuff until she located a bungee cord. She could use it to hold the case shut. Naturally, it was underneath the spare tire and one of the s-hooks had become deeply attached, and resentful about being moved.

  “You wanna fight?” she muttered. To herself or the stupid clingy s-hook, she wasn’t sure. She yanked hard and, suitably chastised, the cord let go. Of course, being a bungee cord, it snapped back with great gusto and the metal hook, in an illustration of karma or retaliation or, more likely, that darn physics, grazed her chin.

  She stumbled against the curb and landed on her butt in front of Jade, who was now clenching and unclenching her fists. Bob shoved her head under the girl’s arm but it didn’t have much effect.

  “I wanna go home, I wanna go home, I wanna go home,” Jade chanted, her voice rising with each repetition.

  I know exactly how you feel, thought Sam, too weary to stand up.

  Through tear-blurred eyes, she saw a pretty young woman burst out the door, a plastic garbage bag in her hand.

  “Samara Davis, right? I’m Eliza Bramble. Welcome! I saw you arrive,” she said somewhat breathlessly, hurrying toward them. “I was on my way down, but then I saw your suitcase break and I went to get a bag first.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Looks like your little one isn’t very happy at the moment.”

  “It’s been a long day.” Samara got to her feet, one hand on her chin, the other reaching forward, hoping to distract Eliza with a handshake.

  Too late.

  She squatted down in front of Sam’s quickly dissolving daughter, her voice friendly, her face open and helpful. “I’m Eliza. And you must be Jade.”

  Instantly, the dog moved to stand between Jade and the new person. Eliza looked at Sam, eyebrows raised.

  “That’s Bob. Don’t worry, she’s friendly, but Jade is… wary of strangers.”

  Sam shoved her underwear into the bag, heedless of order or anything other than getting them out of public view, making a mental note to get rid of every single piece, as soon as she had a chance to buy new ones.

  A whole drawer-full of new undies.

  Starting over from the bottom up. Literally.

  Eliza moved to touch Jade’s hair. Sam knew it was a well-intended gesture but Jade shrank away. Before she could begin crying, Sam scooped her up, the bag dangling from her arm.

  “She’s very shy,” said Sam. “It’s been a really long day.”

  “Then let’s get you to your room.” The woman stepped back, her smile less sure now. “Don’t worry. I’ll get your luggage. You take care of your little one. There’s some supper in the warming oven, for whenever you’re ready. We’ll get better acquainted then.” />
  As Samara hurried up the weathered stone path to the front door of Bramble House, her chin throbbing, her arms shaking, her heart broke again for her little girl. It was too much. It was all too much.

  Just a few more days, she reminded herself, as she’d been telling herself every day for the past few weeks. A few more days and they’d be in their very own home, finally.

  Shelter. Privacy. A place where she and Jade could finally rest and recover. Where she could hear herself think and be alone long enough to grieve the life she’d lost and maybe figure out a way to stop dreading each new day and embrace their future.

  She stepped over the threshold, surveying the vaulted ceiling, richly textured walls and elaborate chandeliers. But what must have been a beautiful home at one time now had an air of faded gentility, unspoken and unacknowledged decay.

  “Samara Kim.”

  She jumped and turned to see an elderly woman who could only be Mabel Bramble. Tall and unbent by age, she stood motionless at the railing, her thin veined hands resting as if posed for a portrait.

  Samara flushed, acutely aware of her travel-wrinkled, sweaty attire. Not to mention the unhappy child in her arms and their dog of questionable parentage that was no doubt already shedding all over the well-polished marble.

  “I’m sorry we’re later than expected,” began Sam, desperate to break the silence.

  “Never introduce yourself with an apology.” Mabel Bramble descended the grand staircase, no smile to soften her words.

  Her real estate agent had given Sam an oblique warning about Mabel. Great-aunt to the Carrigan girls of Circle C Ranch, as well as one of the original founders of Marietta, Mabel had strong opinions on how her town had deteriorated, and who was to blame.

  But great-aunt Mabel’s lack of lifetime achievement awards wasn’t her problem.

  “My name is Samara Davis, actually. This is my daughter, Jade Davis-Kim.”

  Mabel sniffed, as if rejecting a husband’s surname was a mark of ill repute never spoken of in polite society. But she stopped in front of Sam and extended her hand.

  “Welcome to Bramble House.”

  The older woman’s grip was surprisingly strong and instead of letting go, she held Sam’s hand, her eyebrows raised. Waiting.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Ms. Bramble,” said Sam, feeling her face burn.

  “You may call me Mabel.” She nodded once, then released Sam’s hand. “And your child is called Jade, you say. Hello, Jade.”

  Oh dear. If Aunt Mabel disapproved of Sam’s manners, things were about to take a sharp downward turn.

  But Jade turned her dark gaze in the direction of this older woman who was keeping her distance and therefore safe to check out.

  “Hello, tall lady. Are you mad at me?”

  A bark of laughter shocked them all. Mabel lifted an elegant hand to her mouth.

  “Gracious, child. You are an impertinent one. You may call me Aunt Mabel. Can you do that?”

  Jade cocked her head in that particular way that told Samara she was uncomfortable but holding it together.

  “Hello, Aunt Mabel.”

  “Well done. Now, tell me, Jade, who is this creature with you?”

  In their email communications, Sam had been careful to ensure that dogs were welcome at Bramble House. Eliza had been understandably cautious, but once Sam explained that the dog was very well-trained, and part of Jade’s coping mechanism after her father’s death, Bob had been approved.

  “This is Bob,” said Jade, making the briefest eye contact with Aunt Mabel. “She is part Labrador Retriever, part Border Collie, part luck of the draw. Bob is my best friend. She is five. I am four.”

  Samara felt a flush of pride. Jade had recited the explanation just as they’d practiced!

  Aunt Mabel was unimpressed. “I’m not accustomed to bringing farm animals inside the house but I’ve agreed to allow it during your stay. I trust she will not be a nuisance.”

  Thankfully, Eliza entered the room during Jade’s introduction and heard the veiled insult in her aunt’s response.

  “Bob is simply lovely, isn’t she? And smart, too. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Aunt Mabel, I’ll show our guests to their rooms.”

  Eliza herded them toward the hallway.

  “Don’t mind my great-aunt. I think you’re going to love your stay with us. You’ve got a Jack-and-Jill bathroom connecting your bedrooms and there’s a sliding door to a patio off your room, Samara. Now, let’s get you settled, shall we?”

  As she followed Eliza through the once-opulent hallway, Samara felt Aunt Mabel’s keen eyes boring into her back.

  She feared they hadn’t made the best first impression on Aunt Mabel.

  And that was before she remembered the display of underwear in the street.

  *

  An hour later, lying on the bed beside her exhausted, maxed-out, melted-down-to-a-puddle little girl, despair threatened to overwhelm her, as it had so often in the bleak months since Michael’s death. To her shame, Sam barely remembered the grief, because of the devastating rush of tasks involved at the time. The mountain of paperwork at the hospital. Calling Michael’s family in Taiwan. Talking with the funeral director.

  And the fear that chewed relentlessly beneath everything, of how she would raise the child screaming on her hip, without him.

  Samara stroked her daughter’s damp forehead, sad again that this child had no one but her.

  Then she elbowed up off the bed. There was nothing to be gained from self-pity.

  She went to the window and pulled the drapes tighter, but a small ray of soft evening gold shone through, illuminating her sleeping daughter. Bob lifted her head watchfully, then sighed and tucked her muzzle up against Jade’s arm again.

  Sam’s heart caught in her throat. For a moment, the fatigue and worry slipped away as she watched Jade breathe, slow and smooth, her face relaxed, her body loose as a rag doll.

  This is what kept her going.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  Samara shivered as she and Jade walked through the park the next morning. The late summer sunshine slanting through the trees wasn’t warm enough for her to go without a sweater in the morning.

  “You excited to see our new house, sweetie?” Samara squeezed her daughter’s hand, hoping her mood had improved after a good night’s sleep. They turned onto Collier Avenue. Bob paced evenly beside them, her tongue lolling happily.

  “We’re going home?” said Jade, hopefully.

  Sam sighed. It was like beating her head against a brick wall some days.

  Change was not a welcome event, in Jade’s world. Switching from her favorite brand of breakfast cereal to the store version ignited a three-day hunger strike that only ended when Jade decided she preferred eggs and toast anyway.

  The first day of pre-school had become the last day of pre-school when the teacher took Sam aside and suggested that Jade needed “a bit more time to prepare.” Or a one-on-one aide. Which Sam knew would be a waste of time even if she could afford it.

  Michael had left them well provided for, buying her some much-needed time. Leaving their tiny but expensive Upper West Side apartment had been a bad day for both of them, but there was no choice. She should have done it sooner.

  However, seeing all her toys put into boxes, the walls cleared of her pictures and posters, had sent Jade spinning out of control.

  And now, Samara had brought her daughter to this new strange place they’d be calling home.

  Before she’d seen the ad, she hadn’t thought of Marietta in years. Then, memories of that one good school year flooded back.

  The first place she’d belonged. The first school she’d enjoyed.

  The first boy she’d loved.

  Her house was part of a new high-school project in which the town of Marietta partnered with the local schools to provide work experience for underprivileged or challenged students, using derelict heritage houses owned by the city.

  The houses would
then be sold at below-market prices, the proceeds used to fund the next project.

  She paused at Second. “What do we do here, Jade?”

  “Look to the left. Look to the right. No cars? Cross. We’re going home now?”

  It was a treat to cross two lanes with no cars, instead of being part of a sea of pedestrians navigating over six or eight lanes, at a light-controlled intersection.

  “Not New York home. Montana home. Remember?”

  “I wanna go home.”

  Her voice was forlorn, little, hopeless, and Samara’s heart broke. Buying this place was a risk, certainly, a pig-in-a-poke sort of situation. But it was the only way she could afford a decent house in a nice town.

  She wanted so badly for her baby girl to be happy, healthy, to give her the world.

  But no matter your intentions when they first place that warm, wrapped, squirming bundle in your lap, you’re going to fall short. There are no super-moms. Eventually, you just have to hope your kid survives all your parental screw-ups.

  At least here Jade would grow up safe, play outdoors, go to school with the same kids from kindergarten to graduation.

  “This is our forever home now, sweetie,” said Samara, squeezing her daughter’s hand.

  Once they’d crossed Third Street, she could see the old brick of the elementary school off in the distance. Their house was just ahead. She picked up the pace and then, she scanned the number – there it was.

  She tugged Jade closer to her side.

  “Look at the pretty house, honey,” she breathed.

  Photos hadn’t done the place justice. All the homes on Collier were on oversized lots, as was typical at the time Marietta was established. Their half-acre was tiny by the standards of the day. But today? It was like having her own kingdom.

  The butter-yellow Queen Anne style cottage had a small front veranda with white picket rails and gingerbread touches at the corners. The red roof was steeply pitched over what she knew would be Jade’s room. The windows had been replaced but their deep-framed casings remained true to the period.