Rustler's Moon (36 page)

From
New York Times
and
USA TODAY
bestselling author

JODI THOMAS

comes a compelling, emotionally resonant series set in a remote West Texas town—where family can be made by blood or by choice.

Don’t miss these great titles in the new
Ransom Canyon
series!

Rustler’s Moon
Ransom Canyon
Winter’s Camp
(novella)

“Exactly the kind of heart-wrenching, emotional story one has come to expect from Jodi Thomas.”
—Debbie Macomber, #1
New York Times
bestselling author

Available now in ebook format.

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Lone Heart Pass

by Jodi Thomas

CHAPTER ONE

Washington, DC
November

T
HE
G
EORGETOWN
STREET
outside Jubalee Hamilton’s office looked more like a river of mud than a beautiful old brick lane.

“Why does it always have to rain on Election Day?” she said to the life-size cutout of her candidate.

The few volunteers left in the campaign office were cleaning out their desks. The polls hadn’t been closed an hour, and Jubalee’s horse-in-the-race had already been declared the loser.

Or maybe she was the loser. Two months ago her live-in boyfriend, the man she’d thought she’d someday settle down with and have the requisite 2.5 kids, had said goodbye. David had called her a self-absorbed workaholic. When she’d denied it, he’d asked one question. “When’s my birthday, J?”

She folded her arms as if to say she wasn’t playing games. But this time her normally mild-mannered lover didn’t back down.

“Well?” He stared at her with a heartbroken gaze.

When she didn’t answer, David asked again. “We’ve been together three years. When is my birthday?”

“February 19,” she guessed, knowing in her gut his assessment of her was right.

“Not even close.” David picked up his briefcase and walked out. “I’ll get my things after the election is over. You won’t have time to open the door for me before then.”

Jubalee didn’t have time to miss him, either. She worked so many hours on the election she’d started sleeping at the office every other night. Sometime in the weeks that followed, David had dropped by the apartment and packed both their things. She’d walked in on a mountain of boxes marked with
J
’s and
D
’s. All she remembered thinking at the time was that she was glad he’d left her clean clothes still hanging in the closet.

A few days later the boxes marked
D
were gone and one apartment key lay on the counter. There was no time to miss him or his boxes.

Jubalee considered crying, but she didn’t bother. Boyfriends had vanished before. Three in college, one before David while she lived in Washington, DC. She’d have time for lovers later. Right now, at twenty-six, she needed to build her career. Work was her life. Men were simply extras she could live with or without. She barely noticed the mail piling up or the notice on the door telling her she had six weeks before she had to vacate the premises.

Then the rain came. The election was over. Her candidate had lost. She’d lost. No job would be waiting for her at dawn. No David standing in the door of their apartment this time, ready to comfort her.

Her third loss as a campaign manager.
Three strikes
, she thought,
and you’re out
.

She walked through the rain alone, not caring that she was soaked. She’d given her all this time and she’d ended up with nothing. The candidate who she’d fought so hard for hadn’t even bothered to phone her when it was over.

She unlocked the door to her apartment, which now looked more like a storage unit than a home. She flicked the switch and wasn’t surprised the lights wouldn’t come on. David had always taken care of minor things like paying the bills.

She sat down on one of the packing boxes and pulled out her phone before she realized she had no one to call. No friends. No school buddies she’d kept up with. All the numbers in her contacts were business-related except the three for her family. She scrolled down to the Hamiltons.

First number, her parents. They hadn’t spoken to her since she’d missed her sister’s wedding. Jubalee shrugged. Really, how important is a bridesmaid?

Destiny’s wedding was beautiful anyway. Jubalee had seen the pictures on Facebook. One missing too tall, too thin sister would only have upset Destiny’s perfect wedding photos.

She moved down the list. Destiny. Her sister, six years older, always prettier, always smarter, had never liked having her around.

Memories of her childhood ran through her mind like flash cards—Destiny cutting off all Jubalee’s hair when she was three. Telling Jubalee she was adopted when she was five. Leaving her at the park after dark when she was seven. Slashing her bike tires when she was ten so she couldn’t tag along after her big sister.
Oh, yeah
, Jubalee thought,
don’t forget about telling me I was dying when I got my first period
. The whole family still laughed about her writing out her will at twelve. If big sisters were measured on a scale of one to ten, Destiny would be double digits in the negative.

No, she decided, there was no need to talk to Destiny whatever-her-last-name-was-now.

She moved down to the next Hamilton on her contact list. Levy Hamilton, her great-grandfather. She’d lived with him the summer she’d been eleven, when her parents had gone to tour college options with Destiny. They’d all waved as they’d dropped her off at Lone Heart Pass ranch with smiles as if they’d left a bothersome pet at the pound.

Two weeks later they’d called to say they couldn’t make the trip back to Texas to get her because of car trouble. A week after that there was another college to consider. Then her father wanted to wait until he had a few days off so the trip from Kansas back to Texas wouldn’t be so hard on the family.

Jubalee had missed the first two weeks of school before they made it back, and she hadn’t cared. She would have stayed on the ranch with Grandpa Levy forever.

Grandpa Levy was ornery and old. Even as an eleven-year-old she could tell her parents didn’t like him or the worthless dryland farm he’d lived on since birth. Levy talked with his mouth full, cussed even more than Methodists allow, bathed only once a week and complained about everything but Jubalee.

Her parents barely took the time to turn off the engine when they finally picked her up. The old man didn’t hug her goodbye, but his leathered hand pressed into her shoulder as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. That meant more to her than anything he could have said.

She never told anyone how wonderful Grandpa Levy had been to her. He gave her a horse, taught her to ride, and all summer she was right by his side. Collecting eggs, birthing calves, cutting hay. For the first time in her life, no one told her she was doing everything wrong.

Jubalee stared at his phone number. She hadn’t talked to him since Christmas, when the moment she’d heard his raspy voice, she’d felt like the eleven-year-old again, giggling and telling him things he probably cared nothing about. Her great-grandfather had listened and answered each rant she went through with comments like, “You’ll figure it out, kid. God didn’t give you all those brains for nothing.”

She wanted to talk to him now. She needed to say she hadn’t figured anything out.

Jubalee pushed the number and listened to it ring. She could imagine the old house phone on the wall between his kitchen and living room ringing through empty bedrooms and hallways that always smelled dusty. He lived in the two rooms off the kitchen and left the other rooms to sleep, he claimed.

“Answer,” she whispered, needing to know that someone was out there. Right now, tonight, she could almost believe she was the only one left alive. “Answer, Grandpa.”

Finally, after twenty rings, she hung up. The old guy didn’t have an answering machine and he’d probably never heard of a cell phone. Maybe he was in the barn or over at the corral where the cowhands who worked for him lived from spring to fall. Maybe he’d driven the dirt road for his once-a-month trip to town. If so, he’d be having dinner at the little café in Crossroads.

With the streetlight’s glow from the window, she crossed to the fireplace and lit the logs. Strange how after more than a dozen years since that summer, she still missed him when she’d never missed anyone else.

The paper-wrapped logs caught fire, and the flames danced off the boxes and blank walls of her life. She found a half bottle of wine in the warm fridge and a bag of Halloween candy she hadn’t been home to hand out. Curled up by the fire, she began to sort through the pile of mail that had collected on her kitchen counter. Most of the time she would toss an envelope in the fire without opening it. Take-out menus. Sale flyers. Catalogs filled with stuff she didn’t need or want.

One by one they tumbled into the fire along with every hope and dream she’d had about a career as a campaign manager.

In the last stack of mail, a large white envelope hand-addressed to her caught her attention. The postmark was over a month ago. Surely it wasn’t something important or someone would have called her.

Slowly, she opened the envelope.

Tears silently streaked down her face as she took in the lawyer’s letterhead at the top of the page. She began to read Levy Hamilton’s will. Word by word. Aloud. Making herself feel truth’s pain.

On the last page was a note scribbled on a lawyer’s office stationery.

Miss Hamilton,

We regret to inform you of Levy Hamilton’s passing. As we were unable to reach his next of kin, I followed his request and had him buried on his land. When he named you his sole heir of Lone Heart Pass, he told me you’d figure out what to do with the old place. Please contact my office when you get here.

Jubalee turned over the envelope. It was postmarked two months ago and had been forwarded twice before reaching her.

She laid the will aside and cried for the one person who’d ever really loved her. The one person she’d ever loved.

After the fire burned low and shadows danced as if circling the last bit of light, she thought she felt Levy’s hand resting on her shoulder. His knotted fingers didn’t seem ready to let her go.

At dawn she packed the last of her clothes, called a storage company to pick up the boxes and walked away from her life in DC with one suitcase and her empty briefcase.

She’d go home over the holidays. She’d try to find the pieces of her life and see if she could glue them back together. But together or not, she’d start over where the wind never stopped blowing, and dust came as a side dish at every meal. She may have lived there only a few months, but Lone Heart Pass might be the only place where she’d feel at home.

She’d start again.

She’d rebuild from scratch.

She’d go to Texas.

CHAPTER TWO

Crossroads, Texas
February

“
S
ET
’
EM
UP
,
C
HARLEY
.
We’ll have another round.” The kid on the other side of the bar was barely old enough to drink, but his laugh was loud and demanding. “It’s Valentine’s Day and none of us have a date. That’s something to get drunk over.”

Charley Collins swore under his breath. The drunks had had enough, but he’d be fired if he didn’t serve the college boys, and he couldn’t afford to lose their business.