Juniper Hill (The Edens) Read online

  JUNIPER HILL

  Copyright © 2021 by Devney Perry LLC

  All rights reserved.

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  ISBN: 978-1-950692-70-5

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.

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

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  Editing & Proofreading:

  Elizabeth Nover, Razor Sharp Editing

  www.razorsharpediting.com

  Julie Deaton, Deaton Author Services

  www.facebook.com/jdproofs

  Karen Lawson, The Proof is in the Reading

  Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading

  www.judysproofreading.com

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  Cover:

  Sarah Hansen © Okay Creations

  www.okaycreations.com

  OTHER TITLES

  Jamison Valley Series

  The Coppersmith Farmhouse

  The Clover Chapel

  The Lucky Heart

  The Outpost

  The Bitterroot Inn

  The Candle Palace

  Maysen Jar Series

  The Birthday List

  Letters to Molly

  Lark Cove Series

  Tattered

  Timid

  Tragic

  Tinsel

  Clifton Forge Series

  Steel King

  Riven Knight

  Stone Princess

  Noble Prince

  Fallen Jester

  Tin Queen

  Runaway Series

  Runaway Road

  Wild Highway

  Quarter Miles

  Forsaken Trail

  Dotted Lines

  The Edens Series

  Christmas in Quincy - Prequel

  Indigo Ridge

  Juniper Hill

  Garnet Flats

  Calamity Montana Series

  Writing as Willa Nash

  The Bribe

  The Bluff

  The Brazen

  The Bully

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Garnet Flats

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  MEMPHIS

  “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.
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  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.