Chapter 10 - First Snow on the Soapstone
Twelve months later.
The snow was falling again over Red Mountain Pass, large, lazy flakes that drifted down through the silent spruce forest like feathers.
The lodge was warm.
The scent of roasting rosemary chicken and fresh sourdough bread filled the air. On the dining table sat real evergreen boughs, cut by hand from the gulch below the property, tied with simple twine.
There were no influencers. There were no rented designer dresses. There was no champagne meant for a social media broadcast.
Sitting around the table were people who actually loved the mountains, and loved me.
Deputy Marcus Vance was there with his wife Sarah and their two kids, who were currently on the rug by the fireplace playing a board game. Two of my neighbors from the lower gulch, retired miners who had taught me how to operate the backhoe when I cleared the driveway, were laughing over mugs of hot cider.
And Wyatt was standing at the stove, rolling up his sleeves, basting the chicken with a focused, quiet competence that made my heart ache with a steady, enduring warmth.
My mother hadn't called in a year.
Olivia and Jason had sold their house in Boulder to pay off Jason’s legal debts, moving into a rented townhouse in Scottsdale where she was currently trying to reinvent herself as a holistic wellness coach. They had tried to reach out through an attorney in the spring, asking for a settlement to drop the criminal trespass charges.
I didn't settle.
Deputy Vance had pushed the charges through. Jason took a deferred judgment for criminal trespass and paid ten thousand dollars in restitution to Hart Alpine Holdings for the damages to the locks and floors. Olivia was put on unsupervised probation for one year.
The boundary was set. It was absolute, reinforced with steel and stone.
I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding a ceramic mug of tea. Outside, the twilight was turning the snow on Mount Sneffels that same magnificent, bruised purple.
A hand rested gently on the small of my back.
I didn't have to look to know it was Wyatt. He stood beside me, smelling of pine and woodsmoke, his shoulder brushing mine.
"You got everything you wanted, Hart?" he asked softly.
May you like
I looked at the crackling soapstone fireplace, at the laughter around my table, at the man standing beside me who had spent three years helping me build a foundation strong enough to withstand any storm.
"No," I said, leaning my head against his shoulder. "I got something better. I got what I earned."
