Page 9 of Sweet Madness

These are the first things I notice.

“Where are we?” I ask my uncle.

“Canyon Creek, Montana.” He smiles as he helps me out of the truck.

Uncle Benji had kept the fact that this is where he is taking me a secret until we leave Italy. We’ve flown for long hours and then driven for more hours until we finally reach this empty highway road.

This is… well, not what I’m used to.

I don’t realize I have made a face until Uncle Benji speaks. “Don’t be a brat. That’s not you.”

I sigh. He’s right. This isn’t who I am. I don’t judge others, nor do I think I’m above anything or anyone. I guess I’m still not feeling quite like myself after the last few days.

Taking a deep breath, I look around while Uncle Benji unloads my bags.

This place is actually genius. It’s somewhere no one would expect me to hide, and I’ve never visited it before. Looking around, I find the scenery quite charming. It reminds me of the small town from one of Aunt Mila’s favorite romance novels. Maybe I’ll find a charming cowboy who dotes on me here, just like the heroine in that story.

Maybe…

But first, I consider all that I know about this state. I must confess, it is not much. All I know is that Montana is a land of high mountains, deep valleys, green forests, and treeless crest lines. Most people call it Big Sky Country.

In truth, it is beautiful and so different from what I’m accustomed to. D.C. and Montana are opposites, and perhaps that is a good thing. Change, although scary, is a good thing. I hope it is in this case.

I give my uncle my best puppy-dog eyes and a sweet smile. He smiles softly and pinches my cheek, none too gently. “You know, Uncle, if Mom knew I would end up in the countryside, she would flip.” It’s true—Arianna Kenton is a city girl through and through. She actually believes she’s allergic to rural life. Dad knows it’s a bunch of baloney, yet he feeds into her delusion like any loving husband would.

Uncle Benji grins. “Oh, your mother knows.”

“She knows?” I gasp playfully.

Uncle nods, seeming amused. “It was her idea.”

“Blasphemy. Mom would never allow such cruelty,” I joke.

He grins and looks behind me. “Speaking of cruelty, here’s your carriage now. Just in time.” He laughs.

I love my uncle dearly, but at times like this, I just want to wipe that mocking smile right off his face.

The sound of a car approaching makes me turn, and as I do, the urge to hit my uncle arises again. Bad, Ella. Hitting is bad. Unless, of course, it’s deserved.

A run-down, mud-stained four-wheeler parks a few feet from us. The pickup truck is covered in mud and looks as if it hasn’t been washed in days—maybe even years.

The sun is too bright, making it hard for me to see who’s inside the truck. I shield my eyes, but it’s still too bright.

Squinting, I step forward enough to see the silhouette of a large man climbing out of the truck and rounding the hood.

It can’t be…

My heart thuds violently in my chest with every step the man takes toward me. When mud-stained black leather Army boots stop before me, a swarm of hornets invades my belly. The sensation intensified as I lifted my gaze, taking in his worn-out boots, faded blue jeans, and tight white thermal, until my eyes reached his thick neck and bearded face. A face that I stored deep in my memories. A place it wouldn’t hurt as much. A face that could rival those of Hollywood actors and Greek sculptures in every art museum in the world.

I once thought this man couldn’t get any more handsome, but I was wrong. Time proved me wrong.

When he was younger, he had a boyish charm, but the man in front of me is exactly that— all man. Rugged. Dark. Tempting. His once short, sun-kissed blonde hair is now longer and glimmers with tints of gold.

My heart swelled as I took him in, and the urge to step forward and wrap my arms around the man who used to be my friend— the one who snuck cupcakes into my room when I was sad— was almost too strong. I nearly gave in, but then that beautiful face opens its mouth and killed the tiny bugs in my stomach. “Miss Kenton.”

Miss Kenton. Not Moonshine. Not Ella. Miss Kenton.

I force myself to stare into his brown eyes and fight hard not to glance down at his plump lips, at the way his tongue darts out to wet them.