The Mountain Monroes

CHAPTER ONE

SNOW DRAPED THE Sawtooth mountain range, carpeted the Colter Valley and frosted the Salmon River like a blue-tinged Christmas card.

And more snow was coming.

Second Chance residents, like Dr. Noah Bishop, knew it. This was the calm before the next storm. It was there in the biting, building wind at dawn, and at midday, when the sky was heavy with gray clouds that descended below the mountaintops.

Trudging through the drifts from his home office to the Bent Nickel diner, the taste of snow punched the air and clung to Noah’s lungs like icicles to a metal roof. This time last year, he’d been operating on the shoulder of a football league’s MVP. His one patient today had complained of an ingrown toenail.

Oh, how the mighty has tumbled from his pedestal.

Noah’s inner voice hadn’t adjusted to life in the mountains as a country doctor.

He slogged his way around the side of the inn to the cleared sidewalk. Farther down, the parking stalls in front of the grocery store and gas station were empty. The old, white steepled church, the boxy schoolhouse, the brick mercantile and log-cabin fur-trading post stood above the road, windows dark and empty. The buildings and a dozen or so smaller cabins made up the heart of the roadside town located where two narrow highways met in the Idaho high country. The rest of the residents were spread out around the bends of the Salmon River.

A snowplow rumbled by from the south and turned at the fork to the west, a last-ditch effort by the state to keep the roads open as long as possible.

Heads whipped around when Noah entered the Bent Nickel, all faces of citizens of Second Chance who hadn’t gone south for the winter. Town residents were jumpy. There was more than a storm coming.

The Monroes were coming.

Folks had seen the announcements in the media about Harlan Monroe’s death. He’d owned the town, lock, stock and barrel. According to those in the know, it was only a matter of time before some of his heirs showed up. The locals had made a pool as to what was going to go down.

The Clark sisters from the Bucking Bull Ranch sunk twenty dollars on the Monroes sending a real-estate agent to evaluate the place. Mitch Kincaid, mayor and innkeeper, put in ten dollars toward at least two Monroes showing up expecting a five-star hotel. Eli Garland, the homeschooling coordinator for the county, put his money on the Monroes not showing up until summer. Mackenzie and Ivy, who ran the grocery and diner respectively, plunked ten apiece on the Monroes arriving in a stretch limo. Their bet inspired Roy Stout, the town handyman, to wager they’d pull up in a Hummer, because how else was anyone supposed to get up to Second Chance in January without four-wheel drive?

Noah was among the residents who hadn’t bet. Luck hadn’t been kind to him lately.

“I’m making French fries and milk shakes for the kids,” Ivy called to Noah from the diner’s kitchen. She pampered the town’s handful of children and encouraged Eli to hold home-study sessions in the diner. “Can I get you anything, Doc?”

“No, thanks.”

Ivy served food that could only be classified as fuel. Unlike the fancy meals Noah had enjoyed in New York, there were no culinary delights to be had on any of her plates. But the coffee was strong and cheap, and the price of hanging out for a few hours was a mere armload of firewood for the fireplace, which meant it was the warmest building in Second Chance.

Noah set his logs on the woodpile and then began to shed layers—parka, knit cap, muffler. The black leather gloves he kept on, a fact several children noticed. He had no idea why the kids were still here. If he’d known they’d be lingering, he would’ve stayed in his cabin. He shoved a couple dollars in the coffee jar and poured himself a cup.

Mitch pulled out a chair at his table for Noah. They’d met at DePaul University when Mitch was prelaw and Noah was premed. They’d kept in touch on social media and through a fantasy football league. Mitch had hired Noah after his accident.

“I was just saying we need to be united when the Monroes get here,” Mitch said. “I know I don’t have to remind anyone about our nondisclosure agreement with Harlan.”

Noah nodded, because Mitch was looking at him. He’d signed a nondisclosure agreement about the old man, but he’d only been here six months and had never met Harlan Monroe in person. He couldn’t have picked his benefactor out of a police lineup. Unlike other residents who’d sold their property to the millionaire and might have been privy to something important about the old man, Noah had no secrets to divulge.

“Moving forward,” Mitch went on, “it’ll help if we negotiate as one entity. Ideally, we keep our low leases. Worst case, we buy back our places for less than we sold them to Harlan. In either case, don’t make this easy on them. We don’t want Harlan’s heirs thinking this is the next Idaho town to be developed for Hollywood vacation homes.”

There were worried head nods of approval and agreement. Nobody wanted Second Chance real estate to skyrocket or for it to become a soulless haven for celebrities.

Noah didn’t nod. He sat. Unlike the other residents, the small home Noah lived in was rent-free. It was a stipulation of his contract as the town doctor. Granted, it wasn’t where he thought he’d be, but if he couldn’t be an orthopedic surgeon to sports superstars, it was better to be a nobody from nowhere.

Aptly put, his snarky inner voice whispered.

“You ready for a blizzard, Doc?” Roy sat at the next table over, facing the highway. He wore stained blue coveralls over a pair of yellowed long johns. His wiry, knubby elbows rested on the white Formica tabletop. A fringe of peppery hair was visible beneath his blue ball cap.

Noah shrugged. “Will it really be any worse than the storms we’ve already had?”

“Yep.” Roy chuckled, revealing his gap-toothed smile. “More snow. More wind. More freezing temperatures.”

More boredom.

Noah squashed that thought. He wasn’t here for the intellectual challenge or the thrill of new, emergency limb-saving techniques. He wasn’t here for experimental procedures or medical accolades. He wasn’t even here for a research sabbatical. He’d accepted Mitch’s invitation to become the town doctor because he could no longer be the surgeon who could perform miracles.

“Storm after storm after storm,” Roy murmured happily. “I love winter.”

Up here, winter lasted six months or more.

Mitch straightened, running a hand through his dark hair. “There’s a car pulling in.”

Mackenzie, who owned the grocery store and garage, moved to the front window along with Roy. “Maybe they’re just passing through and need a bathroom.”

“Or something to eat.” Ivy was craning her neck, trying to see over the cook’s counter.

“That’s no car.” Roy slapped his skinny thigh. “It’s one of those Humdingers!”

A long black Hummer parked in front of the diner.

“It’s them Monroes.” Heedless of his audience on the other side of the window, Roy pointed and raised his voice. “I knew it. I just knew it.”

“We don’t know anything yet,” Mitch said in a put-out voice.

A man in his thirties opened the diner’s door for the carload. He had wavy brown hair in a neatly styled haircut and was inappropriately dressed for the mountains—slacks, leather loafers, a light winter jacket. No cap. No gloves.

A case of frostbite in the making.

Noah hid a smile behind a sip of his coffee.

A woman hurried inside. Bright red hair. Pale complexion. Black leather jacket over a black tunic sweater, black leggings and black boots. Something about her seemed familiar. She spotted the restroom sign and hurried toward it.

Carsick.

Whether they were the Monroes or not, they were providing Noah with some much-needed entertainment.

Another woman scurried in. She had wavy brown hair, pointy features and frazzled brown eyes shaded by dark circles that her glasses did nothing to conceal. She held the hands of two twin toddler boys, who clumped in wearing matching dark green unzipped jackets and white sneakers that flashed bright red beams from the heels as they walked. She followed the first woman to the restrooms.

Single mom in need of a good night’s sleep and proper hydration.

A third woman entered, stepping to the side so the man could close the door behind her. Her hair was blond, her eyes a bright blue. She had a sprinkling of freckles and the kind of glowing skin that never tanned. She was the only sensibly dressed one of the lot in a navy stadium jacket, snow boots and a knit cap. The toddler she carried had the same coloring and wore a pink snowsuit.

She set down the little girl and proceeded to shed layers—hers and the toddler’s—plopping their gear and a diaper bag in a booth. She wiped the toddler’s runny nose with a crumpled tissue, straightened and took a good look around, while Noah took a good look at her.

She didn’t seem like a millionaire. She seemed like the kindhearted girl next door. The one who blushed when you asked her to help you with your English homework, and was happy for you when you told her you’d asked the cheerleading captain to prom.

Not that I was that guy.

She made him feel guilty all the same.

“I’m looking for Mitch Kincaid.” The man took up a wide stance. Hands on hips. An expectation of respect in his dark eyes. “I’m Shane Monroe.”

Something crashed in the kitchen.

“Well, I’ll be.” Roy grabbed Shane’s hand and shook it like he was pumping water from a well. “Good to meet you.”

“Mitch?” Who knew what Shane had been expecting, but it wasn’t the town handyman and his gap-toothed grin.

“Nope. I’m Roy.” The old man kept pumping. “Harlan was my—”

“I’m Mitch.” The mayor got out of his chair and introduced himself, shaking Shane’s hand in a classy one-and-done.

Something crashed into Noah’s thigh.

The toddler wiped her nose on Noah’s black ski pants and then looked up at him with a mischievous grin and said, “Hi,” before fleeing with a squeal and a giggle across the diner.

“Penny.” The girl next door snatched a napkin from the holder on the table and wiped at the streak of snot on Noah’s ski pants. And then she froze, her hands inches from Noah’s thigh.

Noah’s ears filled with white noise, not caused by any head cold or sinus infection. This was one of those surreal moments where a beauty had unwittingly touched a beast. Noah’s heart went out of rhythm. He felt light-headed.

Heart attack? Negative.

Low blood sugar? Negative.

High-altitude dehydration? Likely.

Despite his diagnosis, Noah reached for his dehydrating coffee. But his eyes... His eyes couldn’t turn away from her.

“My apologies. That was inappropriate.” The woman’s cheeks bloomed with color. Her bright blue gaze bounced to Noah’s and away before she, too, made a run for it. “Penelope Arlene, you come back here.”

Penny’s laughter drowned out the white noise in Noah’s head, and sent others in the room chuckling, breaking the tension that the arrival of the Monroes had caused. Noah breathed easier.

“We thought we’d come down and stay a few days,” Shane Monroe was saying, still on his high horse.

Not that Noah was one to judge. As an orthopedic surgeon, he’d taken many a ride on a high horse.

And look where that’s gotten me.

Noah clenched his gloved fists, his left hand more than his right.

The pale redhead emerged from the bathroom and collapsed on a stool at the counter with a croak for water.

Ivy was quick to serve her, looking slightly out of her element. “Are you Ashley?”

Ashley Monroe? The actress? Was that why she looked familiar?

“She’s my twin.”

“Oh.” Ivy sounded disappointed, but not as disappointed as the redhead.

“You wanna stay here? Now?” That was Roy. Unfiltered. “In Second Chance?”

Mitch tried to hide a laugh behind a cough. “What Roy means is, there’s a storm coming. Many storms, in fact. We usually get snowed in five to ten days during the winter. Passes close. No getting in or out.” He gave Shane the kind of look a New York doorman gives a tenant while explaining it’s impossible to get a taxi on New Year’s Eve. “You might be better off heading down to Hailey, or the other way, to Boise.”

“Better off?” Shane’s dark eyes narrowed. “Is there something you don’t want us to see?”

“Three to five feet of snow,” Roy answered, smacking his gums. “It’s a-comin’ tonight. Six or more a day after. And so on.”

Penny was playing keep-away-from-mama, running on chubby legs between tables in the middle of the room. Not that the girl next door was trying hard to catch her. More likely, she was trying to keep Penny from wiping her nose on another unsuspecting Second Chance resident.

“All we’re saying is—” Mitch was a former lawyer and proficient at clarifying an issue “—you might be more comfortable in a place with accommodations you’re used to because the passes might close.”

Shane was just as tall as Mitch but managed to look down his nose at him. “You have beds?” At his nod, Shane added, “Then we’ll be fine.”

So much for the five-star expectations of Mitch’s bet.

“You like snow, do you?” Roy asked.

“We’ll be fine,” Shane repeated.

Based on the thinness of Shane’s coat and his fine leather loafers, Noah highly doubted he’d be fine. You could get away with thin jackets in cities like Chicago or New York, because you were only in the elements for a few blocks between the subway and whatever building you were darting into. In the mountains of Idaho, cold penetrated layers of clothing quicker than heat melted ice cream on a hot summer day.

The toddler boys raced into the dining room and joined Penny. The three of them ran around a table as if they were playing musical chairs or training to be track stars.

“Someone.” Shane waved toward the spectacle. “Please.”

The girl next door and the harried mom of twins moved in.

Sensing her freedom was about to end, Penny veered and crashed into Noah, giggling nonstop. She gave a wet snuffle and turned her face to Noah’s knee.

This time, Noah was ready for her and swiped her nose with a napkin. “Gotcha.”

She looked up at him, aghast, lower lip trembling.

“Come here, Penny.” The girl next door crouched in front of Noah and held out her hands, just far enough away that she couldn’t touch him again.

“No-o-o.” Penny wasn’t just an athlete in the making. She was also a bit of a drama queen. She clutched Noah’s calf and shook her blond curls. “No-o-o.”

Penny’s mom raised those blue eyes to Noah’s once more, causing a heart-stuttering, equilibrium-shaking, white-noise-in-the-ears relapse.

“Given the way my daughter clings to you, we should be on a first-name basis. I’m Ella.” Her glance caught on Noah’s black gloves.

And just like that, Noah was reminded why he didn’t want a woman’s interest.

The world self-corrected. Stabilized.

“Mom.” Penny made a raspberry noise against Noah’s knee, negating her mother having any name other than... “Mom. Mom. Mom.”

“I’m Noah.” He ruffled Penny’s blond curls with his left hand. “Your daughter is what? Two?”

“I two,” Penny confirmed, holding up four fingers.

The twins ran by, followed by their mother, who said, “No one told me the terrible twos lasted long after the age of four.” She snatched a boy in each arm and gave them a playful growl as she stood, glasses sliding down her thin nose. “Only boys who behave get French fries.”

The boys stopped struggling and allowed their mother to carry them to the lunch counter, where she deposited each on a stool and ordered French fries from Ivy.

“Fesh fies?” Penny toddled forward into Ella’s arms.

“Apple fries?” Ella countered, then whispered conspiratorially to Noah, “So much healthier, and in my bag.”

His mother would have said, “She’s as adorable as her daughter.”

I’ve never liked adorable.

His sister would have said, “She’s not wearing a wedding ring.”

A fact I noticed completely by accident.

“Fesh fies!” Penny cried, pointing at the boys.

“But apple fries just aren’t the same,” Noah murmured. He caught Ella’s eye. “You should head back down the mountain before the storm hits. At Penny’s age, a case of the sniffles can turn serious overnight.” There. Spoken like a country doctor who only had a little girl’s best interests at heart.

Mitch gave Noah an approving nod, the kind of gesture that said, You’re one of us.

Noah clenched his teeth.

I have nothing in common with these people.

Worry flashed in Ella’s eyes. She’d no doubt weathered illnesses with her daughter before. Little kids picked up every germ.

“It’s just a cold.” Shane made light of Noah’s concern.

Ella’s gaze shuttered. She gave Noah a small smile. “Thanks, but it looks like we’re staying.”

“That’s too bad,” Noah murmured, staring at his gloved right hand and wishing Ella Monroe would leave town quickly.

A woman like Ella made a man remember he’d once had lofty dreams, made him think he could still be somebody important, made him try to regain ground when the odds were embarrassingly, impossibly stacked against him.

Well, what do you know. His inner cynic chuckled.

Turns out, Noah did have something in common with the other residents of Second Chance.