Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(106)

I’d only called this morning because I’d forgotten to leave my office key behind. Now I wished I’d simply mailed it with a note.

“Best of luck, Genevieve.”

“Thank—”

He hung up the phone before I could finish. Twenty-seven was already shaping up to be a disaster.

Happy birthday to me.

I set my phone aside and stared through the windshield at the store ahead. I was parked in front of a small clothing shop on Central Avenue. It was the only store in Clifton Forge, Montana, that sold women’s clothing besides the farm-and-ranch-supply warehouse.

Clifton Forge.

My mom had gone to high school here. My grandparents, two people I’d never known, had been killed in a car accident and were buried here. Six weeks ago, the town of Clifton Forge was nothing more than a footnote in my family history.

Then Mom came for a visit and was viciously slaughtered at the local motel.

Now Clifton Forge wasn’t only a black spot on the past, it was also my home for the foreseeable future.

I longed to be at home in Denver, driving on familiar streets to familiar places. The allure of the highway had a strong pull. On the drive from Colorado, I’d been tempted more than once to turn around and never look back. To run and hide.

Except I’d made a promise to a perfect stranger, a man I’d known only hours. I wouldn’t break my word.

Not after what Isaiah had done for me.

So here I was, in Clifton Forge.

For months. Years. Decades. For as long as it takes. I owed Isaiah that time.

The queasy feeling I’d had for days surged, the bile rising in my throat. I swallowed it down, not wanting to think about a lifetime condemned to Montana. I didn’t have time to dwell on the possibilities—the consequences—of what was about to happen. I was supposed to meet Isaiah at noon, which only gave me two hours to get ready. So I steeled my spine, pushed the nerves away and got out of the car to do some shopping.

I refused to wear jeans today.

In the past week, I’d packed up everything in my condo in Denver, much like I’d done with my mother’s home, though this time not quite as soul shattering. Still, it had hurt and I’d cried every time I’d taped a box shut. All this change, all this loss—I was drowning.

Most of my larger belongings had gone into storage. Some had been packed to ship. And the rest had been crammed into my gray, four-door Toyota, which I’d driven from Colorado to Montana yesterday.

Too frazzled, trying to pack and finish up my last week at work, I hadn’t thought to pack a dress. Maybe it was my subconscious protesting today’s nuptials.

But, like it or not, this wedding was happening, and I was not wearing jeans.

Especially on my birthday.

I’d taken extra care with my makeup this morning. I’d washed and styled my thick, brown hair using the expensive curling wand Mom had bought me last year.

It was the last birthday gift she’d ever give me.

My God, I missed her. She wouldn’t be here today, to stand by my side as I made arguably the biggest mistake of my life. She wouldn’t be here for any more birthdays, because a vile and vicious human had snuffed out her life. It wasn’t fair.

Mom had been murdered, stabbed seven times, left to bleed out in a motel room alone. She’d died, leaving behind a trail of secrets and lies that were ruining her beautiful memory.

Why? I wanted to scream it to the heavens until she answered.

Why?

I was so angry at her. I was furious she hadn’t trusted me with the truth. That she hadn’t told me about my father. That I was here in this shitty little town because of her bad choices.

But damn it, I missed her. Today of all days, I wanted my mom.

Tears welled behind my sunglasses and I blinked them away before walking into the clothing store. I put on the fake smile I’d been wearing for weeks.

“Good morning,” the clerk greeted me as the bell chimed over my head. “Please feel free to look around. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

“Actually, yes. I need a dress and heels.”

The heels would hurt. The soles of my feet were wrecked from running through the mountains with bare feet. But I’d suffer through it today.

“Oooh. I might have just the thing.” She came from around the counter where she’d been folding a sweater. “We just got this deep green dress in yesterday. I’m obsessed with it. And it will go beautifully with your hair.”

“Perfect.”

Just as long as it isn’t white.

Thirty minutes later, I was home—a term I used loosely—because my temporary residence, this shitty apartment located above a shitty garage in a shitty town, was definitely no home. I pulled on my new sleeveless green wrap dress, adjusting the deep V-neck so not too much cleavage was showing. Then I stood on my tiptoes in the bathroom, trying to see myself in the mirror. Whoever had furnished this place didn’t seem to care what they looked like from the waist down.

I strapped on the nude heels I’d bought today too, wishing I’d had time for a pedicure. Was there even a place for pedicures in Clifton Forge? Instead, I rifled through my purse for the bottle of hot pink polish I’d tossed in there weeks ago for emergency touch-ups. I applied another coat and let it dry. There were so many layers now, it would take a jackhammer to chip it all off.