22. Send the Jet

Chapter 22

Send the Jet

H arper awoke stiff and sore once again. The fall from her horse had been harder than she wanted to admit, but her spirits felt lifted by the fresh air and long trail ride. Even the shrill cadence of Nugget the rooster couldn’t dampen her good mood.

Hobbling to the bathroom, she turned on the shower and tested the water with her fingertips. When it turned steaming hot, she stepped into the stream and let it pour over her aching joints. She pulled a white plush robe off the hook, yet another subtle gesture of kindness from Oakleigh. Slipping her arms into the soft fabric, she tied it around her middle.

Harper swiped her hand across the steamy mirror and leaned her palms on the counter, feeling no urgency to put on her makeup that day.

That’s why Oakleigh loves it here.

She had to admit she was envious of her daughter’s newfound freedom to be authentically herself .

“Maybe I’ve been too hard on her,” she voiced her intrusive thought. The words brought with them an uncomfortable wave of guilt. Pressed to distract herself, she pulled the tube of facial cleanser from her cosmetic bag and squeezed a dab into her hand. After scrubbing her skin with the bubbling soap, she took a soft washcloth from the stack and patted her face dry. Looking up at the mirror, she saw each of her flaws staring back at her.

She was reminded again that her younger sister spent nearly all her time in the damaging sun, yet she glowed.

“I definitely haven’t been too hard on her,” she glowered. Rifling through her sizable cosmetic bag for her moisturizer, she unzipped the side compartment.

Out clattered her silver flask, clanging loudly on the bathroom countertop.

Her eyes widened as she retrieved it, feeling the weight of the cold metal in her palm.

She knew it was full to the brim.

Of course, she would have never left home without a little something. She unscrewed the cap and took a whiff.

Vodka, my favorite.

She pulled the cold silver flask to her lips, preparing to savor the burn she had missed over the last few days. Before she could enjoy her first sip, she was distracted by chatter and laughter outside her bedroom window. Curiosity made her replace the lid, screwing it firmly in place. Peering out the frosted glass, the snow was falling harder than it had in days .

Down below, Maeve was patiently holding the reins of two horses while Crew and Oakleigh said a long goodbye.

Harper smirked and rolled her eyes at the scene.

In some regards, her daughter hadn’t changed at all. She was the same old Oakleigh. No amount of rationalizing could convince the young woman that there was more to life than ocean-blue eyes and a chiseled jaw.

Harper knew it was the arrangement with the Abernathys that had sent Oakleigh well on her way down the path of rebellion. She maintained that it had all been a calculated effort for her daughter’s well-being. Despite his pesky wandering eye, Hudson would have given her the quality of life Oakleigh was accustomed to — one that she deserved.

After all, Harper had dealt with Shep shattering her heart in a million different ways, but she had always known that he was simply a means to an end. He was the type her parents insisted she marry.

The perfectly charming, magnetic man to take over their ministry.

She ran her tongue over her smooth veneers, disgusted as she observed the two below in their long embrace. Oakleigh would never understand the sacrifices Harper had made to give her children a life of privilege.

Out of all the boys that had passed through her daughter’s life, she had to admit that Crew did seem different. She was more than an object or a prize to be won, Oakleigh was his whole world .

She remembered a time when Oakleigh had been her entire world.

Poor idiot.

Even though the pitiful thought was for Crew, she mostly felt sorry for herself. Although she would never say it out loud, losing Oakleigh had wounded her.

The two lovebirds finally released each other from their nauseating display. Crew grasped Oakleigh’s hand for one last squeeze before taking the reins from Maeve, and mounting up on his horse.

Harper couldn’t help but shake her head at their theatrics.

Now that the coast was clear, she cracked open her bedroom door. Her brow furrowed as she noticed a travel mug of coffee waiting for her in the hallway.

There was a bright sticky note on the side of the mug where she recognized Oakleigh’s bubbly handwriting.

I know things are weird.

I’m here if you ever want

to talk about it.

— Oakleigh

Rubbing out the potential wrinkles from her forehead, she considered for a moment in the stillness. The silence should have been peaceful, yet it reminded her of the vacant estate waiting for her when she got home. She knew that the note was probably yet another tactic to break down her walls of protection, and yet she had to admit it was working.

She groaned as she stooped to pick up the coffee, feeling every muscle strain. Taking a long sip, she again found herself enjoying the coffee that tasted strong and bitter in all the right ways.

Oakleigh’s concern for her well-being brought a dash of purpose.

Nabbing the flask off her bed, she hid it away in her nightstand drawer. Harper dug her snow clothes from a pile on the floor, and tugged the baggy pants over her legs. Pulling on the oversized jacket, she zipped up the front.

Feeling satisfied with her efforts, she lifted the mug again to her lips and took another long drink. It was still steaming hot, which she knew would be appreciated when she stepped into the knee-deep snow that had collected on the driveway.

Her snow pants made a hideous shuffling sound as she made her way down the long hallway. Harper was convinced she would never get used to donning the scratchy, water-resistant material.

Approaching the top of the stairs, she was met by the pretty young woman with the girl next door features, who was balancing a tray with two plates, each with a sandwich and a small pile of chips.

“Bethany, was it?” Harper inquired.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh, um,” Bethany stammered. “Yes, Mrs. Davenport. ”

“You can call me Harper,” she replied, feeling suddenly generous due to finally being recognized.

“My mom used to watch you on TV,” Bethany said, blinking nervously as though searching for a way to squeeze past the woman blocking her path. “We have a whole bookshelf full of your books.”

“Thank you,” Harper crooned. “It’s always nice to meet one of our faithful followers.”

“It’s just so weird that Maeve never mentioned she had a famous sister,” Bethany remarked. “Well, I suppose until Oakleigh showed up.”

Harper’s teeth clenched, yet she was mindful to turn her frustration into a toothy white smile. It was a skill she had honed over the years.

“It was so nice to catch up with you, Bethany.”

The young woman seemed sweet, but at the mention of Maeve, she felt her excellent mood turning sour.

She went past Bethany and descended the stairs. Rounding the corner into the entryway, she located her snow boots on the rack near the door. She was thankful they were now clean of the mud and muck from the long trek across the pasture. Putting her palm on the wall to steady herself, she pulled the boots over her socked feet.

She grabbed her coffee, and took another long drink. The ambiance of the crackling fireplace made her want to relax on the sofa with a glass of wine .

“How I’d kill for a drink,” she mumbled, her thoughts drifting to the flask hidden in her nightstand drawer.

It doesn’t control me.

Forcing the temptation from her mind, she pulled the heavy front door open and felt the sharp, icy air rush in. It stole her breath away and chilled her lungs.

Harper headed out to the porch, and immediately regretted the loss of her sunglasses as she squinted from the blinding white snow. She spotted Oakleigh heading to the barn with a large bundle of rope over her shoulder.

Being careful down the slick, icy steps, she stepped into powdery snow. Sinking up to her knees, she felt the cold cut through her clothing.

Harper shuffled across the driveway until she reached Oakleigh’s side.

“Hey, Oaks,” she chimed, intentionally using her daughter’s childhood nickname. It almost felt too informal for the state of their battered, threadbare relationship.

Oakleigh didn’t even attempt to disguise the discomfort in her expression. “What are you doing out here?”

“I just wanted to thank you for the coffee,” Harper hesitated. It was true, and yet even the slightest gratitude felt agonizingly vulnerable. “Mind if I join you?”

“Maeve asked me to practice roping after yesterday,” she shrugged. “It’s really not going to be that interesting.”

Harper knew that her daughter was angling to be left alone, but something made her grasp for just a few more moments .

“That sounds interesting to me,” she responded. Turning her mug, she pointed at the note Oakleigh had left her that morning.

Oakleigh sighed.

“I just don’t want any arguments.”

“It’s fine,” Harper agreed. “I won’t start any.”

She considered for a moment before conceding to her mother’s request.

“Why doesn’t Maeve get one of those heated driveways, like in Aspen?” Harper suggested, trudging through the thick icy snow. “Or at least some hired help — is it because she can’t afford to pay her staff?”

If that was the case, Harper could sympathize.

Oakleigh smirked, “Maeve Callaway has employed more people in this town than any other ranch.”

“Well, where are they?” Harper asked, astonished as she raised her arms, encompassing what she considered disheveled conditions.

“We’ve lost a couple to school,” Oakleigh listed off. “Some have families, and a couple of them got sick or injured.” Her voice held a dash of pride. “Maeve promised to cover everything they need, and she always does.”

Harper’s mouth went dry.

She couldn’t relate to that type of generosity, reminding her again she would never measure up to Maeve .

“Colton and Wade are here to stay, though,” Oakleigh rolled her eyes. “Couldn’t get rid of them if I tried, and trust me — I have.”

Harper followed Oakleigh into the darkened barn. Snow billowed through the open door, causing the animals to shuffle in their stalls.

Oakleigh pulled a large bale of hay off the stack with surprising ease, and set it in the middle of the barn floor. Harper mused that her daughter had always kept herself fit, but now she was strong.

“Just know,” Oakleigh warned. “I’m terrible at this.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Harper gave a lighthearted wink to match her sarcastic tone. Much to her relief, Oakleigh chuckled at the lighthearted jab.

Harper folded her arms and leaned against a horse stall. The mare responded to her presence by putting its head over her shoulder and nuzzling her.

“Oh, hey you,” she exclaimed, initially surprised by the affectionate animal. She composed herself, calmly running her fingers through the mare’s soft mane.

“You really do like horses,” Oakleigh observed. “I guess I never knew that.”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” Harper responded. Her tone was a little more aggressive than intended, and she could see Oakleigh’s walls fortify .

“I always have,” Harper softened, hoping it would make up for her snappy reply. “— but who has time for that sort of thing?”

She had spent decades building an empire, and there was little left over for frivolous hobbies.

Oakleigh took her place in front of the haybale. Swinging the rope over her head, she flung it at the target, missing it altogether. She shook her head and tried again. This time, the rope rebelliously fell limp to the floor.

She laughed uncomfortably.

“I really am bad at this.”

“Maybe ranching just isn’t for you,” Harper shrugged. It was far from encouragement, but it was all she had to offer.

Oakleigh paused, glancing at Harper with a look that begged for something more.

For the life of her, Harper couldn’t fathom what Oakleigh expected from her.

“Maybe you’re right about that,” Oakleigh pivoted. “I sure won’t be a competitive roper anytime soon.”

The weightlessness of their banter made Harper feel as though the broken bridge between them was beginning to mend. Perhaps their relationship wasn’t as irreconcilably destroyed as she had once assumed.

While she watched Oakleigh continue to practice her roping, she let her mind wander to what it would look like if she could convince her daughter to come home .

The ranch life wasn’t sustainable, and it was certainly beneath her. Oakleigh was a Davenport. She was born and raised to command an audience.

Harper felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, and she checked her notifications. She felt her heart skip a beat, noticing it was a voice memo from Delia.

“Well, it’s about time,” she mumbled.

“What was that?” Oakleigh asked.

“Oh, um,” Harper corrected quickly. “Nothing.”

She turned away and pulled her phone to her ear, hearing her best friend’s excited voice for the first time in what felt like ages.

Delia Hollister:

“Where on earth have you been?

I’m sure you’ve already heard, but Shep

got the job!”

Her best friend’s announcement left her breathless.

It was finally over. Their family’s struggle had come to an end. She pushed off the stall and headed for the door.

“Where you going, Mom?” Oakleigh asked.

“Back to the house,” Harper said. “I have some business to attend to.”

Harper held herself back from practically skipping to the porch. She was confident when she broke the news that Oakleigh wouldn’t hesitate to join her on the flight home. Yanking off her boots, she pushed the front door open and went straight to her room. She flung her bag on the bed and immediately began to pack her things.

I should tell her now.

“No, I’ll wait,” she decided.

Harper was shrewd enough to know it would take the perfect storm to persuade her stubborn daughter, but she was confident the moment would arrive.

She just had to be patient.

Oakleigh was determined, yet terribly predictable.

The allure of standing in front of thousands once again made Harper burst with excitement. Before long, she would be back on speaking tours, and writing her memoir about rising from the ashes. The thought prompted her to leave herself a quick note.

Pulling her phone to her lips, she hit record.

“Title of my next book:

Rising from the Ashes, the Harper Davenport story.”

Predictably, she and Shep would have to do an apology tour. Harper had perfected the solemn look of disappointment, accompanied with tears of shame. She left herself another quick note to request an increase in the church budget for more tissues.

Harper sighed.

And to have a staff again .

Money, makeup artists, nannies, and maids — a bustling household. She was finally in charge of the narrative of her life, and the church she had built from nothing was back in her grasp.

It felt so right.

Harper would never feel the sting of loneliness again. Those who had abandoned her would flock to her side, pleading to be allowed back into the fold of her good graces.

Most importantly, she would be leaving the ranch.

No more processing old wounds, they could go back right where they belonged —

Buried and forgotten.

And Shep.

She even felt a spark over seeing her husband again — in small doses, of course.

Harper exhaled in relief, plopping down on the bed. She folded a pair of jeans, and placed them in her suitcase.

The thought of Shep gave her the desire to reach out and let him know that, despite their harsh arguments over the last year, she was still so very proud of him.

Pulling out her phone, she fired off a quick text.

Harper — typing…

I heard the good news, my love.

I’m in Montana. Send the jet.