Chapter 1 : Part 2

The You I Never Knew
by Susan Wiggs

(Page 2 of 3)

A billboard with a nauseating cartoon cowboy invited them to "Stop N Eat" in one mile.

"You hungry?" She raised her voice so he would hear. He stuffed a wad of Fritos into his mouth. "Nope," he said around a mouthful of food. The roadside café, lit up by neon wagon wheels, disappeared in a smear of artificial light.

Just for a flash, she saw him as a toddler, cramming Cheerios into his cheeks like a baby squirrel. It seemed like only yesterday that he was her Cody-boy in Oshkosh overalls, with milk dribbling from his chin. That child was gone from her life now, she realized with a lurch of regret in her chest. He had slipped away when she wasn't looking. He'd vanished as swiftly and irretrievably as if he had wandered off at an airport, never to be found. In his place was this cynical, smart, exasperating stranger who seemed determined to push every button she had.

His sheer physical beauty then, as now, took her breath away. Only back then, she could tell him how adorable he was to her.

Now she could tell him nothing.

Cody had begged to stay in Seattle while she made this trip alone. He claimed he'd be fine, staying by himself at the town house. As if Michelle would consent to that.

Cody had even suggested that Brad could look after him.

Right. Brad couldn't handle Cody. Or wouldn't. And she was in no position to expect that level of support from Brad, their relationship notwithstanding. Her entire life was on hold until she dealt with her father.

A semi swung out and passed her, blasting its air horn. No speed limit in Montana, she recalled, and here she'd been dutifully doing sixty-five.

Life had trained her well for duty.

Defiantly, she pressed the accelerator. Sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five. She reveled in the speed, in the hum of the Rover's tires on cold bare pavement. Everything passed in a wavy smudge - streaks of cottonwood groves, shale rock ridges, coulees and brushy creeks, the blur of avalanche fence traversing the high meadows. The wind blew a dusting of snow along the highway. The snakelike motion and the subtle flickers of muted color were oddly exhilarating, and for a while she simply emptied her mind and drove.

The landscape lifted, a subtle change at first, but before long they would reach the high country of serrated crags, endless valleys, hanging alpine lakes. A chill of anticipation prickled her skin. Before long they would be at Blue Rock Ranch.

At Missoula, they turned northward, passing a giant statue of a Hereford bull at a combination tourist shop, caf?, and gas station.

"We're not in Kansas anymore," she murmured to Cody, but he didn't hear.

The Wild West kitsch was a sign that they had entered a different zone entirely, a land where the cowboy myth revolved around the solemn rites of rope and leather, where a sense of place and tall, endless skies surrounded and seduced her. Some said Montana was an empty land, but that wasn't quite right. It was just that the space was so vast it expanded the soul. She felt herself being drawn toward an encounter she had resisted for years. She tensed, unable to enjoy the beauty because this landscape held too many reminders of her past.

Highway 83 took them along the final leg of the journey. Against the brooding afternoon sky rose the peaks of the Swan and Mission Mountains. Shadows flickered in and out of coulees and valleys, creating a palette of sage and ocher and mysterious, restful earth tones that had no name.

"Cody, look!" She pointed out the side window. A huge herd of elk, winter migrants from the high country, grazed on the scrub-covered hills.

He stared at the milling herd, then yawned.

Well, what did she expect? "Gee whiz, Mommy" from a sixteen-year-old?

But oh, she wanted to share this with him, this sense of wonder inspired by the wild animals, the deep conifer forests and staggering snow-clad mountain peaks. A jewel-like chain of lakes bordered the highway. She wanted to tell him the lakes were formed as flood depressions in glacial moraines, filled when giant chunks of ice melted in each depression.

She wondered if that was what happened to people: When loss created a void that stayed empty too long, did the space fill up with ice?

They reached the turnoff for Crystal City, and the road began to climb in a series of sharp twists up into the mountains. Glacial violence made this harsh, craggy landscape as resistant to invasion as any man-made fortress. It took a special skill to breach it.

She hadn't driven in snow in ages, and the Range Rover fishtailed a little.

Copyright © 2001 Susan Wiggs

About the Author

Susan Wiggs is the author of the bestselling historical romance novels The Mistress, The Hostage, and The Horsemaster's Daughter. She won the Romantic Times career achievement award and the Romance Writers of America's RITA Award for best historical romance. A dramatic departure from her critically acclaimed and highly popular previous novels, THE YOU I NEVER KNEW is her first full-length work of contemporary fiction. A Harvard graduate and former schoolteacher, she lives on an island in Puget Sound with her husband and daughter.