Page 12 of Friends are Forever (Teton Mountain #6)

R eva pushed open the door to City Hall, her heels clicking across the polished tile.

She wasn’t three steps into the foyer before Verna appeared like a prairie dog out of a burrow, lips tight and bun tighter.

“You’re back,” she said, as if Reva might’ve returned from a vacation rather than a week of emotional upheaval and family wrangling. “I’ve made a list.”

Of course, she had.

Reva adjusted the strap of her leather tote, already sensing the inbox overload awaiting her upstairs. “Good morning to you, too, Verna.”

Verna handed over a clipboard so thick it should’ve come with an arm brace.

“First, the building permits backlog. Then the community center roof leaked—again. And the Rocky Mountain Oyster festival committee is demanding you pick a date before Friday’s planning meeting.

But most urgent—” she lowered her voice, glancing toward the stairwell.

“Fleet Southcott forgot his cruiser keys. Again. Except this time, he left them in the ignition. Engine running. All night.”

Reva winced. “Tell me someone found it before the car ran out of gas.”

“They found it alright. Idling in front of the bakery. Sheriff Southcott apparently went in for a cinnamon roll and forgot both the car and the time. Stood there thirty minutes chatting with Boyd before he took off and walked home, leaving the car behind.”

Reva closed her eyes for a beat. Thunder Mountain’s beloved sheriff had served the town for decades.

But lately…there had been signs. Misplacing his citation book.

Wandering into the Knit Wit gatherings at the Rustic Pine thinking it was poker night.

Reva had chalked it up to age and fatigue. But now?

“Add a meeting with Fleet to the list,” she said, eyes opening again with resolve.

“I already did,” Verna said, straightening. “Three o’clock. His wife promised to call him with a reminder to make sure he wouldn’t forget.”

Reva climbed the stairs, clipboard in hand, the weight of it all settling into her shoulders. As much as she wanted to slide gently back into the rhythm of being mayor of Thunder Mountain, the job—and this town—rarely waited for anyone.

She stepped into her office and shut the door with a soft click, muffling the hum of the municipal building behind her, then dropped her tote and the clipboard onto the wide walnut desk and stood still for a moment, eyes sweeping over the room she’d made her own.

The walls were lined with local artwork—photos of the Tetons in every season, a woven tapestry from a Shoshone artisan, a framed thank-you card drawn in crayon from Lucan’s Sunday school class.

Warm mountain light streamed in through the tall windows, brushing across her leather chair, the fresh vase of daisies Verna must’ve set out, and the carefully stacked files waiting in her inbox like silent sentinels.

This was home. Her domain. Her calling.

And soon…it wouldn’t be.

She sank into the chair and exhaled, staring out the window at the fluttering aspen leaves, a few at the top of the tree now fading to gold.

The decision she’d made in Georgia clung to her like southern heat—thick, inescapable, and full of consequence.

She’d promised Grand Memaw. She’d looked into her eyes, seen the years and the pleading and the love, and said yes.

Yes, to Sunnyside.

Yes, to leaving Thunder Mountain.

Yes, to packing up everything she’d built and moving on.

And now the weight of that yes was settling deep in her bones.

Could she really walk away from this? From the work she loved, the people who trusted her, the town that had given her purpose?

These folks had walked alongside her after her breakup with Merritt Hardwick—and as she recovered from alcohol addiction.

They’d suffered with her through long childless years, after the quiet ache of watching other families grow while she stood still.

And then there were Charlie Grace, Lila, and Capri.

The thought of miles separating them sent a shudder down her spine.

These women had been her lifeline since high school.

They rallied around her when she was the first black student to attend Thunder Mountain, paving the way for acceptance and friendship.

They’d shared her life—the ups, the downs, and everything in between.

How could she possibly say goodbye?

She rubbed at her temples, trying to chase off the creeping ache.

Lucan’s laughter broke into her thoughts, bright and untamed. Her boy. Her miracle. She had to remember, this move wasn’t just about honoring a promise—it was about giving him something too. Roots. Identity. A connection to a family heritage and a legacy shaped by soil and sweat and family.

Still, the cost was beginning to show.

A soft buzz from her phone pulled her from the fog. A message from her mother: “Call when you can. We’ve started going through the back-office files and found something you’ll want to see.”

Reva stared at the screen a moment longer, then set it aside. She wasn’t ready for more news. Not yet.

Instead, she reached for the top folder on her desk, trying to lose herself in zoning requests and festival planning—anything to outrun the hollow ache of what was on the horizon.