Page 17 of Friends are Forever (Teton Mountain #6)

R eva steered her shiny black Escalade up the narrow pine tree-lined lane, the tires crunching over a thick layer of fallen needles and leaves.

Sunlight filtered through the branches in golden threads, dappling the windshield and catching in her braided hair like a halo.

The road curved gently, then widened into a clearing, revealing the house she’d visited more times over the years than she could count.

Modest, sturdy, and well-loved, the home stood with quiet dignity—a wood-framed structure stained a deep brown, its green shutters slightly faded from seasons of sun and snow.

A small, covered porch jutted from the front, its floorboards weathered and a little crooked.

A pair of rocking chairs flanked the door, their paint peeling at the arms where hands had rested for years.

Behind the house, the tin roof of a stock shed glinted in the light. Beyond it, a wire fence contained a handful of sheep, lazily grazing at the feeding trough. One lifted its head at the sound of her engine, then returned to chewing.

Reva parked and turned off the engine.

She didn’t move right away. Just sat there with the engine off, the ticking of the cooling motor the only sound in the quiet clearing.

Her gaze drifted to the front yard, scattered with crisp fall leaves.

A child’s swing set sat off to one side, its frame slightly rusted but still upright, two plastic swings twisting idly in the wind.

Reva exhaled slowly and leaned her head back against the seat. She hadn’t wanted to come here. Not today. Not this way.

And still, she’d come. Because duty had a voice louder than her emotions.

Reva rubbed her palms down her thighs, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her slacks. She straightened, eyes narrowing slightly as her hand reached for the door handle.

Reva climbed out of the car and closed the door behind her.

June Southcott stepped out onto the porch, letting the door ease shut behind her.

She wasn’t what folks might call flashy—never had been—but there was a simple grace about her that spoke of strong roots and deep love.

Her gray-blonde hair was pulled back into a low twist, a few wisps lifting in the breeze.

She wore a soft denim button-down over a long-sleeved cotton tee, the collar gently frayed from washings.

Her jeans were clean but well-worn, and her brown leather shoes looked like they’d seen more than a few gardens and grocery aisles.

A faded dish towel was still tucked into her waistband, and Reva had a sudden, vivid memory of being a teenager and sitting at this very table inside, hands curled around a mug of tea, June fussing quietly in the kitchen with that same towel slung over her shoulder.

She hadn’t changed much. A little older maybe.

A little thinner around the face. But the kindness was still there.

June stepped down from the porch, her eyes meeting Reva’s as she crossed the lawn with steady steps. Leaves swirled around her ankles as she walked.

“Hey there, Reva,” June said softly.

Her voice was warm, like a hand on the back of Reva’s heart. But there was something behind it, too—something quieter. A kind of bracing. As if they both knew this day had a shape to it neither wanted to outline.

Reva’s throat thickened, but she managed a small nod.

June didn’t waste time with pretense. She reached for Reva’s hand and held it. “Fleet’s out back.”

The older woman led Reva inside and to a kitchen table where she offered her a seat and a cup of coffee.

The kitchen smelled faintly of cinnamon and apples. June moved with practiced ease, retrieving two mugs from the open shelf above the sink and pouring coffee from a thermal carafe. The mugs didn’t match—one was plain white, the other had a faded rooster on the side—but they felt right somehow.

Reva wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic, grateful for something to hold. She took a sip, letting the heat anchor her as June sat across from her.

Then came the sound of boots on the back steps. Slow. Measured.

The screen door creaked open, and a moment later, Fleet Southcott appeared in the doorway, backlit by the morning light. “Reva, what are you doing here?” He glanced at his wife. “Did I know she was coming?”

June shook her head.

Reva stood slowly, unsure if she should smile or brace herself. “Hi, Fleet.”

For a beat, neither moved. Then his expression softened, lines easing at the corners of his eyes. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

“I did,” she said quietly.

And in that moment, they both knew this wasn’t just a visit.

It was something more.

Reva pushed open the door to her office and stepped inside.

She didn’t bother flipping on the lights.

The morning sun slanted through the tall windows, casting stripes across the carpeted floor and highlighting the fine dust on her desk that always settled no matter how often Verna insisted on wiping down the surface.

She let her purse slide off her shoulder into the side chair near the window and stood there a beat longer than she meant to, one hand resting against her chest. Finally, she turned and crossed to the credenza, eyes locked on the familiar silver carafe.

The first cup she’d had at the Southcotts’ hadn’t been enough. Not by half.

She poured herself a second and didn’t bother with cream this time. Just the dark, bitter brew. She took a sip, felt it settle, and closed her eyes.

The soft patter of footsteps preceded the inevitable.

Verna Billingsley appeared in the doorway, holding a file folder and wearing the same burgundy pantsuit she’d worn to the town council meeting two nights ago. Her expression was tight with curiosity, though she did her best to soften it with a half-smile.

“How’d it go?”

Reva swallowed. She took another sip and then nodded, more to herself than anyone else.

“He took it graciously,” she said, her voice low.

“Like maybe he sensed it was coming. Maybe he’s known for a while.

” She moved to her desk and sank into the chair, cradling the mug between her palms. “I explained the town council voted unanimously. He’ll receive full retirement benefits, and I made sure he knows he’ll always carry the title of Honorary Sheriff for life. ”

Verna stepped inside, the file forgotten in her arms. “And?”

“I told him Thunder Mountain would never forget what he’s given us.

That for more than two decades, he’s been the backbone of this place—showing up in snowstorms, answering calls in the middle of the night, standing watch at every parade, every holiday gathering, every tragedy.

I reminded him that kids feel safe because they know Fleet Southcott is out there.

That families sleep easier because of him. ”

Her voice broke slightly, but she pushed through.

“He just nodded and said, ‘I reckon a man can’t catch all the bad guys when he can’t remember where he put his keys.’”

Verna smiled sadly. “That sounds like Fleet.”

Reva nodded. “Then June squeezed his hand and said, ‘Keys can be found. Kindness can’t easily be taught.’”

They stood in silence for a moment, the heaviness settling like a blanket.

Verna finally cleared her throat and stepped forward, placing the folder on Reva’s desk. “You did the right thing. For him. For the town.”

“I know,” Reva murmured.

But knowing didn’t make it easier.