Page 23 of Friends are Forever (Teton Mountain #6)

R eva crossed the sidewalk toward Town Hall, her lunch bag bumping gently against her hip.

The morning sun glinted off the courthouse windows, casting long shadows across the square.

She paused at the entrance, her hand resting on the worn brass handle, and let her gaze sweep over the familiar scene—the park benches, the lampposts, the steady rhythm of small-town life.

It should have comforted her. Instead, her chest tightened with a hollow ache, a silent reminder of how much she loved it here.

Memaw was gone.

The farm would be hers.

Her future—Lucan’s future—would soon take root in red clay soil, not the craggy Tetons she adored.

But not yet.

Not today.

Today she was still the mayor of Thunder Mountain, with work to do. Important work. Hard work.

Squaring her shoulders, Reva stepped into the crisp fall air, the familiar smell of brewing coffee and wet pine rising from the street. She bounded up the steps, and as she pushed through the heavy oak doors, Verna Billingsley was waiting—armed and ready.

“Good morning, Mayor Nygard,” Verna chirped, her lipstick bright enough to stop traffic. She shoved a thick stack of papers into Reva’s hands before she’d even made it past the reception desk.

Reva blinked. “What in the world is this?”

Verna sniffed primly. “Applications.”

“Applications?” Reva repeated. She flipped through the sheaf—cover letters, résumés, even a few headshots. “We haven’t even posted the sheriff’s job yet.”

Verna’s mouth curved in a smug little smile. “This is Thunder Mountain, ma’am. You think you have to post something for folks to know the position is up for grabs?”

Reva sighed and tucked the papers under her arm, heading for her office. “I was hoping to have at least five minutes to get settled.”

Verna trailed behind, clipboard in hand. “Well, make it quick. Ernie Dupree’s already called twice to say he’s ‘highly interested’ in the position. So has Midge Cartwright—and I’m pretty sure she’s never even fired a squirt gun.”

Reva pushed open the door to her office and paused, taking a steadying breath. Sunlight slanted across her desk, illuminating the framed photo of Kellen and Lucan she’d placed beside the phone. A tiny lump rose in her throat, but she forced it down.

So many changes ahead.

She crossed the room and set the applications down with a thump. “Let’s start a list of serious candidates. People with actual law enforcement experience. And give preference to local.”

The town could weather a lot—harsh winters, tourist swarms, even the occasional tremor—but its sheriff had to be one of their own, someone who understood the unspoken codes of Thunder Mountain, where trust wasn’t given lightly, and respect was earned over coffee counters and cattle gates.

Verna scribbled something on her clipboard, mumbling under her breath.

“What was that?” Reva asked, cocking a brow.

Verna looked up, deadpan. “I said that rules out three-quarters of these applicants—or more.”

Despite herself, Reva chuckled—a real, honest-to-goodness laugh. It felt foreign in her chest, like something she’d forgotten how to do.

“Thanks, Verna,” she said, softer now. “For holding down the fort while I was gone.”

Verna’s face softened, too. “I’ve got you, Mayor. Whatever you need.”

Reva nodded, a tightness building behind her eyes. She glanced at the mountain of applications and then at the phone already blinking with messages.

“Okay,” she told herself, straightening a stack of papers. “Time to get to work.”

Reva had been at it for hours, her eyes blurring from scanning Verna’s list and the résumés, frustrated at the lack of qualified candidates, when a sharp rap sounded at her office door. She rubbed her temples and looked up, surprised to see Gibbs Nichols standing in the doorway, hat in hand.

“Sorry to barge in,” he said, his voice more serious than usual. “Verna wasn’t at her desk.”

Reva glanced at the clock on her computer. “She must be at lunch,” she murmured, setting down her pen.

Gibbs stepped in, a little awkward, the toes of his boots scuffing against the rug. He didn’t sit, just twisted his hat between his hands.

“I know you’re busy, Reva,” he began, clearing his throat. “But I’m here because I want to throw my name in the hat for sheriff.”

Reva leaned back slowly, folding her hands over her stomach. Of all the candidates she’d imagined, Gibbs Nichols hadn’t been high on the list.

He must’ve read the skepticism on her face because he hurried on.

“Look, I know I’ve been a screw-up in a lot of ways.

Everybody in this town knows it, no point pretending otherwise.

But that’s behind me. It’s different now.

” His gaze was steady, and for once, free of the old defensiveness.

“I’m a husband now. A faithful spouse,” he added pointedly.

“And a father—not just to Jewel, but to the new little one. I need to support them, Reva. Not just with a paycheck, but with something that matters. Something that tells Jewel that people can change. That you can fall down and still stand back up.”

He paused, taking a breath. “I know this town. I know its people, its back roads, its history. I know who’s got a short fuse and who just needs someone to listen.

Fleet taught me more than folks realize—about patience, about reading between the lines.

About not making a bad situation worse just because you can. ”

Reva stayed silent, studying him. He was older now, a little thicker around the middle, a few more creases around the eyes. But there was a steadiness in his posture she hadn’t seen before.

Gibbs shifted and glanced at the leaning stack of applications on her desk.

“All I’m asking is that you consider it,” he said quietly. “Not for who I used to be, but for who I am now.”

He squared his shoulders, set his hat back on his head, and gave her a nod. “Thank you, Mayor.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Reva sat still for a long moment, the clock ticking softly in the background.

The office felt heavier after Gibbs left, like the very air had thickened. Reva leaned back in her chair, staring at the door as if she could still see him standing there.

Hiring a sheriff wasn’t just about filling a vacancy. It wasn’t even just about safety. It was about trust. About the soul of the town.

She tapped her pen against the desk, staring at the stack of applications. There were others, sure—a few with impressive credentials, a couple of retired lawmen from as far away as Montana and Idaho, looking for one last quiet post before the rocking chair.

They didn’t know who still left their back doors unlocked out of habit.

They didn’t know that you didn’t write up a citation when Harold Riggins’s cows wandered Main Street—you just helped herd them back behind the sagging fence.

They didn’t know the difference between good trouble and bad trouble.

And yet...

Her mind flickered to all the times Gibbs Nichols had let people down. The youthful recklessness. The broken promises. The hot temper that had once been a little too quick to spark. The pain he’d caused Charlie Grace…multiple times.

Could people really change?

Or did they just get better at hiding the parts of themselves that disappointed you?

She sighed, picking up a résumé from the pile, but her eyes didn’t track the words. Her mind replayed the way Gibbs had stood there—no excuses, no swagger, just raw honesty.

And maybe, just maybe, that counted for more than a perfect record.

Reva leaned back again, the pen twirling slowly between her fingers. This wasn’t a simple choice. It never was when it came to people you cared about.

But maybe, just maybe, the best leaders weren’t the ones with the cleanest pasts. Maybe they were the ones who knew how badly it hurt to fall—and how hard you had to fight to stand back up.

Another knock sounded again at her door, pulling her from her thoughts.

This time, she smiled wryly.

News sure did travel fast in Thunder Mountain.