Page 10

GRACE

I stand in Ruby's living room, arranging a plate of Ruby's oatmeal cookies while Blaze... Blake… hangs a hand-painted "Welcome Home, Orville" banner across the back wall. The smell of fresh coffee mingles with the scent of Pine-Sol from the morning's cleaning frenzy.

"Think we overdid it?" I ask, surveying the transformed space. Every surface gleams. Flowers from gardens across Mustang Mountain brighten each table. A mountain of casseroles fills the kitchen counter.

Blaze steps back to admire his handiwork. "Impossible to overdo anything for Orville."

Ruby emerges from the back of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "He's going to hate all this fuss."

"Which is exactly why we're doing it," I say, adjusting a stack of napkins.

So much has changed in just a few weeks. And yet, somehow, it feels more like home than ever. The house buzzes with anticipation as townspeople filter in, bearing more food and small gifts.

"They're here!" someone shouts from the window, and a hush falls over the crowd.

We spill onto the sidewalk as Jensen and Jonas, Ruby's nephews who lived with Ruby and Orville, pull up. Ruby rushes forward, her hands fluttering nervously at her collar. Blaze follows, ready to help, while I hang back with the others, giving the family space.

The driver opens the side door, and there's Orville, looking smaller but with the same sharp eyes and wry smile that define him.

"Well, look at this," he says, as Blaze helps him from the truck, his voice gruff but strong. "All this commotion and I missed the real excitement."

The town laughs, tension breaking like ice on the spring creek.

Blaze steps forward, helping Orville toward the front door. "Don't worry, Orville. I recorded all the highlights. Even got footage of Six and Arrow singing karaoke."

"Now that's worth that horrible hospital food to see," Orville chuckles, reaching out to clasp Blaze's hand. The gesture is brief but meaningful. It’s acceptance.

Ruby fusses around them both, directing people out of the way as Blaze walks with Orville into the house.

I watch them, this makeshift family that somehow works perfectly.

Blaze catches my eye over Orville's head and winks. He belongs here now, not as the reluctant visitor or the celebrity outsider, but as part of the fabric of Mustang Mountain. He’s right where he belongs, here with family.

Inside, Orville holds court from his recliner in the living room, regaling everyone with hospital stories, each one more crazy than the last. I serve coffee and listen to the laughter, to the sound of a community healing itself.

"He's going to be fine," Ruby says, appearing at my elbow with an empty cookie plate.

"Of course he is. He's too stubborn not to be."

She smiles, the worry lines around her eyes softening. "Thank you, Grace. For everything."

"I didn't do anything special."

"You brought him home," she says, nodding toward Blaze, who's showing Orville something on his phone, both of them laughing. "Maybe not intentionally, but you did."

I want to protest that Blaze made his own choices, that I was just in the right place at the right time, but I know what she means. Sometimes we're catalysts for change without realizing it.

"Well," I say instead, "he's not going anywhere now."

Ruby's smile widens. "No, I don't think he is."

* * *

Later that afternoon, I sit on my porch swing, feet tucked under me, watching the clouds drift over the mountains. Blaze appears at the bottom of the steps, two bottles of beer in hand.

"Room for one more?" he asks.

"Always."

He settles beside me, passing me a bottle. The swing creaks gently as we rock, a comfortable silence between us.

"So," I say finally, "how does it feel to be a local legend?"

He groans. "Please don't."

"I'm serious! Three different people asked for your autograph today. Mrs. Peabody wants you to sign her rolling pin."

"Her rolling pin?"

"She says she'll never wash it again." I giggle at the thought.

He laughs, that full, unguarded sound I've come to love. "I've signed weirder things."

"Like what?" I ask, my curiosity taking over.

"I've been asked to sign every body part imaginable. One guy even asked me to sign his dick. Thankfully, security stepped in when he tried to whip it out. I’ve had an older woman ask me to sign the urn that held the ashes of her dead husband, and multiple different kinds of sex toys," he grimaces.

I laugh and shake my head as I take a sip of beer. "But seriously, your little impromptu concert is all anyone can talk about. Ruby is already planning next year's festival with you as the headliner."

"Is that right?" Blaze's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Guess I'll have to stick around and make it official."

My heart does a little flip. "Good. You're not going anywhere."

He sets his beer down on the porch floor and turns to me, one arm stretched along the back of the swing. "No, I'm not."

When he kisses me, it tastes like promises and possibility. This isn't the desperate passion of our first kiss or the tentative exploration of our second. This is something steadier, more certain. A foundation.

"Get a room!" Olivia's voice breaks the moment.

I pull back to see my friend standing at the bottom of the porch steps, grinning like she's caught us passing notes in class.

"We have a room," I call back. "Several, in fact. This whole house is full of them."

"And yet, here you are, scandalizing the neighborhood." She bounds up the steps, waving a folder. "I've got something."

Blaze shifts to make room for her on the swing, but she's too keyed up to sit.

"I think I've got something on that helicopter logo," she says, pulling a printout from her folder. "Remember how I said it looked familiar? I was right."

She hands me the paper. It’s a grainy enlarged photo of the logo from the helicopter. Not looking at the rest of it, I close the folder. I know Olivia and how she goes down the rabbit holes and doesn't stop until she has peeked in every dark corner.

"Olivia... maybe let it go. Right now, we need to focus on keeping the town strong."

"But don't you see? This could be important! What if--"

"What if it's nothing?" I interrupt gently. "What if it's just Ruby's private business? She hasn't told anyone for a reason. After everything, I think we need to respect that."

The thought of anyone digging too deeply into Ruby's affairs makes me nervous. She's protective of Orville, of her home. And now, by extension, of Blaze. The last thing any of them needs is scrutiny, especially after everything they've been through.

Olivia's enthusiasm deflates slightly. "I just thought with everything happening with the land developer, the road, and the festival..."

"I know," I say, reaching for her hand. "And I love your investigative spirit. But maybe this one time, let's focus on what we know is good. Orville's home, the town pulled together, and we saved the festival. We know Ruby. she isn't involved with the bad guys here."

She sighs dramatically. "Fine. But I'm keeping this file open."

"I’d expect nothing less." I squeeze her hand before letting go.

Blaze watches our exchange with quiet interest but doesn't comment. When Olivia finally leaves, promising to see us tonight at the potluck at the park, he turns to me.

"You're worried about Ruby."

It's not a question. "I'm worried about all of you. The spotlight isn't always kind."

He nods, understanding written across his face. "No, it's not. But sometimes the truth is better than secrets."

"Says the man who came to town to hide."

"Touché." He picks up his beer again. "For what it's worth, I think Ruby can handle herself. She's been doing it a long time."

I rest my head against his shoulder. "I know, but I just want things to stay good for a while."

His arm comes around me, solid and warm. "They will."

Blaze and I spent the rest of the day together. After everything a lazy afternoon is just what we need.

Evening transforms the town park into a wonderland of string lights and laughter. Folding tables groan under the weight of potluck dishes. Someone's brought out a portable fire pit where children roast marshmallows under watchful eyes.

Orville is sitting in a comfy looking chair that looks like it was brought out just for him. He’s near the fire,and telling stories to anyone who will listen. Ruby hovers nearby but giveshim space to enjoy his celebrity status. I carry a plate of Lily's famous apple pie to their table.

"You outdid yourself," I tell her, setting down the dessert.

"Nonsense," she replies, her cheeks pink with pleasure. "Though I did try a new cinnamon this time."

Orville reaches for a slice immediately. "Woman, you could sell this pie in New York City for twenty dollars a slice."

"And who would travel all that way for pie?" she scoffs, but she's beaming.

From the gazebo, guitar chords drift through the evening air. Blaze sits on the steps, acoustic guitar in hand, playing softly. He's not performing, not really. He’s just adding to the atmosphere. But people drift closer, drawn to the music.

He catches my eye across the square and smiles, then launches into a gentle rendition of "Country Roads." Voices join in, hesitant at first, then stronger. I watch as teenagers stop checking their phones to sing along, and Orville taps his foot in time.

I used to think this town needed saving. Maybe what it needed was a reminder of its own strength. We still have a battle ahead of us, but I think we’re stronger now than ever.

When the song ends, applause ripples through the crowd. Blaze plays a few more tunes. Nothing flashy, just good music for a good night before setting his guitar aside. He makes his way through the crowd toward me, stopping to chat, to accept thanks, to belong.

"That was beautiful," I say when he finally reaches me.

He shrugs, almost shy. "Just giving back a little."

"A little? Blake, look around. This is what you helped create."

He follows my gaze, taking in the scene. Families together, neighbors laughing, a community whole. "Not me. This was always here."

"Maybe," I say. "But sometimes we need someone to show us what we already have."

He sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. "You sure you want a washed-up rock star hanging around?"

"You're not washed up. And you're not hanging around." I turn to face him fully. "You're home."

His smile then is worth every moment of uncertainty, every argument, every doubt.

Tomorrow will bring new questions, new challenges. But tonight, under the vast Montana sky, we are exactly where we're meant to be.

Home.