Page 3 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)

CLAIRE

Driggs, Idaho – present day

I’d lost count of how many towns I’d passed through since New York, each one smaller than the last. Driggs was the kind of town that made you feel like you could disappear, swallowed by the wide-open spaces and towering peaks in the distance.

The sky here stretched forever, and the air was tinged with the fresh smell of pine and woodsmoke.

The diner sat on the edge of town, a place where tourists stopped for burgers and fries before heading to Yellowstone or the Tetons. It was nothing fancy, just a small, homey spot with a steady stream of people. Locals came too, chatting about the weather, ranch work, or the latest gossip.

I worked here most days, not because I needed to—I had more money than I’d ever let on—but because it helped me blend in.

I couldn’t afford to look like I was on the run.

And here, in this small town, no one questioned the quiet waitress with a smile on her face and a past she didn’t talk about. It was easy to slip into the role.

Tourist season was in full swing. The diner buzzed with chatter, forks clinking against plates, kids laughing as they spilled ketchup on the table. I weaved through the aisles, balancing plates and cracking small jokes. It wasn’t a bad life—simple, predictable. Safe, for now.

I served a group at the back, smiling as I dropped off their orders. Near the door, a family with two kids and a husky caught my eye. The boy holding the leash looked like he could barely contain his excitement.

I crouched down, extending a hand toward the dog. “Well, aren’t you a handsome boy?” I scratched behind the husky’s ears. “What’s his name?”

“Storm!” the boy chimed in, pride lighting up his voice.

“Storm, huh? Perfect name for a strong guy like him. I bet he keeps you busy.”

The kids burst into giggles, and for a moment, their laughter swept me up.

“I used to know a husky named Bobo,” I said, glancing at Storm as he circled the kids, trying to get them to chase him. “Bigger than Storm, but he was gentle.”

I watched the dog dart around, a pang of regret catching me off guard. Maybe I should’ve taken Bobo. But deep down, I knew Rick needed him more.

I’d been lucky, no doubt. If it hadn’t been for the good doctor, I wouldn’t be standing here.

The injury was something even a vet could’ve patched up—the knife struck the hollow where my lung had been removed years ago.

A backhanded bit of fortune. That surgery was what pulled Cody into The Revenants’ world in the first place.

He had been a brilliant mechanic, earning just enough to get by.

But after my illness, he took on more than he should have, scrambling to cover the costs while our parents vanished to live their separate lives.

It had always been Cody and me—us against the world.

But I couldn’t save him. He was gone, and I was still here, carrying his memory with me like a burden I couldn’t set down. He was twenty-three.

I couldn’t even keep a photo of him. It hurt too much.

The last thing he’d seen was a Revenant man driving a knife into my back.

Maybe the two had even worked together before then.

What could’ve been running through his mind in those final moments?

I just hoped that wherever he was now, Cody had found peace. Maybe someday, we’d meet again.

“See you, Claire!” George, one of the fellow waiters, called as I wrapped up for the night.

“See you tomorrow!” I replied, tired but finding comfort in the routine.

My place was a short walk down the road from the diner. It wasn’t much—just a small cabin tucked off the main road—but it was mine. No one knew who I was or where I’d come from, and that was just how I wanted it.

I made myself dinner—Idaho-style finger steaks, a recipe passed down from the diner’s owner, who swore by its local roots. Strips of beef, breaded and fried to a golden crisp, served with a side of country-style potatoes. Simple, hearty, and exactly what I needed after a long day.

Settling onto the back porch, I stared up at the vast night sky, stars scattered like glittering dust against the darkness. The air was still; only the call of crickets and the rustle of the wind filled the silence. This calm, this serenity…it was something I couldn’t take for granted.

In moments like this, it was hard to believe how close I had come to losing it all. I should’ve been in jail, rotting in a cell, but instead, here I was—free.

It was a miracle Rick hadn’t turned me in.

He had every reason to, especially after spotting the wad of cash in my bag.

But instead of suspicion, he’d given me something I could never repay: his daughter’s identity.

Maybe someday, when Gideon Purcell was nothing but a distant shadow in my life, I’d find a way to make it up to him.

Even if it was just to show my gratitude.

For now, as long as I kept my head down and didn’t brush with the law, no one would ask questions or find that the name I was using was a deceased person.

I leaned back in my chair, letting the night settle over me. For a brief moment, I let myself imagine that this life could last. That maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have to keep running forever.

With dinner done, I opened my laptop and browsed for sunflower seeds—this place could use a little life with some potted plants.

Then, as always, I checked the news, keeping an eye on what was happening in New York.

The past few years had been uneventful, a stark contrast to those chaotic first weeks on the run when the Brentwood massacre had gripped the media.

Now, it had slipped into the abyss. No new crimes linked to The Revenants had come to light.

I yawned, scrolling through the usual mundane stories. But then, a headline knocked the wind out of me.

Renowned Veterinarian and Beloved Long Island Community Member Fatally Shot.

My body seized.

No. This couldn’t be real.

I’d read about him giving a seminar just a few weeks ago. How could this have happened? I stared at the headline, tears welling for someone I barely knew but who had saved me as if he’d known me for a lifetime.

“No!” I cried out, slapping a hand against my forehead as the brutal truth sank in. He had risked everything—bending the rules, keeping the cops out of it—all for my second chance. And now, he’d paid with his life.

It’s so unfair! So fucking unfair!

As my sobs quieted, panic crept in. My hands trembled as I closed the article. I didn’t need to read the details. I already knew what it meant.

I smashed my phone, obliterating it beyond recognition.

A knock sounded on the door.

Already?

I slipped inside the bedroom, moving soundlessly to the nightstand. My fingers closed around the Ruger in the drawer, grip tightening as I braced myself to use it.

“Hey, Claire. It’s me!”

I let out a breath at the sound of the familiar voice—my coworker from the café.

“Hey, George,” I called, staying behind the door. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to see if you’re up for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Ah, um, maybe another time.”

A pause. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just in the middle of something.” I stayed perfectly still as if he could’ve been one of The Revenants. Ridiculous? Maybe. But not to me.

“All right. Goodnight!”

“Night.”

As soon as his footsteps faded, I resumed the exit routine. I cleaned the place meticulously, following the steps I’d perfected. Erasing every trace. Severing every tie.

I packed my bag, my motions quick and practiced. This wasn’t new. I knew exactly what came next. One last stop before I could leave this town behind, like so many others.

Then, like muscle memory, I was running again.