Author's Notes: I forgot to say this story is complete, but I'm not sure how many chapters there will be. Not sure there are any Laura/Bradley fans on this site, but perhaps they'll discover this HOT couple!

There's no way I can ask for another day off—I won't do that to my co-workers who would have to fill in for me again at the last minute. I sit up in bed and stare at the red numbers on the digital clock, cursing that I've chosen a profession that requires me to be functional so early. I pad into the living room to see Hal sleeping on the sofa with the television off.

I don't trust him to be alone, and as luck or fate would have it, I don't have to leave him since I'm relegated to my hotel room for this morning's broadcast because of Covid restrictions. I take a hot shower, closing my eyes and thinking how much I'd rather be waking up with Laura in Montana rather than this sterile, expensive hotel room that I've called home for the past year. I'm sure there's a reason I haven't rented an apartment yet; I wonder if a therapist could identify that reason in a hot second. He'd probably say something about my fear that everything is temporary and could be pulled from underneath me in a minute.

I towel dry my hair as my thoughts return to Laura. I want to be with her, but I know she's not going to put up with my unraveled life. She's been through her own significant ups and downs and credits therapy for being the person she is today—a woman she's proud of. Hell, I'd be proud if I was Laura Fucking Peterson, too. Then it hits me like I just stuck my finger into an electrical socket: I could get therapy. Of course, that would mean exposing my deep, dark secrets to a stranger. Then again, they get paid to listen and probably have to sign all kinds of forms saying they won't divulge private information. Maybe Laura's therapist would be open to seeing me; I wonder what she'd think of that.

"Hey, sis." Hal startles me. "I have to use the bathroom."

I step out, eyeing him up and down in his plaid boxer shorts and my t-shirt that's two sizes too big for me but fits him like a glove.

"Did you sleep ok?"

He nods.

"We need to go shopping for clothes today," I mention. "And maybe try to find your phone."

"That thing is long gone."

I shut the door as he begins pulling down his underwear. I still don't know why he got into a fight, but I assume it was about drugs. I don't want to know.

"I'm not buying you a new one," I say through the closed door. "Not until we find a facility for you."

"Mom's going to be worried."

I've tried putting my mom out of my head during this whole fiasco, but she'd pop up at the most inopportune times. I imagine her scowling at me with her hands on her hips and a How could you do that to your brother? coming out of her mouth with a puff of cigarette smoke.

"Let her worry," I respond. "She could've called me to check on you."

The toilet flushes, then I hear the faucet turn on.

He opens the door. "I don't know if she'll ever speak to you again after the whole lesbian thing."

"Good." I haven't cared what my mom thought of me since my teenage years, and that remains true. I care about what the neighbors think though. That's troubling—I shouldn't care what anyone thinks.

I move in front of the bathroom mirror and begin applying eye shadow. "Call her if you want. Use the hotel phone."

He heads to the other room.

While Hal is in the bedroom, I do the broadcast for the first time in my suite. There are a few snafus that I'll have to work out, and at first, it's as uncomfortable as all hell, but I get through the two hour program pretty much unscathed. Mia and Gayle thought it would be a good idea for me to say a few words of gratitude for people who showed support after my outcry on social media and letting the public know Hal's safe. I hesitate, but in the end, I agree it would be a nice nod to the decency of humanity.

After a long post-show analysis and a planning meeting for tomorrow, I take my brother shopping, pleased that I managed to avoid any one-on-one conversations with Cory. I'm not ready to talk to him yet, but I know I can't put it off indefinitely.

I usually enjoy shopping, but this is an unpleasant necessity. Hal tries on three pairs of jeans and pants, and I buy him the same style in multiple colors. He gets underwear, socks, t-shirts, sweats and a new coat. It's enough to get by for now.

We return to my hotel room and I immediately begin scouring the Internet for in-patient treatment centers. I'm down a deep rabbit hole of reviews for the best places in the nation, and my eyes widen when one pops up in Bozeman of all places. I stop chewing my sandwich mid-bite as I stare at the screen.

Nestled at the base of Mt. Ascension just outside of Bozeman, Montana, we offer a beautiful and relaxing environment for recovery. Mount Ascension Recovery Center provides a full spectrum of mental heath and substance use disorder programs. We incorporate holistic treatment concepts that promote the healing of the mind, body and spirit.

The main page describes the services offered like yoga, neurofeedback and a bio-sound lounge. I click a few links, and the more I read, the more this place feels like a godsend. "Hey, Hal…"

"Yeah?" he calls from the sofa.

I bring my laptop to him. "Look at this."

"What the fuck?" He scans the page as he nibbles on a peanut butter cracker. "It's in Montana."

I nod.

"You want to ship me off to a treatment facility in the middle of nowhere?" he chuckles as if it's the most insane thing he's ever heard.

"I'd go with you," escapes my lips before I've had the chance to process what I'm saying.

"To Montana?" His forehead crinkles as he brings a finger up to touch the bandage. "I'm not opposed to leaving New York or West Virginia, but what's in fucking Montana?"

I swallow hard as if my mouth is a hose and I've turned on the faucet, but it takes a while for the water to come out the other end. "Laura."

He stares at me with confusion and a touch of contempt. "Laura Peterson?"

The corners of my mouth begin to venture up and it feels like I've just placed the final part of a 5,000-piece puzzle in place. "Yes, Laura Peterson."

"The tabloids were right? You're seriously with her, with her?" he asks through a suspicious chuckle. "I thought you were just trying to fuck with mom or something."

"I wasn't fucking with anyone." I jump to my feet as if this awareness requires immediate action. It's like the skies cleared and the sun is shining after a torrential storm. "I want to be with her."

"That's why you want me to go to this facility?"

"I wasn't looking for places there specifically," I begin. "I did a search for the best treatment centers in the country." I point to the computer screen. "This one came up, and…" I tilt my head. "It's like the universe is telling me something."

He lets out a sound that's caught between disdain and a laugh.

"Everything about this place sounds amazing." I click on the other tab and read, "Our team of therapists provide services for individuals 18 years or older and holds a license for both mental health primary and substance use disorder. This allows us to strengthen the bond and understanding between mental health issues and substance use and truly treat dual-diagnosis patients. We are dedicated to helping clients recover from addiction, trauma and mental health problems. Providing clients with a welcoming, safe environment allows them to heal and become empowered." I stare up at him. "Hal, it's perfect."

It's his turn to get to his feet; he seems uneasy. "I've never lived anywhere other than West Virginia."

"Maybe it's time to change things up." I don't want to get into an argument, so I concentrate on staying calm. "Besides, you said you'd do whatever it took to keep me in your life. This is it—this is what it'll take."

He runs a hand down his scruffy face. "Montana?"

I nod.

"If you promise you'll be there…" Hal lets out a soft sigh and shakes his head. "I guess I'm up for something different…temporarily."

My smile reaches high on my cheeks, and I'm confident this is the right choice. It's the best of both worlds—I'll get to be with Laura (if she'll have me) while my brother gets the treatment he needs.

He sits next to me. "Let me see those pictures again."

I spend the next two hours on the phone with the recovery center as well as filling out paperwork with Hal, but I'm itching to talk to Laura the entire time. Part of the reason I don't send her a quick text about this possible development is because she might tell me her invitation to quarantine with her in Montana has expired. I can't have that. It would be better for me to show up unannounced—she'd be less likely to kick me to the curb at least until we had a conversation about my intentions. The other reason I don't text Laura is because Mt. Ascension Recovery Center is currently at capacity. There's a patient who's likely going to be released in a matter of days, but they won't know for certain until their final analysis. They also sound mildly concerned about Covid, but that isn't something the placement coordinator leads with. I know Montana is generally a red state, so it wouldn't surprise me if they didn't take the virus seriously—at least not yet.

"I guess now we wait." I close my laptop and glance at Hal. "Are you at least a little excited about trying something new?"

"I'm never going to be excited about rehab, B," he admits. "But the place does look nice—like a resort or something."

I worry he thinks this is going to be a short stint in recovery just to appease my concerns. "You understand you need this, right?"

"Yeah." He scratches his scruffy chin. "I want to get clean; I just don't know how."

I give him a tight-lipped smile. "They can help."

He grabs my hand. "I hope you're right."

After Hal goes to sleep on the sofa, I crawl into bed. I scroll through the day's news on my phone, but my fingers are burning to text Laura. She's not going to be pleased if I suddenly show up on her doorstep, but it's the only way I can convince her to allow me and my brother to stay with her temporarily until a bed opens up at the recovery center. I won't go to Montana if there's no space for Hal in the coming days, but if there is, I'll take it as a sign that's where I should be—where I belong.

My thoughts drift to work and what they'll think of my decision to relocate to Montana until the virus is eradicated. I need to talk to a slew of people, including Mia, Gayle, Stella and of course, Cory. I exhale a nervous breath when I think of his declaration. Surely he knows I don't feel the same, but I have a feeling we're going to have to have a conversation about it. Maybe if I tell him I'm quarantining in Montana no conversation will be necessary—it would be obvious with whom I'll be staying.

One thing that's nagging me is Laura's advice (perhaps warning) that I should seek therapy. It's not like that's news to me—I've known talking to a professional about my fucked up childhood would probably be good, but I've resisted for fear they'll think I'm crazy. If I can wrap my brain around being vulnerable, maybe there's hope for us. I glance out the window and blink a few times as it dawns on me that I've never wanted to be in a relationship. Is that what I really want: to be in a relationship with Laura? I jut my chin back at this unexpected awareness.

She called me her woman, and much to my surprise, I liked it. My lips curl up as I recall the way she looked at me when she said, "Something like that." I like the idea of permanence with her. I'm not talking about forever, but even being with Laura during this whole Covid thing sounds appealing if not thrilling. The sex alone would make me want to be locked down with her for weeks on end.

I've had sex with a few women and more than a few men, but all of them combined don't hold a candle to the way Laura makes me feel. It's not just in her soft touch or gentle caress, those are lovely, but it's the way she looks at me as if she's admiring precious art. I get the sense she's a collector. There are vases and orbs and keepsakes all over her house that make me think she enjoys intricate creations; maybe she picked them up in her travels over the years. When I lie naked underneath her, Laura admires me like I'm part of her collection. I want to be part of her collection.

But she doesn't want me like I am now broken and angry and devoted to my fucked up family. I need to show some kind of growth for her to truly want to take a stab at being with me. The first step is getting Hal into rehab, which I'll accomplish no matter if that's in Montana or Maryland. The second is working on myself—acknowledging that I need therapy and seeking it.

I pull up our text thread and stare at the blank box for a few seconds before getting up the nerve to write to her: Would you be willing to share your therapist's contact info?

I pretend to read The New York Times online while waiting for her response, but I can't digest more than a sentence or two. I pull up a couple of emails from RJ and make a mental note to reach out to him before the show tomorrow.

A few minutes later, my phone chirps. For your brother?

My lips quirk up. Hal needs a lot more than therapy.

Another several minutes go by, and I'm on pins and needles, waiting for her response. I get out of bed, brush my teeth and wash my face. I lather on my Clinique night cream and close my eyes, enjoying the cool sensation on my warm cheeks. I crawl back into bed and open the text thread to see there's no new messages.

But then, the three dots dance on the screen. Are you serious?

She must understand I want her therapist's contact information for myself. Yes.

She sends me the contact card via text but doesn't write anything else.

Thank you, I type, but am met with no response.

I want to ask if she's upset with me, but I already know the answer—she's not upset but is concerned for my well-being. Much to my surprise, Laura is a nurturer—not like a mother but she cares deeply about the health of the people in her inner circle. She wants what's best for me. I don't know that I've ever experienced that kind of…care. The word love enters my mind, but I quickly delete it—we're not there yet.

My morning is insanely busy with phone calls, Zoom meetings and prepping for the show. I should've done a pre-read of the script last night, but I was occupied with finding Hal a treatment facility and thoughts of Laura. I'm going to have a hard time concentrating on much else until my personal life is at least somewhat settled.

My cell phone rings minutes after the show, and I sigh when I see the name of the caller. "Hey, Cory."

"Great show this morning," he begins. "Hey, I was wondering if you want to meet up for lunch? There's that new Thai place around the corner."

I have to think quickly. "The World Health Organization declared we're in a pandemic. I don't think going to a restaurant is a smart decision right now."

"You have to eat," he chuckles in his delirious little way. "I can bring it to your room."

I swivel my head and see Hal watching the Discovery channel. "My brother's here."

"Then come down to my room."

I lower my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, running out of excuses not to be alone with my CEO who happens to be in love with me. "Yeah, alright."

"Let's do 12:30."

I hang up and sigh.

Hal pops a potato chip into his mouth. "Any news from that place in Montana?"

"Not yet."

I open the text chain with Laura, hovering over the contact card for Dr. Mary Burke. I sit at my desk and Google her name. As expected, she has a clean, subdued website with basic information. My guess is she's a therapist for the rich and famous. I search for reviews, and while they're all positive, they are few and far between. The kind of clients she sees probably don't feel the need to write a review about their doctor—they're far more private than the average Manhattanite.

I slink into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me as I press the green button on my phone.

"Dr. Burke's office, how may I help you?" A female voice answers.

"Hi, I'm um…" I hesitate, wondering if I should go through with this. "I was referred to you by one of your clients."

"We always appreciate referrals," she responds in the kind of soothing whisper I'd expect from someone in such a role in a psychologist's office. "Are you calling for yourself or on behalf of someone else?"

I perch on the edge of the bed. "Myself."

"Have you seen Dr. Burke in the past?"

"No, I…" I shake my head. "I'd like to make an appointment." I swallow hard. "For a…a session."

"Because of the coronavirus, Dr. Burke is only offering tele-therapy sessions starting next week," the receptionist notes. "Are you open to that?"

"That would actually be better," I let out a short puff of air, thankful I don't have to sit face to face with her while I reveal my innermost secrets.

"The first availability she has is the morning of the 29nd."

That's three weeks from now. "My name is Bradley Jackson; I'm on The Morning Show. Unless it's on the weekend, I can't do mornings." I'm tempted to hang up—I shouldn't have even bothered.

"Hi, Ms. Jackson," she says. "It's a pleasure to speak with you. I watch your show whenever I have the chance."

I smile lightly, rubbing my hand up and down my thigh as my nerves have yet to settle.

"Maybe Dr. Burke can squeeze you in sooner. I'll have to get back with you, but in the meantime, please fill out the intake forms on our website. Do you need the web address?"

"No, I have it." I get to my feet. "This call is confidential, right?"

"Absolutely. Our staff takes privacy issues very seriously," she responds. "You'll never have to worry about that."

Even though I knew that was likely the case, I breathe a sigh of relief. "Laura Peterson speaks very highly of Dr. Burke, and if she's a fan, I'm sure I will be, too."

"Very good." I picture her smiling. "If you'll give me your phone number and an email address, I'll be in touch this afternoon. Hopefully we can make something work for you."

I give her my contact information, then hang up and flop onto the bed. That wasn't so bad. Now, it's a matter of following through.

I change into jeans and a sweater, then put in an hour of work before heading to Cory's suite. I hope this is like ripping off a Band-Aid—it hurts a little at first, but the pain dissipates almost immediately after I tell him I don't share his feelings.

"Hey." He's wearing a suit. "Come in."

"Why are you dressed like you're going to work?"

He shrugs. "Because I did go to work."

I spin around and crease my forehead. "You went to the studio?"

"Yes." He proceeds to the living room. "I'm going in until they kick me out."

I fold my arms. "I thought we were all supposed to work from home?"

"I wear this thing." He holds up a mask. "Everyone at the studio wears one."

I decide not to press the issue, but I wonder if he secretly expects me to go to work, too.

"I ordered Tom Kha Gai, Laab, and Pad Thai," he gestures towards the table. "I hope you like those options."

"Thanks." I sit in the chair closest to the window. "I love all Thai food."

He opens the containers and dishes out the food while I pour the soup into bowls. We talk about the show for the first part of lunch, which is like second nature. He shares his concerns for the new UBA+ streaming service, and I can tell he's worried that the roll out won't be seamless because of the virus' effect on the world. It isn't until I'm stuffed and about to leave that he brings up the other night. I was almost off the hook.

"Bradley, I said some things to you the other day…" He pushes his plate away. "I want you to know that no matter how you feel about me, it's not going to affect our working relationship."

While I assumed that was the case, I'm a little surprised he felt the need to reassure me.

"So…"

My brows rise and I twist my head slightly. "So…?"

He makes a rounding motion with his hand. "Do you…you know…feel the same?"

"Cory, if you have to ask…" I don't break eye contact, but it's terribly uncomfortable telling my boss I don't have romantic feelings for him.

"Right. Ok." He waves that same hand between us. "Yeah, sorry. I just thought…"

I rest my forearm on the table and turn more fully towards him. "You thought what?"

"We shared a few moments, and I thought maybe you reciprocated my feelings."

"The moments we shared were based on friendship." I shake my head. "I'm sorry if I led you to believe it was more than that." I glance at his bouncing leg, and I know this conversation is making him anxious. Cory is accustomed to getting whatever he wants.

"You didn't lead me to believe anything in particular." He gulps. "I was just hoping those moments were more than just two friends, sharing our opinions. I thought they were special."

"We have a unique relationship, Cory. You're one of a handful of people I trust in this world." I place a hand on his arm, hoping he can see how much he means to me. "But I'm not romantically attracted to you." I hold my breath, hesitating to add insult to injury, but I have to be honest. "Like I told you the other night, I think I want Laura." I watch his expression shift from hope to anguish. "I want to give it a shot with her."

He jumps out of his seat and takes a few steps in the opposite direction. "I know you said that, but I thought…" he spins around and rubs his face. "You know what? Forget this ever happened."

"Cory," I plead as I get to my feet. "It's important we're truthful with each other. I wouldn't want you thinking I felt a certain way about you when I actually have feelings for someone else."

"Of course." He sets his jaw and I recognize this look—he's back to shrewd businessman. "It's probably better this way. I mean, you'll have to navigate a secret relationship with Laura, but that's good. It's fine." He lets out a shaky laugh.

"Laura and I haven't confirmed we're in a relationship, that's true." I make my way towards the door, then turn around to face him. "But who knows." I raise my shoulders. "Maybe we will someday."

He gives me the best smile he can seemingly muster. "Good luck with that."

I turn the knob, ignoring what I assume is a slight dig at my relationship with her—like he thinks we'll need luck. "Thank you for lunch."

"You're welcome. Let's talk about the Covid segment this afternoon," he offers.

I nod. "Mia arranged a Zoom call at three."

I walk down the hallway and lean my back against the wall with a thud, slamming my eyes closed as if that could shut out the whole world. I'd give anything for time to myself to process every fucking thing that has happened over the past 72 hours. I wish I could trust Hal enough to tell him to get out of my hair, but I don't trust him to be out and about. He's going to have to earn my trust again, and that'll take time.

This will all come to an end soon, I say to myself only halfway believing it.

I don't remember the last time I flew commercial, and I don't miss the chaos of the airport, particularly as a recognizable face. Getting a Day Pass for the United Airlines lounge was a good call—I only get asked to take a selfie with a handful of frequent fliers.

"This sure is fancy." Hal settles into the oversized first class seat. "I wouldn't mind being rich enough to afford flying in luxury."

I shove my handbag under the seat in front of me. "That would mean you'd have to get a job."

He side-eyes me.

"I hope we don't have to wear these things for long." I put on my blue, paper mask. "It's hard to breathe."

"Think about all the funk we're breathing in on the plane though." He buckles his seatbelt. "At least the mask will filter some of that out."

The other good thing about wearing a mask is I'm less identifiable. Nevertheless, I pull out a novel and stick my nose in it to avoid eye contact with the people boarding the plane.

My mind is like a strand of tangled Christmas lights—among work and Hal and Cory and Laura I don't have time to think about anything light and breezy. I wish my biggest worry was about the weather or even the damn virus. My brain is consumed with opposing thoughts, and I can't seem turn it off.

As I think about what draws me to Laura, the first thing that comes to mind is her self-awareness that presents as confidence but not egotism. From what I've gathered, she's worked hard on becoming the woman she is today. She's also polished and graceful. Those are two traits I don't see in myself, and I assume she was raised with careful guidelines about etiquette and how to carry herself. I was raised with grit and a fierce determination to get to the truth. I had to fight for what I wanted, which sometimes meant physical altercations. If Laura knew some of the shit I've gotten into, she'd probably walk away without looking back. Of course, I'm also attracted to her regal beauty—that slick, dark hair, those high cheekbones, her supple lips, the angle of her hips, the way she fucking walks. It's like she demands attention the moment she walks into a room.

Trouble is, I don't know what she possibly sees in me. I must've made one hell of an impression on her in Iowa for her to be even the slightest bit interested.

We make a connection through O'Hare and the closer we get to Bozeman, the more my pulse increases. I don't know how Laura will react to my unannounced arrival. I've played out no fewer than 20 scenarios in my head, but the one that seems most plausible is her initial surprise filled with glee until she finds out my brother is in tow.

I debated whether to rent a car or have a driver bring me to the address Laura scribbled on the hotel's embossed stationary, but in the end I figured having a mode of transportation at the ready in case she turns us away would be the best option.

"Would you mind driving by the recovery center?" Hal tosses his bag in the back of the SUV.

"Let me put in Laura's address and see if it's on the way." While I'd rather go directly to the ranch, I don't think it's too much to ask if I'd do a drive-by of the facility where Hal will hopefully learn how to stay clean. I pull out my phone and enter it into the maps app. "Looks like it's not far off the route."

"Cool."

I feel like a mouse in a mansion behind the wheel of this vehicle, but there's still snow piled on the side of the road, so it's worth renting this Nissan Armada for safety's sake.

"Does your girlfriend know we're on our way?"

"She's not my girlfriend." I shoot him a look, then grip the steering wheel tighter. "And not exactly."

He leans forward. "She doesn't know we're coming?"

"No," I state. "Which is why you're going to stay in the car until I say so."

"What if she doesn't want you, or better yet, me, to stay at her ranch?"

Waze tells me to turn right in half a mile. "I booked a hotel room just in case."

"Are you nervous?"

"A little." I glance out the window at the wide expanse of land. "I don't really want to talk about it."

Hal and I have never discussed our respective relationships or even hook ups. He's right about the thin walls in the house we grew up in, so I heard him fucking women over the years just as he heard me fucking men and women. I'm not interested in sharing my deepest, darkest secrets with him any more than I'm willing to share my thoughts about Laura Peterson.

"You've arrived at your destination," the app says.

"It looks just like it did in the pictures online." I park on the side of the quaint street next to a heap of dirty, melting snow.

"Yeah." Hal nods. "Lots of outdoor space."

Next to the massive facility that looks more like a Victorian home than a treatment center is a park with benches, picnic tables, trails and a half-court basketball area.

"We have a tour lined up for tomorrow," I comment. "If the inside is as nice as the outside, I think you could be happy here."

"Hope so." He taps his fingers on his thigh. "There's not much else around."

I pull away and head back towards the main highway. "It's probably best if there aren't any easily accessible distractions."

With every mile marker we pass, my heartrate increases. She might not even be home. Then what? Do we wait in the car? Grab a bite to eat and hope she's back before sunset?

I pass a ranch with horses on the left and marvel at the size of the home on the property. The next house doesn't pop up for another mile or so. It should come as no surprise that this area is about as private as private gets. I glance at the wrinkled piece of paper with Laura's address one more time. Each ranch has a name that's branded above a gate, and the one I'm looking for is called Eagle's Perch. Of course I looked it up online and saw pictures that left my jaw on the floor. It was featured in Architectural Digest last November and House Beautiful not long after that.

While most people would be intimidated by Laura's power and influence, I'm more daunted by her wealth. I read that she grew up as an only child in Greenwich, Connecticut and was raised by her venture capitalist father and corporate attorney mother who divorced when she was 15. Money has never been an issue for the Peterson family. We've never discussed her personal life beyond the casual mention of her family. That's something I'd like to dig into deeper. From the few comments she's made, it sounds like her upbringing wasn't great despite having gobs of money.

"I think this is it." I slow down and stare out the window at an enormous timber and stone house that's set back about 30 yards from the road.

With its natural wood façade and pitched rooflines, the home blends seamlessly into the rolling green pasture and rugged outline of the mountains that frame it. This is the kind of ranch postcards are made from complete with horses near a red barn off to the side.

Hal points to the sign that arches above the wrought iron gate. "Did you say Eagle's Perch?"

I didn't need him to point out that this is, in fact, Laura Peterson's ranch, but I nod anyway and take a deep breath. It looks like there are lights on, but that doesn't mean she's home.

"You ready?" he asks.

"Not really, but here we are." I put the car in park and feel my stomach begin to rumble as I unbuckle my seatbelt. "Stay in the car no matter what. I'll be back soon." I step out of the SUV and make my way towards the gate. The wind is whipping through the valley, and I'm glad I brought my winter coat. I cinch it tighter around my waist as I tug on the gate handle.

"It's locked," I yell to Hal.

He rolls down the window. "Guess you're going to have to jump the fence." He shrugs. "Or call her."

There's no way I'm calling Laura—I've made it this far.

I glance at my pointy ankle boots, damning myself for wearing them when I knew I was going to a ranch. My flat-heeled Coach boots would've been better than this. I shake the gate to see if maybe it's just stuck, but no luck. I move to a low fence with three rungs, thinking if I was another foot taller, this would be a breeze. Putting one foot on the bottom slat, I get my bearings. I lift the other foot to the middle rung and fling my right leg over the top gracelessly falling onto a tuffet of snow.

"Shit!" I get to my feet and wipe my butt.

I glance at Hal who seems to be enjoying this. "I could've given you a boost."

I shoot him the bird with a fuck you! thrown in for good measure. I shut my eyes for a couple seconds and try regaining my composure. I make my way to the stone pathway that leads to the massive home, and that's when I notice another smaller house on the side that looks like an old fashioned log cabin.

There are two planters on the porch, framing the humongous wood and glass doors and a swing on the East side dotted with two ivory-colored pillows.

I say a little prayer before ringing the doorbell. Unlike my childhood home's doorbell which was more like a buzzer, this sounds like bells at a cathedral. I flatten my sweaty palms against the front of my coat and shake the hair off my shoulders. My mouth is dry, so I gather as much saliva as I can and swallow hard.

There's a blurry figure walking through the foyer, but it isn't until she reaches for the door handle when I can tell it's her.