But he wasn’t a boy, and he wasn’t in town because he wanted to be, but because he needed to be. He’d arrived to put distance between this woman and his grandmother, a move that wasn’t going to make him popular with anyone, but he was a man who did what needed to be done. That was what had made him who he was today. “Good-bye.”

“Good luck tomorrow.”

Tyler felt strangely out of sorts as he left the salon on Church Avenue and walked to his car. A few patches of dirty snow still dotted some of the neighboring lawns, but otherwise the streets and sidewalks were clear. In the distance he could see the peak of Copper Mountain rising behind the small Montana town. So far, he didn’t love or hate Marietta. It was just a small town in the middle of nowhere and not easy to reach. He’d taken two flights to get here from Austin, flying Austin to Denver, and Denver to Bozeman, and then he’d needed a rental car to drive the thirty-five miles from Bozeman to Marietta. Not impossible, just by no means convenient, particularly when there were power struggles internally at TexTron. He’d survive the power struggles, but it would be less stressful weathering storms if he were in the office than here in remote Crawford County, Montana.

As he crossed the street, he wondered what his grandmother, Bette Justice, would think when she found out he’d booked an appointment with her favorite stylist, Amanda Wright, a young woman she claimed was one of her best friends, and so important to her that in the past few years she’d given her a large financial gift, and was now wanting to leave the young woman her house on Bramble.

Tyler was a self-made man. He didn’t need his grandmother’s money. But at the same time, he wanted to be sure his grandmother wasn’t being unduly influenced, or pressured in any way. Gram had been on her own for almost seven years now, and it was probably too much isolation from her family, so he wasn’t entirely surprised that she’d come to depend on outsiders, which was why he was here now. He’d wanted her to move in with him for years, and he’d been trying to convince her that the move would be good for both of them, because he wanted to take care of her. But he couldn’t do that with her in Montana while he was in Austin.

He’d arrived today in Marietta thinking the worst of Amanda Wright, but after thirty minutes in her chair, he discovered she was nice, and rather charming, and he could see why Gram was fond of her. But there was a difference between being fond of someone and giving them sizeable financial gifts… or a sizable chunk of her estate.

Gram’s announcement that she would soon amend her will got his attention and he cleared his schedule at work, booked the flights, and now here he was, in his father’s hometown, a town his father absolutely hated.

Bette Justice arrived at The Wright Salon twenty minutes early for her two o’clock appointment because she’d come bearing gifts—two chicken salads from Java Café.

“Emily said you had a short break between appointments,” Bette said as Amanda appeared at the receptionist desk. “So we’re going to eat first.”

“What if I already ate?” Amanda answered, smiling indulgently.

“But you haven’t. Emily said so.”

Amanda shot her receptionist an amused glance before leading Bette to the white painted table in the corner of what once had been the dining room but was now a mix of small round tables and comfortable seating for salon guests to use for meals and relaxing in between appointments.

“By the way, I have news,” Bette said, opening their salads and arranging the place settings on the table.

“Oh?” Mandy replied, bringing two glasses of water to the table and sitting down opposite Bette.

“As you know, my grandson wants me to move to California. But he’s getting serious now. He thinks I must move… that it’s not good for me to be living alone.”

“Why not?”

“He worries I might fall or have an accident.”

“He’s been watching too much TV.”

“Agreed. But he’s now taking action. He’s arriving this weekend. He’s determined to get me to move—”

“But he can’t force you!”

“No. He can’t. But I don’t want to alienate him, either. I appreciate that he’s concerned about me. He’s the only family I have left, but I don’t want to live in San Jose or Saratoga or wherever he’s calling home now.” She poked her salad with her fork but didn’t even try to eat. “Marietta is my home. It’s always been my home.