No Revrse.

Marion Croslydon.

For my girls, Juliette and Kitty.

Being a mother is not easy.

Being your mom is... most of the time!.

prologue.

Steep Hill ~ November, six years earlier.

Josh.

The dozens of eyes set on me don't make me break a sweat.

I don't give a shit about what those people think right now. The church could just as well be empty since the girl I love isn't here. Mom didn't send out any invitations after I proposed to Cassie two weeks ago. Still, half the town has found its way to the church where Reverend Beasley will marry us.

That was supposed to happen twenty minutes ago.

"She won't screw this one up, Josh. She loves you." Woodie, my best man and wide receiver, whispers in my ear. His chubby face is all flushed. He's embarrassed. That's how I should be feeling. Only I don't.

"She'll be here soon," I answer back. "Cass's never been on time for anything. She won't start with her own wedding."

When I try to reassure Woodie, my eyes meet those of my dad, dark and stern, just like mine. His tight jaw screams a loud and fat "I told you so." Good Ol' Jack MacBride has never been Cassie O'Malley's number-one fan, even back when we were kids and she used to climb the cottonwood tree to reach my bedroom window. To him, Cass has always been bad news.

He's the only one who knows the price I'm ready to pay to take care of her and our unborn baby.

But the truth, pure and simple? I would risk everything to be with her. Cassie is the only future I want. Whether I take her and the baby with me to Georgetown, or to our community college, it only matters that we go there as a family.

"Jesus. H. Christ," Woodie bursts out. "Her grandma's arrived."

My lungs can't help puffing out some of the air I didn't know was trapped inside. Mrs. O'Malley has finally arrived, and, with her, hopefully Cassie. Mrs. O. is the gentlest of all ladies. Acute diabetes makes her look older than her sixty years. Her skin has always had that same waxy complexion and she's underweight. But now, she smiles back at me and answers my silent question with a nod. Mrs. O. and I, we've always understood each other.

Judging by where Mrs. O'Malley's gaze is directed-somewhere behind the half-open door of the church-my girl is about to walk down the aisle.

Woodie hyperventilates. "Okay now, look ahead and only turn back when I tell you to do so."

As if he's the one getting married to Cassie, and maybe he wishes he were, Woodie glues his eyes on the whitewashed wall behind Reverend Beasley, who clears his throat. A drop of sweat tracks down his temple. Clearly everyone has been freaking out thinking that I'd been dumped at the altar.

When the organist starts playing, my heartbeat breaks into a home-run sprint and a lump fills my throat. I have to see her.

Three.

Two.

One.

I look back and steal a first glance at her. The sight punches me straight in the stomach. She's so beautiful in her gran's wedding dress. The look is '70s, I guess. Her hands hold a bouquet of daisies and her hair, the color of a cornflower field, cascades over her shoulders and down her back.

She doesn't smile but instead, her eyes dive into mine as if I was her anchor, not Mrs. O'Malley who walks by her side. I answer Cassie's silent plea by nodding. An intake of air makes her shudder.

Whatever Cassie says about not caring for marriage, she isn't telling the truth. Her dead junkie mother couldn't name the bastard who knocked her up at seventeen. So getting married in front of God and Steep Hill is the first step to show Cass our child won't know the same fate.

She's by my side now and I grasp her shaking hand to give it a squeeze. We turn and face Reverend Beasley. A broad smile breaks out not only on my face, but in my heart and in every cell of my body.

I have my girl and I'll never let her go.

one.

Steep Hill ~ Present.

Cassie.

Drops of rain smashed like marbles onto Gran's coffin.

I always knew I'd end up burying her. Only I didn't expect that the day would be so damned wet, or for it to come so soon.

Plus I hated umbrellas, and the water had now filtered through my cotton dress. I shivered and goose bumps broke out across my bare forearms.

Woodie, on my right, sent me a worried look every other minute. I wasn't going to cry. I'd keep that promise to myself. I wouldn't provide any more real-life entertainment to the good people of Steep Hill. And I wouldn't break when their honorable mayor, Jack MacBride, raked me with his gaze across the gaping hole of my gran's freshly dug grave.

For sure, my tears would make him happy, kind of an indirect payback for all the "trouble" I created over the years. That jerk should be thanking me. Six years ago, I covered his ass big time, so he could keep his precious family intact.

And where did that grand gesture leave me? A high-school drop-out turned bartender in the middle of Nowheresville, Kansas. But the truth? MacBride wasn't the one I should be angry with. I made some very bad choices and I deserved to pay for them for the rest of my life.

Reverend Beasley turned towards me and waved for me to join him at the head of the coffin. I put one foot in front of the other, my shoes squishing into the muddy grass.

"Cassandra, here, would like to read a prayer to honor the memory of her grandmother, Iris. As you'll all know, Iris raised her after the death of Cassandra's mother, Jeanine."

Was he talking about me or poor Cosette from Les Miserables?

Reverend Beasley moved aside, making me now the focus of attention.

"Th- This is," I stammered, but seeing the half-smirk on Jack MacBride's mouth I squared my shoulders, cleared my throat and started again. "My grandmother wanted me to read these words translated from Gaelic." My voice was as steady as my sinking heart would allow. "May the road rise to meet you; May the wind be always at your back; May the sun shine warm upon your face."

Breathe in, Cass. Don't collapse now.

"May the rain fall softly upon your fields; until we meet again; May The Lord hold you in the hollow of his hand."

Tears welled up in my eyes but I couldn't let them flow. I couldn't. When I got back to Woodie's side, he took hold of my hand. The contact shot warmth through my skin, and I was so grateful to him for showing me-for showing everyone-his friendship.

I didn't even know where the man I wanted by my side was. Would he have come, had he known? So, I settled for Woodie's friendship instead. I managed to break a smile, and he squeezed my hand.

Yes, I was lucky to have him in my life. I hoped I deserved him.

By the time the service ended, the rain had stopped. Rays of sun pierced through the fat clouds, but they weren't enough to warm me while, one by one, I received condolences from the line of familiar faces.

When Jack MacBride made it to the front of the line, I curled my fists. God, how I wished I could punch his sorry face.

"We're sorry for your loss, Cassandra."

No, you're not.

"Thanks Mr. MacBride." I turned away from his hazelnut eyes, the same color as Josh's, and focused on his wife, Miranda, a deep-to-the-bone nice lady. "Gran was always fond of you, Mrs. MacBride. She would have been delighted to know you came today."

"She can see us, Cassie. She can see you, and she's proud of how you're handling yourself."

Miranda wrapped her arms around me, and I breathed in the scent of sweet tea. It reminded me of my gran. Heaven, afterlife, angels and demons, I wasn't sure I believed in any of it. If God existed, he wouldn't have let my sweet grandma suffer through all those years, let the disease eat her alive.

"I hope you're right," Now wasn't the time to share my spiritual doubts.

"As sad as Iris's death is, you need to see it as a great opportunity." Jack's words made me and his wife gasp at the same time.

I was the first one to recover. "How so?"

MacBride had the decency to let out an embarrassed cough. "Well, you can leave now, pursue your own dreams... turn the page on Steep Hill."

And get out of your life for good.

As much as it cost me to acknowledge it, the jerk was right. "I could do that."

I could also blackmail his treacherous ass and syphon away his cash, but as tempting as it would be, this was not the girl Iris O'Malley raised. This was not who I was.

"Don't hesitate to visit us if you need anything, darling."

"Thank you, Mrs. MacBride."

Five or six more people to greet and thank, and I'd be done. I lifted my chin and glued a smile over my face.

two.

Woodie and I were the only ones left in my gran's house.

Empty cups and plates filled with cake remnants covered every surface in her tattered living room. The taillights of the last visiting car disappeared down the muddy road leading out of our farm. The farm I'd have to sell to pay back our medical bills.

I rushed to the closest window and pulled the frame up, then moved to the next.

"Do I stink?" Woodie asked from the plaid couch, his wide-framed body spread all over it.

"You don't, but hypocrites do."

"Come on, Cass, don't go all paranoid again." He took a swig of his Bud then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "It was nice of people to come and remember your grandma."

"I wish they'd remembered her when she was still alive... when I needed someone to look after her while I was on a night shift at Teddy's."

After five years in that damn diner, working nights to pay the bills and caring for Gran during the day, I never wanted to see it again. Woodie leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

"Get over it. With the little money your grandma left and the sale of the farm, you're leaving this shithole for good... and debt-free"

I let the spring air flow into the stuffy room and into my lungs, closed my eyes and let my mind fly towards my new life. The life I would start tomorrow when I boarded the first Greyhound bus to Nashville. I'd never given a chance to my singing. But with my sweet Gran now gone, nothing-nobody-would chain me to Steep Hill.

I busied myself and tidied up the house. Gran had drilled order and cleanliness into me, making me totally OCD. I checked on Woodie, bringing him one last slice of pecan pie, but he had dove into ESPN, so I set the pie down in front of him on the coffee table.

The lights of a car parking in my courtyard invaded our bubble.

"Expecting anyone?" The arrival intrigued Woodie enough for him to abandon cable TV.

No, I wasn't expecting anyone. I clutched my hands and risked a glance through the window.

A short man in a suit stepped out of the car a large envelope in his hand. Fear kicked me to the porch. God, did Gran owe someone money? Someone else than the bank? Have they come to collect?

I dried my hands on my apron and introduced myself. "Cassie O'Malley. Can I help?"

Little Man bridged the distance between us. "I'm looking for Mrs. MacBride... Cassandra MacBride."

That was also me. No one ever called me that though. I started to confirm my identity, but the words got stuck mid-throat.

"That's her," Woodie chimed in. I felt him close behind me. "What do you want?"

"Mrs. MacBride, I have a document to hand-deliver to you."

The envelope hung from between his fingers. I stared at it but didn't budge.

"Please, Mrs. MacBride," the man in the suit prompted me and I had to slap myself mentally to grab the document. "I also need a signature to prove you've received the document."

I nodded and took the pen he held out.