She nodded. That was one of the things she’d missed the most. The wide-open spaces. The way you could look out over the valley and see pretty much the same thing people had been seeing for hundreds of years. There were farmhouses and little towns here and there, but for the most part the land was as untamed and rugged as the day the mountains were born.

She hadn’t been many places, but Montana had to be one of the best.

A Luke Bryan song came on, and Jeremy turned down the radio. “We’ve heard this one at least five times today.”

“That’s the country station for you.”

“And you know what else?” Jeremy waved a hand in the air. “These songs are always about Southern girls. Why aren’t there any songs about Northern girls?”

Bea raised one eyebrow. “You been listening to the station a lot?”

Jeremy made a face. “Like I’ve had a choice.”

“The older songs are best.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You’ve got to give it a chance.” She turned the radio back up. “It’ll grow on you, just like the big sky.”

He gave her a wink. “If you say so.”

They picked up their drinks and the vitamins and started back for Moose Creek. There had been snow on the peaks of the Bridgers for a couple of weeks, yet the back way home through the canyon was clear and dry. They’d opted for the scenic route rather than the interstate since it was such a nice day. Though the weatherman on the radio was calling for snow by late this weekend, today she hadn’t even worn a coat.

“What’s up with your dad’s belt?” Jeremy asked as they passed Moreland Road.

She wrinkled her nose. Her dad’s belt? “What made you think about that?”

“I saw that shop across from the mall, Jack’s Custom Leather.” He shrugged. “Your grandpa’s got one and your dad’s got one—I just wondered if it was a Montana thing.”

“More like a Jensen thing, I guess. The Jensen men receive a belt embossed with their name on it from their fathers when they get married. It’s a tradition.”

He nodded and drove on as the canyon widened and the valley came into view. When they left Bridger Canyon Drive for Highway 288, Bea checked the time. “Don’t forget to drop me off at The Baked Potato.”

Jeremy glanced over. “I’m glad you decided to meet up with her.”

Amber had stopped at the Food Farm the other day and greeted Bea like they’d grown up together. Which of course they had. As she hung a green basket on her arm, she’d repeated her sentiment from the football game: “We should meet up for lunch sometime.”