by Larissa Ione
Having said that, she agreed with Rita Mae. Marisol needed to step things up with Patrick, not go running off after some Montana mountain man. Even if said mountain man was a walking advertisement for why single women should move to Montana.
“You said that out loud, you know.” Rita Mae propped one hand on her hip and gave her a stern look. “What’s going on, hon? Seriously. I know that Chase being back in town has to be bothering you. Talk to me.”
Rita Mae was only trying to help, but she wasn’t ready for it. “We need more eggs,” she said, grabbing her purse. “I’m going to run to the store. Do you need anything?”
Rita Mae just shook her head, a master at conveying withering disappointment without a word. She was just like their mother had been. Rita Mae had also inherited their mother’s habit of poking at bears. She couldn’t stand being out of the loop on anything, and she pushed and pushed until she got people to talk.
Of course, Rita Mae would say that Anna Mae had gotten their mother’s tendency to be judgmental and stubborn and mouthy.
“Anna Mae?” she called out as Anna Mae opened the front door. “Be careful, okay?”
“I’m just driving to the store,” she yelled back.
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” Rita Mae’s voice came from right behind her.
Anna Mae looked over her shoulder. “Then I don’t know what—”
“Yes, you do.” Rita Mae shook her spoon at her. “You either need to make peace with Chase being here, or you need to talk to him and get all that anger out of your system before it comes out on its own. Then, whatever you decide, you need to stay away from Chase Johnson, because I swear, I will not let him hurt you again.”
Anna Mae’s heart swelled. Her sister had also inherited their mother’s fierce loyalty.
Funny, because loyalty was something Chase Johnson knew nothing about.
Chapter Three
Ian was impressed by the Johnsons’ cattle operation. Which pissed him off, because some competitive, petty part of him had wanted to own the bigger ranch with the most acreage and the most cattle and the most employees.
As it turned out, Ian owned more property, but the fertile grassland in this part of Texas could support more animals per acre. The Johnson ranch was also less remote, which allowed Zeke and Tucker to modernize a lot easier and more reasonably, cost-wise, than Ian could.
As he and Marcus finished putting away the horses they’d had out all day, Marcus glanced over at him from his big bay’s stall. “If you’ll give them a couple scoops of grain, I’ll put up the tack and brushes.”
“You got it.” Ian fed the horses and met Marcus outside, where they started up the trail toward the Johnsons’ big ranch-style house. Mature live oak trees cast long, late-afternoon shadows across the yard that must take hours to mow. It was probably better than shoveling and plowing snow, though.
Marcus made an encompassing gesture around the ranch. “So what do you think?”
It was beautiful. Dammit. “I have more horses,” he muttered. “And my dog is smarter.”
Marcus snorted. “If it makes you feel any better, the cows here are way dumber. I think it’s the heat.”
Ian laughed out loud. Marcus was good at reading people, and he’d known exactly what to say. “Thanks for bringing me out here and showing me around. Totally different terrain than what I’m used to. The vegetation and landscape are more like what you see in the foothills of the Rockies than what we have out in the plains and badlands of eastern Montana.”
“There are a lot more small specialty farms here than where we are in Montana, too,” Marcus said, and Ian wondered if he even knew he’d used the “we” in there. “You know, organic, grass fed...there’s even someone doing that massage thing with their cattle.”
The anvil top of a thunderstorm had formed beyond a distant ridge, and Ian wondered if the thunderstorms here were as dry as the ones they got in Montana. And wait... “Massage thing?”
“Yeah,” Marcus said. “You know, they feed their cows beer and give them massages every day and keep them all calm and peaceful. It’s supposed to make the meat more flavorful and healthy, because the cows are never afraid, even before they’re slaughtered.”
“You mean it’s like Kobe beef?”
“Yeah, that. Crazy, but they get a gazillion bucks a pound.” He shook his head. “Cow whispering is one thing. Cow massaging? I don’t even get massages.”
“Sounds like you need to be a little nicer to Brittany.”
Marcus let out a bitter laugh. “We can’t find time alone to talk, let alone—” he broke off, a swath of pink staining his cheeks. “You know.”
“Yeah,” Ian said wryly. “I know. I might not remember how to do it, but I remember what it is.”
Marcus glanced over at Ian. “Now that I think about it, you never brought a woman out to the ranch. But I know you dated. Didn’t you? There was that teacher in Miles City.”
“Miles City is three hours away.” And it wasn’t a city. It could barely be called a town. “Carly was nice, but there was nothing there.”
“No spark?”
“Not even a little.” He hadn’t felt that spark since he and April divorced and she took his only son to California to live with the man who eventually killed him. Ian was pretty sure his ability to spark had been snuffed.
An image of Marisol popped into his head, and he reconsidered that. Something about her had definitely lit a spark in him. Not that he could do anything about it, but it was a sign that he wasn’t completely ruined.
You knew as much when you let Marcus into your life.
True enough. He’d been broken for so long after his son died, and a dishonorable discharge and time in jail for killing the son of a bitch who had murdered Tyler hadn’t helped. Running the ranch after his parole had kept him alive, but he hadn’t been living. Then Marcus came along, wounded and lost, and they’d healed each other. He was himself again. Just older and wiser and more laid back. And his left knee was shot.
Zeke Johnson came down off his porch and met them at the driveway where Marcus had parked his Impala. “Did old Sorghum treat you well?”
“That sorrel’s got spirit,” Ian said. “He’s a solid ride.”
“I’ve always liked him.” Zeke said as he adjusted his cowboy hat, bringing the brim down to block the angle of the bright sunlight. “I’ve got better cutters, horses with more endurance, but he’s got a gait that makes him a pleasure to ride.”
“You’ve got a beautiful ranch,” Ian said. “I’d heard there was a drought down this way, but it doesn’t look like it hit you.”
“It was rough for a while there, but lately we’ve been lucky. They’re still hurting to the east, though, but it’s getting better.” Zeke gestured toward the house. “Why don’t you two come in and have a drink? It’d be nice to talk to someone from up north. I’m sure you do some things differently. All the snow and cold and all.”
“I don’t miss that.” Marcus leaned his hip against his car. “Trying to find lost calves in freezing temps and four-foot drifts? Not fun.”
Zeke shivered. “You never said what brought you down here,” he said to Ian. “Was it to see Marcus, or are you thinking about taking some of our Texan stock up north? Add a little flavor to your beef?”
Ian didn’t take Zeke’s words for anything other than what they were, a good-natured jab at the never-ending debate over whether northern or southern beef was the best.
The answer to that question was northern.
“As much as I’d like to, I can’t fit ’em in my rental.” He tapped the hood of Marcus’s car. “We should get going if we’re going to meet your mom and Mallory for dinner.” Dakota had declined, saying she didn’t want to spend time in public, and although Joanne had tried to convince her, everyone seemed relieved when she refused.
Marcus checked his watch. “Crap, I didn’t realize it was that late. We still have to shower and clean up.” He looked at Zeke. “We’ll ta
ke you up on a drink another time.”
Ian held his hand out to Zeke. “Thanks for letting Marcus show me around the ranch.”
“No problem.” He turned to Marcus. “And don’t forget the barbecue tomorrow afternoon,” he said, giving Marcus a clap on the back. “And you too, Mr. Briggs. We’d love for you to come.”
“Ian, please. And I appreciate it.”
As they drove back into town, Marcus explained some of the things ranchers did different down here, and it became clear that Marcus was doing well. He enjoyed his job and was happy.
But there was something bothering him. Ian couldn’t put his finger on why he knew that, but he did. There was a vibe coming off Marcus, a darkness in his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen him.
“Son, are you okay?”
Marcus gave him a startled look as he turned onto the street for the Flower Hill bed and breakfast. “I’m fine. Why?”
“I don’t know. You just seem a little stressed. Like you’re always looking over your shoulder.”
Marcus’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Nah. I’m good.” He eased the Impala up to the curb. “We’ll meet you at Farm to Table in half an hour.”
“Perfect.”
He watched Marcus drive off, but he wasn’t buying his answer. He was too tense. Too evasive. Ian wouldn’t push, though; if he’d learned anything about Marcus, it was that he didn’t talk until he was ready, and forcing the issue only made him clam up tighter. But the kid was smart, and he’d come to Ian for help if he needed it.
Thunder cracked in the distance, but the leading edge of the storm was close. He figured he had ten minutes before he found out how much rain a Texas storm would bring. Even as he wondered, a drop of rain smacked him in the face, and before he reached the bed and breakfast’s porch, he was drenched.
But hey, at least it wasn’t snow.
Chapter Four
Patrick Murphy had always loved the big get-togethers his aunt and uncle threw at their ranch. The annual fall barbecue was Patrick's favorite, because the intense summer heat was gone, so the festivities often went late into the wee hours. Once, he, his father, brothers, cousins Tucker and Tate, and Uncle Zeke had sat around the fire pit drinking and laughing until four a.m.
Sitting in church five hours later had been Patrick’s idea of hell. To this day, every time he caught a whiff of tequila he heard an overly loud sermon in his head.
A shudder rippled down his body all the way to the grass he stood on. Marcus and Logan stood with him near the pit where a pig turned slowly on a spit, dripping grease onto the crackling coals below.
“Someone step on your grave?” Marcus popped the cap off his beer and tossed it into the metal barrel next to the pit.
“I was remembering a particularly bad hangover.”
Logan drained half the lager in his just-opened bottle. “I plan on having one of those tomorrow.”
Patrick and Marcus laughed, but concern for his brother put a damper on his amusement. Logan had never been one to try to drink away his problems, and he especially hated hangovers, but lately he’d been hitting the bottle a little too much for Patrick’s liking. Not to the level where he was ready to say anything, but he did keep an eye on it.
A phone vibrated, and they all slapped their pants pockets like they were swatting at mosquitoes. It was Logan who ended up with the offending device.
“Oh...shit...” Logan blinked down at his phone, his lips pressed into a grim line.
“What is it?” Marcus leaned toward Logan, who jumped like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“It’s nothing.” He tried to shove the phone into his pocket, but in his haste he fumbled it.
Patrick lunged, nearly caught it, but it slipped between his fingers. It skipped across the grass, coming to rest at Marcus’s feet. Logan dove for it, but Marcus was too fast.
“Don’t look, Marcus.” Logan held out his hand. “Seriously, man, don’t. Give it to me.”
Naturally, Marcus didn’t listen. Patrick moved next to him to see what the hell had gotten Logan so rattled. The moment he saw the picture, his gut slid into his boots.
It was a mug shot of Marcus, part of an article titled, “Senator’s Daughter Dating a Violent Criminal.”
Marcus thumbed the screen, scrolling down to the story that gave a rundown of Marcus’s police record, including juvenile arrests and school suspensions. It even suggested that he’d been involved in several domestic violence incidents, but it left out the crucial part where he’d never laid hands on his sisters or mother, and had only been defending himself or others from his bastard of a father.
“It’s nothing, Marcus,” Logan insisted as Patrick read the sorry excuse for journalism over his shoulder. “It’s from a radical, fringe political blog that no one will see.”
Marcus looked up from the phone. “You saw.” His voice was as flat as his eyes.
“Only because I have an alert set up for Senator Rush. I want to know when he uses me to help his campaign.”
Marcus looked back down at the screen, his jaw locked hard as he scrolled through the story. He swallowed over and over as he read, like he wanted to puke.
“Hey, man, you okay?” Patrick gripped Marcus’s shoulder, because the guy looked ready to take a header. “You look a little queasy.”
“This article.. Jesus, it makes it sound like Brittany is in danger, like I’d hurt her. It makes it sound like her parents are begging her to break up with me for her own safety.”
Logan took the phone from Marcus, who didn’t even seem to notice. He just stood there like it was all he could do to breathe.
Patrick cursed. “This reeks of Marylee Rush.”
“It has to be,” Marcus said roughly. “She and Sebastian have been trying to break us up. It was only a matter of time before they stepped up the game.” He looked them both straight in the eye. “Do not tell Brittany. She doesn’t need to see this shit.”
“It won’t change how she feels about you,” Logan said. “You know that, right?”
Marcus shook his head. “Yeah, it will. She’ll say she can handle it, and she’ll believe it when she says it. But she’s going to get tired of the looks of pity she’ll get. And the looks of scorn because she won’t leave me. And the abusive taunts calling her stupid for staying with me. I saw it happen to my mom, and this is a bunch of fucking bullshit we don’t need.”
Patrick wanted to tell Marcus he was wrong, but he wasn’t. That article was going to haunt Marcus as much as his past did.
“Sorry, man.” Logan gestured to the bottle in Marcus’s hand. “Want another beer?”
“Better not. Wouldn’t want to end up in another alcohol-fueled brawl,” he said, quoting from the hit piece.
“I gotta admit,” Logan said, “I didn’t hear about any alcohol-fueled brawl.”
Marcus winced. “Montana biker bar.”
“What about the rampage of rage?” Patrick asked.
This time, Marcus gave a full-on grimace as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Country bar in Miles City. Montana arrest number two.”
“How about—”
“Oh, hey.” Marcus flung his arm out toward one of the picnic tables. “There’s Brittany. I’m going to go endanger her with my presence.”
He took off, and Logan shook his head. “I’m a little worried about him.”
“Worried? Why?” Patrick’s jaw dropped. “You don’t really think he’s dangerous, right?”
“What? No, of course I don’t.” He tipped the bottle to his lips and took a drink. “It’s because the Rushes are never going to accept him being with Brittany, and eventually she’s going to have to make a choice.”
Patrick hadn’t thought of that. He couldn’t imagine his family demanding that he stop seeing someone, and he damned sure couldn’t imagine them being willing to lose him over it. “You don’t think Brit’ll choose Marcus?”
“Oh, she’ll choose him. I’d lay money on
it. But she’ll lose her family over it. Just like what happened to Marcus’s mom when she married his dad.” Logan blew out a long breath. “When we were kids, he told me about his parents’ fights, and there were a lot that had to do with her family.”
Patrick cursed. Marcus had done everything he could to separate himself from his father, and Patrick had no doubt that if he could get rid of the man, right down to his DNA, he would. So to follow in his father’s footsteps like that...the psychology of it would only add to the stressful situation.
“And that’s the best-case scenario,” Logan said, being all grim. He’d been that way since he’d gotten home from the military, but since the shit with Ginny, it had gotten worse. “What if Brittany does choose her family over him? I mean, I don’t think she will, but it’s a lot like what Marcus’s mom did to him and why he skipped town and ended up in Montana.”
Ouch. “He makes our woman troubles seem petty,” Patrick sighed.
“Speak for yourself.”
Yeah, yeah. He hated to be unsupportive, but it had been a couple of months now since Ginny had destroyed their relationship, and Logan needed to get back on his feet.
“You should call that redhead who gave you her number at the bar the other night.” Patrick had only seen her for a second, but he’d done a double take. “Who was she, anyway? I know pretty much every female of drinking age in this town, and I’ve never seen her.”
Logan idly kicked at the grass with his cowboy boot as he spoke. “She moved here this summer with the Rushes’ new neighbors. Those rich people on the hill. I can’t remember their names. Anyway, she’s their nanny.”
“Well, you need to call her.” He gave Logan an encouraging but brotherly poke in the shoulder. “She was really into you.”
“That’s because she’d had three margaritas and a screaming orgasm.” Logan rolled his eyes. “She made me make a damned screaming orgasm.”