Montana Dad

by Jeannie Watt

  She almost jumped out of her skin when the truck carrying the fencing rolled to a stop in front of the house. She’d always assumed she was a shake-it-off kind of girl—that she could shake off the effects of being knocked down by a stranger in her own home the same way she’d shaken off the effect of her parents not showing up on visiting weekends at her boarding school.

  Not the same critter. Not even close.

  You’ll get better with time.

  She hoped.

  Alex let out a breath and willed her taut muscles to relax before opening the next box to reveal a treasure trove of crafting materials—feathers, beads, felt and ribbon. Fun stuff. She might have even used some of this stuff back in the day when she’d visited. Perhaps she’d call the local school district and see if they took donations of art supplies.

  Or maybe you can try your hand at crafting...something.

  She’d always loved creating, but never found the time to embrace a full-fledged hobby. She lifted a string of beads which glittered in the warm sunlight.

  Maybe she would embrace a hobby. She had time on her hands. Alex set the beads back in the box, closed it and moved on to the next.

  Nick would deal with the fencing, and she would deal with this, the odds and ends of her aunt’s life. And while she did it, maybe she’d make some sense of the odds and ends of her own life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AFTER NICK AND his girls drove away, Alex poured a glass of wine and went outside to inspect the work. The old fencing lay in neat piles, ready for Nick to haul away when he had less help.

  Alex had purposely refrained from interacting with the little girls while they’d been there, but she had watched them, and when she’d gone out to the screened back porch to drop a load of junk, she’d seen Bailey watching her. Or rather her hair, which she’d plaited into a loose braid after it’d dried.

  Princess hair.

  She should probably cut her princess hair. She’d taken to wearing it up at work a few years back, thus keeping it off her neck during the warmer months, and had simply let it grow. And grow.

  Yes. A haircut.

  She looked down at her beat-up nails. Maybe a mani, too?

  Not yet, because she didn’t feel like being snubbed in a salon, and she also didn’t feel like driving to Dillon, which was almost an hour away.

  So here she would stay, sorting junk in her new house and watching the guy who was helping her put things back together through the window when she got antsy.

  After a frozen dinner and another bracing glass of wine, Alex dialed her mother, hoping that this time, instead of hearing how people were talking, she’d hear that they were no longer talking. That something else had caught their attention.

  That was a long shot, because Cécile always thought people were watching her, talking about her, admiring her, envying her. And currently she assumed they were anticipating her downfall after her daughter was sent to prison for a crime she didn’t commit. Cécile, however, did have news.

  “You’ll never guess who I ran into.”

  “Who?” she asked dutifully.

  “Lawrence.”

  A frisson of surprise caused Alex to sit up straighter. “Lawrence Stoddard?” Jason’s younger brother?

  “Yes. The authorities put him through the wringer, too. However, he has chosen to stay put. He even began a new job.”

  Alex ignored the barb. She’d always liked Lawrence, a free spirit who kept his distance from his workaholic brother, probably because Jason lectured him about the consequences of his live-for-today attitude. She’d met him only a handful of times after she and Jason started dating, but the same thing had happened every time—big brother had taken little brother to task. Little brother had put up with it, but Alex had sensed that he couldn’t wait to end his duty visit and carry on with his happy existence.

  “He wanted me to pass a message along to you.”

  “He did?” Alex went still, having no idea what to expect.

  “Yes,” her mother said with a sniff. “He said to tell you that Jason fooled everyone and not to feel bad about being duped.”

  “So he thinks I’m innocent?” That was important to her—that someone in the know believed in her.

  “He does. I asked him where he thought his brother was hiding out.”

  Alex rolled her eyes. Of course she had. “Did he tell you?”

  “He said he doesn’t know. I believe him.”

  Alex pinched the bridge of her nose. Her mother astounded her at times.

  Cécile cleared her throat. “And how are things there?”

  If they’d had a normal mother-daughter relationship, she’d have told her about the windstorm and the broken porch, and the neighbor whom she’d hired to help her out. But all that was stuff that Cécile would use as ammunition in her quest to get Alex to return home so that people wouldn’t talk.

  “They’re good. I’m settling in and enjoying the change of scenery. Montana is beautiful.”

  “I hear the winters are intense.”

  “I think we’ve seen a few intense winters in Virginia over the past several years.”

  I’m not coming home.

  The thought had barely formed when her mother said, “How long do you think you’ll be staying?”

  Well, they were on the same wavelength in that regard. “Until I decide what to do and where to do it.”

  “Have you been in contact with Juliet?”

  Her mother seemed to think that her sister was encouraging Alex to do the wrong thing to spite her, just as Jason had assumed that Lawrence was living the free and easy life to thumb his nose at him.

  She’d never before realized how similar Jason and her mother were in their life views. Did that mean that Cécile might commit a felonious act? She almost laughed.

  “Is something funny?”

  “No. Juliet’s hard to pin down, so it might be a while until I hear from her. And in the meantime, I’m clearing her junk out of the house and enjoying time to just be in my head.”

  A silence fell and became increasingly strained as it stretched on. “I’ll call in a few days, Mom.”

  “Yes. Have a good evening.” A second later the phone went dead, and Alex dropped the device onto the cushions beside her and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

  She would have a good evening. It might be a touch lonely, but with each passing day, returning home felt less and less like something she wanted to do. Nick promised to get the fence done tomorrow, and Wanda was scheduled to make her official home visit the day after. Alex was not yet ready to put herself out there and attempt to become part of this tightly knit community, so she was looking forward to having a dog for company.

  She was looking forward to not being so very alone.

  * * *

  ALEX HAD TO admit to feeling a twinge of disappointment when Nick showed up sans crew the next morning. She’d enjoyed the energy the girls had brought to her quiet house, enjoyed watching them interact with each other and their father.

  Nick went to work on the fence while Alex cleared out the kitchen cupboards. The keep pile was small. Everything else was sorted into boxes earmarked for donation or destruction.

  When she finished sorting, she’d wash the interior of the cupboards, then sand the wood in preparation for painting. She had no idea what color she would paint the kitchen, but she had to do something to cover the grease spots on the ceiling and the worn paint everywhere else. After talking to her mother, she felt more determined than ever to stay in this house—at least until she figured out her next move—and that meant brightening up this depressing room, where she spent a great deal of her time.

  Funny how the kitchen hadn’t seemed one bit depressing when she and Juliet had baked cookies there fifteen years ago, but her aunt had a way of commandeering a space so that the
only thing you saw was her. That was the one characteristic Juliet and Cécile shared. Other than that...nothing. The sisters were polar opposites in all regards, and Alex didn’t take after either of them.

  Physically she took after her long-departed blond-haired, green-eyed father, who’d dutifully sent support checks each month and presents for all the prescribed holidays and, other than that, ignored his only daughter. Perhaps the three boys he’d had with his second wife had something to do with that. Alex had convinced herself long ago that it didn’t matter, but when she’d glanced out the window yesterday afternoon and watched as Nick Callahan stopped working to take a long look at the butterfly his oldest daughter was carefully holding in cupped hands, her heart had twisted. Neither of her parents had ever taken that kind of care with her.

  Her five-year-old self had been deeply jealous.

  Alex shook her head and went back to sorting.

  It was getting close to lunchtime when Nick came into the kitchen and stopped dead when he saw the lines of donation and destruction boxes. “Are you getting rid of all of this?”

  Alex glanced down at the clothing, rags, battered plastic cookware and mismatched dishes. “What would you do with it?”

  Nick gave a small laugh. “Point taken.”

  “When my aunt moved out, it appears that she only took the essentials.”

  “Your aunt?”

  The air froze in Alex’s lungs as she realized what she’d just said. There was something about this guy—quite possibly the butterfly incident—that had lulled her into a sense of security, and she’d forgotten herself. He seemed so trustworthy and dependable.

  As had Jason.

  After a few silent seconds, Nick said, “That explains a few things.”

  It did, but she didn’t owe him any further explanation. Alex pushed her hand through her hair, stunned at how one simple sentence could have such potential impact. So much for being Alex Ryan, stranger to these parts.

  “Who or what are you hiding from, Alex?”

  Her gaze flashed up as her heart almost stopped. “What makes you think—”

  He gave her a weary look. “It’s pretty obvious that you’re hiding from something. What I need to know is will it affect me and my family?”

  It took her a second to understand what he was asking—would danger follow her?

  “I’m not in witness protection or anything. It isn’t like a mobster is going to show up and take everyone out.”

  Nick gave a nod. He seemed to do a lot of that—nod and wait until Alex felt the need to fill the silence. Well, this time she wasn’t filling anything. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down.

  “Who are you afraid is going to show up?”

  “No one who will have any effect on you whatsoever.”

  “Ex-husband? Boyfriend? Boss?”

  Damn her fair skin and the telltale blush that warmed her cheeks.

  “I’m escaping a stressful situation.”

  “Work? Family?”

  She gave a short laugh. “Yes.” A half-truth, but she’d go with it.

  Nick cocked his head waiting for more, but he wasn’t getting any more. She would take control of this situation, instead of backing up and deflecting, as she always had with her mother. It was easy to simply acquiesce, let her mother have her way, and, frankly, she’d done the same with Jason when she’d had concerns. But Nick Callahan had no hold over her whatsoever, so it was time for her to take charge. To stop backing up.

  “Do you think a locked gate will keep your family out?”

  “I think a locked gate will give me time to mentally prepare if they do show up.”

  He gave her a dubious look, and she had to admit the whole thing sounded fishy. “Isn’t your aunt, the person you bought the house from, part of the family?”

  “My aunt is estranged from my mother, but she and I have always gotten along. We’re the renegades, you see.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow, and she could see his point. She didn’t appear one bit renegade-ish. Well, there were varying levels of renegade-ism, and in her family, she met the qualifications.

  “When I decided that I wanted to disappear, I contacted her to see about buying this place.”

  “That you’d never seen.”

  “No. I spent a summer here.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.” She’d been there, two miles from where he lived, for two whole months.

  “And you still outbid me for it?”

  “It was in better shape back then.”

  “I don’t think so. This property has been falling apart since Dunlop’s first wife died. I assume your aunt is Juliet, Dunlop’s second wife.”

  There was a note in his voice that conveyed very effectively the fact that Nick didn’t care much for her aunt. Well, Juliet had that effect on people. Alex simply tilted her head and kept her mouth shut. He apparently took that as a yes.

  “You’re going to wish you’d found a better place to disappear than this money pit.”

  “I’ll fix things as I can afford to.”

  Nick walked to the arched dining room entryway and took a long, hard look. She had a feeling he didn’t miss a thing as his gaze swept over the room. What exactly was he seeing beyond cracked plaster and water-stained ceilings?

  Structural damage?

  She hoped not.

  Or was he setting her up, making her think there were major issues, so that he could buy the place cheap?

  Remember when you weren’t so suspicious of everyone and their motives?

  Her inner self took offense at the thought and fired back, “Yes. And look what happened.”

  Trusting had brought some major consequences.

  “Sounds like you have quite a family,” he said as he scanned the ceiling with its rusty stains. It was obvious from his tone that he wasn’t anywhere near convinced that she was here because of family issues.

  Alex closed her eyes. If she didn’t do something now, her contractor would quite possibly wonder about her out loud at whatever social gatherings they had in this corner of Montana. Or people would ask questions and he would mention his theories and suspicions. She didn’t need that. She mentally squared her shoulders and decided to not exactly trust, but to explain in a way that might just shut him up.

  “Some serious issues developed at work, which created a great deal of stress in my life and then I was assaulted in my home. I no longer felt safe, so I moved into my mother’s house. However, my mother and I see eye to eye on nothing. I wanted to get away and I have. I don’t want traffic traveling through my property, because it makes me nervous to think about people driving to my place in the dead of night. Thus the locked gate. It seems I’m suffering from post-attack PTSD, and this is my way of dealing with it.” She had the satisfaction of seeing color rise from his collar at her blunt statements.

  “I—”

  “Was curious as to my story and now you know.” She took a second for that to sink in, then said, “I’d appreciate it if you keep it to yourself.” Which was why she’d cut loose with the truest version of the story she could handle someone in her new life knowing.

  “I will.”

  She believed him.

  But her downfall in life was always linked to believing people—her dad would take her on a father-daughter vacation, her mother would find time to attend parent-teacher conferences, her boss was setting things up so that she could buy into the business.

  She’d played the chump more times than she cared to think about by believing the best of everyone, and maybe she was playing the chump again.

  It was a depressing thought.

  But as she stared up into Nick Callahan’s dark eyes, she felt herself...believing.

  She stiffened her spine. No. She wasn’t going to believe. She was going to take care of
herself. She’d screwed up and had to talk her way out of it. Nick Callahan may or may not spread her story—time would tell—but she wasn’t going to lull herself into believing he was a good guy just because she wanted life to be easy.

  She told him stuff because it seemed the best thing to do, but she needed time to process. Now. “I think you should go.”

  She needed to have the place to herself so that she could get a grip. Regain control.

  “Do you want me to come back?”

  She gave him a silent nod. She wanted him to come back.

  Less than a minute later, he was in his truck, driving toward her back gate with its pathetic bicycle lock.

  Alex squeezed her forehead with one hand. Hiding out was so much harder than she’d anticipated. And she wondered if she needed to be hiding at all. Lawrence Stoddard, who was more tightly connected to Jason than she was, had gotten a job, stayed in the community. She could have done the same.

  But she would bet dollars to doughnuts that Lawrence hadn’t suffered a break-in and an assault. That he hadn’t found that someone had broken into the hiding place where she kept her good jewelry and safety-deposit box key—the only thing that had disappeared during the robbery, if she hadn’t lost it earlier. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen the key. Only that it was supposed to have been there and wasn’t. Not that it mattered. The authorities had her box opened and were disappointed to find that there was no record of anyone recently accessing it, and that it contained nothing except for the documents she’d stored there for safekeeping. No hoard of cash or bearer bonds or whatever it was they’d hoped to discover.

  And while she might have been vindicated, the trauma of being suspected followed by the break-in had stabbed deeply. Her mother’s insistence that she just get over it and start looking for a new job hadn’t helped. Running in an attempt to find a less stressful life elsewhere had been a simple response to a complex situation. Had it been a mistake?

  Alex paced through the house, pausing to stare out her new front window at the neatly stacked weathered lumber that had once been her porch.