“You never give the hell up,” Mark practically shouted. “I should have lost my commission for the hospital episode and we both should have for the second one. I lied my way into the White House to get her and almost got us both killed. You never give the hell up.”
Julie cringed under the tirade Mark unleashed on her. But he was right. She had given up. Maybe too easily. She’d quit the barrel racing because of the truly exceptional women who were full-time riders. It wasn’t that they were just the pro riders who didn’t need to work. They didn’t need to work at anything else because they were the top women’s pro riders. And she’d finished third against them. If she’d been willing to give up everything else, she could have been as well.
But she was giving up the sweetest job offer there ever was because she couldn’t face all the good things that a man had given her. That was so wrong.
And if she wasn’t going to give up the job at Henderson’s…
Then she certainly wasn’t going to give up so easily on the best thing to ever happen to her. She stood and dusted herself off.
Mark eyed the hand she offered him carefully, then grabbed ahold and rose as well.
“If he’s not in your helo, then where the hell is Nathan Gallagher?”
Mark’s smile was radiant. “I dropped him at his car in the airport parking lot, so he’s about an hour behind me. Or was before I had to come chasing after you.”
She climbed up into her truck. “Get out of my way, Mark.”
He held up both hands in mock surrender and backed away while she maneuvered a five-point turnaround on the narrow dirt lane. And headed back.
She worked the truck up into third gear and wished for a fourth, fifth, and sixth while she kept the pedal down hard. Let it rattle and moan.
He didn’t drive to New York. He flew.
Mark had had to go and get him, so he’d probably dug himself in pretty deep.
But he left his precious car here.
Maybe he’d thought that he’d fetch it later like she’d thought of fetching Clarence in a few weeks.
But he hadn’t taken it with him. Some part of him had known he’d be back.
Just like some part of her had known not to move her horse.
She leaned low over the driver’s wheel, hoping that would get her a little more speed back to Henderson Ranch.
Chapter 17
Nathan sat on the porch of Aspen and watched the weather rolling in, darkening the afternoon. He didn’t know where else to go. The last twenty-four hours had been so strange. In a way, the least strange thing had been Mark hunting him down all the way to New York City.
For the entire trip back he’d been obsessed with that one little phrase of Julie’s, her confession of: I do like you! Somehow, that seemed bigger than their trip to Great Falls or even making love here in the Aspen cabin. Emily had told him to remind her that she liked him—and to not let her forget. Somehow he had been the one to forget and now it was time to remind them both. If she gave him the chance.
Nathan was now betting every single choice on that memory—thank god Mark had come to New York to knock some sense into him.
But the mad race back to the ranch had run into a major issue: Julie was nowhere to be found. Not even all of Emily’s military equipment could find her, probably because Julie was somewhere that didn’t have cell reception.
While Nathan drove, Mark had flown his helicopter from the airport. Once it was determined Julie was gone, Mark had tracked Nils to the Larson’s calving barn and found out where she was headed. Emily called to report that Mark had taken off in the helicopter to chase Julie down at about the same moment Nathan turned off the highway at the big white cow barn. He’d almost run into the gun-shot stop sign.
He didn’t know the roads well enough to chase after her on his own. If she came back, there was only one place he could be sure she’d eventually go, and that’s what drew him back to Aspen cabin.
Nathan had raced the Miata along the highway, but the washboard roads from Choteau forced him to what felt like a painful crawl—no matter what the speedometer said otherwise. It was the longest thirty miles of his life.
Now, at the cabin, holding his breath, all Nathan could do was wait.
Emily had locked herself in her office and was probably doing marginally legal things to track Julie for Mark to intercept. Mark hadn’t called to report his success or failure. Chelsea had swung by with Doug to offer him a few words of hope that he’d barely been able to acknowledge. Nathan managed to wave back when Mac and Ama looked up toward him from the main house’s back door. He’d have to go far to find stauncher friends.
Nathan spotted the returning helo first, a small white dot against the heavy gray clouds. He stood and watched, holding onto a porch post because he didn’t trust his knees.
He felt as out of balance as that moment last night sitting with Mark outside Estevan’s restaurant when he realized his mistake.
Being a New York restaurant burn-out had sent him scrambling to Montana in the first place. And in just two weeks of helping Estevan, he’d gotten sucked right back in like some sick drug addict. Didn’t even see what he’d done until Mark pulled the plug on him. Estevan’s restaurant was on its legs, the friendship debt was paid, and his job was over.
At the next revelation he almost laughed—would have if he wasn’t so scared: if he never cooked in Paris or New York again, that would be fine with him.
From Aspen’s porch, Nathan saw the helo land, shut down—but Mark was the only one to climb out. He was too far away to see clearly, but Emily came rushing out of the barn. She threw herself at him and he swept her tight into his arms.
Nathan would take that as a good sign. Surprising, but good.
An even better sign, he spotted the dust of a vehicle far out along the road that ran between Henderson and Larson land.
In minutes the dust cloud resolved to reveal an ancient beater of a pickup racing toward the ranch. Unable to stand any longer, he sat down on the top step and waited. His hands ached with how tightly they were clasped, but he couldn’t seem to let go.
Closer. Definitely Julie’s truck. It disappeared behind the bluff for an agonizing couple of minutes, then came racing up the main drive.
It didn’t slow through the main yard, which sent Patrick skittering aside when he foolishly tried to cross the open expanse.
Without a single hesitation she roared up the frontage road by the cabins, sliding to a barely controlled halt in front of him.
He couldn’t stand.
For a long minute she sat there, looking at him through the closed window, her hands clenched on the steering wheel.
Unable to tolerate it any longer, he managed to rise and walk down the steps.
She watched him as he stepped up to the truck’s door. Still held the steering wheel tightly.
He opened the door as the first drops of rain pattered softly on the roof of her truck.
She was covered head to toe in dirt.
“Hey, cowgirl.” She looked incredible.
“Hey.” No “city boy”. Bad sign? Definitely not good.
“You’re all dirty again. What happened?”
She shook her head. Not relevant. Right. Time to talk about what was important.
“A friend called. He needed help opening a new restaurant.”
“So you just…went?” Her fury sounded deep, but he could read the hurt behind it. Nathan had no idea how he’d ever done this to her. He could only shrug. However, pointing out that she’d told him to go wasn’t likely to help anything.
Instead he tried to explain. “It was a dream he and I used to have long ago. I owed him. Even more, I owed the dream.”
She watched him with those impossibly blue eyes.
“I almost got lost in it again. So dangerously close. But one thing stopped me.”
“Mark.”
Nathan laughed and shook his head. “Not even close,” he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear.
She leaned into it a little, but didn’t let go of the steering wheel.
“All Mark did was remind me that Emily can be wrong.”
“What does Emily have to do with this?”
“You said, ‘I do like you.’ You said that Emily got it wrong and that you do like me. Is that still true?”
After a long moment she nodded.
“The piece I didn’t connect was that I like you, too.”
“Well, that’s convenient.”
He laughed at her tone. He now knew a Julie Larson-tone when he heard one. He thought he’d figured out a way around that, but he wasn’t quite ready yet. It was the chef in him. A meal had an order: a build, a fullness, until the final validation at the end. In a meal it was called dessert. Here in Montana, beneath the roiling clouds of the Big Sky, it was called the rest of his life.
“Will you come sit on the porch with me, Julie?”
She eyed the porch over his shoulder, then nodded cautiously.
It was hard, but she managed it. Nathan offered his hand, but that was asking too much. She flipped a tarp over her tools in the truck bed to protect them from the increasing rain and then climbed the porch steps beside him.
Aspen cabin. It was so thick with memories, with feelings, with hope and despair. He was here, but she didn’t dare let the hope out. If she was wrong, she would never rebuild the walls holding her together.
“How are you here?” How was as far as Julie dared go. She didn’t dare guess why. It was too risky.
“Mark and I got drunk last night, very drunk.”
“That explains the bloodshot eyes.”
“Actually, we got drunk last night in New York. So I think that the bloodshot eyes is more from having a hangover during the flight back. Don’t ever do that. It sucks.”
“Does this have a point?” Nathan was here. In Montana. Why was she complaining?
“It does actually. Usually drunk equals stupid—sometimes really stupid. I lost a couple years’ worth of brain cells to being a stupid chef. Then I quit, cold turkey on my own, and became a slightly smarter chef. For some reason, last night, for once in my life when it really counted, drunk equaled smart.”
“What were you smart about?”
“Mark and I came up with an idea. It sounded beyond stupid at first, but we were just drunk enough to chase it around a bit. Once we had, it sounded smarter. Then a lot smarter. Mark called Emily to roust Mac and Ama out of bed because we were so excited about this crazy idea. It was past midnight here, but they said yes before we had it half explained. That’s when we got stupid and really drunk. Celebrating.”
“Celebrating what? You draw this out much more, Nathan, and I’m going to have to commit more bodily harm on you than I already did on Mark.” The rain began pattering on the porch roof.
“I’m sick to death of New York, Julie. It’s not just because of you. Actually that part isn’t you at all. I’m tired of the grind and the way it chews up good people until there’s nothing left of them but a palate and knife skills. I spent the last year having no life outside the kitchen—a whole year of my life. It’s not how I want to live. Yet cooking for you, I was reminded how much I love to cook. Just as you reminded me every day what it looked like to be intensely alive.”
“And…” she meant it as a growl, but she was too keyed up for it to come out that way. It explained so much, right down to the whisky he’d never quite finished at the Celtic Cowboy, proving to himself exactly who was in control.
“Cooking classes.”
“Cooking classes?” What did they have to do with anything?
“Uh-huh. Cooking classes at Henderson Ranch. They have that magnificent kitchen. And there are bound to be guests who aren’t so hot on horses married to ones who are. Also Ama wants to cook less. So, Emily and I will step in there together. And I was thinking to rebuild that wagon we used for the yurt-raising party. You and I could fix that up as a classic chuck wagon. Then Red and I could deliver dinners to remote campsites. Set up someplace a couple hours’ ride away as a kids’ camp and serve them meals from a chuck wagon. Give their parents a little alone time in the cozy cabins. We can offer fully catered ranch weddings. We’ll get some great photos when a couple of Mark’s old firefighter friends get married out here this summer.”
He kept spinning ideas as fast as Chelsea had, just…yesterday morning.
“During the winter season, I’d get guest chefs out here and we’d do two-week pro-level master classes. During harvest we could—”
“And you’d be happy doing this?” She cut him off before he completely overwhelmed her with his words.
He nodded.
“Here?” she felt the cabin behind her but couldn’t turn to look at it. She couldn’t manage more than a whisper, barely louder than the steady rain.
“What’s with all the rain? I’ve never seen a drop since we got here except that first night’s bit of snow.”
Julie hadn’t really focused on it. What about her question? Was he avoiding it? Her heart was feeling too jumbled to hold focus on that, so instead she answered his question. “It’s the first heavy spring rain. Everyone has been waiting for it. If it holds for a couple of days, it will be a good year along the Montana Front Range. Another major dump in August and it will be a great year.”
Nathan rose and walked away from her to hold his hand out past the edge of the covered porch. “It’s warm.”
“We call it the ‘Million-Dollar Rain’. It sets the crops, fills the reservoirs, and changes the prairie from struggling to lush. In a couple days, you’re going to see wildflowers like you never imagined in your life. The entire prairie blooms purple, red, and gold.”
“I’d like to see that.” Then he turned back to face her, nodding toward Aspen’s cabin door showing that he hadn’t forgotten her question. “Yes, right here. One condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You said that you like me, cowgirl.”
“I think we already covered that.”
“But do you love me, Julie? I couldn’t go through that door ever again without you beside me.”
She turned from Nathan and those dark eyes that looked at her with such sudden hope. She finally looked at the front door of the Aspen cabin.
Could she live here? With Nathan? With their children?
Looking out over this beautiful land?
She finally faced Nathan once more but could only nod. The answer to every single one of those questions was yes.
He knelt before her.
“Then will you marry me, Julie? Because I can’t imagine life without you.”
A nod was too little. Not nearly big enough to explain the protective walls around her heart that were crumbling to dust. Washed away by a million-dollar rain and the love of a chef. Then her freed heart found what to say.
“Oh, city boy. Yes.”
They were the happiest words she’d ever spoken in her life.
About the Author
M. L. Buchman started the first of over 50 novels and now as many short stories while flying from South Korea to ride his bicycle across the Australian Outback. Part of a solo around the world trip that ultimately launched his writing career.
Military romantic suspense titles from his Night Stalker, Firehawks, and Delta Force series have been named American Library Association’s Booklist “Top 10 Romance of the Year” in 2012, 2015 & 2016. His Delta Force series opener, Target Engaged, was a 2016 RWA RITA finalist. In addition to romance, he also writes thrillers, fantasy, and science fiction.
In among his career as a corporate project manager he has: rebuilt and single-handed a fifty-foot sailboat, both flown and jumped out of airplanes, designed and built two houses, and bicycled solo around the world.
He is now making his living as a full-time writer on the Oregon Coast with his beloved wife and is constantly amazed at what you can do with a degree in Geophysics. You may keep up with his writing and receive a free Starter Library by subscribing
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Grace Burrowes charming Montana whisky romance, Tartan Two-Step, follows further below.
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“Almost home, sweetie.”
“Oh joy,” Jessica Baxter tried to clamp down on her sarcasm. It was a bad habit that worked fine in her social set back in Chicago, but sounded more petty with each mile they drove toward the Oregon Coast. She slumped down in the passenger seat of her mom’s baby-blue Toyota hybrid. It still had that new car smell. As much as she’d dreamed of owning a hot sports car some day, she knew that she was enough her mother’s daughter that this was probably the exact sort of eminently sensible car she would buy when her VW Beetle finally gave up the ghost.
Just like her mom.
Maybe she’d get it in red to be at least a little different.
Jessica sighed again, keeping it to herself so that she wasn’t being overly offensive. Her mother was one of the many reasons that she’d gone as far away as possible for college and did her best to rarely return—she didn’t want to turn into her mother and it was too easy to imagine doing so if she’d stayed in the small town of Eagle Cove, Oregon.
They were like twins separated by twenty-two years. The two of them had been able to trade clothes since Jessica hit puberty and had shot up to match her mother’s slender five-foot-ten. Other than a very brief mistake of dying her hair black as part of a tenth-grade dare, which had turned her fair complexion past goth and into bloodless vampire, they were both light blond.
The one part of twin-dom that she couldn’t seem to pull off even though she wanted to was Mom’s casual-chic. Monica Baxter was always dressed one step above the world around her; not fancy, just really well put together. The closest Jessica ever managed was Bohemian-chic which wasn’t really the same thing, but she’d learned to make it her own. Of course, Bohemian was easier on the budget and often available in consignment stores which had only reinforced her chosen style.
Big Sky Ever After: a Montana Romance Duet Page 20