Montana Dreams

by Anna J. Stewart

  “If you know of another, I don’t want to hear about it.” The very idea might give her a migraine. “What can you tell me about him?”

  “Not a lot. Only what Lily and Amanda have said. He and his grandsons have that huge ranch—”

  “That much I know,” Peyton said. She wasn’t naive. She’d done her research into Elias Blackwell as soon as Amanda had confirmed he was, indeed, their grandfather. “The Blackwell Ranch has become an important tourist destination for families and group events. And that’s on top of the success it’s been as a cattle ranch going back generations. It’s a family business, with Big E and his grandsons at the helm.”

  “Our cousins,” Fiona added. “I don’t understand what you’re asking, Peyton. If you know all this—”

  “I know about his business. I want to know about him.”

  “Why do you care? You won’t even take his calls.”

  Peyton winced. Apparently she had been a topic of conversation. “Because he’s here.”

  “You mean there? In Silicon Valley?”

  “Not only the same town, but in the same restaurant. He followed me to dinner, and I don’t know why.”

  “Well, here’s a thought.” Fiona paused. “Ask him.”

  “Fee.” Peyton shook her head. “You’re not helping.”

  “Maybe that’s because I’m not trying to. You want answers, talk to him.”

  “Don’t hang up on me!” Peyton’s voice rose, and she flinched at the surprised expression of a customer passing by to go to the restroom. “Fiona, please. You know I’m not great with all the family stuff.”

  Fiona went silent for a long moment. “It’s funny. You’ve always used that as an excuse to stay away. It never made sense before, but now it does. Why you left home so early, why you kept getting as far from the rest of us as you could. You know we took bets as to whether you’d make the time to get to Lily’s wedding.”

  Regret and guilt circled her like a shark. “I’d never miss a special occasion like that.”

  “Yeah, well, there was more to it, wasn’t there?” Fiona said. “You kept your distance because you were lying to us.”

  She was done denying it. She couldn’t run from it anymore. Not if she wanted to have a relationship with her sisters again. “I need to fix this, Fiona. With you, with all of you.”

  “Start by having a conversation with Big E. The rest will work itself out, Peyton. We love you. I love you. We’ll get there.”

  Would they? She couldn’t help but think her relationship with her sisters was never going to be the same.

  Peyton glanced up as Matteo came into view. He stood there, near the bar, watching her, a disapproving expression on his handsome face. Why did she feel like a naughty toddler who’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar?

  “I need to go,” she said reluctantly. Her stalling time had run out.

  “All right. How about...how about you call me tomorrow when you’re home from work, okay?”

  “Yeah.” Hope she hadn’t felt in weeks ballooned inside of her. “Yeah, I can do that. Good night, Fee.”

  “Night, Peyton.”

  Peyton was still holding her phone seconds after her sister clicked off.

  “You done hiding?” Matteo asked when she finally lowered her cell.

  “I’m not hiding,” Peyton snapped. “I was stalling. There’s a difference.”

  “If you say so. Look.” Matteo caught her arm when she walked past him. “I know this is none of my business.”

  More than anything, she wanted to confirm his statement. But she’d made enough enemies of late. She didn’t need to add her bodyguard to the list. His hold on her arm gentled, and she felt herself relax a bit. “I suppose I made it your business by asking you to stay for dinner.”

  He inclined his head as if in silent agreement. “Your grandfather isn’t going anywhere. In fact, he’s going out of his way to connect with you. Maybe you can cut him a little slack? Not only did he find out he has five granddaughters he didn’t know about, he’s also learned he had, maybe still has, a son. I can only imagine how many directions Big E is pulled in. He’s come this far to seek you out, Peyton. Is one dinner really going to inconvenience you that much?”

  Peyton pressed her lips into a thin line. Faced with the choice between logic and emotion, she’d go with logic every time. She liked her facts, her numbers. Evidence laid out in clear, concise detail. That’s how she made most if not all her decisions. Sentimentality and feelings didn’t do anything but muddy the picture.

  Matteo, ever the observer, no doubt knew this. She didn’t particularly like that he did, but what he said made sense. Logically, she reminded herself.

  “All right. I’ll stop...hiding.” She looked down at his hand and waited for him to release her. But when he did, she had the oddest sensation of regret. “Let’s get this over with.”

  When they approached the table again, she saw what Matteo was talking about. In an instant, Big E’s expression flashed from concerned to hopeful when he caught sight of them.

  He pushed to his feet, napkin in his hand. “I thought maybe you’d made a break for it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Peyton said as Matteo held out her chair once more. “I was talking to Fiona. She, um, she says hello.”

  “Does she, now? Well, that’s good news.” He went quiet when their food was served. “I’m glad to hear you and your sisters are mending fences. You know, when you girls all come out to Montana—”

  Peyton’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. “Who’s going to Montana?”

  Big E gave her that grin of his. That same grin she bet had earned him a significant fortune. “At some point, all of you girls will. Montana is where the Blackwells belong. We’re your family, Peyton. And I don’t just mean Lily, who’s fit perfectly into ranch life. I mean all the Blackwells, young and old. You’ll see for yourself soon.”

  Peyton opened her mouth but felt Matteo’s knee knock against hers. She glanced at him, but he didn’t look at her, just concentrated on his linguine with clam sauce, then reached for the refilled bread basket.

  Peyton drank some wine, set her glass down and took a steeling breath. “I appreciate the invitation, Big E. But you and I need to be straight with each other.”

  “All right.” Big E slowly, confidently broke off a piece of bread and looked at her, an amused expression on his face.

  “While this entire situation seems a bit fluid and...well, unexpected, there is one thing I can absolutely guarantee will never happen.” She picked up her fork and stabbed one of the many pumpkin gnocchi she planned to eat. “I will never, ever step foot in Montana.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “CONGRATULATIONS ON THE baby news, Sylvia.” Matteo tucked his cell under his chin so he could pour his second cup of coffee of the morning. He was running two minutes ahead of schedule, just enough time to give him a chance to reach out to his ex-wife.

  “Gino told you.” Sylvia’s tone was more dramatic than concerned. “I suppose I should be relieved he’s talking to someone since he won’t say a word to me or Jiro. The only time he says anything is when he’s having a tantrum. It’s embarrassing.”

  “He’s just a little boy, Syl.” A little boy who was growing more miserable by the day. “You can’t expect him to process his emotions and feelings the way either of us would.” Still, the idea that Gino had stopped communicating with his stepfather, someone Matteo knew to have genuine affection for his son, was worrying. Another tidbit of information to add to his custody arsenal. “He thinks he’s being replaced.” Which was what Matteo feared himself. His lawyer had warned him not to let his emotions dictate his actions when it came to Sylvia. The more cordial he could keep his relationship with his ex, the better he’d look in court when he was finally able to sue for full custody.

  “I need you to talk to him again,�
� Sylvia said. “Please, Matteo. This situation is starting to get very stressful and that’s not what I need right now. I’ve got a merger with two billion-dollar corporations to deal with, and Jiro’s promotion is pending.”

  “Plus, you’re pregnant,” Matteo couldn’t help but remind her. “All that added stress can’t be good for the baby.”

  “Right. Of course, yes.”

  Matteo rolled his eyes. Sometimes history was doomed to repeat itself. “What exactly is it you’d like me to say to our son?”

  “That everything is going to work out fine. That his new school will be fabulous and—”

  “What new school?” Matteo set his coffee mug down with deliberate care.

  “Oh. I thought I’d told you. Jiro and I decided a boarding school would be better suited—”

  “Boarding school? Over my dead body.” Matteo couldn’t have kept the chill out of his voice if he’d tried. Suddenly his son’s temper tantrums made sense. The poor kid was scared to death. “No way are you going to ship him off from the only family he knows when I’m right here.”

  “It’s a good school, Matteo. They can help him with his...difficulties.”

  “I think we both know who’s helped by shipping him off.”

  “It’s the best school money can—”

  “I don’t care about money, Sylvia. I’m his father. I should have a say in his education, not to mention his living arrangements.”

  “Well, you’re not here, are you, Matteo?” That clip in her tone reminded him of the day she’d casually told him she was filing for divorce and taking their then-four-year-old son to the other side of the world because of her job.

  “Yeah, well, our career paths haven’t exactly gone in the same direction.” Not to mention Tokyo was an obscenely expensive city to live in. There wasn’t any way he could ever afford to move there. Not that Sylvia would have even thought about that. His ex was many things—successful, driven and wealthy—but she often didn’t see anything outside her own bubble. “This wasn’t part of our arrangement, Sylvia.”

  “It’s part of it now. If you aren’t going to talk to him—”

  “I will never not talk to my son,” Matteo said with strained patience. “But I also won’t convince him to accept something I know will hurt him in the long run. There will be no boarding school, Sylvia. You want to make alternate arrangements to suit your life, fine. Then, you send him home to me. I mean it,” he added when she sputtered. “Don’t make me take you back to court over this, because I will.”

  Even as Matteo said it, he could see his bank account draining. But it would be worth every penny he had in the world if it meant he had his son back. “Let me know when you decide.” Because he couldn’t trust himself to keep things civil, he hung up.

  And called his lawyer.

  * * *

  PEYTON RUBBED AT the pain in her stomach, willing her office phone to stop ringing for just five minutes. Usually she thrived on the negotiations phase of an acquisition, but she had to admit, ever since she’d had pumpkin gnocchi with her grandfather two nights ago, her head was not in the game.

  When had her office—an office she’d meticulously designed and decorated for maximum productivity—begun to feel like a prison? How could it, with all the glass and brass and bright whites and yellows playing along the windows and walls? It was as if every move she made was being monitored, judged. And not by whoever Matteo had been hired to watch out for. Every time she stepped foot into the bullpen of assistants and employees, she felt like a bug being fried under a magnifying glass. She didn’t like it.

  She didn’t like it one bit.

  The number of calls to return was stacking up, her email inbox was overflowing and she was so a zero-inbox kind of person, the three coffees she’d had this morning were sitting sourly in her belly, and her assistant was apparently having a relationship crisis that, if his declarations of this morning could be believed, could trigger the apocalypse.

  “If it did, at least I wouldn’t have to finish any of this paperwork.” Peyton yanked open her desk drawer and dug around for her antacids. All that was missing from today was...

  The knock on her office door had her groaning. Would anyone notice if she banged her head on her desk for the next few hours?

  “I know you didn’t want to be disturbed.” Todd Atkinson poked his head in the door. “But you might want to come see this.”

  “See what? Why didn’t you just buzz me—” She straightened, looked down at her phone and realized she’d left it off the hook. “Never mind,” she muttered and ignored her assistant’s arched brow as she hung the phone back up.

  “A good assistant knows when not to pry,” Todd said. “And we both know I am the best.”

  “You are that,” Peyton agreed and exited her office. Hiring Todd had been one of the best moves she’d ever made in her professional life. She’d met him when she’d spoken at a local high-school career day where he’d shown her plans he’d made up for a water treatment system for inner cities and isolated communities. She’d been impressed—with him and the plans—and told him to look her up when he was done with school. He did. The day after graduation, and she’d hired him that afternoon. Three years later, he was carrying a full course load at a local college, working toward his engineering degree and keeping her completely on track. And that treatment system? It was in development with one of their partners and scheduled to be deployed in the next eighteen months. And Todd had the first professional credit to his name.

  As the epitome of calm efficiency and organization—second only to herself—it seemed odd that Todd hadn’t brought the flower arrangement he gestured to in to her.

  Not quite as odd as the flower arrangement itself, however.

  “They were left downstairs at main reception,” Todd told her.

  That now-familiar pang of unease clanged in her already-churning stomach. The flowers themselves were a mishmash of wilted and decaying flora that looked as if someone had ripped them out of a yard. They’d been arranged in an ordinary flowerpot, with a spray of beautiful purple bell-shaped blooms in the middle. “Not exactly breathtaking, are they? Where’s the—”

  “Step away from the flowers, Peyton.”

  Peyton barely had time to think as Matteo reached for her arm, pulling her away from her assistant’s desk.

  “What’s going on?” She stumbled, caught her balance and saw the card in Matteo’s hand. “Is that for me?”

  “It was, yes.”

  “Let me see.”

  Todd all but leaped at her, but backed off at Matteo’s look. “Oh, you don’t need to read—”

  “Your instincts were right, Todd,” Matteo said.

  “Instincts? About what?” Frustration built inside of her. She really didn’t have the tolerance for this today. “Someone better tell me what’s going on—”

  “Something’s going on?” The booming, all-too-familiar voice had Peyton clenching her fists. Was the universe conspiring against her?

  “Big E, what are you doing here? Who let you up?” She glared at Todd, who shook his head and held up his hands as if surrendering.

  “Wasn’t me. I just handed off the card to Matteo.”

  “Peyton, you and I need to have a discussion. If you won’t come to me,” Big E announced, “then you leave me no other choice.”

  “You should talk to your grandfather,” Matteo urged.

  “You must be Elias Blackwell.” Todd shifted, seemingly grateful for the distraction, and held out his hand. “I’m Todd.”

  “The Todd who’s been blocking my calls the last couple of days?”

  “Uh...” Todd looked over his shoulder at Peyton.

  “Okay, everyone stop!” Peyton ordered sharply, then winced when she caught sight of Vilette Wright, president of Electryone Technologies, heading her way. This was not happening. No
t now. Her boss rarely came into the office these days. The last time had been when Peyton had been introduced to her protection detail.

  “Vilette.” Peyton stepped toward her boss. “What are you doing here?” Short and on the stout side, Vilette wore her silver hair razor-cut at her solid jawline, an almost elegant contrast to the jeans, vintage rock T-shirt and well-worn comfort shoes that spoke more of punch lines than elite status.

  Vilette had built Electryone from the ground up and focused most of her energy and profit margin on widening the female workforce within the tech industry. Every board member and more than sixty percent of the company employees were women. Exactly the way Vilette—and Peyton—liked and wanted it.

  “I was told we have a situation.” Vilette’s voice was firm and left no room for discussion. “Matteo?”

  “Todd was right,” Matteo told her. “The writing matches, Ms. Wright. The flowers are from the same person who’s been threatening Peyton.”

  “What writing? Let me see—” But Peyton noticed Matteo had put the card in a sealed plastic bag. She froze.

  “What does it say?”

  Matteo glanced at Big E, who’d moved in behind Vilette. “It says I know what you did.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Peyton locked her jaw, her mind racing for an explanation. “And that’s not a threat.”

  “The flowers are,” Matteo said in that cool tone she’d heard in the car the other night. “That’s foxglove in the center. It’s toxic to humans.”

  “You’re being ridiculous,” Peyton snapped. “It’s just someone’s idea of a joke.”

  “I’m not laughing,” Vilette said. “One of my VPs is getting threats. It seems you were right, Matteo. She’s too visible.”

  Peyton glared at Matteo. “I beg your pardon?” She was too what?

  “Excuse me.” Big E shifted to face the group, removed his hat and turned his attention toward Peyton’s boss. “I’m Elias Blackwell, Peyton’s grandfather.”

  “Pleasure to meet you—” Vilette held out her hand.