“I’m home! Lou? Mason? Is anybody here?”
Except maybe the sound of Mick Dante announcing his arrival. She tried to scramble out of bed, but Mason caught her wrist and pulled her back down against him.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said.
“But Mick—”
“Will understand why I can’t keep my hands off of the woman I love,” Mason finished for her. “Hey, his wife just had a baby, remember? I think that says a lot.”
“But—”
“Ssh,” Mason whispered. “If we don’t make any noise, he won’t even know we’re here.”
“Mason…”
“Ssh…” he repeated. Then he added quietly, “Tell me you love me.”
“But you just told me not to make any noise,” she whispered back.
“Then show me.”
She smiled. She was going to have to talk to Mason about all the ordering around of her he did. Just as soon as she obeyed this last one…
Epilogue
The Fourth of July fell on a beautiful day, breezy, sunny, and hot, perfect for a picnic at the beach. Emily and Lou sat beneath an umbrella on a yellow-and-green- striped blanket at the water’s edge, keeping an eye on the collapsible covered playpen behind them, where ten-week-old Astrid slept oblivious to the raucous cries of her uncle and father playing volleyball nearby. What a great summer it had been so far. And it was only going to get better.
“So, you’ve got everything pretty well taken care of for the wedding?” Emily asked.
“Just about,” Lou replied. “The caterer’s still balking at the low total on the guest list, but I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”
“Oh, that’s silly,” Emily said with a wave of her hand. “Small gatherings of friends and family make for the best weddings. You remember how mine and Michael’s was.”
Lou remembered very well. There had only been a dozen people present, and it had made for a very special day. It was one of the reasons she and Mason had opted to go for a small wedding, too. But it would all be over in three weeks, she thought. Or, more correctly, it would all be beginning. She smiled. She liked the sound of that. Over the past ten weeks, she and Mason had seen each other night and day. Together, they had convinced Paula Kelly to make them a team, and now they worked elbow to elbow at the paper. They’d also begun the exhaustive search for a home together in the Virginia suburbs. And those were just the beginning of the plans they’d made together. She looked at the ring finger of her left hand where a pale blue stone winked happily at her in the sunlight and smiled. Yep, they had lots of plans indeed.
“And just what is that smug little grin supposed to be about?”
Lou glanced up at the sound of Mason’s voice and scooted over to make room for him on the blanket. In his dark blue swim trunks and bare, bronzed chest, he was easily the best-looking guy on the beach. And judging by the looks she’d seen him getting from other women all afternoon, she obviously wasn’t the only one in Cannonfire who felt that way. But Mason’s effect on other women didn’t faze her. Mason loved her and no one else. And it would be that way forever.
“I was just thinking about the future,” she told him.
Mason smiled. “A very nice thing to think about.”
“Did I tell you I got a postcard from Albert last week?” she asked.
“No, you didn’t. That guy isn’t still carrying a torch for you, is he? Because if he is, I’m going to have to go back down to Sonora and—”
“He never carried a torch for me,” she interrupted. “And he’s back with his ex-wife. But speaking of Sonora, are you ready to admit now that you were completely wrong about Marco Papitou and everything he stood for?”
“Okay,” Mason conceded. “Maybe I was a little off base on that one. Your intuition and instinct might be just a tad more developed than my own.”
Lou, Emily and Mick all stared at Mason’s admission in disbelief. “What?” he asked. “What did I say?”
“Ego Man has spoken,” Emily intoned with mock gravity. “And he has admitted to being outdone by his sidekick, News Woman.”
Mason made a face at his sister. “What do you mean, ‘Ego Man’? I don’t have that big an ego.”
“Oh, you do so have a big ego,” Emily told him.
“I do not.”
“You do, too.”
“Do not.”
“Do, too.”
“Emily—”
“Mason—”
“Both of you!” Lou interjected with a laugh. “Stop that. You’re behaving like children. Jeez, you’d never catch me indulging in such adolescent behavior.”
Mason threw Lou a dubious look and smiled. “No way, not you. You are a grown woman, after all. In fact,” he added with a leer, “I think you’re going to have to refresh my memory about everything that’s involved in this grown-woman business, don’t you?”
“Now?” she asked in a low voice, since Emily and Mick were shamelessly eavesdropping.
“Hey, Lou,” Emily interjected. “Michael’s about ready to fire up the grill, and I just realized—silly me—that I left all the hamburgers and hot dogs in the refrigerator at the house. You wouldn’t mind running across the street to get them, would you? I’d go myself, of course, but I need to feed Astrid.”
“You might want to take Mason with you,” Mick added. “There’s a cooler full of sodas and beer, too. It might take you a while to find it, though, because I can’t remember where I put it. You guys just take your time. It’s going to be a while before we get the charcoal going anyway.”
Before Lou could protest, Mason hauled her to her feet and tugged her along behind him as he walked toward the house across the street.
“You know, I think your sister and her husband are plotting something,” Lou said.
“Oh, you know them,” Mason replied. “They just want to be alone, little lovebirds that they are.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“And speaking of lovebirds,” he added, “wasn’t there something you were going to tell me?”
“Gee, I can’t think of anything,” she said, feigning puzzlement. “Like what?”
“Like how much you love me?”
“Oh, that. Well, since we were headed back toward the house, anyway, I kind of thought I’d just show you.”
Mason quickened his steps as he said, “Tell me anyway.”
Lou pulled on his arm enough to stop his race to the house and pulled him back into the circle of her embrace. “I love you, Mason Thorne,” she said with every ounce of conviction she could muster.
He smiled back at her with eyes as blue and honest as the ocean. “I love you, too, Lou.”
She gave him a gentle squeeze before releasing him, then, hand in hand and side by side, they headed for the house again. “You know,” she said as they climbed the porch steps, “I think I’m going to like working with you, Mason.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Especially on those assignments where we have to work up close.”
“The closer the better,” she told him.
His scooped her into his arms and proceeded to climb the stairs. “Gee, I hope Mick didn’t hide that cooler too well,” he said. “We could be in here all afternoon.”
“Forget about the cooler,” Lou said. “For some reason, I seem to be getting much warmer…”
THE END
About Elizabeth Bevarly
Elizabeth Bevarly is the New York Times best-selling, award-winning author of more than seventy novels and novellas whose books have been translated into two dozen languages and published in three dozen countries. An honors graduate of the University of Louisville, she has called home places as diverse as San Juan, Puerto Rico, and Haddonfield, New Jersey, but now writes full-time in her native Kentucky. Visit her at www.elizabethbevarly.com or find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/elizabethbevarly.
PARKER: THE MONTANA McKENNAS
The Montana Rancher Series, Book Four
Maddie James
People die, people change, and sometimes both happen and people fall in love.
When Parker McKenna’s father dies, he expects life on the ranch to change—whether he wants it to or not. Parker is unsure how much his stepmother Liz has influenced his father’s final wishes. Although Liz has been a part of his life for years, he knows her goals for the ranch are different from his. All Parker wants to do is continue his way of life—running the working cattle ranch until the day he dies, just like his father.
What Parker doesn’t expect is for Reba Morris to walk into his life the day of the funeral.
Having recently relocated to Montana, and living in a small cabin near the McKenna Ranch, Reba decides to do the neighborly thing and help at Parker’s house when everyone gathers after the funeral. With her late husband’s passing several months ago on her mind, she knows how difficult it can be handling the small things, so she steps up to the plate. What Reba doesn’t expect is for Parker McKenna to knock her socks off with his drop-dead, cowboy goodness. After all, she is a recent widow and shouldn’t be thinking about things like how good he looks in his Wranglers. Right?
Prologue
Friday, June 5
Watching them put his father in the ground was the hardest thing James Parker McKenna had ever done. Against the advice of everyone who mattered to him, he stayed until the last shovel of dirt was in place and his father was nothing but a heavy hole in his heart.
No. He was a lot more than that. He was the leader of their family, and Parker would be damned if he’d let anyone forget that.
Now what? What happens now?
Parker stood fast against a brisk summer breeze coming down from the north. Looked like a storm on the horizon. “You keep living,” his dad would have said. “You get up every day, put your boots on, and you go to work.”
Work is better therapy than any goddamned shrink, James McKenna always said.
“And that is what I’m going to do. Work.”
He turned, wincing at the ache in his gut. His father was gone, and that meant he had to pick up the reins. He was the oldest. The senior member of the family now at thirty-five. And he’d keep running McKenna Ranch just like his father had run it for the past forty-five years.
It was his legacy. His duty and honor.
Thank God he had Callie and Murphy at his side.
He stopped dead in his tracks as he reached the side of his truck. There was only one thing wrong with that line of thinking, and he knew it.
Knew it better than he knew the back of his hand.
Liz.
Chapter One
Late Friday afternoon, after the funeral
As he rounded the last curve toward home, Parker observed the string of traffic lining his parking area and circling around the barn. Turning onto the dirt road leading up to the house, he attempted to settle the quiver of anticipation in his gut. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with people right now, even though they came to pay their respects to his father. Most everyone in the surrounding area, plus those they knew real well from Livingston, would be waiting for him to make an appearance.
Why had he insisted this gathering be at his house and not Liz’s? Well, he’d had his reasons, and he didn’t want to think of those at this moment.
Parker was not one for crowds, especially crowds in his living room and kitchen.
He was a private man. Pretty much a loner. He didn’t like to be on display, and he never wanted to be the center of attention. That’s why ranch life suited him to a T. He could go about his business on a daily basis without seeing a soul, or only those people who really mattered. That’s why working on the dude ranch or in a hotel or in any other damn service industry would be torture for him. Not an option. Couldn’t Liz see that?
He pushed all of that aside. Not going there. Not now.
Glancing into his rearview mirror, he watched the dust trail billow up behind him. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes… This day was just too surreal.
He made his way toward the barn and pulled around behind it. He had half a notion to steal away on his horse and take an hour or two up on the mountain. Alone.
He was restless. Needed time. To think. Reflect. He wouldn’t though. The community was here. And he’d do his part.
Mercer and Callie had everything under control inside. They were in charge of the food brought in from, what seemed like, every corner of the state of Montana. The only thing to do now, except eat, was sit around and talk pleasant to the guests.
Of course, they were all coming to support the family, pay their respects. He understood that. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be ready for them to leave as soon as possible.
There was a small group on the back porch, and he nodded with minimal eye contact as he threaded his way through. Once inside the kitchen, he realized, quite unexpectedly, it was empty. He breathed a deep sigh of relief. Spotting the half-full carafe still sitting in the coffee maker, he strolled across the room, poured himself a large mug, stuck it in the microwave and nuked it for two minutes.
He waited, watching the cup turn round and round on the carousel. It was a mindless act and a welcome one. He didn’t want to think right now. Finally, the machine binged, and he retrieved his cup.
He turned to find an attractive woman standing behind the butcher-block island, tearing a head of lettuce into pieces and tossing them into a bowl. She stared back at him with the largest green eyes he’d ever seen. Was she there when he came in?
“They never bring salad,” she said.
Parker leaned into the counter and lifted the cup to his lips. Hot. “Who never brings salad?”
“People. When someone dies and people bring food, they never think about bringing salad.” He watched her reach into a grocery bag and pull out two ripe tomatoes. She rinsed them in the island sink to her left and then started chopping them up there on the counter. “I mean, they bring lasagna and meatloaf and hash brown casseroles and ham and baked beans and deserts—but they never think to bring salad.”
“Oh,” Parker said.
“That’s why I always bring salad. People need vegetables at a time like this. People don’t really think about what they are eating. Or if they are eating at all.”
“I see.” Parker was sure he had not eaten today. Not important. He brought the cup to his lips and tried the coffee again, slightly annoyed at having to make conversation, but also semi-amused at the diversion she offered. “And you are?”
“Oh! I am sorry. I should have introduced myself. You were busy with the coffee when I came in. I was in the pantry.” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel, tossed a long, auburn ponytail over her shoulder, rounded the island, and thrust out her hand. “I’m Reba Morris. Reba is short for Rebekah. I bought the Crandall place over the hill. Been there about a six weeks. It’s small but it’s home. I never met James McKenna, but I’ve heard so much about him and the family, so I thought I would pay my respects, being a new neighbor, and all.”
The Crandall cabin. He’d wondered who bought it. If he’d had the money, he would have snatched up those one hundred twenty acres for himself. But times were a tough for most everyone around here, that’s why the Crandall’s were selling off their smaller parcels of land.
He took her hand. Soft. But her handshake was firm. “I’m Parker McKenna.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. McKenna. I didn’t mean to rattle on like that. Sometimes words just fall uncontrollably from my mouth. I’m sure this is a horrible day for you, and I am so sorry for your loss….”
“Parker. Call me Parker.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He dropped his gaze slightly. “Thank you, ma’am, for your kind words. And thank you for the salad. I’m sure we are all going to appreciate it.”
“Ma’am?”
Hell, he offended her. “I didn’t mean…”
“Just call me Reba,” she said.
He almost chuckled. “Sure. Thank you, Reba, for…” he gla
nced about, “for the vegetables.”
She smiled. “I should probably get back to it. There are a lot of hungry people in there.” She cocked her head toward the living room. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I hope you don’t mind if I just stand here and drink my coffee.” And watch you.
Shit. Where did that come from? And where did you come from? She was pleasant to watch. Probably his age, perhaps a little older. Thin and tall, with pretty red hair pulled back and really black eyelashes surrounding those green eyes. Why he noticed the lashes, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the way she blinked when talking in run-on sentences.
She went back to her vegetables. “Long day?”
“You could say that. Even longer week.”
“I understand. When my…” She started chopping and assembling.
Parker wondered what she was going to say but let the unfinished sentence hang between them.
She lifted her gaze, gathered the salad bowl in her hands, and said to him, “Will you please bring the dressing?” She nodded toward a couple of bottles on the island.
Parker set his coffee cup on the butcher block and said, “Of course. Lead the way.”
****
A few hours later, Reba Morris put the last foil-wrapped casserole dish in the freezer and had Tupperwared the remaining leftovers in the refrigerator. As she wiped down the counter, she glanced at the kitchen clock. Later than I thought. It would be dark soon and high time she headed over the hill toward home.
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