Holding a Hero

by Layne, Lyssa

  Johnny leaned back in his seat and took a drink of beer. “I prefer normal home-cooked meals. I’m not a big fan of exotic food.”

  “Can’t say that about the chicks you date,” Tom said. “Man, that babe you took to the VMAs.” He shook his head. “And your wife. Wow. Real hot. You sure can pick ’em.”

  “Ex-wife,” Johnny muttered.

  Montana stared into her bowl, appetite gone. Who was she kidding to believe Johnny Cortez would ever be interested in a small-town girl like her when he could date any woman in the world? She and Tom had been high school sweethearts and he’d made it abundantly clear he preferred sexier and faster girls the minute they hit the college campus.

  “I’m sure you date some nice-looking women yourself.” Johnny sounded bored.

  Tom shrugged. “I do all right.”

  Johnny eyed him with a cool expression. “Seems to me you had the best and let her slip through your fingers.”

  His gaze darting between Johnny and Montana, Tom grinned. “I see Montana told you we were once more than friends.”

  “She did,” Johnny confirmed. “I’m just wondering why you’d let a gem like her get away. You must be a real dumb fuck.”

  Tom’s enormous hands fisted. “What did you just say?”

  “You heard me.”

  Charlie made a strangled sound and Evan slid his chair back from the table.

  Montana wanted to climb under that table. She felt like a cow elk a couple bulls were fighting over. She turned her head back and forth, glaring at them. Had Johnny just said that? Did he have a desire to get his ass beat? Tom had to outweigh him by fifty pounds and was solid as a tree. Johnny showed no fear, his husky voice low and dangerous.

  She couldn’t let him be hurt for her sake. “Guys, please—”

  They ignored her, still facing off.

  “Dessert?” Evan piped up, his voice high and squeaky. “I have cherry pie.”

  Johnny stared at Tom until he broke eye contact. “Sounds good.”

  “Great,” Johnny said. “Got ice cream?”

  Charlie chuckled nervously. “Not tonight, but my pie’s good enough you won’t notice.”

  Montana pushed away from the table. “Excuse me. I need some air.”

  The men stood when she did. Nodding her thanks, she grabbed her coat, hat and gloves from the nail by the door. Escaping into the night, she raced toward the hitch rail, out of sight of the cabin. Leaning against it, she fought for air.

  What the hell had just happened in there?

  Tom was a jerk. That was a given. But Johnny? Why had he been willing to fight for her? She wasn’t anything to him. Just his guide. Not a girlfriend or wife. But he’d stood up for her like she mattered to him.

  He’d called her a gem.

  Her heart fluttered, spreading warmth through her body.

  The front door slammed. Johnny stood on the top step. She’d recognize him anywhere. He walked in her direction, his steps quick.

  Reaching her side, he said, “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “That guy’s an asshole.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “I know.”

  “That’s the guy who couldn’t keep his dick down?”

  She almost laughed. Funny statement coming from him. “Yeah.”

  “You were actually going to marry that bonehead?”

  Montana turned to look at him. “Yeah, we were engaged.”

  “What did you see in someone like him?”

  Digging the toe of her boot into the snow, she shrugged. “I was young. I thought he was the one.” Taking a deep breath, she countered, “Did you think your marriage was the right thing at the time?”

  For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. That she’d gone too far. But he surprised her.

  “I did.”

  “But she wasn’t the right one, was she?” Montana held her breath. Would he open up and share, or would he cut her off and leave her wondering?

  A full moon had risen over the mountains, making the snow glitter like diamonds strung across a velvet dress. He studied it as if he’d never seen such beauty before. “God, it’s pretty here.”

  “Yeah.” She didn’t want to discuss the moon or the trees or anything but him right now.

  “Getting married seemed like a good idea.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Turned out I was dead wrong.”

  “At least I didn’t marry Tom before I found out what he was—is.”

  “What tipped you off not to walk down the aisle?”

  She could feel his gaze on the side of her face. She opened her mouth to say things, then rethought her answer. If she wanted him to open up to her about his wife, she probably ought to share a little about Tom.

  “I told you. He cheated.” A ragged breath ripped out of her. “All the time. With football fans. Cheerleaders.” She snorted. “Anyone in a skirt. The last time, I found him in the shower with two girls.” Her stomach knotted as she remembered the disgusting visual.

  “I get how shitty it feels to catch your partner in bed with someone else,” he said.

  This time she turned to look at him. In the moonlight, she saw hurt and anger in his eyes. “It sucks.”

  “Big time.”

  “At least Tom didn’t sleep with my friends.” She frowned. “Not that he didn’t try.”

  “You have better friends than I do.”

  “The best,” she agreed. Tentatively, she touched his sleeve. “I’m sorry about what your wife did to you.”

  He covered her hand with his and held it. “She actually did me a favor.”

  Streaks of heat ran up and down Montana’s arm, starting at her fingers curled around his. “How so?”

  “Because I’m free to do this.”

  Pivoting on his left foot, he pinned her against the hitch post. Releasing her hand, he captured her face with both hands then dipped his head and assaulted her mouth with his. No sweet kiss, this was a full-on attack. Lips and tongue ravaged her mouth.

  He tasted like chili and beer and desire so hot it almost burned.

  She grabbed his coat sleeves and held onto them like a lifeline. If she weren’t careful, she’d fall off a cliff into the valley below.

  One hand left her face and tangled in her hair, tipping her head back. Taking his mouth from hers, he tasted her neck. His unshaven cheeks burned across the tender skin. She knew he’d leave marks, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t have stopped him if she wanted to.

  With his knees, he nudged her legs apart and slipped his narrow hips between them. His erection pushed against her belly with insistent pressure that promised undeniable pleasure.

  Johnny worked his right hand under her coat, flannel shirt and thermals. The warmth of his palm on her stomach seared her skin. Against her neck, he muttered, “Damn, girl. How many clothes do you have on anyway?”

  A nervous giggle escaped. “A lot.”

  “Too damn many.”

  Releasing his sleeves, she pushed him back just enough to reach between them. With trembling hands, she unsnapped her coat, then her shirt.

  With a wicked glint in his eyes, Johnny pushed her pink thermal shirt up over her breasts. He unsnapped the front clasp of her plain white bra and pushed the cups aside. Exposed to the frigid air, her nipples beaded.

  “Perfect.” Johnny slid his hands up from her waistband, across her ribs and settled his hands over her breasts. Molding them, he bent his head and took one nipple in his mouth. Hot, wet. The sensation of his mouth tugging on her nipple sent a shockwave through her lower belly.

  Wrapping her fingers in his hair, she held on as if her life depended on it.

  His mouth moved from one side to the other, tormenting until she thought she’d pass out. When his mouth released a nipple, his hand took its place, his fingers keeping it at full attention.

  When she thought she might die from the exquisite torture, he lifted his head with her fingers still twisted in his hair. Moving close, he whispered in her ear
, his breath warm. “Sweet as these are, I want to taste your pussy.”

  Wet heat flooded her panties.

  Dear God.

  Montana’s knees went weak and she swayed.

  “Yes,” she managed in a hoarse voice she didn’t recognize.

  Someone opened the front door of the cabin and the light from inside sliced across the stairs.

  “Fuck,” Johnny muttered, his forehead against hers.

  As if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over her, Montana froze. That’s exactly what they had been about to do.

  Fuck.

  Not make love, or anything close to it. They were going to screw, nothing more.

  She was as bad as any groupie he’d picked up at a concert.

  A wave of hot shame slammed over her and she shoved him away. Trembling fingers fumbled with her buttons.

  “Montana?”

  “I can’t do this.” She stumbled away without looking back. “Leave me alone.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Damn it!

  Johnny slammed his palms on the hitch rail. For a moment he’d let his dick rule his brain. Montana wasn’t like most of the women he knew. She wasn’t into hookups. He’d forgotten what a lady was; worse, he’d forgotten how to treat one.

  He’d already decided to leave her alone, but every time he got near her, he couldn’t think with anything but his cock. No matter how much he told himself he shouldn’t, he wanted a taste.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  Waiting a few minutes until he cooled off, he followed Montana back into the cabin.

  She was nowhere in sight. The bunk beds along the wall had red blankets hanging from the ceiling, concealing them from the main room. The one furthest from the table and stove was closed. Presumably she’d gone to bed. Probably for the best. He wouldn’t have to see the regret and accusation in her eyes.

  The three men sat at the table drinking beer and shooting the breeze about football.

  Evan motioned for Johnny to join them. “Grab a cold one and sit with us.”

  Although he’d rather not, but because he was too wound up to sleep, Johnny grabbed a longneck from the cooler near the door and sat across from Tom.

  When he met the football player’s eyes, they were cold and mean.

  He’d made an enemy.

  He didn’t give a fuck. He half-wished the guy would make a move. Johnny would love to put his fist in the smug asshole’s face.

  What had Montana ever seen in a jerk like him?

  Probably the same thing he’d thought he found in Teal. A brief, shining flash of something longed for.

  “How’s your hunt going?” Evan asked.

  “Great. My buddy bagged a trophy bull yesterday.” Johnny sipped the brew. “And I’ve seen plenty.”

  Tom eyed him with a scornful expression. “Couldn’t hit one, huh?”

  Johnny took a swing of his beer, then sat back and grinned. “That was some catch you made last year in the playoffs against Seattle.”

  Tom’s face turned red at the insult. Not once, but twice, he’d dropped crucial passes, ultimately losing the vital game. “Haven’t seen you on the charts in a while. How’s the music biz these days?”

  “We’re about to drop a new CD in a few months.” Johnny knew Tom didn’t care when his album came out, but this wasn’t his house, so he chose civility over the ass kicking the guy was begging for.

  “I’ll be sure and watch for it,” Tom said. “In the few minutes before it’s gone.”

  Johnny laughed and tipped his beer. “You do that. Meanwhile, I’ll bet on the other team in the playoffs…if you make them.”

  Evan coughed. “Guys—”

  “You said something about pie?” Johnny asked.

  Charlie jumped to his feet. “I did. It’s cherry.”

  “I like cherries,” Tom said. “Including the one Montana gave m—”

  “Shut up.” Johnny dropped his voice into his lowest register. “Now.”

  Tom feigned innocence. “What, rock star? Did I hit a nerve?”

  Johnny placed his beer on the table with deliberate slowness. “The only one who’s going to be hit is you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Tom pushed up from the table.

  Evan held up his hands. “Gentlemen, please. Let’s have a slice of pie.”

  With a jerk of his head, Johnny agreed, although he ached to put his fist in the football player’s big mouth. “Sure. Let’s eat pie.”

  Charlie served them a quarter slice each. He lifted his fork, then set it back on the table. Where’s Montana?”

  Fork halfway to his mouth, Johnny froze. “She’s not here?”

  “No.” Evan’s fork clattered to the table. “She left with you.”

  Shooting a disbelieving look at the curtained-off bed, Johnny said, “She’s not sleeping?”

  Sudden worry creased Evan’s forehead. “No. She didn’t come back.”

  “Shit.” Pie forgotten, Johnny stood and pulled on his hat and coat. Where was Montana? She’d been gone for about half an hour. What was she doing out in the cold? “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take this.” Charlie handed him a flashlight. “Let us know if you need help.”

  “She’s probably in the outhouse.” Tom sounded bored.

  “I hope you’re right,” Johnny said, but something felt wrong. Montana wasn’t the pout-until-I-get-my-way type. That had been Teal’s M.O. His heart pounded a wild staccato. Had something happened to her? If it had, he would never forgive himself.

  Outside, he swung the flashlight in a wide arc, but saw nothing unusual. The Marshes’ horses stood in the rope corral, seemingly content. Further, he spotted Gunsmoke, the palomino Montana rode and the mule all grazing peacefully.

  Where could she have gone?

  “Montana?”

  Nothing.

  The outhouse sat in the trees several hundred yards away from the cabin. Johnny remembered the way from his trip there earlier. Snow lay in ragged patches on the ground, but the path was clear from all the boots tromping across it. The full moon made his flashlight almost unnecessary, but he continued to swing it back and forth as he walked.

  At first he thought the dark object lying in the snow was a log. But when the realization it was human kicked in, he raced forward, heart in his mouth.

  “Montana!” Dropping to his knees, he found her face-down in the snow, hands splayed out from her sides. “Answer me, dammit!”

  Frantically, he felt her wrist for a pulse.

  There!

  Slow, steady.

  He gently rolled her over. Fear filled him. Pale as ice, blue lips, but the bloody gash over her left eye terrified him the most.

  “Oh, baby, who did this to you?”

  Gathering her limp, cold body in his arms, he ran for the cabin. He kicked the door until Evan opened it.

  The man’s eyes widened. “What on earth?”

  “She’s badly hurt.” Johnny pushed past him. “Where can I put her?”

  Evan raced to one of the bunks. “Here. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. She’s unconscious.” He placed her on the bed as gently as if she were one of his irreplaceable guitars. “Her head is bleeding. I need some warm water and a rag.”

  Evan sprang into action, pouring hot water from a pot on the stove into a small metal tub and handing it to Johnny. Then he dug in a duffle bag and retrieved a pristine white T-shirt. “Use this. I haven’t worn it.”

  “Thanks.”

  After dipping the edge of the T-shirt in the hot water, Johnny rang it out and gently wiped the blood from Montana’s forehead. He was relieved to see the cut wasn’t as bad as it had first appeared. But, like all head wounds, it had bled profusely.

  She moaned and stirred. “Johnny?”

  “I’m here, baby.”

  “What happened?” she moaned. “My head hurts.”

  “You must have tripped.” Johnny dipped the shirt in the water again and dabbed at the dried, frozen blo
od on her face. “You were knocked out.”

  A frown flitted across her face. “I don’t remember.”

  “That ain’t good. You might have a concussion.” Tom offered his two cents from behind Johnny’s left shoulder. Unfortunately, he was probably right.

  “Can you sit up?” Johnny asked. “Your coat is wet. I don’t want you to get chilled.”

  She nodded and grimaced. “Ouch.”

  “Take it easy. I’ll help.” Johnny eased his arm around her and helped her to stand. She leaned heavily on him as he removed her coat and flannel shirt. So different than when she’d been in his arms an hour ago. Guilt gripped him. If he hadn’t pushed her for sex, she wouldn’t be hurt.

  “Turn around,” he ordered the other men. “I want to take off her shirt and jeans.”

  Tom snorted, but he and the others did as asked.

  When Johnny had her stripped to her thermal underwear, he said, “Evan, can you roll out her sleeping bag? It’s by the door.”

  Evan spread the sleeping bag on the bunk. He fluffed her pillow as well as any good nurse. “There you go.”

  Johnny placed her on the bed and zipped her inside the sleeping bag. “How do you feel?”

  “Awful. I just want to sleep.”

  “No sleeping. You might have a concussion and you need to stay awake for at least an hour,” Johnny said.

  Evan handed him a first aid kit. “There are bandages in here for her head.”

  “Thanks.” He selected three butterfly bandages and carefully covered her wound with them. “There you go.”

  She gingerly felt his handiwork. “How awful is it? Hurts like hell.”

  “Not bad. Looks worse than it is,” Johnny reassured her. “No stitches needed.”

  “Thank you, Johnny.”

  The churning in his gut intensified. Her beautiful face injured because of his selfishness, but she was thanking him. When she remembered why she was hurt, she’d hate him. He forced a smile. “No worries.”

  Tom pushed his way to her side. “Do you have double vision? Sick to your stomach?”

  “No.” She frowned. “Just a throbbing headache.”

  “Memory loss?” he prodded.

  “I don’t remember why I fell…”

  Johnny flinched. Running away from him had caused this.