The Climax Montana Complete Collection

by Reece Butler

  “Is the new company siding with the guerillas or the government?” asked Eric. “Tell me it’s the guerillas. At least they stay bought most of the time.”

  “Nope. These bastards will bend over for whoever pays highest.”

  “Shit.” Eric sagged back. “So, everything we’ve spent years working on is gone?”

  “Pretty much. But I do have good news.”

  Eric cleared his mind. He would deal with the repercussions later. That was how he managed his life, keeping it compartmentalized. Peru, and Montana. Separate and distinct.

  “JR Ewing is really dead this time?” he joked. He hated the TV show that had the whole office going wild with each episode. It was part of the hassle of having a head office located in Dallas.

  “Hey, I like JR,” answered Tom. “Men like that are called excellent businessmen. Just don’t turn your back or trust them with your sister.”

  “You’d know all about that.”

  “Hey, I resemble that remark,” replied Tom with a laugh.

  He’d made it clear to Eric when they first met to expect nothing but greed and selfishness from him. Yet Tom was one of the first to step in when needed, though he did it quietly. While Eric couldn’t help but stand out due to his size, Tom slid between shadows. No one would guess the smiling man could take out a target a mile away, or drift past an armed guard and leave him silently garroted in the dirt. Or that he’d leave food, medicine, and more where desperate people would find it.

  Eric had seen evidence of Tom’s abilities over the years. The man never moved without a plan, a backup plan, and at least one escape route. Eric knew he’d killed people, but so had he. They’d needed killing. He couldn’t call Tom down for doing the same.

  “I told Priscilla to pack up your stuff and ship it by air before the bean counters could get to her,” said Tom.

  “That’s the good news?”

  “You want her to send it by sea, then camel, and finish up by dog team?”

  “Spring’s the wrong season for dog sleds,” replied Eric. Tom hinted that he was from Texas, but never confirmed it. Wherever he was from, it was a hell of a lot warmer than Montana in winter. “It’s even above freezing during the day now.”

  “Brrr! I don’t know how you stand it.”

  “It’s home, Tom, and there’s great fishing and hunting in the mountains. You should visit one of these days.”

  “You said you got frost on the windshield in August.”

  “And your point is?”

  Tom laughed and used a colorful phrase. It wasn’t in a language Eric was familiar with. While the consonants sounded impressive, it could mean something as simple as take out the trash. You never knew with Tom.

  “They gave us a good buyout package,” he continued. “I figure they were worried someone would come after them. We’ve got a year’s paid salary, with the clause we can’t work for the competition.”

  Shit! That meant he was stuck here for the duration. He sent his frustration off into another compartment to deal with later.

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “Stash my money in the Cayman Islands and head to the Middle East.” Tom sounded sure of himself, as usual. “I think they’re ready for me now. You going to ranch with your brother? If you like heat, I could find something for you to do. Something lucrative.”

  Those were Eric’s options for his future. Ranch, or head into hell. He didn’t want either of them. Rage erupted at his lack of control. That was one reason why he hated ranching. He had no control over the weather, disease, flood, fire, or a million other things that ruled a life depending on Mother Nature. Logic ruled his world. As an engineer, he relied on the Laws of Nature. Physics made sense and could be counted on.

  The variables that made his world crazy were the people in it. People such as the children of the company founders who didn’t care about their fathers’ legacy. He’d spent years creating something that had just been wiped out. He rubbed his aching forehead.

  “You want that job?” asked Tom. “You’ll be nice and warm, with no jungle.”

  “Shut up. I’m deciding whether to take a wild woman to bed for a week, or beat the crap out of someone.”

  “They have wild women in Montana? Maybe I should head up there.”

  “Matt says there’s only one single woman in town under forty, and she’s already branded with the Circle C.”

  “How about over forty? I like a woman with experience.”

  Eric talked a good line to Tom, but reality was another matter. He couldn’t go after Matt’s woman until he got rid of the pent-up frustration and fury. That left him with option two, starting a fight. He’d been very careful to hold onto his control and temper for the last twenty years. Back then he’d had a rip-roaring fight with Max Gibson. He couldn’t remember it, but his mom had taken a couple photos of the bruises on his face and body as proof. He made a fist. Yeah, it was time to prove to his good buddy that things were different now. But he needed to get in the mood first.

  “I’m going to the Roadhouse and find me a bottle of Jack.”

  “I thought you were on the wagon.”

  Eric didn’t drink because it led to a loss of control. He’d only exploded once on the job, saving a young woman from a brutal rape, but he’d killed the bastard. Because of his size and strength, along with his long, shaggy hair and chest pelt, one of the engineers called him El Oso Gris, the Spanish version of “The Grizzly Bear.” The villagers had nodded in understanding. From then on he was Señor Oso, and treated with wary respect. No one messed with females in the villages he supervised.

  “My wagon just crashed.”

  “Hell, if I’d known I’d see you drunk and fighting, I’d have delivered this message in person,” joked Tom.

  “You hate the cold.”

  “It’d be worth it to see you fight. How many will you take down with you?”

  “One,” replied Eric with satisfaction. He rolled out his shoulders, anticipating the tension fading with a few good punches. “Max said he won the last fight, twenty years ago. I’ve been wanting a rematch ever since.”

  “He still lives there?”

  “Yep. He’s the sheriff, and his daddy’s the judge.”

  “Hoo-ee, sounds like you could use me at your back! I could be there in a few hours. Love to get in on a rumble.”

  “No airline will get you from Dallas to Montana in that time.”

  “Who said anything about airlines?” demanded Tom. “I’d find myself a private jet and a helicopter or two. A couple of senators owe me favors.”

  That was the first Eric had heard about Tom’s piloting ability. It didn’t surprise him. Tom was probably used to flying machines with missiles and rockets attached to them. You never knew with him.

  “Appreciate it, but it’ll just be two old friends having a friendly tussle.”

  “There a good chance you’ll wake up in jail?”

  “Damn straight. With a black eye, a couple of loose teeth, scraped knuckles, and a hangover that would kill a dog. Can’t wait.”

  Eric realized he was serious. Putting his fist into Max’s gut would be the best part of the last few months. And this time, he’d come out on top.

  “Put a thousand on that sheriff for me,” said Tom.

  Eric growled into the phone. “What the hell kind of a friend are you?”

  “The rich kind,” replied Tom with a laugh. “I got me a hunch. I’ll let you know where to send my winnings.”

  Eric swore in Latin American Spanish and slammed the phone down on his buddy’s laughter. The loud crash filled the small room.

  Unless he could find something to do, he was stuck in Climax for the foreseeable future. He’d had enough of jungles but desert was not his thing either, especially when he didn’t speak the language. That meant finding something in Montana, or at least the States.

  He saw his family ties turning apron strings into chains. Chains that would hold him on the ranch, tied down with gui
lt as they ground his nose into the dirt.

  Chapter Five

  Matt waited for Eric to notice him leaning by the bathroom door. Eric rarely spoke of his work. He said he liked to keep his vacations just that, a break from the job. Matt figured there was more to it, but if he pushed too hard his big brother might never come home. That would just about kill their parents.

  He took the towel from around his neck and began wiping drops off his chest. He purposefully kept his attention on what he was doing and his voice quiet and calm.

  “What happened with your job, and why do you need to punch Max out?”

  Eric was silent. Matt could feel Eric’s pain in his shuddered breath. They hadn’t talked about anything deep for far too long. Their parents weren’t around to get upset. His fury at being left out, held back for too many years, erupted.

  “Why the hell don’t you tell any of us a damn thing about your life?” he demanded. Eric finally looked over. “Yeah, I can see you’re hurting. Well, brother, so am I!” He threw the towel at his brother. “How do you think I feel, knowing you don’t care enough to bother telling me a damn thing about your life?”

  Eric tossed the damp towel aside. He scratched at his head as if his hair was full of fleas, then moved to his chin stubble. Finally, he sighed.

  “I care, Matt. Didn’t want to rub your nose in it.”

  “You going to hang around and help me with my lady? Or will you run away again like a scared kid?”

  Eric roared out of the bed, towel in his hand. “Watch it!” He narrowed his eyes at Matt, ready to rumble.

  “Why?” taunted Matt. “Every time you come home, you run away in a few weeks.” He crossed his arms over his chest belligerently. “Something bugs the heck out of you, but you won’t face it, and move on.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snarled the words and crouched. The hand holding the towel made circles, turning it into a weapon. The other hand clenched and opened, warming up. Matt took the towel from around his waist and did the same.

  “Been a long time since we got into it,” said Matt. The last time, they’d been teenagers, fighting over who had to wash the dishes. He circled, taking in information from every one of his senses. “I got you good last time. Prepare to die.”

  “In your dreams,” scoffed Eric. His eyes gleamed as he accepted the challenge.

  They both knew the rules. Nothing between waist and knees, or in the face. Tea towels snapped really well, leaving a red sting behind. Matt hadn’t tried using thick bath towels before. He advanced and struck. The end of the towel flopped weakly.

  Eric roared in triumph and rushed forward. He flipped his towel lower, so it caught between Matt’s legs. Matt tripped. His hips hit the edge of the bed. He landed face down on the sheets. A sharp sting on his ass had him rolling over. A hand, not the towel.

  “Gotcha!”

  Eric, grinning triumphantly, bouncing on his toes like a boxer. He waggled his eyebrows and made ‘come on’ motions with his fingers. Matt hadn’t seen him this alive in years.

  “The only reason I’m not going to stuff you headfirst down the toilet is that you have to look pretty for my woman,” said Matt.

  “Ha! You and who’s army?”

  “Don’t need an army. Once you get into that Jack, Max will pound you into schnitzel.” Matt rose to his feet. He padded over to the dresser to get his shirt. “Just like last time.”

  Eric deflated. He winced and scratched the back of his head. His elbow almost touched the low ceiling. “Max ever say what happened that night?”

  “I asked,” admitted Matt. He pulled the T-shirt over his head and tugged it down. “He said something about telling the truth, just not all of it.”

  “And?” demanded Eric.

  Matt pulled his pants on over his shorts. This was the tricky part to explain. Max had told him what to say, should Eric ever ask. He’d never done so, not in twenty years.

  “There was a fight. You and Max did get into it. But there was a lot more going on that night.”

  “What?” Eric’s demand was sharp and harsh. He looked almost haunted.

  “He wouldn’t say, other than it turned out the way it should.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Max said you’d have to ask him if you wanted more.” Matt put on his socks and stomped into his boots. “You getting dressed for breakfast, or do I eat alone?”

  Eric rubbed his face with his hands. Another symptom that his brother was up to his ass in something nasty.

  “Do they have alligators in Peru?” he asked.

  “Where the hell did that come from?”

  “I was thinking you’re up to your ass in alligators. We don’t have ’em here. Wondered if they lived in those mountains of yours.” The stupidity of his question hit. Again, his lack of education made him look like a fool and feel even worse. “Forget it. They live in the ocean or something.”

  “There’s no alligators where I work,” said Eric after a moment. “But they have snakes that are as big around as your waist. And leeches. Damn, I hate those things!” He shuddered. “I had one of those giant mothers right here.” Eric pointed to his thigh, about six inches from his balls. “It was this long!” He held his thumb and first finger about four inches apart.

  “You afraid of leeches?”

  Eric stilled. He turned his back, set his hands on the dresser, and leaned over. Matt waited, silent and still. He’d loved his big brother all his life. Had followed him around like a puppy when he could barely walk. Eric had never been mean, unlike what some of his friends said about their older brothers. He couldn’t understand why Eric hated ranching so much, but he respected his right to make a choice. Eric had always been like Superman to him. Were leeches his kryptonite?

  “Naw,” said Eric finally. He didn’t look up. “Just hate the little buggers. It’s airplanes that scare the crap outta me.”

  Though the light was dim, Matt could see how tight Eric’s muscles were.

  “But, you fly back and forth all the time. You said you have to jam yourself into planes that are built for guys maybe a buck twenty in weight, five feet high.”

  “And sometimes I can barely pry my fingers off the armrest because they’ve cramped from me grabbing them so hard.” He stood and rolled out his shoulders. “Yep, I’m a coward. Afraid the plane will fall out of the sky and crash.”

  “You’re not a coward,” said Matt. “Cowards don’t face their fears day after day. Being scared shitless and doing it anyway, that’s what I call a hero.”

  “I’m no hero.” He barked a sarcastic laugh. “And since I no longer have a job, I won’t have to get in one of the damn things again. Thank God for that.” He shuddered.

  “None of this has anything to do with Max, so why get into it with him?”

  “He’s been crowing for twenty years. I’m going to put him in his place.”

  Matt knew it would be one hell of a fight. And wasn’t that great! He missed the usual after-wedding brawl to drive up here, and now he’d miss the best fight in years. He took a shrewd look at Eric.

  “What else haven’t you told me?”

  Eric stepped into his jeans, not bothering with undershorts. Matt recognized the delaying tactic but said nothing.

  “I feel guilty that you’re here, working the ranch, while I’m off doing what I love.”

  Matt stepped forward and slammed his fist into Eric’s bicep. “I’m doing what I love as well, idiot!”

  Eric rubbed his arm. “Anything you want done on the ranch while you’re away?”

  Matt shook his head. “All I want you to do is take that woman of mine to bed, convince her I’m the man she needs, and have her wet and ready for me when I come home.”

  “I don’t know,” said Eric with a slow grin. “You might find she wants me more than you.”

  “Then we’ll have us a contest. Whoever gives her the most orgasms, making her scream the loudest, gets to keep her.”

/>   Eric shook his head. “The woman always has the choice.”

  “Of course. But I’m betting she chooses both of us, at once.”

  Chapter Six

  It was late afternoon when Eric drove slowly into Climax. It was only a three-hour drive on a good day, but after he dropped Matt off at his buddy’s, he’d gone back to the motel and crashed. He’d got up barely in time to check out without paying a fine, grabbed some dinner, and was on his way. The food wasn’t bad, but nothing as good as what he’d get at the diner.

  He kept alert as he drove down Main Street, noting what had changed and what was the same. A moment out of the side of his eye had him jamming on the anchors. A flash of red, white, and blue erupted from a side street and shot across his path. It was a boy in jeans and a red and white jacket, riding a bike much too quickly. Eric knew that hair and attitude. Joshua Gibson was the same as his fathers. The boy turned and gave him a cheeky grin, the same one Eric remembered seeing on Max when they were boys.

  The kid had twisted his body to turn. The hem of his too-long jeans got caught in the chain. The back wheel spun out and Joshua went ass-over-teakettle onto the road. Eric used his truck to protect the boy from other vehicles, hit his four-ways, and hauled himself over. Joshua’s face was white where it wasn’t dripping with blood.

  “You damn fool,” said Eric, more with resignation than anger. “You could have got yourself killed flying onto the road like that.”

  “But I didn’t,” he replied defiantly.

  Eric gave the boy a quick once-over. Head wounds bled like a sucker, but the boy wasn’t dazed. He was stubborn enough not to cry, but then, he was a Gibson. He struggled, and Eric put his hand on the boy’s leg.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered.

  Joshua held himself still. The boy knew how to follow direct orders. He’d better, as he was the eldest son of the sheriff. He’d not only have to follow both his fathers’ orders, but those of retired sheriff Grandpa Gibson, now the judge, who lived with them. And then there was his mother, and grandmother. No wonder the boy needed to make trouble now and then.