The Climax Montana Complete Collection

by Reece Butler

  “I like this bed a lot better when I’m not alone in it,” she murmured.

  She craned her head to look up. He hadn’t decided if her eyes were blue or green. They were on him and that was all that mattered. He squeezed his hand to say he agreed. Her blush deepened.

  “With you, I mean,” she added. “And Trey. Does he always snore like that?”

  “I guess we’re going to find out.” He shoved his brother with his free hand. Trey snorted, coughed, and rolled onto his side, facing away. His breathing slowed, quieter this time. “That was easy. Any other questions you want answered?”

  It was not an offer he’d made very often. But then, he didn’t usually hold naked women against his equally naked body after waking. Make that never.

  Katie drew circles over his chest with her fingers. He didn’t mind since she pressed hard enough so it didn’t tickle. Well, it did, but not enough to make him ask her to stop. He liked her touching him, lying there together as if they had nothing to do and all the time to do it.

  “Why are you so ultra-careful?” she asked.

  His breath nearly stopped. He choked then started coughing. He had to sit up to clear his airway, pulling away from Katie. When his hacking fit was over, he was too tense to curl up with her again. He didn’t want to speak of it, but they’d shared more than sex. Katie deserved an answer, and he had offered.

  He shoved a pillow behind him and leaned against the headboard. Instead of taking the hint she pulled herself up beside him. She lifted his arm and tucked it around her, snuggling close like a kitten. He’d pulled away because he’d expected her touch to feel like an irritation. Instead, having her near felt comfortable.

  “Brazen little thing, aren’t you?”

  “A gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do. Stop stalling and answer the question.”

  She’d opened to them about her ruthless family. His life was no secret. At least, the events were public knowledge. He’d never told a soul about his guilt. Would Katie shut down and push him away?

  “Both my fathers were killed in preventable accidents,” he said. “I was twelve when my dad stopped to help a tourist on his way to Missoula. It was by one of those scenic outlooks. He’d just gotten back in his truck when he was hit. His truck went over the edge. It was a steep slope, at least eight hundred feet to the bottom.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. She pressed her hand over his racing heart. She said nothing, waiting for him to go on. Could he? He wiped his clammy hands on the sheet. He’d been holding the secret to himself for too long as to why his father was there. It was his fault that his dad died. Katie waited. If she hated him because of it, he’d only have to look at her accusing face for a couple of weeks. He’d been staring at his own guilt in the mirror for seventeen years. Surely he could take a few days from Katie? He inhaled a breath, shuddering, and continued.

  “I was on the football team. We’d gone to the big city to take on our arch rivals, and won. Our bus went past the emergency vehicles in the dark. I didn’t know, none of us did, what had happened. When we got to the school the sheriff, Max Gibson, was there. He said someone too inexperienced to drive their RV through the mountains took the corner too fast, clipped my father’s truck and knocked it, with my father inside, over the edge. The truck went headfirst, right to the bottom. They said the initial impact likely killed him.”

  He hadn’t believed it at the time, and still didn’t. His father would have done his damndest to steer his truck down that slope, as he would have a horse. That was what he wanted to ask the ghost of Beth Elliott. Had his father died instantly, or had he known he was going to die and had been smashed up along the way, until the final crash at the end? He wanted to know, but only if Beth could ease his mind.

  Katie’s hand on his arm startled him. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as me,” he said quietly. “It was my fault.”

  Her concerned expression faded. “How is that your fault?”

  “I didn’t ask for much because Ben needed so much help. That time I asked him to ride the team bus to the game like the other dads. He said he had to take Ben to another doctor’s appointment and couldn’t make it back in time to catch the bus.” Sam tilted his head back, eyes shut. He couldn’t watch Katie’s concern turn to disgust. “I yelled that Ben always had another appointment but this was my first big game. I said he didn’t care about me, just Ben and Trey. He just shook his head sadly and walked away. It was the last time I saw him.”

  He had to push to swallow past the huge lump in his throat.

  “I was so mad that I played the best game of my life just to spite him. I was the big hero,” he added with enough sarcasm to choke himself. “I didn’t know my dad got Ben in early so he could get to the game. He’d be late, but he’d be there. He never made it. If it wasn’t for me acting like a spoiled brat, demanding he drive all that way, my father wouldn’t have been killed.”

  Katie made an unladylike snort. She punched him in the chest. It was no girlie punch.

  “Ow!” He rubbed the sore spot. “What was that for?”

  “Your father died because of choices he and others made. Not you.”

  “But he wouldn’t have been there—”

  “Not everything’s about you, Sam.” She stabbed him with her eyes. “Bad things happen. This was one of them. It’s terrible, but you didn’t cause it.” She settled back against him. “By your lack of logic it’s my grandmother’s fault that I got attacked the other night.”

  He peered down at her, confused. “Your grandmother?”

  “Yep. She’s the one that sent me on this assignment. If she hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have been in a place where I was open to attack.” She sat up, elbowing him in the gut in the process. He grunted, sure it was on purpose. “No, wait! It’s my parents’ fault. If I hadn’t been born, I wouldn’t have had anything happen to me, ever.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous,” he said, grumbling. He’d held onto his guilt for so long that it didn’t feel right to let it go.

  “No more than you. So, do you insist you caused your other father’s death, too?”

  “No.” He was not going to tell her he’d blamed his mother for years.

  “Did he die from natural causes?”

  “If you consider flying off a bucking horse natural, then yes.”

  She went to hit him again, so he grabbed her fist. She struggled to move, but he could keep her still with one hand. He chuckled at her puny attempts. Her eyes narrowed, and then traveled down his belly. He grabbed her other hand before she could attack him in a much more tender spot.

  “Talk, Sam Elliott. I’ve got two knees, and teeth.”

  She bared them, then stared at his nipple. His cock jumped at the thought of wrestling with her. Later.

  “It was ten years ago, when I was nineteen. Dad entered a charity rodeo. Pretty much everyone in town either competed or volunteered. Dad insisted he was going to win the saddlebronc buckle for Mom since it was their anniversary. I was in first place. He was the last to ride. He had the best ride of the night, and beat me. He knew it, too, when the buzzer went.”

  He remembered that night with crystal clarity. He knew it was close as to who would win, him or his dad. He’d hoped to come second as his dad wanted that stupid gold buckle so bad. As a contestant, Sam had watched from the far side of the arena. Too far to do a damn thing to save him.

  “The buzzer sounded and the crowd went wild. Everyone knew why Dad wanted to win, and that he had. It was a crazy thing to do at his age, but he leaped off, right in front of Mom. Just before he left the saddle the horse twisted, knocking him. He landed on the back of his neck. It snapped his spine and killed him instantly.”

  “Oh, my God! Your poor mother!”

  “She told the funeral home to put that gold buckle on his belt when they buried him. I figured she wanted the reminder gone from the house.”

  Tears rolled down Katie’s cheeks. Sam’s vision blurred. He’d nev
er cried. He’d had to be the man of the family for everyone else.

  “I think she must have known how badly he wanted to win it for her, to show his love," said Katie softly. "Your mom wanted him to look his finest.”

  “I told them to take it off and put it away before they buried him. I expected Mom to change her mind one day and wish she’d kept it. He’d done it for her, after all. Far as I know they’ve still got it in their safe.”

  “You haven’t told her?”

  Sam was too embarrassed to admit he’d refused to talk to his mother about his dad’s death. It had been bad enough opening up to the grief counselor that one time. He shook his head.

  “You should tell her, Sam. Maybe she’d want it now, or give it to one of her grandchildren.”

  She gazed up at him with a look of such tenderness he had to fight not to break down. He hadn’t cried since he was twelve. Nor had he felt anything in years. Proud of being the Iceman, he’d kept that cold blanket of gray fog wrapped tightly around him. He used it to keep himself from caring, telling himself it was safer that way.

  Katie’s fire had made the fog evaporate like mist on a summer morning. Their lovemaking had kickstarted a swarm of emotion. He’d enjoyed the good stuff with her. He wasn’t so impressed with sharing the bad stuff. Since that rodeo he’d pushed everyone away whenever they tried to show they cared. When they got emotional he’d run for the hills, taking his horse out and riding high into the mountains.

  Alone. Always alone.

  Katie snuggled close, pressing her face against his chest. He held her, blinking back sudden tears. He’d been so wrapped up in his own pain that he hadn’t cared to understand what his mother and brothers had gone through, or his aunts and uncles, who had lost two men who were like brothers to them. He didn’t know Katie well, but if he’d seen her killed in front of him he’d be shaken to the core. His mother had seen her second husband die, all her dreams of a forever love gone, yet she’d somehow managed to keep going. She’d kept him and Trey fed and their clothes and home clean even though he’d treated her worse than a dog.

  He’d had his head stuck up his ass so far he couldn’t see anyone else’s pain. It was a wonder anyone bothered to even speak to him. Nothing had mattered except work.

  And then Katie woke him up with a punch to the nose.

  Sam ran his free hand over his face, finding it wet. He had a hell of a lot of fences to mend before the haying started. Those fences wouldn’t need poles and wire, they’d need guts and determination. He had to face the people who loved him, people he’d treated badly for a decade, and apologize.

  He’d thought being hay boss was going to be hard. Nope. That was just knowledge and organizational skills. This was far worse. He had to open his heart and exorcise some demons.

  He looked down at the fiery woman tucked up next to him. If he had Katie to come home to each night, he might be able to manage it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sam’s gut rolled as he approached the winding curve. He could barely breathe, and it had nothing to do with altitude. He’d found many excuses over the years to avoid this route. Driving to Missoula through Butte added a half hour and eighty-three miles to the journey but it kept him from passing where his father had died. He’d gone up the safe way as usual this morning and loaded up his truck with gear for the haying. It was Saturday, and there was more traffic on the road than if it was a weekday, but he’d had no choice.

  He’d done his shopping then paused in the parking lot of Murdoch’s Ranch and Home Supply. He’d thought of Katie and what she’d faced. He’d felt like a coward and didn’t like the feeling. Instead of heading home the long way, he’d turned his truck toward Lolo and the mountain road.

  It was a great day for driving, the air clear and warm for June at six thousand feet. Perfect for facing a few demons. With the truck loaded, he took it easy as the road rose about twelve hundred feet in a few miles of twisting pavement.

  His nerves got worse the closer he got to the hairpin turn where his father had died. He’d just decided he didn’t really need to stop to prove anything when he saw a car, trunk and hood up in the universal sign of needing help, parked in the scenic viewing area. His mouth went dry. He took his hands off the wheel, one at a time, to wipe sweaty palms on his jeans. This was how his father died. Stopping to help a stranger when an out of control giant RV had come careening down the mountain.

  The front wheel on the driver’s side was up on a jack. Big suitcases had been removed from the trunk to get at the spare tire. The two men were large enough to change a tire so he didn’t see what the problem was. The car had Idaho rental plates so maybe something was missing to change a tire. They waved as he came near but he looked straight ahead. He couldn’t help looking in the rearview. One of them slumped and the other raised his fist.

  He didn’t blame them. He’d seen few vehicles on his way south. It was getting late in the day. Did they even have water, food, and an emergency kit with candles and blankets?

  His foot hit the break before he knew what he was doing. He sat there for a minute, cursing. He was suddenly hot, so opened both windows before he put the truck in reverse. He rested his arm over the seat and looked out the rear as he backed up.

  “No cell coverage,” called one of the men. “I thought you were going to keep going. Damn rental had a jack, but someone lifted the tire iron.”

  “I got one,” said Sam.

  He kept going, parking far from the car in a place a careening RV wasn’t likely to hit him. He got out and opened the back door to get at his toolbox. His hackles rose as he felt them approach. Holding the tire iron in his hand he turned to face them. He was six four but they were taller. Bigger, too. Both had dark hair. One had dark skin and tilted eyes. Something tickled his memory.

  “What the hell? Elliott?” One man pointed at the Rocking E logo on his door. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “Forget it, Hunt,” said the darker man. “Sam’s still pissed off at the world. He won’t remember us.”

  He peered at the two men. He’d stared into those eyes often, sometimes through a football helmet. His grip on the tire arm relaxed.

  “Hunter? Dax?”

  Hunt grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. Some football players go to fat after they retired, but not these two. Dax, ever one to keep on focus, took the tire iron from his hand and headed over to the rental. He grunted and swore as he worked.

  “Did you check to see if the donut has air?” asked Sam.

  “She-it.” Dax set the tire arm on the ground and went around to the trunk. “Fuck!” He slammed the trunk closed. “This piece of shit ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He stomped back to join them. The tire iron looked like a ruler in his giant fist.

  Hunt grinned at Sam. “You got room for a couple of buddies and their gear?”

  Sam heard an approaching vehicle, coming downhill, fast. He tensed. A huge RV came around the corner, straight at him. He froze.

  Spring and fall, old folks spending the winter parked in Arizona took the tourist route through the mountains. Gravity worked real well on the steep roads, pulling heavy vehicles downhill faster than the drivers had anticipated. They careened around hairpin turns where centrifugal force pulled those heavy RVs into oncoming traffic.

  Straight at a man in a pickup who’d just fixed a tire on this very same scenic outlook. A man who was caught unaware when the RV knocked his pickup over the edge. A man who—

  “This is now,” said Hunter, jolting Sam back to the present.

  The men, one at each shoulder, waited with Sam as the house on wheels safely passed. Sam shook like a leaf caught in the vortex following it. A giant hand seemed to squeeze his lungs. He fought to breathe. His old buddies stayed near, silent and still until Sam finally inhaled a shuddering breath.

  He’d done it. Stood on the very spot, and survived. Dax and Hunter had been on the bus with him that day. The three of them had been the stars of the game. They’d passed the emergency vehi
cles with little thought, high on teenage adrenaline.

  “This the place?” asked Hunt. Sam’s mouth was too dry to talk. He jerked his head in agreement. “First time back?” Another jerk.

  “Fuck! No wonder you damn near drove past us.” Dax gave him a look of disgust. “Took you this long to beat that shit? Way past time to move on.” He slugged Sam in the arm.

  The pain broke something free. Sam turned to slam Dax back but he danced out of the way. He curved his fingers up, eyebrows high as he taunted him to try it. He was light on his feet for such a big man. It was one of the things that had propelled him so high in college. He had the bulk to stop opposing players, yet could grab the ball in a turnover and run for a touchdown. He would’ve gone all the way to the Superbowl if someone hadn’t taken him out with an illegal play.

  “I’m the one with the ride, ol' buddy,” replied Sam. “I can easily leave you here.”

  Dax gave the one-sided grin that was so familiar. “Just making sure you’re still with us.”

  Sam was not only with them, he was ready to move on. He walked over to the guardrail and looked out. The RV reappeared around the next turn, downhill all the way to Missoula. Far below, the rusted remains of his father’s pickup had been covered by the forest. Maybe animals had used it for a den. His dad would have liked that. He wasn’t one for sentimental gestures.

  A familiar soft chuckle, one he hadn’t heard since he was twelve, sifted past his ears. Or maybe it was the wind. He wiped his eyes with the back of his arm. One deep exhale and he was good to go. He turned and glared at Dax, taking up where they’d left off so many years earlier.

  “You still owe me for that Playboy magazine.”

  “I gave it back!”

  “To Trey!”

  “Not my problem if your little brother screwed you over.”