Montana Darling (Big Sky Mavericks Book 3)

by Salonen, Debra

  Mia was nobody’s darling. She hadn’t been for longer than she wanted to remember. She looked at the wall of boxes—a daunting, impossible, mind-numbing task—and her mind slipped back to the moment Ryker Bensen looked up from his mug of freshly ground coffee. His eyes had been so alive, so engaged.

  She hadn’t been able to get his handsome, rumpled, wonderfully sanguine image out of her mind all morning. Saliva pooled in her mouth. She was hungry…for something. “Okay. I’ll go.”

  Mom clapped silently. “Shower fast.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Mia settled into the passenger seat of her mother’s Jeep. In a few weeks, the vehicle would be tethered to the senior Zabrinski’s “Galactic cruiser,” as Paul called the forty-foot motorhome, when Mom and Dad planned to head south to their winter stomping grounds.

  “How many people are coming to this shindig?” Mia asked. She hadn’t been paying much attention to all the wedding plans. She’d had her mind on other things—like figuring out what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

  “The wedding? Forty, I believe. Bailey wanted to keep it low-key since it’s a second marriage for both of them, but Paul keeps adding names. It’s hard when you’ve been in business in the same town for so long. Remember your dad’s retirement party?”

  “Sorta.” She’d flown in at the last minute to join Ed and the kids who’d driven to Marietta a few days earlier. “You held it at the Fairgrounds and everyone in town came…or so it seemed.”

  Mom backed out of the driveway slowly. “Pretty much. Bailey wasn’t here for that, but Paul showed her the video. She told him, ‘Yeah. Very nice. So not happening.’”

  They both chuckled. Mia didn’t know her future sister-in-law well, but she admired a woman who set boundaries and kept them. “I have to admit, Mom, I’ve never seen Paul so happy. He’s really on top of the world right now, isn’t he?”

  Mom sighed in a heartily satisfied way. “He is. So’s Austen. Both my boys in love at the same time. It’s hard to believe.”

  “And both your daughters are under-achievers in that area.”

  Mom made a clucking noise. “You sound like Emilee when you put yourself down. Cut yourself some slack. Dad and I both know how hard you tried to make your marriage work.”

  Wrong. Mia gave up long before Ed strayed. She could even point to the exact moment she stopped trying. She’d just won an eight-week jury trial that could have gone either way. She called Edward to arrange a celebration and he said, “Can I take a rain check? I’m up to my nose hairs in notes for a big client who needs all her paperwork filed before she leaves for Spain. Once this deal closes, we’ll plan something big.”

  Something big. The best table at the most expensive restaurant in town. Champagne and caviar flown in that morning from Paris or Kiev. That was Ed. And Mia had grown tired of pretending she enjoyed the pretense.

  “Did I hear you talking to your sister last night?”

  “Yeah. She invited Emilee for a visit. They’re going to shop for something to wear to the wedding.”

  “Good. Maybe you should go along and talk some sense into her. You heard about her plans for her sabbatical, right?”

  Mia shrugged, which made her seatbelt rub against her faux boobs. She hated everything about them and could barely bring herself to look in the mirror after showering. “Mom, Meg’s nearly forty years old. If she wants to spend the winter in her cabin writing another book on wolves, who am I to criticize? Like my life is so perfect.”

  “Paul said she’s had the cabin winterized and has enough provisions for the zombie apocalypse, but if we get a lot of snow, she could be stuck there until spring.” A point, Mia was certain, every member of her family made to her older sister…more than once. “And, for your information, she isn’t writing another treatise on wolves. She wants to try her hand at fiction. Young-adult fiction.”

  “Oh, now, I get it. Meg wants to spend time with Emilee to pick her brain.”

  Mom made a sound of disapproval. “Meg is Emilee’s aunt. She knows Em has been having a rough time with the move. Maybe your sister wants to do something nice for her.”

  Mia bit back the cynical answer that jumped to her lips. When had she lost the ability to take anything or anyone at face value? Like Ryker Bensen, for instance. She’d known immediately he wasn’t a bum, drug addict or hippie. He wasn’t a tree-hugger or back-to-nature fanatic, either. His tent and bike were top of the line. He ground his own beans. Who did that? Why did that make her feel a tiny bit sorry about kicking him off her land?

  “You’re right, Mom,” Mia said, trying to stay focused on her family issues. “It was nice of Meg to ask, and Em is thrilled to get away. I’m sure we’ll hear all about Meg’s new project at the wedding.”

  Mia loved her sister, but they’d never been as close as Mia and Austen were. Older sister versus twins? Plus, Meg’s single-minded passion for wolves took a little of the fun out of playing with her.

  Mia would never forget the day Austen informed his sisters they were going to be part of the Big Sky Mavericks—a make-believe squadron of Navy jet fighter pilots he’d dreamed up after watching the movie, Top Gun. He’d tried to assign Meg a call sign, but she cut him off. “My name is Lone Wolf.”

  She was one and her family knew it.

  “I need to drop off a key to the motorhome with your dad,” Mom said, pulling into the parking lot of Big Z Hardware. “He’s helping Paul make room for the new Outdoor Living display.”

  The parking lot was a beehive of activity. As usual. Paul knew how to bring in buyers and keep them here. Mia had never ceased to marvel at her younger brother’s entrepreneurial genius.

  “Coming in or waiting here?”

  “I’ll stay.” She lowered her window all the way down and undid her seatbelt so she could rest her elbow comfortably on the ledge. Her black tank and dark denim skirt absorbed the sun’s rays, warming her central core. She let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

  Being back in Marietta was a mixed blessing. People knew her. They also knew her story. In Cheyenne, she’d never—or very rarely—had to deal with people’s well-intended sympathy…or worse, their cancer/chemo/recovery sagas.

  Mia knew she should be grateful for people’s concern, but she’d moved away from Marietta to become her own person. Here, she’d always been Bob and Sarah Zabrinski’s daughter. Or, worse, Austen Zabrinski’s twin.

  In Cheyenne, she’d been defined by her work. Deputy District Attorney Mia Zabrinski. Only at the very end of her tenure had people started referring to her as “the DDA with breast cancer.”

  “Wow, it’s a mad house in there,” Mom said, when she returned. “Your dad and OC Jenkins are like two old peacocks trying to out-strut each other.”

  Mia grinned at the image that sprang to mind. Her cell phone rang as they turned on Main. A local number, but not one she recognized.

  Her heart rate sped up. Not the school, she silently prayed. She’d gotten more than enough of those calls at Emilee’s old school. “Hello?”

  “Is this Mia? It’s Ren Fletcher. How are you doing?”

  Ren’s name had come up when she and Austen were discussing whether or not to set up a law office. “You should call Ren and let him know we’re thinking about setting up shop in own,” Austen had suggested. “As a courtesy.”

  Surely, Ren wasn’t calling to find out her intentions?

  “Good. Thanks. What can I do for you, Ren?”

  Mom gave her a look as she pulled into a parking place a few doors down from the bakery. Main Street hadn’t changed much since Mia’s childhood. The old brick buildings screamed, “Character.” The sort new construction didn’t even try to match.

  “Interestingly, I have a gentleman in my office who said you and he appear to own the same piece of land. A lot by the river. Out off—”

  “I know where my lot is located, Ren,” Mia said; shocked by the crazy rush of sensations went from hot to cold along her spine. Ryker
Bensen contacted a lawyer. Didn’t see that coming. “My ex-husband and I bought the parcel three…maybe four years ago. I was awarded it in our divorce settlement.”

  “That’s exactly what Mr. Bensen told me. He’s brought copies of the legal description and property information filed with the tax collector’s office, which shows you and your husband as legal owners. However, Mr. Bensen insists he never signed any document authorizing the sale. He speculates that his stepfather, who, along with Ryker’s mother is an administrator of the Bensen Family Trust, might have illegally forged his signature to the bill of sale.”

  “Money exchanged hands, Ren. A great deal of money. I’m not the kind of person who takes shortcuts or makes deals under the table.”

  “I told him that, Mia. But Mr. Bensen has proof that the sale took place when he was in Africa.”

  “Africa?”

  Mom’s look turned to one of concern. Mia put out her hands in a who-knows gesture and motioned for her to go ahead into the bakery. “I’ll be there in a minute,” she whispered, covering her phone’s speaker.

  “Mia, I’m afraid you and your husband may have been defrauded.”

  Could Edward have colluded with whoever sold the lot? She closed her eyes, trying to think back to that time. The Sampson murder trial. She’d been under the most extreme pressure of her career. For the first time in her life, she’d signed her name to legal documents she hadn’t read. “I’ll need to see all the paperwork and so-called proof myself.”

  “In due time, Mia. We’re still in the fact-finding stage. My client had no idea he wasn’t the rightful owner until you showed up this morning. I’m sure you feel as blindsided as he does. Can we make an appointment to get you and Mr. Bensen together to talk—?”

  She cut him off. “I’m a block away, Ren.” She opened the Jeep’s door and grabbed her purse. “I’ll be there in five.”

  She disconnected the call and shoved her phone into her skirt pocket.

  “What was that all about?” Mom asked, standing outside the door of the bakery.

  “A leftover gift from Edward,” Mia said, barely able to contain her fury. “I’ll be back as soon as possible but don’t wait for me.”

  With that she switched directions and marched away. Did Edward know the property was hot when he bought it? Maybe, maybe not, but he must have known it held the potential of being disputed because he never hesitated to add the Marietta lot to her side of the property agreement page. Why else would he have given up a valuable asset without a fight?

  *

  Ryker liked Ren Fletcher immediately upon meeting him. Mid-to-late 30s. Fit. Honest eyes and a handshake that matched. It didn’t hurt that Fletcher’s Main Street office building with its brick façade looked well established and professional. The welcoming ambiance of the outer reception area with its cream walls, built-in bookcases and framed nature photograph prints on the walls reminded Ryker of his father’s office. He’d always felt safe there.

  “Thanks for seeing me so fast.”

  “No problem. Louise said you have an emergency and, luckily, my wife had to cancel our lunch date—lingering morning sickness.” His smile showed pride.

  Ryker remembered that feeling. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. Come in. What can I do for you? Something about a trust violation and stolen land?”

  Dad always said when it came to lawyers, the person with the most paperwork won. He’d copied what he could from the Crawford County Clerk’s files regarding the exact location of the parcels, the legal description and the records of ownership of his property. A transfer of ownership had been made to Mia Zabrinski and Edward Kingston, but the signatures of the two sellers belonged to neither Ryker nor his brother.

  After ten minutes of studying the maps and asking questions, Ren said, “You and Mia Zabrinski both believe you each own the same piece of property, and this morning she asked you to vacate the premises.”

  “Yes. If you check the records you’ll see that the Bensen Family Trust has been paying taxes on it since the early 1980s.”

  Ryker shared what he could remember of the Trust, his stepfather and his meeting with Mia that morning, but he left out the part about how attracted he’d been to her. Strong yet fragile. His favorite combination in a woman.

  That was when Ren called her. “She’s on her way over,” Ren said. “I haven’t seen Mia in ages, but from what I’ve heard, she won a number of high-profile cases for the District Attorney’s Office in Cheyenne.”

  Louise hadn’t mentioned that. The coffee he’d made when Mia was at his camp that morning gurgled and hiccupped in his belly. “Well, from what I gathered this morning, she’s back to stay and she plans to build on my lot.”

  Ren picked up one of the papers from Ryker’s file. “You’re asserting criminal corruption and deliberate intent, not a simple mistake. Mia’s family has been here since the copper mining days. I have a hard time believing she’d be involved in anything so blatantly illegal and, more importantly, morally wrong.”

  “For what it’s worth, she seemed shocked by my claim. She totally believes she’s in the right, and maybe, technically, she is. But, I promise you, I did not sell my land.”

  “Who did?”

  “My stepfather.” Possibly with my mother’s okay, he didn’t add.

  Ren picked up a yellow legal pad. “Tell me about yourself while we’re waiting for Mia.”

  “I grew up with a proverbial silver spoon and great expectations…until my dad passed away suddenly from a heart attack my senior year of high school. Things changed pretty fast after that. Mom married a business associate of my dad’s a few months later. He convinced her to stop ‘subsidizing’ her grown children. Luckily, Dad had set up an irrevocable trust that we’d have access to at age thirty. Mom was the administrator, but in the past few years, I think she’s stepped back and let Howard handle it.”

  “Your brother is older?”

  “Yes. He turned thirty a couple of years ago. My birthday is in a few weeks.”

  “Where’s your brother now?”

  “Fighting fires in the west. I left him a message.”

  Ren sat forward. “I probably can’t sort this out without hearing from all parties. Best case, your trust is still intact but there was some kind of mix-up at the bank. Worst case, your stepfather has some serious explaining to do. As the trustee, if he sold the property without your knowledge and it can be shown that certain transactions were not in the best interest of the trust then he violated his fiduciary duties. If he kept the money, he could be charged with embezzlement.”

  Ryker made a face. Could his mother have been a part of that?

  Ren went on. “If he transferred the property to your brother as a distribution and somehow convinced Flynn to sell, then the property would belong to Mia.”

  “Flynn wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t love the land like I do, but he’d never sell it out from under me.”

  “Your stepfather could have transferred the land to Flynn when he came of age and then had someone forge your signatures on the sale. If that were the case, your stepfather would definitely face charges—as would the forgers, and once it’s proven that the property should be yours, Mia would need to file against the forgers to get her money back.”

  Ryker didn’t know why that idea bothered him so much. He was the one who got screwed here, but he didn’t want this burden to fall on Mia Zabrinski’s shoulders, either.

  “What I’m most concerned about is you spending the whole winter in a tent,” Ren said. “Tell me that wasn’t your plan. The temperature got to thirty-six last night, I heard.”

  Ryker shrugged. “I’d planned on sticking it out until my birthday, then start the subdivision ball rolling so next spring Flynn and I could each have our five acres. He may choose to sell his, but I want to build something permanent—a yurt or small cabin—where I can spend my summers.”

  “A yurt? What’s that?”

  Before Ryker could answer, a woman�
��s voice called from the outer office. “Ren?”

  The sound made Ryker’s heart do a funny little dance to music he couldn’t hear—probably because the blood was pounding too loudly in his ears. Wow. When was the last time lust trumped common sense? He couldn’t remember.

  His attraction to Mia seemed to have skipped a few steps.

  Why, he wondered?

  Because I’ve been a melancholy monk for too long?

  Must be.

  When he turned in his chair to watch her walk into the office, he realized there were different sides to Mia Zabrinski. Instead of coiled power in running shoes, he saw casual chic. A denim pencil skirt short enough to show off her very nice legs, a pair of expensive-looking taupe cowboy boots with some sort of flashy baubles around one ankle, a low-cut black tank partially visible beneath a long-sleeve white shirt. Her curls appeared finger-combed by the wind.

  He stood. I like her.

  Foolish as that epiphany seemed. He did.

  “You got here fast,” Ren said, getting to his feet as she approached the desk.

  “Cake tasting.”

  Ryker had no idea what that meant, but Ren’s sigh said he understood.

  She dropped her large brown leather purse into the second chair and turned toward Ryker. “Mr. Bensen.”

  “Ryker. Please.”

  When she looked at him this time—dressed in his best hiking pants, boots and clean wool shirt—he thought he detected a hint of respect. Had he surprised her by contacting a lawyer? Did that make him a worthy adversary instead of some vagrant lout?

  “Wedding cake,” he said, when the answer to the unacknowledged question popped into his mind. “Your brother is marrying Louise’s daughter.”

  The two lawyers looked at him as if he might be suffering from Asperger syndrome.

  “Sorry. Living alone for months at a stretch tends to blur the line between thought bubble and talking to yourself.”

  She frowned but didn’t agree or disagree with his observation. Instead, she walked to the desk where his paperwork was arranged in two neat piles. She didn’t touch anything but her chin tilted sideways so she could make a cursory scan.